#barons game?? fuck you bitch boy

[darth-does-stuff]

ok wait why is this recent ep actually fucking terrifying i did not expect it to be this scary

[godza]

before i go to sleep here are some thoughts on my fave d20 characters

sofia: the legend. does so much fucking damage with her bare hands. also the warlock pact with the cat is awesome. emily plays great warlocks. shes just iconic. the glowup from her sad intro character art to her ready to fuck shit up with spectral cat claws. love how her wiki lists jesus as her deity. we love an italian american queen. the constant staten island jokes were funny. i wanna go to spaghettis. i havent seen s2 btw

kugrash: what can i possibly say about this man that hasnt been said. he will make you cry this tiny rat man will make you sob like a little baby. i dont wanna give you spoilers bc its better to figure his deal out by yourself. if it gets spoiled for you itll ruin it like it did for me. still fucking awesome though. city druid is such an awesome idea we love the spicy pigeons

riz: murph continues to make little loveable guys. riz is my fave fh pc forever. also another guy who i wont say too much about. the bad guys have every season just have it out for riz specifically. they woke up one day and said hey fuck this goblin in particular. hes responsible for the two scariest scenes of sy. baron my weird little skeleton boy. god riz is so. hes so! hes awesome. murph tries so hard to make him seem dorky but then he absolutely destroys it in battle. 3 feet of pure badassery. family of badass goblins.

baron: now. not even a pc hes an npc. again i cant explain his deal. the ep barons game is seared in my brain. sometimes i imitate him saying rizs name to stim. just really good mouthfeel. i wanna know more about the baronies what goes on there.

skip: oh i have opinions on skip but you need to watch the show to figure it out. its ep 2 where you figure out whats up and itll fuck you up like what huh huh?! its so good his whole deal is amazing. im on ep 15 im so scared. tempted to save the last few eps for the plane but i know i will be losing my shit. god starstrucks such a good season thank you brennans mom

kipperlilly: another npc. i will not explain her deal. but i will never hate an angry teenage girl. i could defend her till my last breath. like yeah she did all that shit what about it

fabian: character arc. good shit. fabians no good very bad day is a classic. im scared to rewatch it because it was so bad. sy happened in like two weeks. worst week of everybodys lives but thats kind of a low bar these kids dont get a break. him and the bad bitch he bagged by absolutely fumbling everything else. jy went so bad for him except for the end. never leave him unsupervised again or he'll shit himself again. god this is just me rambling i have autism

[brujahinaskirt]

I live in such a nice little niche of my primary fandom that sometimes I wander out of it and my mind blows out my ears as a result of me reacquainting myself with the reality that so many braindead how-many-tanks-does-it-take-to... "history nerd" viking-wank redditors played the whole 100+ hour plot of Kingdom Come: Deliverance and somehow walked away with these ultimate takes: 1. Scholarly Radzig terrified-of-my-own-son Kobyla is a suave anime protagonist Casanova who never made a mistake or social flub in his life, 2. desperately lonely I'll-pay-you-to-like-me alcoholic Hans Capon is a cool and sexy madlad and all the bitches want him, 3. dopey little mama's boy Henry of fucking Skalitz is a hardened morally gray Witcher-level badass Cuman-destroying unfeeling fearless supersoldier, 4. the grand takeaway of this game is that feudalism is a generally good system that works for the commonfolk (oh except in all the scenes in which the main character's friends and neighbors are being butchered alive at the idle whim of a conniving robber baron or starving in the streets thanks to a certain ~mistakeless~ lord's disinterest in actual governing in preference of thinking about philosophy and plotting self-serving military maneuvers)

[sunnysviolin]

Reading that one post it makes me imagine Mari comforting her Mob Husband when he had those nights where he feels horribly guilty about those three deaths.

Nonnie....I kinda went off with this ngl. I didn’t really stick to your prompt but like...I went off with this. Hero is my favorite character and I love him so much in this AU and if you want to resend this and get bulletpoints or something then aok but I think you’ll like what I have. I’m...obsessed with it ngl. I’ve been working on it all day long, and I think it’s not half bad. But also ummm Huge fucking TW on this one guys. 

TW: Death TW: Violence TW: Mafia TW: Knives

In his dreams, Hero always ends up back in that parlor. 

It was an opulent room, extravagant to the point of garish. There was a tall ceiling with a simply enormous chandelier hanging down. The tiny crystals glittered in the light, sending dancing shadows along the walls. Along one wall was a bar with a gleaming gold rim. It was gilded with real gold, Hero knew on instinct. He had become an expert in finding the truth since he had taken his place at Mari’s side. 

The only ordinary thing in the room was the knife. Just a straight butcher knife, polished clean. It sat on the table in front of the couch he sat at. Everything else was excellence, the best of the best. This one thing was average. The thing that Tommy “Hedonist” Barone was going to use to kill them was average. The irony would have been funny if it didn’t make Hero feel sick. 

Those are the things that stick out to him- the glittering chandelier, the glowing bar, and the knife. 

Hero knows it's a dream because he’s wearing his pajamas. Just a t-shirt and boxers, remarkably plain for everything in the room. That day he had been in a custom made suit, tailored to fit his exact frame. He had burned that suit, it no longer existed. It had been a beautiful thing, the fabric sinfully luxurious against his skin and light enough he barely noticed. Barone had apparently paid an italian seamstress thousands for each piece of the ensemble, just for the perfection of that night. Hero had hated every second of wearing it. 

He knows its a dream, but he’s still terrified. He’s still shaking as he sits on the too soft cushions of the couch and waits alone in this too big room. There’s no point in trying the doors, he knows that right outside wait two burly guards. They are the same people who marched him here from the cell they had been holding him in. The cell Tommy Barone had tortured him in. 

The cell where he had laughed about how he would kill Hero’s family. How he would rip apart his brothers, Aubrey, Mari, his father, even his mother though she had been dead for over a year. Over and over he had taunted Hero, cutting him and beating him and burning him, all in an effort to get him to scream. Hero had stayed silent. 

The human part of Hero wants him to run and hide or pick up the knife and prepare to go down fighting. Hero keeps himself still and straight. He is the consigliere of the most powerful crime syndicate in the world. His wife is Don Migliore, a legend. Tommy Barone was nothing. He would not be what made Hero break. If he was going to die, he would die, but he wouldn’t be turned into a puppet for Barone to use against his family. The door opposite the one he came in opened, and in walked the Hedonist. 

Tommy Barone was every stereotypical mobster- his greasy hair and his rotund belly. He hid himself under fancy shirts and fingers fat with rings, but Hero had known him most of his life. Hedonist was a slimeball who liked to pretend himself into being a capo. Hero hated that there was fear inside of him from this man, this pig of a man. 

“Well well. You shine like a jewel. I dare say you didn’t even look this nice at your wedding Henry!” Hedonist taunted, the words forever branded into Hero’s mind. He would remember the exact words said to him that night for the rest of his days. Hero loathed being called Henry. Only his mother had ever gotten away with it, but that didn’t matter to Barone. Hero shot a harsh glare towards Barone but kept his mouth shut. 

“Still not talking? And after all the trouble I went through to get you that suit.” Barone stepped further into the room and waddled his way over to the bar. He grabbed a crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of amber, continuing to speak, “I have a little jewel myself- my own personal seamstress. Of course she lives in the old country, she would never want to leave, but I pay her well to be available whenever I need her. She handcrafts everything I wear. Isn’t her work magnificent?”

Hedonist turned from the bar and began to walk to the lounging area. He took a second to do a slow spin, turning to Hero with an expectant look. Hero bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth. A beat passed and Hedonist sighed, coming to sit on the couch directly opposite Hero. 

“I’m fine with continuing to talk if you don’t want to, Henry. You were always a bit quieter though. Your brother, what a chatterbox!” Hero couldn’t help the slight jump in his shoulders when Hedonist mentioned Kel. Barone noticed this and jumped on it, continuing to ramble like the pathetic old man he was, “Even when you two were little you were always teaching him when to be quiet. You should hear him on the phone when your little wifey is arranging your safe return to her. I offered to send them a little piece of you when she tried to say I didn’t have you. Ha I think they had to drag him kicking and screaming from the room,” 

Hero was going to kill him. Hero was going to fucking kill him. Barone had been a part of his father’s business, had watched him and Kel both grow up. Tommy Barone was one of his father’s bannermen, a staple of their organization, but Hero had never liked him. When Mari had taken over she and Hero had cleaned house. Hedonist had been one of the first to go, his methods too messy, his tastes too extravagant. Barone had always lived up to his nickname, and Mari hadn’t wanted to deal with his exorbitant costs. Hero didn’t see it as a waste, and now he knew it wasn’t. 

Barone took a long slow sip of his drink, appraising Hero who continued to stare him down. Hedonist was forced to look away first, and his congenial attitude quickly soured, small blue eyes blown wide in fury.

“You should blame her for this, you know. Your precious Mari. Your family used to be powerful, one of the greats.” Barone sneered, downing the drink and slamming the glass down next to the knife. Hero jumped, his hands trying to pull away from one another. When had he been bound? Weren’t they free only a minute ago? 

Hero looked down at the rope rubbing angry red bracelets onto his wrists. Barone was still going on, but Hero was able to ignore it in favor of looking down and trying to remember how he got this way. He had been forced to listen to Barone’s drabble on an endless loop for the three weeks since he had been taken from outside the Bakery. Hero couldn’t remember anything from before he got in this room, but he knew it had happened. He knew he had been taken, he knew what Tommy had done to him, but it all felt murky. The details existed, but they held no meaning. Barone, clearly done with being ignored, leaned up and grasped Hero’s shoulder, pulling him roughly forward. 

“Now look at you, heir to nothing but being a bitch for some uppity woman who calls herself a Don.” Hedonist leered. Hero shook the man’s hands off of him, leaning back as far as he could. There were a thousand and one things right on the edge of his tongue, but he held himself back. He had gotten this far, he just had to keep playing the game. 

Barone laughed at the boy’s fire, a twisted noise that Hero had always loathed. He had heard it more than he ever wanted in the last few weeks, as Tommy took his pleasure from doing everything he could to get him to buckle. Barone stood, walking towards the door Hero had come in. 

“I hope I do get to hear you scream eventually, Henry. Maybe when Mari gets here,” Hero couldn’t help his quiet gasp. His heart beat a thunderous pattern, sick both with longing and fear. His girl couldn’t come here, not near this monster. Not for him. Hedonist saw that he had gotten a crack, and he chuckled again, “She’s coming herself to get you tonight. Mistress was finally willing to pay the price for her lost puppy back. I told her to come alone, but I’m sure she won’t. I’ll get the satisfaction of wiping your whole miserable family off the planet. At least the last time she sees you, you’ll look perfect. Aside from a few bumps and bruises.”

Barone locked the door, and Hero’s head spun. Mari was coming for him. He knew she had been looking for him, he knew that they had sent her pictures of the damage they had done, humiliating photos that Hero hoped Mari had destroyed before anyone else saw. He knew Mari would eventually come, but now that the reality was at his doorstep, Hero felt his control beginning to slip. Hedonist turned back around and with slow sloping steps began to get closer. Hero was never more aware of the knife in the room, the same knife that had given him the injuries that were still healing all over his body. They pulsed with a familiar wave of pain, and Hero tried to define the exact moment he had gotten so hurt. He didn’t understand, he hadn’t been hurt before. But he had? This was a dream. This wasn’t real. Why did it feel so real?  Hedonist was speaking again.

“The silent treatment is getting boring kiddo, and you know what I’m like when I’m bored.” Hero knew. Hero knew all too well. He had the evidence written into his skin. Hero kept his mouth shut. Mari would be here soon. Mari would make everything okay. Mari would make sure that Tommy begged for mercy, and then she would deny him. 

“Just a few more minutes… actually, I think I’ll kill you now. I was going to kill Mari first, just to get you to finally do something, but it would be more fun to throw your corpse down in front of her and see her lose it.” Barone’s face contorted in glee at the thought, and Hero’s stomach bottomed out. A few more minutes. Mari was coming. Mari would be here soon. 

“You’re the reason she killed her daddy after all. So...maybe all of this is your fault then.” No that wasn’t their fault. That wasn’t Hero’s fault. That was Mari’s father. Mari’s father had made his choices, and forced their hand. Mari had killed him to protect Sunny, to save their families. It hadn’t just been for Hero. It couldn’t have been just for Hero. He couldn’t have been the reason behind everything. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. Barone twisted the knife in his hands, throwing his final punch to Hero’s mind, “You’re the reason your family is nothing. You’re the reason your mother is dead.” 

Hero breath began to quicken, and Hedonist jerked him up by an arm, pressing the knife tip against his throat, tracing it almost lovingly against his pulse point. Hero was nearly hyperventilating, his eyes up, staring at the chandelier shaking. Was it the chandelier? It looked fuzzy. Maybe it wasn’t a chandelier at all. This was a dream? Why were his palms sweating? Why was he so terrified? If it wasn’t real, it wouldn’t be like this. He would wake up. 

Please wake up. Please wake up.

“Any last words? Anything to say?” Even if Hero had any, he wouldn’t be able to speak. His mouth was a desert, his throat closed tight. There was no air. This wasn’t a dream. He was going to die. He was only eighteen, and he was about to have his throat slit by an ex-mobster in a parlor. They were using him to get to his wife. Hedonist was going to hurt his Mari. “How disappointing,” 

A series of gunshots tore through the air, throwing them both out of synch. Hero took the two seconds that afforded him. He slammed his bound hands into the side of Tommy Barone’s head, taking all of the rage he had been storing up in the last 24 days and unleashing it. Barone stumbled back and Hero surged forward. He grabbed the blade end of the knife, wincing in pain as it cut into his palms. Hedonist’s grip was loose from disorientation, and that was enough for Hero to wrench it away, spin it around, and thrust it deep into Tommy Barone’s stomach. 

All sound cut out. A high pitched whine was shrieking in his ears. The knife handle was sticky in his grip from the blood. 

Tommy looked at him, confused as a lost child. Hero ripped the knife out of the other man’s gut and buried it in the side of his throat, joined hands holding fast to the black plastic handle. Hot blood sticky and disgusting sprayed out, staining Hero with it. The fabulous suit that Tommy had commissioned was destroyed, ripped from their scuffle and forever marked with red. 

Hero pulled the knife out with a horrific squelching noise, and Tommy fell back. His pale fingers went up to his throat, trying to stem the bleeding. Sound cut back in, there were people yelling and shouting outside. Someone was banging on the door. Hero took two stumbling steps towards it, then paused. 

He was panting from exertion, the feeling of the suit and the blood curdling in his stomach, but he wasn’t done. Not yet. Not after what Barone had done to him. 

Hero turned back. Tommy was a lost cause, panic racing across his features as mortality flew towards him. Hero felt a cruel smile settling on his features, so unlike anything he had ever done before. His face felt like wax, molded and shaped by some unknown force. He practically slid over to where the dying Hedonist lay, tilting his head and staring down at the monster turned human. He stepped over the older man so one foot was on each side of him. 

“You’re going to kill my wife?” Hero’s voice was shredded after so many days of keeping from speaking, but he kept going. He doesn’t recognize his own voice, “Kill my family? You want to hear me scream?” 

Hero turned the knife so the point was directly above Barone’s heart. The man was making a horrific wheezing noise, and the stench of death hung in the air. Someone was rhythmically pounding against the door, clearly trying to break it. Hero ignored them. He had a job to do. He had to protect them from this monster. He had to do what had to be done 

Hero fell to his knees, drove the knife deep into Barone’s chest, opened his mouth, and screamed. 

Hero wakes up still screaming, the iron taste of Hedonist’s blood heavy on his tongue. He thrusts himself into a sitting position, pitching forward and letting his head smack down onto the mattress. A broken howl of agony heaved from his chest, and he continued to wail. His joined hands were pressed up against his chest, no longer bound to one another but stuck in the position all the same.  Hero’s voice gives out on the fourth cry, and Mari’s hands are cool on his back as she runs her fingers along his spine and hushes him. She is speaking to him in soft whispers. He can’t hear her words, but the smell of her shampoo is strong in his nose. She is here. She is safe. 

Hedonist is dead, his body burnt and ashes scattered in a dump. Hero is not bound, his injuries long scarred over. The horrible suit was destroyed. It was a dream. He was safe. He had saved his family. He had done what he had to, and it had broken him, but he had protected them. 

Hero continues to cry out silently until the sun rises pale in the sky.

[cadykeus-clay]

Would you mind sharing your thoughts about vex and Beau being cross campaign foils?

so!!!! first things first: apologies for taking weeks to answer this, finals + having adhd sometimes makes my brain turn to mush and forget every ask ive ever recieved. second of all, i’m assuming you sent me this bc of what i said in my vm vs. m9 how they view the world meta. and i’ll be real with you. i have exactly 0 memory of what was going through my head when i wrote that line, so i am simply going to type out a bunch of thoughts that i have on the similarities and differences between beau and vex and i hope that lives up to what you were expecting jsdflksjdksld

I'll detail some specifics in a moment, but overall, I think beau and vex share a very similar kind of trauma of exclusion in their formative years, that's caused them to have a lot of similar traits that manifest in different ways - for vex, she maintains control through her material posessions and beau finds an emotional control in her asshole-ness. I've broken this down into 5 points on which I think comparing the two really emphasizes that claim:

1. daddy issues: both beau and vex have awful no good terrible very bad dads. both syldor and thoreau can suck my ass. they both raised their kids with little love and impossible-to-meet expectations, alientating them and leaving them with lifelong feelings of inferiority and unbelonging. If beau and vex were to meet, i think they would have a very friendly toast to shitty dads, and then have a good drunk vent about it an hour later.

but, at the same time, the actual minutae of their trauma and the ways it manifests are nearly polar opposites. syldor wanted nothing to do with vex, or else wanted her to somehow become a full elf. her issue was that she would never be able to belong, despite her desire to, and as she grew up it lead to her being overly protective and even possessive of the people she found who DID accept her as she was. 

With beau, rather than exclusion, her father created an environment of toxic inclusion. He created a role for beau to belong in, disregarding her distate for actually fulfilling it. And, as such, she ended up making herself into someone who could have no expectations and pushed away anyone who tried to set them up for her. In the end, they both came to love themselves by abandoning the woman their father wanted them to be but for vex it was the laying down of an impossible dream and for beau it was the picking up of a mantle she had feared to wear.

2. brothers: now, on the topic of family, I also think its really interesting how their interactions with their brothers play out. We've got vex and vax, tied at the hip til the very end and then some; and then we've got beau and TJ - decades apart and with beau barely acknolwedging TJ's existence. But, even that distance between beau and TJ didn't stop her caring for him when they actually met. She gave him lucky Jade, and she entertained the idea of kidnapping him to get him away from her stinko dad. 

And I'd espeically like to talk about what she said outside the hag's hut - "I think Luc and TJ could be best friends", in comparison to the way Vex reacted when Vax told her was going to Zephrah with Keyleth for the year break. There's an aspect to the way they interact with their brothers that lets them slip back into those bad habits they formed growing up (NOT that i'm claiming vex and vax were like toxic for each other. but even good relationships can have unhealthy moments). 

With Beau, when she offers to give her happiness so TJ can grow up safe, she's trying to take on the role she's ""supposed"" to fill - the big sister, the protector - because she failed to fill the one her father set out. And with Vex, when she grows jealous of Vax, it's because she's afraid that his leaving with keyleth is a sign that she no longer belongs in his inner circle, and she falls back on that childish, desperate desire to do anything to be accepted unconditionally. 

3. romance: spoilers for 5 or so most recent m9 eps (115-120)  if you haven't watched them ahead!!!! at this point, both vex and beau have an endgame romance - percy and yasha respectively. Obviously as the m9's campaign is still playing out, that could change, but like. yasha wrote her a love letter and they're officially going on a date so i'm counting that as at least endgame-track rather than just random flirting. What's interesting to me is that they both seem to flip between the SAME roles between their (in-game) general perception and their actual pursual of romance. 

Vex gets characterized as a pretty big flirt, right? She's got the winks, the casual "darling". She's flashed grog her boobs on multiple instances with little prompting. Beau, similarly, has easily the most game out of anyone in the m9. She's slept with two guest characters and at least one more npc in the events of the game. Caleb made her a fuck mirror in her room in the mansion. And yet, in both of their actual romantic endeavors, they became the shy, uncertain type. 

Vex only confessed her feelings when Percy was laying dead before her, and not an hour of game play before percy kissed her in the woods, she had a talk with vax about how she was pretty sure he didn't like her that way and she didn't want to pursue it. Beau, similarly, spent a very long time convinced that yasha wasn't looking for love after zuala, especially not in anyone like her, asked everyone in the party if they thought yasha ACTUALLY liked her, just to be safe, and then still terrified to ask her out after recieving a literal love letter. I'd argue this shift comes from that same sense of unbelonging - they're very good at pretending they fit a role but doubt their actual right to take it when the opportunity is presented. This time, the role is the lover rather than the daughter.

4. authority: Both vex and beau grew up shunned by the upper crust of society, and grew to mistrust those kinds of people. And yet, both of their arcs result in them assuming such a position. Vex, thrown out of high society gets her place as a baronness, and Beau, running from leadership of her father's business ends up a top member of the Cobalt Soul. There's not a lot here, but I find it interesting how both of their stories involve them shedding their baggage regarding authority and power and assuming it in a way that they feel comfortable in - invitation by someone she trusts for vex, and a promise of freedom of will and control for beau.

5. their deadliest sins: this is the point at which their similarities culminate and transform to a fundamental difference. despite everything they share - shitty childhoods, the small piece of family that's still good, flirtiness masking shy love, and a mistrust of those in power - vex and beau are such different characters because of their biggest vices. Vex, both in game and out, is "the greedy one". She's stingy with money, she haggles for everything, she mourns the loss of physical objects. Beau is "the mean one". She cares little for people's feelings if they're not in her immediate circle, she focuses on her tough guy image, she laughs at things she knows she shouldn't. 

And, over the course of the campaign, as they find unconditional acceptance, they grow away from these traits (I won't say they grow out of them) because they heal from the things causing these vices to begin with. I've always been vocal about vex's greed being a manifestation of her class insecurity, and beau's asshole-ness stemming from her fear of being forced back into another position of complacency. And I stand by that now - all the similarities in their backstories are what tally up to these different women.

Despite her careful tally of party funds and her reflexive bargaining, vex is not cruel. she is not angry on her own behalf. She saves two boys from the market in the city of brass at great personal cost, she relinquishes an entire dragon's hoard to the devastated city of Westruun, she took the time to save a baby bear from a cage when she could have just cut and run after escaping her own. She's the first one most people go to when they need a shoulder to cry on, and she's devastated when they don't (thinkin about when Scanlan left). She carved "forgiveness" into the bow she stole from a man after killing him by proclaiming how much she loved someone, because she knew anger had no place in her heart.

And Beau, Beau is a bitch and she's harsh, but she doesn't hoard or protect like vex did. she spends her money without much of a second thought. She pitches in to help her friends buy a ton of glowsticks, and she loves to indulge in material desires like drink and good food and the nicer inn room. She's a member of an organization that's about making knowledge public rather than guarding it. And, though this may be controversial, I think her position with bowlgate of "its not our problem what cali wants to do with it", her long-standing mistrust of their alliance with the bright queen and  and more recently with the tomb takers of "i want to go in and talk, rather than assuming they're antagonistic, even if it puts us at a disadvantage" are both examples of this non-possessiveness too - she has no need or desire to get involved in controlling what other people are doing.

so, i guess the general conclusion here is: vex struggles to let go of things, of money, of people. beau struggles to let herself be known in case she gets wrongly interpreted again. they both fight feelings of inadequacy, they both fight the feelings of not belonging, of 'doing it wrong', they fight the perception of them as shitty people because of the shells they hide in despite their absolute hearts of gold.  but at the end of the day, vex's story is one of having to lay down what could never be hers so she can carry what is, and beau's story is one of allowing herself to be known so a place can be made for her.

[tysondobbs]

43 GLENDALE ROAD, LAKEWOOD DRIVE NILES, IL house tour

This 2-bedroom, 1 bath has certainly seen better days and better nights, built in the 70′s and only renovated once since, in the 1990′s. Pretty much most of its amenities are in disuse or disrepair, its two current renting tenants are not exactly willing to fix shit because the landlord says, quote, “fix it yourself, I’m not bothered.” But the rent is decent if not downright cheap, and that’s the main draw of this place. Tyson’s lived here for the past 3 years and seen all manner of roommates come and go. 

BEDROOM. 

      Tyson tries to keep his bedroom to a certain clean standard, but more often than not you’ll find clothes strewn on the floor, bottles and empty glasses by his nightstand, a similar disarray in the closet, and most things in the room just being one step short of a ‘damn bitch you live like this’. The bed is a relatively new compared to the rest of the place, brand new when he bought it 2 years ago since the old one had been here since before he arrived (and creaked louder than all the combined past lives of the people have lived in this place). It drove his roommate back then insane, so a deal was made to toss the goddamn thing and go half-and-half on a new frame and mattress. 

      His work desk, where he sketches out shit for clients on some nights when doing it in front of the TV is too distracting, is in similar disarray, covered in crumpled up papers, ink, and leftover crumbs of weed and tobacco. 

      There’s little in the way of decor in the room besides a scarily lifelike model of Audrey 2 on a stand (that has freaked out more than one girl he’s had over). He has a Philips livingcolors lamp that can throw the room into any array of colors and moods (and set the mood...if u know what i mean). There’s also a Misfits poster to the left of the bed (he’s seen them live three times, in 2019, 2016, and once with his dad in 1998), and a Pharcyde poster to the right of it. Various other posters and flyers are littered around the room, for Riot Fest and the like. 

      His prized possession is a signed Weezer guitar that he won in a high stakes poker game in Vegas when he was 22. He keeps it in a case in his closet.

KITCHEN. 

      Given that Mitch works at a chicken joint and both he and Tyson are too fond of delivery apps in between that, the kitchen rarely gets action. And yet, piles of dirty dishes will still pile up on the weekly. Good thing they decided to be responsible between them and ask for a maid to come in bi-weekly to clean the place, or it would be a living biohazard by now. The microwave definitely sees more action than the oven, as neither of the boys cook. 

LIVING ROOM. 

      The living room is, surprisingly, the nicest feature of the house, with a coffee table that got an upgrade a year ago after their last one was left smashed to pieces during a house party gone wrong. There’s a decent sized flatscreen, and a PS4 that Mitch and Tyson lock up in a safe when they both leave the house, on account of all the break-ins. They’re known to spend most of their time here, and the living room reflects that, with all manner of weed and drug paraphernalia and takeout boxes usually strewn about the place. The couch and 2-piece armchairs that accompany it are cozy, if a little dirty, and all in all it’s not a terrible place to hang. 

YARD. 

      The yard gets occasional use when smoking indoors loses its charm. A hoop (no net) hangs on the garage wall, and opposite that three plastic stackable chairs round out a glass table (don’t sit on the orange one, it’ll collapse). There’s a rusted bike here for no reason, along with a DIY dog house in the far left corner. Tyson built it for when Pam doesn’t feel like sleeping inside. There’s a big ass Elm tree in the yard, next to which lies a black tire, attempts to make a tire swing happen that never happened. Some nights, you’ll find Tyson sitting under the tree, smoking, looking up at the stars.

OTHER RESIDENTS. 

     Tyson’s dog, a stray called Pam, and Tyson’s roommate, another stray called Mitch, round out the household. Pam is a lifelong stray and comes and goes in the house as she pleases through a flap in the back of the kitchen. Catch her wandering around Lakewood Drive looking like some kind of bad omen. Mitch is 25, Illinois born and raised, and works at a Raising Cane’s. He worked at a Wendy’s prior to that but he called one of his coworkers a ‘stinking fucking bitch’ and got fired. He’s mostly chill, except for when certain strains of weed make him go really paranoid and he thinks Tyson is an English baron from the 16th century sent to Niles to murder him. 

[avengersaremyforte]

When a dumb bitch thinks she can write a thesis. That's your posts. Move on to your next shallow obsession, you clearly don't even like hockey that much and your presence here is tiresome.

First of all I’m not a dumb bitch

I’m that bitch

So I’m gonna need to you to address me as so. Second of all You’re clearly right anon. Hockey is only a shallow obsession for me and I don’t even like it that much. Clearly me going to all the Blazer games here since I was three until they no longer existed means I don’t like hockey that much. But since you probably love hockey you already know who they are right? Oh and then I went to every single Barons game until they no longer existed, once again you probably already know who they are.

And also I clearly don’t even like the Stars when I drive almost three hours to go see a game. Not to mention the four games that I’ve flown to just to watch them. Or to even mention how I’m planing on buying season tickets and planing on driving to every Home game. Where not even going to get started on how I plan on going to all 82 games at one point.

But anyways anon you’re right 25 years of watching hockey means I don’t like it. Oh god don’t even mention that time I played hockey for three years with my coaches, three times Stanley Cup winner, Mike McEwen and current hockey player Matt Donovan. Clearly learning to play hockey with only boys, who were rightly told not to hold back on me just because I was a girl, in a state that only has four ice rinks state wide means I only have a shallow obsession for this sport.

Now here’s the part you really need to read, remember how I said I was THAT BITCH

My presence here isn’t tiresome, this hellish website is tiresome. I’ve been on here for 8 years, so you really think you’re weak ass attempt at anon hate could hurt my feeling. Please you’re pathetic and clearly you need to get a fucking life. You’re just a salty butt hurt rat licker who’s crying man tears because I said players health and safety is more important than a stupid trophy. So let me said again

NO TROPHY IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR HEALTY

Now that that is out of the way, all of your responses (weak ass hate) on anon will be ignored. You wanna have an actual conversation or what you probably think is an argument

Come off anon and face me like a women, rat licker. I’m not scared of your small dick energy.

[cruddyborderlandstheories]

Debuff Zane Build

i am tired of not seeing this build in all the zane build videos i watch so im sharing it here because its stupid fun bc u run fast and kill faster. it’s not meta, but its fun as fuck and u have a lot of damage and survivability with it. I’ve completed M4 Slaughter Shaft with it- haven’t tried on M10 yet but i have faith. p.s its 4 am pls have mercy if there’s spelling mistakes.

what ur gonna need is a band of sitorak, zheitseiv’s eruption, a seein’ dead, and the piss grenade. everything else is fair game, whatever u want. try to get it to have the sntl cryo anoint bc good. but u must have the 4 main items for this to work perfectly (it also somewhat works with a low level Frozen Heart bc best shield in the game but you will die a lot more)

also i need a fucking name for this build help

oh god oh fuck i forgot i was playing through the handsome jackpot dlc again

oki im ready to party

this is my current loadout

sometimes i switch the reg Q-System for a kaoson or a nighthawkin if i need ammo (OP QSystem is... OP but not as fun as a tracking grenade QSystem so i don’t care for it) and maybe the brainstormer for a reflux if many shielded enemies (i prefer the brainstormer over the reflux atm. so try for a brainstormer!!)

3rd slot, that’s a monarch which used to be a dictator b4 it got a straight upgrade. I actually don’t use the bipod unless im in a boss fight and don’t need to move fast. usually violent momentum and violent violence cover the dps loss

ur first 3 gun slots honestly don’t matter much. I have my reasons for using them, but you can use whatever u want i think, so long as its a strong weapon (bc unfortunately a lot of weapons are not scaled for m10). u dont HAVE to use the monarch or the Q system or the brainstormer. I recommend them, cuz theyre fun, but u don’t gotta if u wanna swap em out for a a kaoson or a yellowcake or a sandhawk or smth

the last gun is my zheitsev’s eruption. This bad boy, when u reload, shoots out homing balls of debuffery. So every enemy that gets hit with these gets a debuff. I have tried this with the needler but I prefer Zheitsev’s bc it can hit more enemies and once and takes less time. this gun only goes to Blane (ur clone). 

for the skill trees we have no points in under cover even tho brainfreeze is the best skill in the gaaaaame

explanations: 

really the hitman tree is p self explanatory, u wanna go fast as fuck boiii. My band of sitorak does not have the +15 movespeed while zoomer is active anoint (it has the break shield amp anoint, which is p okay. want movespeed, but a nice human from the reddit gave me this sitorak so i didn’t have to farm). u want drone delivery bc Blane will NOT be throwing grenades. If you try to make him throw grenades with the seein’ dead he will ONLY throw grenades and never fire his gun, meaning he’ll never reload. it’s a nightmare. anyway. u want the piss grenade (ideally with the +25% damage on thrown anoint). im not looking forward to regrinding this when they finally mayhem buff grenades.

we put one point into playing dirty because we want those extra shots and honestly with the amount of times seein’ dead can proc ur kill skills you’ll have it more often than not

we also have points in good misfortune for that sweet sweet uptime (which btw can be infinite using the brainstormer/reflux bc it is essentially a redistributor without the need for ur barrier) the monarch/dictator also does it justice

for Blane u DON’T WANT praemuntis. we want blane reloading as often as gotdamn possible. now unfortunately my seein’ dead gave me a +weapon mag size roll (im actually not sure if this affects blane, but im assuming it does) but it does have the amazing +5 donnybrook so I’m taking it anyway. I am so not looking forward to regrinding a good class mod when they finally release action skill buffs for them. i cri. i actually hear 3 points in donnybrook and 2 in violent violence is p good (or 1 in violent violence 1 in playin dirty) so maybe grinding won’t be so bad. maybe i’ll finally get a +weapon damage roll

u can grab 1 point in ducttape mod and put 4 points into borrowed time if you want. it doesn’t really matter. i current have 5 in borrowed time and 3 in pocket full of grenades (for some reason??? usually i only put 2 in.). U can do that and use those extra points for either ducttape mod or more points in playing dirty. 

u NEED quick breather. This skill has a STUPID interaction with the band of sitorak shield because of how quickly it recharges. I’m talking, the instant you swap with Blane, you have full shields and so does he. It’s dumb, I love it. Use it to get out of trouble.

so im probably gonna need to explain why i have 3 points in trick of the light: im a cryo slut. That’s it. put those wherever you want, just make sure you can get Double Barrel. i’ve seen builds where people actually go for brainfreeze, i might try that next time i respec.

Double barrel will make it so blane can use the zheitsev’s eruption and debuff your enemies for you. it’s worth it.

so the augments u want are these:

SCHADENFREUDE. because band of sitorak has such a tiny capacity, ur shield is constantly up. If its not, it’s constantly breaking from full capacity. this does have a fun effect with the amp shield break anoint, but mainly i like it for the 25% damage buff whenever it breaks. its a tradeoff for damage, ur constantly swapping between max shields and more damage, so its actually p constant survivability and damage over the long run.

i grab doppelbanger bc blane sometimes gets stuck in the floor and/or i don’t feel like running all the way back. i wouldn’t recommend getting which one’s real or digital distribution only bc u want him alive as much as possible. u can also get binary system instead of doppelbanger, its up to you

for Zoomer u want bad dose for the movement speed and (sometimes) static field (only if the enemies have shields). this is so if blane goes down or he isn’t taking damage, zoomer can refill ur shields. if the enemies won’t have shields usually i grab winter’s drone or boomsday depending on how i feel.

im actually gonna try to see if i can’t grab brain freeze. hang on. i know trick of the light is frowned upon for most people so lemme just respec. (im sorry i just love the vibes it gives me it’s like HAHA you thought that was me? no!!! boop. and then they’re ice sculptures and man i love h2o i wish emma had frozen more people the only people she really freezes are Greg and Miriam and honestly she doesn’t even kill Greg smh. (Greg is dr denman’s assistant. greg is highkey god.) I do like what she did to Mirami, the fucking implications that YES these teenage girls ARE powerful enough to instakill people, they just don’t out of the kindness of their hearts. Rikki was badass that episode too. actually i love the episode where rikki almost boils a dude alive for making a fool of her with ILLEGAL F I S H and burns people using steam from a pipe. rikki is my favorite mermaid- she knew what was u p. I wish mako mermaids was as badass as h2o was. and the cartoon. god imagine the cartoon violence. sigh. let them use their op superpowers to be SUPERHEROES. like in h2o au i have baron flynt puppeteer people to their deaths from Thor bc he has cleo’s powers like why couldn’t she do that to someone. Like dr denman “lmao bye bitch” or even charlotte (who imho wasn’t bad until cleo started being rude to her. cleo was 100% at fault that season). it wouldn’t have killed her!!! ... instantly. probably. ive never seen avatar in full but i did watch the blood bending episode as a child and as i understand it that’s frowned upon but hey. CAN BELLA TURN PEOPLE INTO JELLY?? harry potter 🅱oneless arms... my god.)

anyway, respeccing. 

there goes all my money. rip.

so i think im gonna have to live with the slower reload speed (sob) but yes u can in fact get brain freeze with this build. lemme show...

so ye in the event u just can’t live without freezing people (i know the feeling) feel free to do this. imma play with this for a bit and see if i can live with slower reload. I actually depend on the 100% cryo with zoomer active for all my cryo damage. i also use an ice breaker so they freeze fairly easy (but only on mobs. on bosses u want the snowdrift or something else)

this build isn’t really meta and u might have trouble doing a solo run of true takedown on m10... bc its true takedown on m10, but honestly it’s fun as F U C K. you CAN do it, but it’s not no thoughts head empty like barrier-redistrubutor/yellowcake zane can be so u gotta be on TOP of ur SHIT. i love it. running around killing stuff. it’s fun. i also love teleporting. it’s my FAVORITE THING. I STILL GET GIDDY OVER IT BECAUSE IT’S SO FUN. ask my friends, they will tell you, sometimes i’ll just start gushing over how much fun it is to teleport even though i’ve played zane since release. just. GFDGHKJGDFK so much fun. i just... b o o p. god i love this game. i took a break to play assassin’s creed odyssey (fun sneaky beaky game, pretty awful dialogue) so DAMN i missed this. 

here’s a link to a video I took on athenas (my favorite area to run. it’s this game’s bloodshot stronghold!) this is the playlist i listen to while playing Zane. i keep swapping songs during play bc sometimes they don’t fit my vibe or i get tired of them lol (spotify control is hooked to my 4th and 5th mouse buttons so i don’t have to stop playing) i forgot where my shock sandhawk was in my inventory, is what i use to demolish traunt. i was so scared i threw it in my bank earlier on sanc-iii lol (also yes i still slap blane’s ass. it’s to encourage him to kill)

and here’s a link to the save + everything I had on me at the moment (including the stuff i picked up in the vid in case u want it lol) cuz im lazy and don’t feel like clearing out my inventory. some of these are only m4-9. which ones? it is a mystery. you’ll know when the new update releases ;) (no but actually im so hype for mayhem level on the item cards. finally. FINALLY!!!)

why is this video taking so long to upload. hynnnggggg

oh god is that the sun

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Broken Edges- Part 6

I’M BACKK 😘🥳

The wait is over and Part 7 will be posted tomorrow afternoon! (I can GUARANTEE a fight..or two.) Feedback is always appreciated. As always, I hope y’all enjoy the next chapter. Let me know if you’d like to added to the tag list! 

Steve Rogers x Reader/Bruce Banner x Reader/Frank Castle x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k 

Warnings: language, general angsty angst, fluffy Bruce 

Catch up HERE

********************************************

        (The Next Morning)

Stirring from an inherent sleep, Y/N sensed a firm hardness pressed against her right cheek. She continued to further nuzzle herself deeper into its solemn comfort, calmness overtaking her sanity. Time seemed to transpire differently when locked in a technological jail cell. Her left leg was partially thrown over Frank’s as they lay entangled in one another as if they were any ordinary couple waking up on a late Saturday morning. 

Her lids remained darkened as a small moan escaped her lips accompanied by a tender stretch of her achy bones. Frank instinctively pulled her closer reluctant to let go. He couldn’t help but think he would definitely die a happy man if he got to hear that cute noise every damn day. His hand lightly gripped her chin tilting it upwards as they found each other. Fleeting, momentary peace.

Their noses on the cusp of brushing, their slightly chapped lips just mere inches away, Frank’s breath tickled a trail along her skin.  It was a transcendent moment for the pair as they internally debated on who would dare make the first move. Y/N’s gaze traveled towards his lips as she unknowingly licked hers wandering what he tasted like. Would it be a searing kiss made out of desperation or a slow lustful kiss to savor? Whichever one it was, Y/N couldn’t deny she craved his touch.

He cupped her jaw moving closer to his targeted destination. It was then she felt a fire spread in her belly causing her heart to ramp up speed. After seconds of contemplation, Frank leaned the rest of the way in delivering an earth-shattering kiss upon Y/N’s forgiving lips. Her hands perched at the base of his neck slightly tugging at the thick black hair that had grown out over the past couple months. He moaned in response deepening their kiss as Frank situated himself on top of Y/N, pushing his hips against hers, creating a delightful electricity between them. Now this is something Y/N could get used to.

Y/N wanted more, desired to be closer to Frank. Frank made her feel alive, like she wasn’t the broken woman Steve forced her to be. He pushed her to be her own true character, igniting the spirit Steve only wanted to extinguish. It felt brilliantly powerful to be noticed and appreciated, and Y/N was addicted. Without thinking, Y/N wrapped her legs around Frank’s hips pulling him in like a second layer of skin. God, this man drove her wild. But somewhere deeply enrooted in Y/N was cause for concern. 

She pushed the lingering thought as far away as humanly possible not wanting to think about him during her time with Frank. There was only one other man in their universe that made her feel complete, acknowledged, and understood; Bruce Banner. But she never got the courage to tell him instead burying her feelings in a secluded spot locked securely away. 

But that was a story for another day. She wasn’t sure what the future held for her at this point. What she did know was that she needed to make the best of what she was given; Frank. So, Y/N squeezed her eyes tighter hoping to shake any thought of Bruce away, unwilling to let it encroach on this exact moment, but that was always easier said than done.

Y/N pulled away from his kiss finding Frank’s predatory glance. The military forced him to be a man of control but around her he found it next to impossible to resist the brazen woman he’d grown to care for. With their husky pants intermingled; Frank risked to speak first.

“Tell me to stop and I will. But—you have to do it. I can’t think clearly with you sometimes.”

Before her mind even had a chance to form a coherent thought, her lips were responding; “Don’t, I want this. I want you, Castle.”

“Thank fucking God.”

She pulled him down again reigniting their enthusiasm, unable to wipe the smile that appeared during their kiss. But reality creepily slipped back into her conscious just as an alarm blared through the tiny space; its echo uncomfortably surrounded them thickening the available air. Frank shot up first putting a protective arm over Y/N as her fingers gripped his forearm in return. This was new.

A sudden buzz notified them that the door had been unlocked as an unseen figure stalked closer inwards. Y/N heard the peculiar tone before actually seeing him. His heavy German accent mingled with his well-spoken English. Who was this guy?

“So happy to finally meet your acquaintance Ms. Y/N. I’ve heard wonderful things about you. My father spoke very highly of you. My sincerest greetings.”

Another maniac with an accent. Awesome.

Frank’s eyes bounced between Y/N and the dangerous man who just made his grand entrance. A look of apprehension betrayed his brown orbs.

“Uh, hate to break up the compulsive obsession but who the hell are ya?”

“My name is Helmut Zemo. My father, Baron was the sole creator of everything that we now stand for. Don’t you think he’d quite proud, hmm?”

Zemo actually had the audacity to bow as if she were royalty. She was certainly no queen especially to such an anarchist bunch of crazies, but she had no other choice than to intently listen to the stranger in front of them. After all, they were Hydra’s current lab rats searching for an impossible end to their demented game.

“God, you really are a cocky son of a bitch.”

A shrewd smirk slithered across his lips; “Tsk tsk, Mr. Castle. They weren’t wrong about your…spirit?”

Frank and Y/N hazardously got off the bed, Frank keeping a towering determined stance. How did she never notice how tall Frank was until now?  With Frank looming over her, she moved to his side mimicking his posture before speaking.

“What the fuck do you want with us, Zemo? Do enlighten us.”

He snickered unable to contain the laughter tickling his throat; “Oh my my, you really are a feisty girl. We have great plans for you…. for the both of you. I would like your compliance but it is by no means required. Vrstehst du?” (Do you understand?)

“ты мудак.” (You’re an asshole.)

Frank whipped his head in Y/N’s direction; “Wait, you speak…Russian?”

“I’ll fill you in later Castle.” She squeezed his hand hoping to relay any sort of comfort.

Zemo’s shrewd voice reverberated; “That’s not all she does Mr. Punisher. That’s barely the tip of said iceberg for our beautiful girl. You are in for a treat my friend.”

Frank’s New York accent shined through in his times of nervousness bringing him back to the brave boy roaming the crooked streets; “Let’s get one thing straight out of the gate. We are NOT amigos so don’t play coy with me dipshit. That ain’t no plan of ours. What the hell is your endgame?”

Zemo loved baiting people especially those within his control; with no route of escapement. He thrived off the fear accumulating under the surface of their skin, the tremble of their tone, but his favorite, oh his favorite was when he forced the light to leave their eyes all hope being abandoned. This will be fun he thought.

“You two seem to be getting along swimmingly. I’ve been reviewing your records and we seem to have contrived the perfect genetic match. A phenomenal super goddess and ex-Marine forced vigilante. The perfect sob story if you ask me.”

Frank surveyed his odds of bulldozing his way out of this hellhole but upon counting the bodies surrounding him immediately recognized he was outnumbered. He needed Y/N in a place where they could utilize her powers, but that didn’t seem very plausible.

“Genetic match? What the fuck are you talking about, Zemo?”

“You’ll realize soon enough All in good time.” Guiding his eagle eye towards the hidden camera, Zemo simply smiled. He started his trek towards the door leaving his patients bewildered behind him with his hands clasped behind his back, his spine straight, and shoulders pointed. Authority my ass.

“Initiate Phase 1.”

Once again, the door bolted shut locking Y/N and Frank back into their designated room without any sign of answer coming their way. With the glass barrier back between them panic caressed through the stagnant air. Reeling from the minimal information given to them, Y/N was stunned into temporary silence. Frank’s attention was on the woman in front of him; “Fuck, Y/N. Where the fucking hell are your Avenger friends?”

         (Avengers Tower)

If someone were to ask Bruce Banner his favorite spot on planet Earth, he would gladly pick his lab until the end of time. Beakers and test tubes couldn’t talk back. For once in his forsaken days, he got to be in control, fully in charge if only for the briefest of moments. Procedures and mechanisms released him of his anxiety, overall calming his heart rate from escalating to the point of disaster. 

The newspapers got it all wrong about his pent-up aggression towards mankind. They forgot he was human himself. Though some found it easier to treat him as a science experiment, others decided on kindness and friendship. Y/N was one the fortunate few that didn’t manage to piss him off. Given her cruel upbringing, Tony prepared the team for the worst possible outcome, a deranged mutant finally freed from her own hell.

He remembered the way her blonde hair caught the sunshine on a perfect spring day when he watched her lost within her latest read, her clear aqua blue eyes meeting his as an equal, and how he felt electricity run threw his joints the first time his skin briskly touched hers. Nothing but a greeting yet somehow, he knew she was going to be phenomenal. Y/N adjusted to the high-tech superhero gig faster than he expected learning compassion and self-care since becoming her own woman. She never bothered with romance, or her appearance….at least that’s what he convinced himself of. It began with long nights chatting until dawn, two friends passing time with more than enjoyable conversation.

The Stark library was her clandestine fascination, Y/N worshiped divulging into a book lost in articulate words seemingly drawing her further from her own twisted reality. It was effortless to be around her and Bruce was addicted to her quiet and comforting nature. Not many people brought ease upon him. The couch was their second escape as it became routine to sneak away, propping her feet atop his thighs, stopping her glasses from slipping down the bridge of her slender nose as he pretended to not get distracted by her graceful actions. 

Y/N had this habit of biting just the edge of her lip when a story truly piqued her interest, her limbs tightening with anticipation as she unknowingly squeezed his triceps unable to tear herself away from the worn pages.

Countless nights were spent hidden away from the troubles of their world. Some sleepless and others occupied by gentle naps. One in particular stuck out more than others…

          (Flashback)

13 days. 13 agonizing days since he last saw Y/N, hugged her, and simply conversed with someone similar to his own IQ. Nick Fury had selected Cap and Y/N for an undercover mission in Russia. Incognito as a loving husband and wife on their honeymoon while trying to confiscate (insert cool piece of tech). In the past couple of weeks, Banner felt her pulling away, getting a little more out of reach every time, and he loathed it. Little moments at first; less time in the library, nightly talks dwindling, but the worst part was the body language Y/N aimed at Steve. 

Sly smiles here and there, a touch of the palm when no one was supposed to be looking, and Roger’s stupidly irritating smile that made Y/N blush every time he looked her way. Bruce was an idiot, it was just easier to remain oblivious, unaware of the changing atmosphere at the Tower.

Steve and Y/N had just landed the quinjet as Friday notified Stark and Banner of their successful arrival. They were all giggles and soft whispers upon approaching the dock like they had a secret only they knew about. Bruce side-eyed the lovebirds through the glass not wanting to show his true colors or annoyance. It was then that Steve drew Y/N into his chest pressing a passionate kiss upon her lips before looking around, noticing the room bare of any witnesses, or so they thought. 

He saw the foolish smile and glimmering light shine from Y/N’s ocean eyes before huffing and heading towards his hideout. Bruce knew she wasn’t coming tonight. It seems Y/N would have other nightly plans he’d rather not think of or else the Hulk was sure to make a scene. 

So, he numbly headed towards the elevator before clicking the 5th floor button clueless to the doors slamming shut. Bruce instinctively opened the library door and settled into a chair across from the couch. He wouldn’t dare sit there. It held far too many memories of what-ifs, almosts, and could’ve beens. If only he had the balls to tell her how he truly felt. Oh well.

It was half past twelve when Bruce was deterred by the low chime of the door informing him someone else had entered the room. Odd, he supposed. He thought he would get his sanctuary for another blissful night. As he gawked at the unknown presence, he immediately noticed who the intruder was; Y/N. His book snapped shut forgetting about marking his page as his feet found footing on the plush carpet. She hadn’t seen him yet. The door shut behind Y/N as her back rested against the wood frame before quietly sighing. 

Her appearance was disheveled, her blonde tendrils thrown into a sloppy bun as she wore an over-sized t-shirt that certainly didn’t belong to her. Steve’s. Her lips plump as if she had just left her lover’s bed in hopes of seeking him out, or so he wished. He stayed seated not wanting to draw additional attention to his strange behavior.

“Y/N- you’re…back.”

“Bruce, just the guy I was looking for.” She coyly smiled genuinely happy to see him.

“Ohhh, is that so? I figured you’d have other things to catch up on. It’s good to see you Y/N, really.”

Y/N walked over to their sofa before propping her elbows along the edge, resting her jaw in her palm. Her memories didn’t serve him justice. He was kind, handsome, and beyond attentive to her intellectual needs.

“I missed you. Steve isn’t big on reading…or talking much for that matter. It’s nice to see a simulating face.”

“Psh, I’m sure you managed just fine without me. You always do.” He tried to hide the disappointment seeping into his voice. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. Above all, Bruce reminded himself that he was her friend first regardless of his growing feelings.

“You made it back in one piece. I assume the mission went well?”

She chuckled, her fingers fidgeting in her lap unable to sit still; something was bothering her.

“Indeed. Steve is uh, quite the charmer. Almost too believable if I do say so myself.”

Bruce stood up suddenly catching Y/N off guard as he made his way back to the shelf to return his latest adventure. Out of his peripheral vision, Y/N began moving his direction closing the gap between them. With his back faced away from Y/N, he felt a small hand reach for his shoulder in a soothing manner. Y/N stood behind him as the silence lingered on. Before he could grasp what was happening, her arms encircled his waist as Y/N hid her face between his shoulder blades. Her touch brought calmness to his anxious mind; his muscles instantly relaxing as his own hand guided on top of her resting on his stomach.

She mumbled a modest “Hi.” before burrowing back into him. Bruce couldn’t conceal the blush that crept into his cheeks. He was merely glad she wasn’t able to see his reaction. No other words needed to be spoken, it was pure and simple. He steered her hands upwards as he kissed the indention by her thumb, directing her hands over his chest finally resting upon his beating heart. It was unspoken, mutual admiration both parties thrived off of. Y/N and Bruce just didn’t quite fully understand the significance of their unexpressed connection.

But that was the past, now he had the atrocious opportunity of living in the present with no Y/N in sight.

        (Present Day-Avengers Tower)

“Meeting dismissed. We are staying on alert until Y/N is found and brought back safely. I suggest you all be ready to go. Rogers and Banner, stay behind.”

Fury’s tone mixed with Tony’s eyes shooting daggers initiated an uncontrollable eye roll from the Hulk. This outta be good. As everyone else made their way towards the door, Steve huffed unsure of what was about to go down knowing it wasn’t good news.

Natasha was the last of the bunch remaining. Her hand grasped the knob in hopes of hightailing it out of the stuffy office before hearing Tony’s callous voice; “Ah ah, Romanoff. You seriously didn’t think you’d get off that easy, now did you?”

“I don’t see how this has any ties to me. I don’t know what—”

“What I’m talking about? Of course, you do my dear, you’re not that dull. Or did sleeping with Cap disable your inability to decipher between respectful decency?”

Nausea caught in Steve’s throat as his eyes met Natasha’s. Fuck.  Bruce lounged in his chair with a satisfied smirk; Steve had the sudden urge to punch him but withheld…at least temporarily.

Tony and Fury resembled two very pissed off individuals; each leader trying to top the other. Silence encapsulated the room, everyone stared at one another unsure of how to proceed with the events in place. So, Director Fury stepped up first; “Can anyone tell what the hell is going on with the lot of you? Wait a minute, don’t answer that. I already know some of you have already lost your damn minds.”

“Language.”

“Language my ass, Rogers. Since you so kindly volunteered to share first, please do so.”

His breath staggered, his jugular beginning to pound under his skin, sweat beaded across his dewy forehead. Sink or swim time.

--------

Tags:  @kaithezaftig @awesomefanficlover@marvelfansworld@sergeantjbuckybarnes @hista-girl @calwitch @silent-loucidity@flightofthefantasies @lovely-geek @shannon124 @hulksmashin-bannerpackin@siren-queen03 @heyiamthatbitch  @girls-inred @kielemarie @donner5822 @sophiria @iluvsumbucky@xstevenat @artemis-lana @bla-369 @itsallyscorner @jay-the-mothafuckin-gay @artemis-lana 

[ursoself-satisfying]

Whole Lotta Love

P A T  M U R R A Y (Undrafted) x F!Reader, SMUT 

Warnings: smut, lots of it, language, like all the sex guys all of it guys,,, SPOILER: UNSAFE SEX THEY DISCARD THE CONDOM WRAP IT BEFORE U TAP IT BOYS N GIRLS

A/N: this is my zenic,, its 10k words n I am v tired,,,, I hope you all enjoy sorry its late lol

an accompanying playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/criceloni/playlist/5sP9FcSsFcPjFodxN1E5RY?si=dNK4SdE2RoSRcqhN99dntg 

The engine of your car sputtered weakly as you turned the key for the third time. You pursed your lips and grunted as you screwed your whole arm around, twisting the key in the ignition again. The hot sun beat against the grimy, untinted windows of the old van and your skin boiled under the magnification of the glass. Drops of sweat limply slipped down the side of your face, sizzling when they hit the leather between the seats. The day was nice, but the interior of the vehicle was sweltering and stunk of burgers and sex. You groaned loudly and threw your head back tiredly. With your eyes closed, you tiredly and hopelessly went to turn the car on one last time, dreading the spitting sound that you expected to greet you. You were indeed greeted by the same annoying noise, burned into your eardrums by now, but it faded after a moment, the harsh metallic sounds blending into a solid purr as the engine started, radio turning on to the classic rock station. Shooting up out of your seat in shock, both at the sound and the unexpected success, your hands slammed against your steering wheel and your mouth hung open. “Oh my God,” you muttered, “Oh my God! Thank you, God!” You shouted at the roof of the car and you let out a dry sob. The wet lines down your face could have been sweat or tears, or both at this point. Loud thrums echoed through the cabin of the vehicle as you drummed your hands against the soft roof excitedly, shaking your head in a grateful spasm of relief. “YES! Oh my God, yes, thank you.” The soft whispers left your lips in the form of a laugh and you gripped the steering wheel tightly, taking a deep breath and smiling widely. The next thing you did was roll down the windows and sigh as the clear, blue sky blessed you with fresh air, letting The Who play you out. The gas pedal was pushed down and you made your way from the curb where you’d been sitting for the last half an hour. The VW bus bounced, “My Generation” fading as you turned a corner and made your way to the game.

Your sputtering horseless carriage shuttered to a stop and felt like it would cave in and collapse once in park. With a shake, you turned off on a ���don’t text and drive’ PSA, the engine and rolled up the dirty windows. Manually locking the door behind you, you exited the rusted green car and headed towards the greener field. You rolled your eyes as you passed a large bus undoubtedly belonging to the opposing team. You doubted it was necessary and would have guessed it was more of a petty power move if anything. A small group of people, not yet a crowd, was gathered by the fences of the baseball field watching the game. It had already begun and you’d missed the first few innings. You searched the crowd for a familiar figure until you spotted a red shirt and jogged over to it. “Brian!”

The man turned to see you waving your hand happily above your head. He turned once he recognized you and laughed heartily with open arms. “[Y/N]!”

Once you reached him, he wrapped his strong arms around you and lightly picked you up. You did your best to return the embrace but he held you too tightly. His cotton button up smelled strongly of a flower-scented detergent and a gas station, comforting and familial. Your laughs mixed and you remained leaned against him when he put you down. “Mr. Murray,” you started playfully, “How are you on this fine day?” The older man patted your back and chuckled.

“Well, I could be doing a hell of a lot better.” Brian looked out at the game, Barone at-bat, and took a deep sigh. You scanned his face with concern, catching the glaze of sadness in his eyes. You softly placed a hand on his shoulder, unsure of what happened exactly, but having an idea.

You turned your head back and look around you for Brian’s almost other half, but seeing the older Mazzello nowhere. You felt safe enough to ask, “He didn’t get it, did he? John-” He shook his head quickly, not turning towards you. You wanted to ask how Pat was taking it but you could figure it out based on your past experiences. You weren’t sure Brian would know at this point anyway. For a moment, you just watched the game. Barone wouldn’t slide and Ty was clearly upset. All you could hear were the curse words carried to you by the light wind picking up. You squeezed Brian’s arm gently and gave him a sympathetic smile, before gulping and beginning to say something. “So then where’s-”

Joe walked up beside Brian and handing him a bottle of water from his trip to concessions. The shorter man glanced over and stopped when he caught sight of you. “Oh, [Y/N]-”

“Hey, Joe,” you replied softly. The man beside stepped back to allow you to give a quick embrace to the new arrival. You stepped back and smiled, biting your lip. “I’m sorry,” you spoke quickly, “He deserved it. John’s-” A stifled laugh interrupted your sentence, but you continued, “Not that I would know, but he’s the best, I hear. He should have gotten it. That’s- That’s so stupid-”

“He’s got some offers, but there’s not much we can do now that it’s over.” Leaning against the fence, the dark-haired man took a swig from the bottle he held and smiled faintly back at you though he kept his attention on the game before him. “Now we just play.”

Though you’d missed the first five innings at least, Brian filled you in on how the game had gone on with as many bumps and hitches as you could possibly imagine. The D-Backs were down (though you honestly wouldn’t have expected otherwise) and hoped for a comeback. Ty interrupts Barone’s play to demand he dirty his uniform, a call is unfairly continued and Ty (again) interrupts and demands his complaint be noted, which had been happening just as you’d arrived.

You were there just in time to see Pat’s second at-bat. “C’mon, baby, you got this! Hit it out of the fuckin’ park!” You were screaming and hollering encouragements at your boyfriend. His father chuckled and gave you a side-eyed glance, a glint of understanding gleaming on his face, seeing again why you and his son got on so well. “He’s not gonna get a hit,” you said quietly to the man beside you, not taking your eyes off the boy at bat.

Brian nodded, smiling. “Never does.” Both of watched as the third pitch was thrown and Pat unsurprising did not get a home run. He let out a long and frustrated scream and hit the bat against his helmet instead before heading to the dugout. The bat Pat had used broke against the fence pole as he hit it repeatedly and cursed the ‘loaded fucking bases’.

Pat then ran to his position in the outfield as he was told but it was clear he hadn’t cooled down yet by his continued yells. If you knew Pat Murray, you knew what he sounded like when he said ‘fuck’. By now, his curses were carved into your ears and you could hear them in your dreams. He yelled and yelled as the game continued, with some concern shown by his teammates and some confusion by the competition. Vinnie had attempted to diffuse the situation by engaging in a friendly game of catch between bats but Murray firmly stuck the ball in the scoreboard. He very nearly took Zapata’s head off.  

“Is he like this at home?” The elder Murray let a smile tweak his lips upwards for a moment, then looked away from the comment. You leaned over the fence n suppressed a laugh at what John had said.

As the game went on, you could tell things would only get worse until it all imploded, and you were right. Brian shared a tired, knowing look with you as you could both hear him yelling from the dugout. “YOU THROW LIKE A BITCH AND YOU BAT AT .250!”

Brian rocked back and look between you and his friend, shaking his head. “Patrick, relax!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, DAD!”

He nodded and leaned back against the fence. “That’s my boy.” Laughing, you bounced against his side. John shrugged his shoulders and gave an exaggerated frown of acceptance. The game lasted a while before another notable event occurred. This time, was an unsportsmanlike fight erupting after an unfair play and a sudden injury. It all happened so quickly it was hard to comprehend.

Garvey was slammed into the ground by an opposing player and when they hit the dirt a cloud of red dust rose around them. An audible thud echoed as the crowd went silent. Your mouth hung open and the world stood still for what felt like forever as the small catcher laid there unmoving. Then Ty erupted. He grabbed the assaulter from behind and held him down, Vinnie running to leap into a punch. That was the instigator. The rest of the team, with the exception of Fotch, raced to the scene. The riot on the field got worse and once John ran out, Joe bounced off his arms on the fence and rushed just as you had to stop his son. You could hear your boyfriend shouting and mentally cursed, knowing how this would turn out.

“Pat, fuck-” You went to lift yourself over the fence and attempt to run after your lover in an effort to keep him from hurting anyone, but his father pulled you back. He gave you a stern look and shook his head.

“I don’t need you getting in any more trouble right now.” Without anymore protest, you huffed and took your place again. Brian yelled after the boys and jogged out onto the field himself, though he was sure to look back and give you a strict but caring sign to stay back.

You had been right in your earlier assumptions, as Pat charged with a battle cry and pounced on the bobbing mass of bodies, all angrily entangled with one another. More and more athletes seemed to be absorbed into the huddle the longer it went on until it's magnitude reached the crowds of onlookers, who soon after went to join. As the fathers ripped their sons from the mess, Brian stopped a member of the other team from adding a bat to the fight, but by the time the teams had been surgically separated, enough damage had been done. Garvey was in bad, bad shape and the rest of the team was covered in scrapes and bruises, uniforms in shambles and carrying expressions that could kill.

Brian remained out on the field for a few minutes, post scuffle, and Joe went to his son at Garvey’s side. With no one left to stop you from making your way to the scene, you stepped for the first time onto the sacred ground and jogged over to the pit with a wave, “Patrick!” The man turned at his name being called and you stopped in your place when he looked at you. For a moment, you thought you saw a small smile grace his shaking lips as his eyes shone with recognition and he made his way to you. Closing the distance between the two of you, he took you into his sweaty arms and held you perfectly against him. You fit like a puzzle piece together as your own arms were slung around him. He held your head tightly to the crook of his neck and you could smell on him all the events of the day. As you inhaled the scents of dirt and a bit of blood caked onto sweat-soaked skin and leftover aftershave, maybe the hints of a citrus shampoo, you pulled handfuls of his team shirt into your balled fists. Together you swayed for a moment in the middle of the field and he muttered, “Fuck, God- Fuck, I’m so glad you’re here- So fuckin-” He stopped his profane murmurs as he bit back something directly in between happiness and anger. “I’m just so glad you’re here.”

You responded with pressed whispers against the skin of his neck ignoring the previous events and focusing on the moment you were in. “Hey,” you breathed, “I wouldn’t have missed the D-Backs’ last game for the world.”

He smiled, though you couldn’t see. His muffled response was kissed into your hair. You couldn’t quite understand what he’d said but it sounded like something along the lines of, ‘God, I fucking love you,’ which you completely reciprocated.

One hand of yours strayed from his back to his head and held the hair protruding from beneath hat. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said again, softer this time, emphasizing how much your being there for him meant. “But I can’t fucking wait to get you alone.” He finished his statement quietly, in a voice that sent shivers down your spine, hot and dark, every vertebra quaking. His own hands mapped the back of your neck, threading his calloused, bloody fingers through your locks, holding you with a fear of losing you.

“I’m just glad you’re o-”

The quiet conversation was interrupted. “Get a room, Murray!” A voice yelled from the group of red behind him. It was most likely Barone or Polacco, the only two in a good enough mood after the previous events to pay enough attention to you to make any kind of crude comment like usual.

Pat pulled away, lips spread thin and eyes low. His hands moved to grip your upper arms tightly and he slowly turned his head back to look at the clever commentators. “Shut the FUCK UP ABOUT MY GODDAMN GIRLFRIEND!” Your eyes widen and a sheepish grin spread widely between your cheeks. When he turned back to you, you lifted your hand to hold his face. His eyes were tied to yours, but your gaze soon drifted down to the lightly bleeding scratches on his neck. You frowned and your fingertips dropped to trace over the red lines. The man holding you still, softer now, hissed at the raw contact and his pleading eyes twitched.

His hand rose to wipe at your left cheek, stained from his wound and your place in the crook of his neck. He didn’t move it though after placing it there. “You- There was some blood- Fuck, that’s so gross, I’m so fuckin’ sorry-” His head shook lightly as he stared at you, lip twitching with slight distress.

You responded with a soft laugh, breathed through your nostrils. “It’s ok- It’s ok! I’m sorry you got hurt,” you said as you wiped some of the blood from around the new wound. Pat looked pained, but your presence overcame any discomfort he had. “What a game, huh?”

You chuckled and he hummed near your ear, a pleased puff of air pushed through his nostrils. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here- It’s a better game now. I know it’s not gonna actually get better, but-” Pat moved back and looked at you with gleaming eyes. You could never resist those eyes. He seemed so hopeful since he’d learned of your arrival and you weren’t going to even think about how vain it might have been. “But you’re here, you know.”

You moved your hands swiftly to the sides of his face and pulled him down for a kiss. Though it took him a moment, he quickly pulled you against him and his plush lips pushed against yours. His arms around your waist were the only things keeping you upright as the two of you collided so passionately you arched against him. He pulled slightly back to turn his head and slip through your parted lips. He tasted of vanilla ice cream and blue raspberry Gatorade. Tongues pushing needily against each other, for just a moment, the field around you was lost and all you had was the sensation of Pat Murray buzzing through your lips.

“Ey, Murray-!” A sing-songy voice interrupted again and immediately Pat painfully yanked your face from his. With a clenched jaw and white knuckles still on your figure, he wiped the shared saliva from his mouth and looked like he was refraining from erupted in a trembling angry fit. One hand swept down the side of your face with a dazed expression of admiration and he made eye contact with you, sending you his concern through soft, hazel eyes. You felt the sudden sadness of his body leaving yours, the physical contact high of your love crashed down and you were left hot and alone. The player ran back to the benches spewing foul curses at his ogling teammates as they threw around playful jabs at his PDA. He turned to wave you off and that made you smile. You stepped backward, slowly at first, then turned to jog back to your spot at the fence.

The crowds grew but the sound shrunk. Spectators came from around the neighborhood as word of the fight had spread. It was silent now, in the aftermath. It felt like a sort of mourning period, perhaps for the final chances of the D-Backs at winning today’s game. Reverence was the word to describe what was emanating from the home team. The dugout looked morbid and the only eyes that weren't cast down were furrowed in anger, confusion, and concern. Sirens cut through the still, religious air as an ambulance and a police car drove onto the game dirt.

Two EMTs came barrelling from their vehicle with a gurney and lifted Garvey into the back of the ambulance. The teams cheered him on before the vehicle doors closed and the ambulance left the field. The last image of Garvey was that of him in a neck cast with a thumbs up and the biggest smile.

Two cops then got out of their car that had parked itself on the dirt and went over to the D-Back dugout. Vinnie and Ty sat against the fence as the policemen approached them after speaking with the umpires. “Tyler Delmonica and Vincent Maltzan?”

You watched with the fathers as you had before and smacked Brian’s arm with fever as you saw the lawmen approach the team. “What the fuck- What’s- What the fuck are they doing?” With a slightly irritated side-eyed glance, Brian observed the same scene you did with concern. The elder Mazzello on the other side of him grunted and spoke, “Nothing good.”

The two from the fence had gone over to the cops and were now in handcuffs. The entirety of the red team had come swarming from the shaded dugout to defend their friends. Curses were thrown back and forth and the policeman threatened to arrest Dells as well. “Dude, what the fuck-” you muttered.

“Finish the game!” Ty urged as he and Vinnie were dragged away. The other policeman countered Ty’s plea, announcing for an end to the gathering, at which time both teams emerged from their holes and agreed upon something for the first time. ‘We’re almost done!’ they said, ‘We’re winning!’ The crowd, which had grown exponentially since the scuffle, jeered and booed at the officer. He then complied to the masses as Maz promised they would go on with no further complications. The Bulldogs player that had put poor Garv in the hospital was expulsed and that was the end of it.

The game went on, not without some drama, of course, but it went on. It was an incredible sight. Dells was on fire, throwing out after out after out. Zapata gets a hit, Fotch walks with a dead arm (breaking Dell’s front car window in the process), then it was Pat at-bat, again.

He hit the first one and your breathing stopped, then it was announced a foul. You held tightly to his father’s arm, praying for the impossible as you did every game. The second ball went in slow motion as it headed towards him. The world stood still for you. The sudden smack of wood against hot leather shook you from your trance. Patrick ran with a fury you’d never seen before, sliding into first base in a red dust cloud of victory.

You could barely recognize your own voice in the scream you let loose as you watched your significant other accomplish such a rare feat. “YES, PATTY, YES! FUCKING GET IT!” You were jumping up and down, shaking the fence, hitting Brian when your hands weren’t waving excitedly in the air. Brian laughed at your reaction and held you with an arm when you settled down.

Patrick screamed and jumped just as you were. “I GOT A HIT!” The crowd was still roaring, the D-Backs yelling for him.

“Way to go, Pat!” Brian hugged you and wiped tears from eyes you hadn’t noticed falling before. The older man shook you affectionately against his side.

“I GUESSED! I FUCKING GUESSED!” The ginger was kept his yelling as the blue team called for time. “I’M NOT OUT!” He clapped and laughed, calling after his team as they prepped during the other team's timeout. Maybe it was just you but the air smelled sweet now, beside your considered family in an epic and cherished moment. It may have been bittersweet but it was worth savoring every second of.

“GO PALACCO! KILL HIM! MURDER HIM!” Pat was still screaming as his teammate took to the batting mound. It went Palacco, then David, then Maz. Having two strikeouts lead to your star didn’t seem like a good sign, but Maz was a miracle man. A home run, last bat, and they- They won. The D-Backs won. Maz hit home and the entire game, everything leading up to it erupted in the field and the crowds. The culmination of an entire season, all the stress of the game, the fight, the disappointment of the draft, the love of the team and the camaraderie and support they all show through all this exploded.

Red shirts were glued in a huddle at center field. “For Garvey!” You heard someone yell. Vinnie and Ty came running back on, leaping and whooping. The crowd roared and the cheers rolled over the hills beyond the field. You shook with pride, sure you must have been glowing like the sun looking out upon the victory. Brian looked on the verge of tears, but you couldn’t quite tell through wet eyes of your own. Sound seemed to escape the reality you existed in and all that mattered was the team. Time slowed and your focus went to tunnel vision on a very specific first-time hitter.

Patrick ran over to you the second you set foot on the beaten dirt of the outfield, ambushing you with the tightest embrace you may have ever been in. It took a second but you thrust your arms around him as well as he lifted you from your waist. Holding onto him around his neck, he spun you in tight circles as you both laughed heartily, buried in one another’s soft scents. As he put you down, you started to speak but he cut you off immediately by pushing his face into yours. You did not mind one bit as you resumed your position from earlier, curving against him, your front flat against his chest, hands tugging at his sweaty hair as his limbs slipped down your back. Tracing the dimples at the bottom of your spine, pulling at the hem of your shirt and letting his thumb kiss your skin. His other hand gripped your ass, wanting you impossibly closer. Your open-mouthed kiss was outlined by a smile as you groaned every time he found a new place on your body to caress. Pat was lost in your taste, like lemon cookies and cherry slushies and little league baseball games.

“C’mon, man! Your fucking dad’s here!” Zapata groaned and Palacco smacked his arm with a laugh as the team, those distracted by the couple, made faces and sounds to tease. Barone made a thrusting motion and mouthed ‘Get it!’ as his own girlfriend stood neglected behind him.

The pair of you separated to see the what antics the boys had come up with this time around. Though you thought Pat’s good mood after the win couldn’t be bent, this came awfully close. His grimace was incomparable yet that was just another reason you loved him. Somehow it was still adorable. “He’s right, you know,” you patted your lover’s dusty chest and smiled, “I’ve been hanging out with Mr. Murray the whole game and he probably saw all that.” Pat glanced back at you before looking behind you and quickly, guiltily, pulling his hands from your ass.

‘Perfect timing,’ you thought, as you could guess exactly who it was. Brian was kind enough not to mention anything as he approached his son. The father gave you a pat on the back before embracing his son. The moment was tender as you looked on at the scene of the father/son bonding, albeit a bit awkwardly. Brian held Pat by the shoulders for a moment and they both had shining streaks down their cheeks. You didn’t hear anything that had been said but you smiled softly, overcome with love for the both of them. The graying man approached you next, rubbing your shoulder and giving you a quick hug. “You kids have fun,” he said as he walked back to Joe, “and be safe!” He winked.

“God, your dad-”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Love him, though,” you joined the number 15 player as you followed the others to the snack shack, walking arm in arm, holding as much contact as you could while still being able to walk.

Maz ended up beside you when you all sat at the picnic tables with rainbow sprinkles on vanilla ice cream in a casual post celebration gathering. This gave you the opportunity to congratulate him and at the same time express your sympathies after the draft. “I mean, it’s alright,” he’d said to you, “‘cus this is really what it’s all about right here, you know? I mean these guys-” He laughed gently as David and Palacco ‘lovingly’ assaulted Ty with several scoops of ice cream to the face, “Dad was right. They’re what it’s about. Winning is awesome, don’t get me wrong, but I wouldn’t be here without them and- and it’s all just-” Without getting emotional, he could barely say anymore. “It’s not about me. It’s about family.” John sat back against the table and chuckled.

You patted his knee as you stood. “They wouldn’t be here without you either, Maz. Regardless of where you go from here, everything you’ve done has mattered to someone, to all of them, at least.” Your boyfriend approached you and you said one last thing to the star batter before moving out, “I mean, if you could hear the way Pat talked about you, you’d think you were his girlfriend.” He laughed at this and you grinned knowing he would appreciate it. “Be proud, no doubts, you’re loved, and all that shit.”

“Thanks, [YN],” John nodded happily at you and looked down for a moment at his melting cone dripping on the grass below him. Pat stood next to you now and whispered some suggestive suggestions in your ear. Shooting the younger Mazzello a sorry look he sent you off and waved you and your lover goodbye with a sly grin. “Go on, go have fun. I’ve had enough of the longing looks, get it out of your system.”

Pat laughed lightly and slipped an arm around your waist, furrowing a confused set of eyes at his friend’s comment, then at you. It made him wonder what type of conversation the two of you’d had. He led you towards the parking lot, flipping off the team he left behind as they wolf whistled, making a lot of correct assumptions of what the two of you intended to do in your early departure. You’d left your van parked around the side of the field in the nice shade of a small grove of trees. The keys clicked in the quieter, cooler, fresher air around you. Patrick leaned against the side of the vehicle, one arm up to support himself and the other placed on his hip, ankles crossed. He watched you a bit too intently as you unlocked the cabin of your old car.

“I can feel you looking at me,” you smiled, opening the passenger’s side door to manually reach around and slide open the spacious back of the bus, turning on the car battery in the process. Leaving the keys in the ignition, turning down The Damned, but leaving it loud enough to cover what sounds may come. He watched you do this every time. It came as no wonder to him why your cherished car was in such bad shape as you left the battery running to supply a soundtrack to your lovemaking. Eyes distractedly stalled on your midsection as he looked you up and down, Pat faltered as the car shuddered when the door opened and he was thrown off his balance. He caught himself, though, and shot you a slanted grin.

“You’re just-” He bit his lip, “-so fucking hot, and you’re all mine.” Settling into the cushy, creaking back part of the carriage, you grinned expectantly.

“Am I?” You cocked your head, “Maybe you should remind me again who exactly I belong to.” Dragging every word out, you purposefully teased the impatient man, unbuttoning the top of your shorts slowly.  

Like a switch, something clicked in him. His entire demeanor shifted from his almost toddler-like temper to something much more mature. Sitting spread eagle on the plush blankets you kept in the back for such occasions, you waited. He stared at you darkly, a towering shadow that filled the van’s open portal to the rest of the world. He filled in the empty space, deciding what he wanted to do first, how he would defile you in so many ways and what he would start with.

The interior smelled liked fast food, rubbing alcohol, and sweaty sex. Seeing as the main things you did in this car were eat bad food, try to clean up the stains left behind from said bad food, and, of course, fuck, the medley of scents came as no surprise. Around you were an array of cushions, blankets, and pillows all extremely soft to the touch. Not an inch of the original upholstery could be seen under the collection of plush covers. This made for the ideal landing as Pat pounced on you like a starved jungle cat as you look so very appetizing against the grey of the fur throw you laid on.

With him on top of you, you grabbed his cap and threw it to the side, kicking the door closed with your foot. Already against your lips, Pat straddled you, one hand on your waist and the other your cheek. The tops of your thighs pressed against the backs of his laying sideways in the cramped space. Holding his face to yours, his stiff, sweat dried hair curling between your fingers, you moaned. He smelled hotly of dust and fire, like a childhood summer day. The intimacy of the flood of memories he reminded you of only increased the sensation for you, heightening your attraction to him in a familiar, safe emotion.

His lips moved against yours, both of you sharing the same rhythm like singing along to an old song you never really could forget the words to. Open mouths clashed, teeth hit teeth, tongues knotted with tongues. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek as his wet kisses traveled down your face hitting your chin, your neck, your collarbone. Simultaneously, his hand pushed up your top, the other lifting you to help you pull it off. You let your arms drift above your head as he peeled the first layer off your body. It was only fair you would start unbuttoning his jersey and pulling at it, signaling him to take it off.

Before you could rip his undershirt off, he attached his lips to your neck, sucking hard to leave behind a noticeable deep purple love mark high enough it couldn’t be covered. You could feel his teeth graze your skin in a proud smile as your hot and heavy breaths turned to desperate, squirming moans. You gasped, gripping the fabric over his chest. He was glowing knowing only he could leave you in such a state.

Dragging a hot trail of saliva down your body, Pat stopped at your chest. He pulled away and stared down at your breasts with a shake of his head. “So fucking gorgeous,” he whispered. With one knee on either side of you, he sat up and pulled his red top off. Then he swept back down, suctioned back to your skin. He started behind your ear and peppered bites around your jaw, hands pulling your body to arch, allowing him the opportunity to remove your bra. You threw your head back and shimmied off the upper undergarment.

Your hands skimmed Pat’s bare chest, traveling upwards to his shoulders and past. Palms pressed against the sides of his face, you wiped your thumbs at the smeared eye black on his cheeks. His gaze was tied to your exposed chest and his breathing was heavy and hungry. Lips hanging parted, he slowly looked up at you through hooded lashes.

You smiled at the man hovering above you. Neither of you moved as you established eye contact while Jimi Hendrix played in the background. The van was hot between your bodies and the setting sun shining through the front window. Sweat beaded your forehead and your boyfriend went to push your hair back from your face, damp from the growing heat. “You’re-”

“You’re beautiful,” you finished. He laughed and it was like a Baroque painting before you. In a golden haze, his hair looked soft and he was glowing in muted tones. The tapestry pinned to the ceiling gave a dusty rose background to compliment the halo you saw around him. You pushed his hair back and pulled yourself up to kiss him. He took this chance to explore your body, mapping every inch of your warm, welcoming skin.

His fingertips were calloused and grey, dirt caked in the ridges of his prints, proof of the aftermath of the game. Rough pads walked down the center of your torso, stopping at your breasts. He took one mound in his hand, pinching your nipple between his thumb and his palm, rolling it slowly. You bit your lip and tucked your fingers under the waistband of his baseball pants and briefs, pulling them back and snapping them against his hips. Your eyes hung on the happy trail leading up his stomach. You traced it with the tip of your nail and his dark gaze settled on your face.

From his perspective, you were hidden in the shadows below him, hot and vulnerable. Buds of your breasts perky and hard, the dips of your stomach like a flowing river to your hips where your shorts sat a little too low, you were buried under filters of lust. The retiring sunlight hit the dust particles between you, floating through the air in slow motion like a love scene in an early 2000s, warm-toned, rom-com, the kind you spent Friday nights watching under three different blankets on the couch. You were dreamy, always, but especially now, a hazy, golden goddess.

“I want you, Pat,” you interrupted his daze, stroking his face and pushing his loose hair behind his ear. “Now.”

He blinked at you and grinned. “Oh, let’s go.” You smiled wickedly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, you wrapped your arms around his back and slipped your hands on his ass. He engulfed you then gripped your shorts and panties, ripping them down all at once. A guttural groan left your throat and you wiggled out of your clothes. Pat had moved to one side of you, maintaining skin on skin contact whenever he could, and kicking off his shoes. Your body arched towards him as he retracted his touch. You shook your pants off your leg and laid baring it all for your lover in the cramped space of the vintage vehicle.

Pat was awestruck as you sat up, spread out for him, back to the driver’s seat. He paused with his pants stopped just high enough not to be truly explicit. You looked on with anticipation, one finger slinking its way between your legs. “Keep going,” you nodded at him. He complied with a lopsided grin and hot, hooded eyes. You rubbed two fingers against your clit and bit your bottom lip as he yanked his pants down, cup painfully sliding over his hard erection. He sat back and pulled off his bottoms, socks included, cock slapping against his stomach as he did so.

You snorted at him, unceremoniously slouched in the back of your small van. The sight was both pleasing and amusing, and far from being unfamiliar. Every time you’ve watched him undress in these four fabric covered walls, it felt the same. It had become something of a post-game ritual, defiling the backspace of your car while the oldies stationed tuned out the lewd sounds you made together.

‘She said, hey babe, take a walk on the wild side’, your lover crawled towards you as you spread your lower lips to welcome him, ‘I said, hey honey, take a walk on the wild side.’ Patrick took in the sight of your glistening sex and licked his lips. He sat back on a plush green throw blanket and pulled you onto his lap with a soft chuckle. He hummed contently at your lips against his ear, tightening his arms around your damp skin. You were straddling him, one arm slung over his shoulder and the other reaching for his member. The pre-cum leaking from his tip spread against your stomach as you pressed onto him, limber fingers wrapped precariously around his length. You pumped him slowly, hanging off his lobe by your teeth. This pulled a whimper from deep inside him, nuzzling against you. Thumb sliding over his head, you dragged the slickness down his shaft and sucked on his neck as he had yours. You were dripping for him and he could feel it. His knuckles went white, gripping your thighs with bruising strength. He nipped at your shoulder, leaving behind wet, fading love bites.

You were jostled as your boyfriend lifted you by your waist so he could easily access your tits, supporting you against the back of the driver’s seat. Pace quickening as your hand slid up and down his cock, his mouth latched onto your nipple, teeth brushing against it as he sucked hard. His thick fingers inside you scissored with fervor and you could feel every bend of his knuckles between your walls. Your free hand held his face against your chest and you moaned. Slowly, the cabin filled with the sweet scents of both yours and his arousal and sweat. You pulled yourself towards him and pulled gently on his hair as he replaced his lips with rolling fingers and paid his attention to your other bud.

“Fuck, Pat,” your breath hitched and you could feel him smile against your breast, “Pat, I want you-”

“I fucking need you, [Y/N],” his breathing was heavy as he detached from your chest, moving to look you in the eyes, “Soon.” It was a pleading look he gave you, far different from his on-field persona. With one last soft squeeze of his erection, you let go. He moaned at the release and you were up on your knees. He looked up at you from between your breasts as you flattened against him.

One of his hands slid between your thighs and your composure faltered, his cold fingers pressing past your nerve center and straight to your hole. He watched your face carefully, one hand on the small of your back, the other letting digit after digit push into your sex easily, slick secretion assisting in his effort to stretch you before his anticipated penetration. Blinking quickly, you twitch your hips at the knuckles deep in your pussy. Patrick grabbed your ass and began going in and out and in and out of your entrance with a quiet slap. To the rhythm of the Bowie song blowing out your damaged speakers, you hump his fingers and ride your rising pleasure ut before you can peak, you’re filled with emptiness.

“You fucking ready for me, babe?” Want was dripping from every syllable of his words as you looked down just in time to see him pull his slick fingers from his mouth, appreciating your taste every chance he could.

“Let’s drag this out, baby, today we got something to celebrate.” You caressed the side of his face and smiled softly. He couldn’t resist your whims and he knew exactly how to make this special.

He laid on his back and pulled you up by your ass, sliding your wetness along his torso. He lifted your waist and you compliantly moved your knees to either side of his head. “Then let me finish you off before we start on the good stuff, hm?” His smile was sexy as he adored you from between your legs, willing to put your sexuality before his need. His arms wrapped around your pillowy thighs, on hand holding your slit open and the other stroking your clit. A shiver ran through you as he lifted his head to break your first contact.

This was his chosen place of worship, kissing your core surrounded by the satin skin of your voluptuous legs. His religion was you on your knees and him on his back, the ecstatic expression you wore his deity. The fluid stained woven rugs and fur throws that shaped the interior of your chosen mode of transportation was the altar he so admired in the temple of you. Your skin was scripture and your acts together sacred, the hard rock you left on the hymns of your love. His metaphor was worn but as the last of the daylight threaded through the fallen waves of your hair, he couldn’t think of any words more true to describe this image of you.

He dove into you, starved of your taste. You were pulled down to his face, feeling his tongue probe the space between your lower lips, sucking at the labia and fully drinking up your nectar. You ground against his tongue, utilizing what he could to maximize your pleasure, the texture of his muscle overwhelming your senses. His nose pressed against your clit as his hands moved to go from grabbing your ass, supporting your waist, then giving his hands’ attention to your breasts. Your nipples were well loved as your pussy continued to be stimulated to the point of pushing you over.

Your whole body curved forwards, gripping his hair and supporting yourself with a fistful of the blanket. Uneven breaths drifted from your open mouth, heaving chest painted with small drops of sweat. Pat’s palm was flat against your back. Your hair flipped out of your line of sight as you threw your head back, lips forming a solid ‘o’. A wave of ecstasy rushed over you in your first orgasm of the evening, a musical moan, broken by sharp breaths. The lover beneath you lapped up every release of your spasming pussy until your curses died down to soft shudders. To avoid overstimulating you, Pat moved from your sensitive mound to drop hot kisses on your inner thighs.

The pulsing of your core subdued as you spent the next minute catching your breath. The van was filled with salty, hot air and Patrick held your midsection tightly as he sucked dark hickies on every inch of your shy skin he could reach. His face was coated in your juices, which was smeared across your legs, both sets of hands, and down your boyfriend’s chest. Letting his tongue glide over a fresh bruise just left in the crux of your crotch, his melted autumn eyes stared up at you with intense lust. He threw his head back when he was satisfied with his work and snorted, “You taste like a Goddamn fucking angel.”

His smile was goofy and gross, the juvenile delinquency of your act written all over his face. It made you feel like a teenager again, sneaking around with the angry boy your parents didn’t like. God, you loved him. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the situation. There you were, sitting on your boyfriend's face in the back of your musty van by the neighborhood baseball field and you weren’t even done yet.

You grinned down at him, “Shut up and fuck me, Murray.” The man smiled and sat up, catching you as you fell off him. You grabbed his face and pressed his lips to yours for a moment, tasting your own sticky, semi-sweet love on his lips before he pulled away to reach around you. Popping open the center console compartment with a click, he grabbed a condom and ripped it open with his teeth. “Care to-”

You took the contraceptive from him without letting him finish. He could understand the eagerness in your eyes and moved back expectantly. Holding up the plastic package, you frowned. “I thought we were celebrating?” You tilted your head innocently. Recognition flashed across his face and he raised his eyebrows. For the first time, the mood was broken, a Honda commercial really solidifying it for you.

“Are you- Are you serious? Are you sure?” The sweaty athlete’s eyes were wide at your implication.

You smiled slyly and nodded at him. “I’m on birth control and,” you shrugged, “I trust you not to have any weird, contagious rashes.” He laughed at you, happily, and you joined him.

“I can promise you I have no transmittable diseases, inspect me if you want.” His arms moved out to present himself to you.

You dragged a nail across the length of one of his arms and he cocked a half smile in your direction as he eyes your movements. “I’ve seen plenty.” You grinned and put your hands back on his cheeks, pushing against him in a kiss. Pat was quick to move, but you stopped him, hand flat against his chest. “You need a little prep, first, don’t you?” Slowly, he figured it out and sat back to give you more space to do your deed. Folding over yourself, thighs spread and arousal tickled by the thick woven rug beneath you, your face reached the waiting cock.

All the man could focus on was your long, batting lashes and your ass sticking out behind you. His tip was cold and wet from being untouched, but your spit dripped down it as you kissed the slit briefly. Patrick’s breath was shaky as you licked from the base up to the tip, making eye contact as you did so. His body weight was put on his locked arms behind him, leaning away from you, but he feared one more sex filled look from you would break him and he would collapse.

He nearly did when you first took him into your hot mouth. A groan vibrated through him and you felt it in your connection. Slowly at first, sparingly, you bobbed up and down on his length, soft lips sliding over every ridge and every vein. “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck-” You picked up speed with his encouraging curses. Head thrown back, your lover focused on not cumming right then and there, doing his best to save himself for what came next, but Goddamn it, [Y/N], he thought. He’d let you know him far too well if you could break him into so many pieces so quickly. Tongue scraping at the side of the sensitive skin, balls being treated with care in your hands, and the pace leaving him a sputtering mess- You name filled the compartment like a rolling sea fog, all your senses overcome with his apparent need for you. His scent, his sounds, his taste- hot and salty. Seeing his chest rising with labored breaths, you decided he was getting too close and hilted him in your throat as best you could for a moment, teeth grazing his base and your nose buried in his happy trail, before pulling off at a painstaking pace, detaching from him with a ‘pop’, a string of saliva falling from between you.

It took a quiet moment for him to get his bearings at the disappointing cutoff. The drops of sweat sliding down the sides of his face were tinted with red from the adobe colored dirt he’d spent so much time on. Sitting back up and leaning towards him, you went to wipe the moisture away and he held your hand to his face, kissing your palm with closed eyes. He saved his high and gave you a quick, and ironically chaste, kiss before pushing aside discarded clothing articles and repositioning the two of you so he was above you once again. He took you by your middle and moved you to the side, growing increasingly impatient, seemingly recovered from his edge. Holding firmly to your ribs as he laid you down before him, he then pulled away to admire you again.

Under a young night sky, you were the only star he saw. Glowing in a post-orgasmic haze against the shadows cast by street lamps, you were a constellation of an impossible creature. Contrasting the true space you both existed in, his view of you was divine. Every beautiful thing in the heavens and the earth, he saw in you.

“Pat?” You furrowed your eyes in concern at his momentary stillness.

He blinked the clouds from his eyes. “God, sorry, fuck-” Shaking his head, he smiled slightly, “I got so fucking lucky. I may not be able to get a hit but, uh-” He chuckled before completing his favorite line, “You sure are a catch.” He winked and you gently kicked him in the shoulder. Catching your ankle, he held your leg up and held it over his shoulder as he moved to position himself at your open hips. “C’mon, it’s my best line.”

You impatiently rolled your eyes. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?” You motioned to your waiting sex, ready and slick for him. “I’m waiting-”

“-And I’m ready!” Patrick held up his free hand defensively before grabbing your hip with bruising strength. His dripping, neglected tip sat waiting at your entrance. His tone turned serious, “Are you?”

His genuine asking was comforting and you nodded quickly. His position over you turned you on even more, if possible, loving that he could see you melt in his hand and drip between his fingers. With one hand holding your leg up and the other stroking his excited cock, preparing to enter you. The sparkling space between your welcoming thighs glistened in the little bit of moonlight making its way into the vehicle. He slid his thumb through the wetness and you groaned in need. He chuckled at your response and you squirmed against the soft fabrics you’d been set on.

It was the moment of final satisfaction that you’d been building to all afternoon in the back of your sex-soaked bus. Your eyes were trained on his focused downward gaze and you could feel him press into you. It was a pleasant stretch you looked forward to but it was different this time, void of the protection you’d so cautiously used. You felt unequivocally full, natural, and satisfying like you were made to fit together like this. Scary, but exciting, this new sensation left you unable to control your breathing. Sharp inhalations were a sign to him he was doing something good. Pushing into you was easy with how much arousal dripped your sex, all the fluids of the night mixing together for a pleasurable experience. In and out, he took his time deepening the contact, holding tight to your hips, a nice pain shooting through you when he squeezed the old yellowed bruises he’d left behind from past rendezvous. Your eyes focused on him when they were closed in ecstasy, hands swiping furiously at your clit or alternating between your breast. Pat was in awe at the bolts of hot pleasure that traveled up his body at the raw feeling of you around him, tight, wet, and warm. He thought sex couldn’t get any better, especially not with you, but he was wrong. He felt every dip and fold of your tunnels against the ridges of his own skin.

You were sleeved around him as he picked up speed. Grunts fell from his pouting lips every time his hips slapped against yours. The sound could be heard over the still playing radio in the front seat. It seemed the amount of teasing the two of you subjected each other to left little resilience to the sudden relief of penetration as your boyfriend’s rate jumped from calculated, appreciative thrusts to messy, needy, heavy ones in a matter of minutes. “You feel-” He groaned as he hilted in you again, balls deep to the pleasure of both of you, “So fucking amazing-” The words barely came out. You tried to formulate a response but the heat filling your abdomen stopped you. What came out instead was a gurgled moan of agreement. Smiling at the sights and the sounds you produced, Pat was absolutely enamored by you in this new sensation. Tits bouncing as you shook with his slamming thrusts, your eyes rolling back with guttural groans from deep inside you.

Drawing from that pit of white-hot pleasure, you neared your peak and a higher pitched plead cam as a warning to your partner, “Can’t- Fuck, Pat- Almost there-” He got the message and the two of you shook together, his whispers of ‘me too, me too’ barely heard through the whimpers. No longer could sounds be differentiated from one source or the other as your bodies melted together in a moment of bliss. For the first time, the vehicle noticeably shook in your passionate lovemaking. His hands slipped down your legs, attention drifted from your clit to your navel to your hair as he doubled over to float parallel above you. Sweat from his tiring body rained on you and you pulled him closer. His face was buried between your ear and shoulder, biting away curses as he humped through his high.

“Fuck, that’s it-” The sliding stopped as his back arched first, pressing so hard into your crux, you were sure your entire lower half would be purple by the next morning. His member pulsed inside you and you could feel it swell with anticipation before your own pussy milked him for all he was worth. Streams and streams of hot, white pleasure flowed into you and you swallowed a scream. The sound that managed to escape was otherworldly and Pat loved it. You’d never felt this before, his love directly inside you, hot sloshing, liquid driving you past your point of return. You thought maybe it hadn’t been the physical sensation but the idea of how intimate the action was that had really given you your final orgasm. Either way, you had simultaneously arched against him and he held you up by your back as you squeezed with every muscle. Nails dragging down his spine, no doubt leaving red territorial marks down his sides as you rode out the ocean of intensity that washed over you. It made you curl your toes and tense your appendages around your lover like a boa constrictor and their prey.

Love came gushing from your connection and pooled beneath the small of your back, sinking into the layers of covers that cushioned the two of you from the hard vehicle floor. You didn’t think about the mess you’d made or the unfortunate task of cleaning it up and instead focused on the weight on top of you. Still, inside you, Patrick’s cock twitched as he’d nearly collapsed over you. The rhythm of your breathing synced with his and your pussy pulsed sorely, your entire body sensitive and raw. A shiver ran through your bones as you felt the hot mouth of the body blanketing your’s suction onto your neck one last time, licking over its handy work with a weak laugh. Your fingers laced through his damp hair and you turned your cheek to kiss his.

Your eyes were watering, maybe from the tense situation or the exhaustion that suddenly overwhelmed you now that the wire strings of arousal no longer hold you up. Pat felt the same way as he slowly pulled out of you and you winced. On his side next to you, you felt him pull you closer, nestling into your equally wet and disgusting hair. The entire car smelled awful and hot, the windows were grey and fogged up, blankets beneath you covered in God knows what. Closing your legs and turning towards the warmth beside you, you nestled into him, the feeling of your post-coital calmness was immortalized in the music you’d left on. ‘Goodbye stranger, it’s been nice. Hope you find your paradise.’

Maybe the lyrics weren’t a perfect fit, but somehow the melody found it’s way beneath your hot skin and soothed you. You remained this way for, you weren’t sure how long. Time seemed lost to the two of you then. Engulfed in his arms, you felt safe. The scene was grimy and explicit, your nakedness blending together, the leftover ejaculate dripping from your slit without care, the stained and discarded undergarments left unnoticed and hanging off the steering wheel. It wasn’t clean or safe, but for the two of you, it was nice. What that said about your situation, you didn’t care. This was your heaven.

“Good morning, Orange County! And what a lovely morning it is! We’d like to start the day with a little Springsteen, huh?” A hard drum intro led into a twangy guitar and the sonorous voice of Bruce Springsteen, ‘In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream. At night we ride through the mansions of glory in suicide machines.’

“Is it weird,” you’d said, “knowing all the boys are well aware of what we do? Including your dad?” You laughed a bit, leaning against him, still bare, under a furry quilt. The carriage of the vehicle creaked at your movements, audible now that it wasn’t masked by the heavy breathing of your fucking. The bohemian tapestry behind you shrouded the rising sun from your sensitive eyes, half open in a dream-like state.

Patrick planted a quick kiss in your hair, “I like they know you’re mine.” He took a deep breath, “And my dad can fuck off.”

After a pause, you looked at him and erupted in laughter. “He’s pretty cool, you know, for having to deal with a kid like you.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

‘Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend, I want to guard your dreams and visions. Just wrap your legs 'round these velvet rims and strap your hands 'cross my engines.’

Brian glanced at the phone as he prepared his breakfast. He was sure his son was fine, he’d gone nights without calling before, but by morning he usually had a message waiting for him. He tried not to think about what may have distracted him in order to keep down his first meal of the day. The radio played in the background.

‘Girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors and the boys try to look so hard. The amusement park rises bold and stark, kids are huddled on the beach in a mist. I wanna die with you Wendy on the street tonight in an everlasting kiss.’

The groundskeeper stared on worriedly at the shaking VW bus that had been parked behind the trees since before he’d gotten there in the small hours of the morning. “Fucking teenagers, disgusting,” he shook his head and turned away, earphones back in as he started up the lawnmower.

‘Oh honey, tramps like us, baby, we were born to run.’

[jarmes]

Blind Shield Nuzlocke Notes 9

-After feeding him an ungodly amount of curry, Snowball evolved into a Frosmoth, boing HV the Toxtricity, Freight the Coalossal, Riot the Falinks, Echo the Obstagoon, and Nosferatu the Dreadnaw on my League team

-Side note, while I was grinding Snowball up to level fifty I swapped my main team for the backups so they wouldn’t get over leveled. Loraine evolves into a Centiscortch and Lord Tophat evolved into a Weezing

-Second side note, I just realized I accidentally used the letter L twice, ruining my naming convention

-On to Wyndon, which is based of one of the largest cities in Europe (the biggest?) and is so big it has a monorail to get around

-Oh god, there’s a guy offering a trade for a duraldon in return for Snowball. I am tempted, but no

-“Prepare to see all the forms of rotom” where’s fridge and fan you liar

-Idea: make a ground type bike rotom catchable next gen

-So an Alcremie almost one shorted Snowball but he held on because he has high affection. Thank god for curry

-“How many companies does Chairman Rose own?” He’s so obviously evil

-Screw What I said about Chirchester, THIS is a fancy hotel

-Ah man, no monorail animation?

-I gotta say, Windon is a bit of a disappointment. It looks amazing, but there isn’t a lot to do, especially when compared to Lumiose or Castelia. I can’t even ride the London Eye!

-“I feel like Challenger Blinkin has a balanced team, but he doesn’t have any way to decisively win” say that to my face bitch

-Hop and Marnie are at the stadium, bet I’ll face them and Bede in the championship

Team going in to the challengers cup, all level 55:

-Freight the Coalossal, caught in Galar Mine. Holding the rocky helmet. Knows Rock Slide, Heat Crash, Bulldoze, and Tar Shot

-Riot the Falinks, caught on South Route 8. Holding the Muscle Band. Knows Brick Break, First Impression, Close Combat, and No Retreat

-Nosferatu the Dreadnaw, caught in Giant’s Cap. Holds the Assault Vest. Knows Liquidation, Rock Slide, Crunch, and Ice Fang

-Echo the Obstagoon, caught on Route 3. Holds the leftovers. Knows Night Slash, Obstruct, Take Down, and Brick Break

-High Voltage the Toxtricity. Gifted on Route 5. Holds the Chiice Scarf. Knows Overdrive, Poison Jab, Boomburst, and Toxic

-Snowball the Frosmoth. Caught on North Route 8. Holds the Shell Bell. Knows Bug Buzz, Aurora Beam, Blizzard, and Quiver Dance

-Only four trainers competed the gym challenge. How interesting considering I have three rivals

-Wait, that means I won’t fight one

-Leading with Snowball because I have a feeling Marnie or Bede will be the first opponent

-And it’s Marnie, not surprising. I assume Hop will be next

-I just got quiver dance literally a minute before this battle (rare candies) and its perfect to take out Marnies dark team

-Also no healing or switch mode I’m deciding

Marnie

-First up is Liepard, predicting a fake out and going for quiver dance

-It used Torment. Gg, Marnie

-Next up is scrafty, dynamaxing to make sure aurora beam takes it out

-Marnie sent out Toxicroak, I did the same thing. should be able to take out all of the troublesome Pokémon before dm runs out

-Out goes her signature, more people, who goes down in one hit

-Marnie sent out grimsnarl as my dm ran out, going for another bug buzz

-And she gyantamaxed and almost killed me with snooze. But I lived

-Full sweep by the new guy

Hop

-And Hop is my opponent in the final. Am I the only competent trainer is this country?

-Predicting Corviknight as his lead, so HV is mine

-I honestly want to lose someone, just because Hop deserves a win

-Oh, he started with Dubwool

-Overdrive, cotton guard, full restore overdrive, overdrive, dubwool dead

-Hop switched to Snorlax. Riot would be better, but I’ll stick with the overdrive strat

-Oh shit almost killed me with high horsepower Riot it is

-And a brick break takes it out

-I think I’m a bit over leveled

-Hop sent out Corviknight, switched to freight, tanked a scary face

-Dynamaxed, took it out with heat crash after tanking a steal wing

-Pincuring barely survived a bulldoze. I took it out afterward, but I won’t have dynamax to take on Rillaboom

-Big monkey used mass quake, it almost killed freight, and somehow took no damage from heat crash

-Switching to Echo to stall the dynamax with obstruct

-Oh dynamax bypasses protect that’s fair

-Whatever, we’re on an even playing field now. Time to use double edge I learned from Beating Marnie

-Used obstruct to get a bit of hp because I was below half, took it out with two night slashed

-Well, he didn’t kill anyone, but he got close, so he should feel proud

-Now to take on Leon

-Or we can get takeout that’s cool too

-The apocalypse is going to happen before I fight Leon, isn’t it

-Fuck off paparazzi

-“Beating Hop was just luck” HAHAHAHAHA

-“Hop was just the rival a knew he was” a bad one

-“Think you can win the finals” Yes I’m the main character

-How does this work, plot wise, if you lose?

-Oh, Leon’s missing. Of course he is

-Leon’s at badguy’s base I was right apocalypse time

-Also, I don’t recall being able to go to rose tower. This implies windon is larger than I thought

-Piers doesn’t want the finals delayed...perhaps because the leaders are fought in the finals!

-That’s How we fight Bede because he’s balloon tower defense’s leader now

-TEAM SKULL ARE MY MINIONS NOW!

-The monorail goes through the Ferris wheel that isn’t safe

-Oh look Oleana is interfering because she’s evil

-Let’s go find the douchebag wearing sunglasses at night so we can mug him

-Okay, this dumb motherfucker decided to hide his sunglasses not by taking them off, but by staring at a goddamn wall

-God I’m over leveled

-Team skull helps me out!

-It took me 20 minutes to find the man in the phone booth

-Piers took our enemies with rock music!

-This tower is hella evil

-Murder elevator tower

-So I started this tower with Snowball out front and they only use steel types so I have to keep switching to Freight

-Also Hop starts with a dubwool the shit man

-Take a chill pill Ole

-Wait, you want to stop me so Leon can’t fight me so he’ll be sad and manipulable? Seriously?

-Frosslass, Salazzle, Milotic? So beauty/feminine pokemon

-Oh shit leg onion almost killed Snowball with acrobatics

-HER FINAL POKÉMON IS A GARBADOR YES!

-And I used my dm on Snowball so I’m taking this thing out with a non dmed HV

-It has boats it’s trash island just like galar

-Nevermind, HV’s almost dead. Switching to Echo

-Tanked two blows, time for night slash

-Ha! It uses toxic spikes!

-It did it again now it’s dead!

-Oh wow hand drawn image

-Leon’s still a good boy! Also disaster in a thousand years what

-Oh, Rose isn’t an evil coal baron. He’s an evil Elon Musk. So normal Elon Musk

-Wait, we aren’t fighting him? He’s...he’s evil! We know he’s evil! His minions tried to kill us five minutes ago!

-Whatever, it’s champion time

-I’ve been here before, Hop. I fought you here

-All of the leaders are in the lockers its rematch time

-Wait, no Bede or Opal

-I have no idea who I’ll be facing. Riot is up front I guess

-Bede’s back bitches!

-Oh shit, Riot is my lead. Wait I have a dark type I’ll be fine

-How did he even get here isn’t there security

Gym Leader Bede

-He’s starting with a Mawhile, Switching up his style

-Oh right Mawhile is a fairy type I should have switched. Whatever, it’s dead now

-I actually don’t have a good counter for gardevoir. Nosferatu cause he has an assault vest I guess.

-Dont use a full restore you little bitch

-Gardevoir down, onto Rapidash. The one that doesn’t explode when it sees a rock water

-This thing is so goddamn girly I love it

-I’m pretty sure it’s psychic, but I don’t know for sure so I’m cautious on switching to Echo

-Ha! Psycho Cut doesn’t affect me!

-Oh shit dazzling gleam. NVMD it did jack shit

-Good News: rapidash is dead. Bad news: my dark type only has 21 hit points

-Switching off Set makes the same so much more difficult I should have done this from the start

-Bede switched to hatterene and gygantamaxed

-OH GOD IT SMITED MY SNOWBALL AND ALMOST KILLED IT

-Okay, back to Nosferatu

-Okay, Nosferatu’s almost dead, back to Echo

-Switching to stall out dynamax is such a bullshit strategy

-Scouted with Obstruct, it used dazzling gleam

-Switching to Freight because she’s my only Pokémon who isn’t poison type or almost dead

-Took next to no damage, now for a max flare to end this

-GG, Bede. I know this is faint praise but that was the toughest rival battle in the game

-Okay, now for the real leaders

-I know I’m not fighting Raihan or Milo cause they’re fighting each other, so I have to worry about Water/Fire/Ghost/Ice/Dark for my first match. Nosferatu is the best for that lineup so he’s leading

-Okay, it’s Nessa. Not great, but I was tempted to go with freight instead of Nosferatu so it could be worse

Nessa

-First is Golispod. Eat rock slide

-It emergency exited to baraskewda, Switching to HV

-OH GOD DRILL RUN NEW PLAN RIOT I GUESS

-You know what? Not saving the dm. Riot flutterbied barraskewda to death

-Oh no, pelliper. Flying types are bad for riot. B: Drizzle

-It tanked a Max knuckle and used tailwind I’m fucked

-Switching back to Nosferatu. Took out pelliper but took a ton of damage. I’d switch, but the next Pokémon is a pelliper and I’m not a coward

-It almost killed by with waterfall but it’s dead now

-That leaves golispod and gm Dreadnaw. I’m going back to riot

-Killed golispod with first impression because irony

-Riots almost dead, but a close combat brought it low. Switching to Echo

-A powerful offensive move that lays stealth rock that’s broken.

-Onstruct to tank, then kill it with night slash

-OH GOD IT OUTSPED ME AND KILLED ECHO WITH LIQUIDATION

-HV barely survived the stealth rock, but Echo can Rest In Peace now

-Accidentally clicked away from the tournament screen, only saw that Piers went on. Going in pretty blind

-Replacing Echo with Warrior the grapploct. I know it’s doubling up on fighting, but it’s the only box Pokémon up to snuff

-Used some tms, current moveset Waterfall, Superpower, Brick Break, Dig

-You know, this tragedy would have been averted if I allowed healing

-Okay, making me fight the Ghost leader right after my Obstagoon dies is a dick move, game

Allister

-Is this a horrible set of working conditions destroying the games industry? CAUSE ITS CRUNCH TIME

-Duskinoir? CRONCH!

-Polteageist? CRONCH!

-Chandelure? Liquidation, actually

-Cursola? DYNAMAX CRONCH!

-Gygantamax Gengar? IRONIC VORR MONSTER CRONCH!

-So yeah, I griffin McElroy’d Allister to death

-Next up is Raihan, then Leon and Rose and box doggo and the ending. But I’ll handle that tomorrow cause it’s 2:30 AM and I got school tomorrow

-I mean, it’s in the afternoon, but I also have homework due at the start of class

[dbphantom]

Canon: Zane Flynt fucks

Me: haha u know what this means ;))))

Me:

Me:

Me: merfolk glamour time

[[MORE]]

Alright but for real tho u wanna see how deep I am in this fucking universe? Lego

I don't even know where to begin with this universe (Zer0 is an alien! Hammerlock is a werewolf! Troy is psychic! Tannis is a skag! Wait, no, wrong shitpost...) so imma open the 140 page document and start from the beginning

Annnnd Clay! Junpai-7.

When Zane meets Clay for the first time he mentions they did a smuggling job together on Junpai-7, u know, the water planet, so obviously this is good news (This made me super happy because my discord channel's name had been the junpai-7 moon pool for a while so I was like 'holy shit it's canon now' :') )

Timeline wise this isn't the beginning, but I don't write in chronological order and I don't order anything in chronological order, either, so. Eh.

Speaking of chronological order, I once got a line where Zane was like exclaiming something and used the moon instead of idk a god or powerful figure or smth and I was like 'lmao that's canon now'

So the moon... Elpis fucking got yeeted halfway across the galaxy or smth, and, considering we've seen (more) ocean on Pandora in 3 instead of just, like, Liars Berg (getting to THAT) or Tretchers landing, I feel bad for the tides. But that's good news for everyone else. Unless you were on Elpis, I guess.

Also hoh boy the 'end' of the game where Troy Phaselocks the moon was fun to write (it actually wasn't, I lowkey hate writing Moonstruck phases because... It hurts and I can't do it well.) also can we talk about how in tps the psychos are called Moonstrucks in tvhm because this makes me so happy. I really hope they did that intentionally considering H2O is an Australian show because my two favorite things combined can and will kill me. Wait actually the Troy boss fight is gonna be hilarious to write mostly because of that one attack with the tidal waves lol oh no

Also, also, also, you guys it's only explained in a guide book and never actually in-game as to why Captain's ship is Like That (TM) so I took some liberties and uhhh blame the Crackening. I mean the crackening happened after dahl pulled out of Pandora/Elpis so it works. It sorta works. It mostly works. Fuck. It works okay? shut. That's why Liars Berg is all frozen ocean [shoves 3 page essay about climate change on Pandora into the trash] don't need that anymore.

I was gonna talk about smth else

Oh yeah

Mostly brain freeze and trick of the light. That one meme video I made of Tannis and the Flynt Brothers imposed over that one clip of H2O (so let me get this straight: you freeze things, you explode things, and you boil things) wasn't just for laughs, it was actually a warning.

Each Flynt has a thing and Zane's is ice, Baron's is explosions, and Captain's is fire. (Glorious cleansing fire) Because it fits. It fits so well. I will say right off the bat that Mako Mermaids isn't my canon. I lowkey want to write out Charlotte as well (lol) because I've seen the 2nd season so many times and tbh I much prefer them having 1 really strong power over having 3+ really weak powers. Also Charlotte did nothing wrong in the first half of that season. Cleo was just a bitch to her. And Mako Mermaids is just. Not great on the power side of things. You can TURN INVISIBLE. USE IT. Soooo. (also cam got destroyed in s1 and I'm so glad they ended up making him work in s2 and 3. Because he deserved better and Zac was a terrible friend to him and only got away with it because he's a main character). /rant sorry I have so many feelings about these shows. Grew up with them soooooo.

And if ur wondering why I brought up trick of the light it's cause the 13th year exists and that movie was bopping. U guys remember Jess? Good times... Tuba pool scene is iconic. U know the one. I would also bring up aquamarine but ngl that movie was weaksauce comparatively. They hid that bitch in a water tower and iunno talked to earrings. Meanwhile in the 13th year they bring Jess back from the fucking dead and climb on walls like Spiderman. Clearly one is superior.

"but cruddy Aurelia has ice powers too and she's not a mermaid" no she's a werewolf like her brother we already went over that. Did u think I was kidding? No! I'm never kidding unless I am and I fucking love werewolves so I'd never kid about that. I love werewolves and I love Hammerlock and it's perfect I just love the idea of this gentlemanly hunter being a werewolf because I want to see a giant hulking monster being all proper and shit. They're just really cool. Werewolves > vampires and ngl I'm sad skyrim screwed over werewolves with the dawnguard dlc. Anyway Aurelia's ice powers are nanobots as explained in-game and listen I already lore-scienced this okay? Let me say it's amazing the things science is capable of when it thinks it's trying to beat out a competitor and doesn't realize non-Siren magic exists. Even better now that we know Sirens are not Eridian and actually existed before Eridians. Makes me giddy to think about. The universe is tearing me APART Lisa.

Oh speaking of, can we talk about the witch's brew quest on eden-6 because holy shit I had been writing Hiromi and her fascination with discovering all the secret circles long before the game came out and then learning about the group of witches and The Pact (TM) made me lose my shit because 'oh my god it's actually canon now'. We're on the canon path nowwwww. Soon. I hope we get a water planet dlc. I wants it, GB, I wants it.

Also I was totally gonna write a clip in the main story of the game (because I write a lot of backstory stuff if you can't tell, I only have like 3 scenes that take place during the events of the game and like 4 that are speculatory from before the game came out (including a scene from before I realized Troy was Like That but I edited it so he's more in-line and also has Maya's powers now so that's... Hm. In line with the storyline somewhere, but not an actual scene in the games story. Because its not possible with how the game does things (seperating Vault Hunters) I suppose I could just insert a 5th Vault somewhere and say it's the 4th Vault connected to the Machine (with nekrotefeyo's being the 5th). Fuck it.) and then 9,000 are backstory) where Hiromi comes back after like decades of the two not seeing each other and she's been hired to assassinate Zane by one of the many corporations looking for his corpse for a multitude of reasons (And Emma and Nino are both d e a d a s f, you know, for context). And like Barnabas (ya old bastard) Zane is still joking around and just having a grand old time catching up with his black ops buddy meanwhile she had just tried to blow his brains out (she's a sniper) and got pretty damn close. She's not even amused because of her psychic powers so she's just like 'ok' every time he opens his mouth because she already knows what he's going to say she's mostly just frustrated that she missed because she thought she knew him well enough to go off instead of just listening to her intuition but alas people change after, like, 3 decades of not seeing them.

Oh since we're talking about Hiromi that reminds me why Zane wears the black suit. In my non-h2o universe it's because it looks cool and provides some protection from dots. In the H2Oniverse it is because it's waterproof. Okay wait hang on context so Hiromi doesn't like take off his suit or anything, she's extremely gay and not interested, because I realize now how that sounds me relating Hiromi to the clothes, they just get into an argument about how Sirens don't have to follow any arbitrary rules to hide their magic and how it's easier to hide magic without giant glowing tattoos (and mind you this is before Zane even knows Tannis exists though he does immediately know she's a Siren and that's a whole nother can of worms) and hr's like 'I wear a bodysuit for most of my waking hours, so I am pretty sure they can try wearing long sleeved shirts and makeup for a day. Just a suggestion' but like way more in character (and for the scene) because do I sound like I'm in character right now? I'm not. I'm me. And God what a terrible thing to be.

So context for the context: ~magic is real~. If you've got it then you can usually tell who else has it if you're looking. It's especially clear if they're 'similar' to you (if ur a werewolf and u meet another werewolf then you sorta just know they're a werewolf) or if you're psychic (like Hiromi) then you can make some informed guesses. Like. Same Hat? Same Hat!!! Sirens are basically such powerful magic users that they are in literally a whole nother ball park. They're leagues above everyone else. Kill you just by looking at you sort of deal. So sirens normally don't feel other magic because their own magic is so strong it just 'overwrites' the other signals. You know, to not only explain why Lilith isn't immediately like 'who the fuck are you' to Zane and also how Amara couldn't tell Tannis is a Siren. I had a whole thing with Troy (who is psychic) being able to tell Zane had magic despite being near 4 Sirens at once because Troy grew up with Tyreen always at his side so he's used to it and knows how to look through it. Meanwhile Hiromi is basically incapacitated when she's near a Siren because she gets overwhelmed because her powers make it easier for her to read other people's magic.

Oh, context, the black ops outfit worked with Atlas for a short time (the group being Zane, Hiromi, Emma, and Nino. Emma is the yeehaw captain. She's the leader) and ended up meeting Steele for a little bit. Hiromi was just dead the entire meeting, Zane was totally out of it, and Emma and Nino were too busy eyefucking to really care that there was a Siren in the room so. Just imagine one person lying face down on the floor and crying, another staring at the wall without blinking, two undressing each other with their eyes, and then Cmdt. Steele standing in the middle like 'how the fuck did I get here'.

So that was everyone's first experience with a Siren.

There are more but ehhhh I'm tired and I mostly wrote this because I wanted to talk about it with someone else but they haven't read the whole thing yet so now I can scream into the void about it and not feel like I'm bothering them.

Hooray!

[cre0n]

DOFACNCR&BB

“Dreams of fucking a conscious North Carolina Rhythm & Blues bitch”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AmQ3F5ZzD9g&list=PLSdc77nkf9su2lXAWPDBsCMdezCs9Vc78&index=19

-Enters Building-

C: Hey sista! How are you? Blk Wm: We so glad you joined us today! C: Thank you. It's a lot of yall here. It's no time to be a shortage of minds I see. Blk Wm: Well they are undoubtedly waiting for you, as I can tell already (sarcastically) C: Looks like a different list... (laughs as he waives to a young group of women impatiently waiting for the speech) C: But all jokes aside sista, just around the corner and in that arena are those undeniable truths that I will speak to our people. These are the truths that make it possible to find at least some temporary freedom while we here right? Now is not the time for the bullshit.. Blk Wm: (Smiles)....We're glad you are here and we love you. We always have and your almost finished...

-Walks Down Corridor- -There is a momentary applause before C finally reaches and steps up to the podium-

C: We are dedicated to building our legacy and financial truths in teamwork and progressive knowledge of business. The problem with that statement is we will never be teammates and the progressive knowledge of business is not for meant for your black ass. Instead, a new anomaly has erupted called "take something!" Indeed we intend to do as such no matter if it's over dead bodies or entire races. That which is owed will be covered in full plus retribution. Being dedicated to something is not only just doing it, but winning it. The driving force that shows no mercy that was once bestowed upon us must be replayed 100 fold. We are the present and our future is right now.

-Crowd applauses-

-There is a transition to various celebrities, athletes, military officials, "World Leaders", politicians, former Presidents, Influencers, and those secret groups or individuals unknown to the public.

-Fades to Black-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iegaDu1mNps&list=PLSdc77nkf9su2lXAWPDBsCMdezCs9Vc78&index=20

800 Benz they ain't made those yet The real Rolls Royce engines are installed on jets For a bigger hut, in this prison Simulations levels up, Golden Age gettin' it Manors on Estates, Roses and grapes Without bucking on a stage, then you haven't met the Apes Class is wealth and knowledge is real game Burning cigarette shorts on unrealized gains When whores come out the last line of defense That tells the whole globe caucasoids are desperate Legends lead 5 million for his aura shut up Should get a boat invite Monarchs with charts for a leg hump Level 2 jumps file as corporations, what you filing? Seems you in my business talking shit racial profiling We kick it in the storms ain't what you want no norms Beyond your stage "CREON'S A WALKING PLATFORM" Too big for my britches, Too big to fail Cane and a top hat, that's a Baron Samedi whale Bread crumbs soaked with thermite, don't follow this trail You could be as dope as me but as a man you choose to fail So how many of yall really gotta deny that & Yeah Eye'm talking to yall personally & When Eye'm talking to you little nigger look at me Shit that make you mad as fuck, Eye do agree So it took over everything shouldn't have fucked with Beast He's God, Jesus Christ, Satan, Santa Clause feat. Ice Cream It's off the nepotism chain again my fake friend Great resets, blowing out the cartridge dust They put up a fight, Eye made a big fuss Was on point still am, the fakest rapture A white boy from outer space saving me from disasters Melanated compounded, nasty Jews ain't R&B bitch with the dreads all fillets no steaks She got a shape that reminds me of a Shooter's Alley Process video memory Mecklenburg's our valley Sort of like Cali, straight from Souf Kak Spartanburg County, Upstate to be exact Credit scores with consistent 7's expecting more When Eye decide to show up and speak give me the floor Rage on monopoly everywhere you land is me Even on the weekends highway construction your release Eye set the trends, the standards, and the personnel Macking this boiler, Queen City divas no spoilers (Max) No frame glass showers, heated floors , stainless fixtures In the mirror prism Crystals loving winters Going 10 deep they waiting on every word.... Rather Eye write this or type scripts Balancing in the midst production refuse to mix Kyrie is right it's flat, refusing your jab stick Refusal of a jab, "cracker fuck your mask" At last off the Atlas 5 mill for 1, fame nigga "practice" 5 mill for 1 "is he for real right now" Technology you never seen, worth every Kobe Bean Food for thought "They should've starred my balls in the Matrix" Is she conscious? The one with the hips burning sage Red lip gloss smells like bubble gum amazed Somebody making decisions is smoking Fentanyl ....Telling astral jokes on a boat Whoever gunning for positions gone get it all Stars in the ceiling she's an alchemist GOAT...............

keep it rolling...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sevzh0__ZaI&list=PLSdc77nkf9su2lXAWPDBsCMdezCs9Vc78&index=21

Bitch the floor is the ceiling As above so below start the healing Out the press box now the coach chillin' 10 in a row, scaling in a killing Beta Boys turned into politicians The #1 Archon villain Nigga fuck Marcus Garvey and his children Dog stars downloaded in my bios They stuck a dragon in a cage with a coyote If you pray for change your spirit is weak Eye'm finna start selling hope at the beach White sand R&B head in my hand Eye'm what your top 5 never got to do Why retrace to repeat it, when it speaks for me and you...... (10)

-Fades-

"But now in the 1990's, I'd be praying that the bitch don't find me"

[osakasshitpit]

A complete summary of the worst game series that has ever existed, in explicit detail, part 1

I think by now I have talked about what I consider to be the citizen cain of shitty RPG Maker games at lenght, but since the entire series is written in very VERY poor german, even native speakers might have trouble to comprehend whats going on. Die Letzte Schlacht der Elfen (which translates roughly to The Elves Last Stand) is an epic of trash, spanning over 10 games (soon to be 11). After @goothemighty showed interest in the series and the german RPG Maker community, I decided to recap the madness to the best of my ability.

A little history: Ankluas is a german dude with very poor writing skills that has haunted the german RPG Maker scene for over 10 years now. I don’t know when exactly he started making RPG Maker games, but it was somewhere over 10 years ago. He is infamous for using a dozen different names (like Ankluas, aka and Selphia ). Selphia  is especially confusing since apparently, he stated that Selphia  was his sister, which later turned out to be a blatant fake. Why he decided to impersonate his own sister is puzzling, but thats just what Ankluas does I guess. Die Letzte Schlacht der Elfen was originally created by “Selphia ” and later taken over by Ankluas propper after Game number 4... which just means he stopped pretending after the 4th game. Almost all of the games are absolutely fucking broken and in their original form unfinishable for one reason or another. A user called SuperMike decided to rework the games, making them completable and giving the players cheats to make it less of a grindy mess. So... I guess lets start from the beginning then.

The first game opens with our series Protagonist Farodin (a 15 year-old elven Warrior) being called to the king of Castle Elvenlight. The king tasks him with the destruction of the so-called Dark Elf Vilithrulith. Prior to the game's plot, 55 years ago to be exact, there was a huge war against the demons of the underworld. They basically wrecked the entire earth except for the continent of Sirolan (which is pretty much a lie because the game world is much bigger than just one continent and there is life pretty much everywhere). After that, the Dark Elf showed up and started wrecking the elves shit (them being the dominant species at that point I guess). You have the chance to talk to an old man in the castle that talks about how he defeated a baron of hell during the war, who vowed to return. Through his defeat, the body of the baron died and his soul was sent back to hell, where he apparently taught himself black magic. With the help of the black magic he was able to return but in exchange for the power to do so, he became a demon. The old man states that this baron of hell is the dark elf. Okay. Let's think about this. SO, there is a baron of hell (a title that implies that he is a demon riiiiight?) and he died, so his soul went back to hell. Makes sense. Then, he used black magic to return, but now he has to live as a demon... so he wasn’t a demon before? And he is also the dark elf... Uhm... Okay, let’s just carry on. The old man also states that if the dark elf dies in this new demonic form, his existence would be erased (whatever that means). After the king tasks him with destroying the dark elf, Farodin sets out on his quest, defeats multiple barons of hell that all serve the dark elf for some reason (and are sometimes also called dark elves but whatever). Along the way he meets his party members that you can take with you or not, they will be in the dialogues anyways. The game just ASSUMES you have them with you, there is no file save to force you to actually meet them. Farodin first meets Edwin. Edwin is a very arrogant mage skilled in various forms of magic. He always belittles Farodin every chance he gets and bitch-boy Farodin never fights it. Then, there is Selphia , She is an elf and she literally says nothing for almost the entire game. Lastly, there is Aliya. She is a tiefling, or a half-demon... the game isn’t really consistent on that. She joins the party because she is bored, clearly has something going on with Edwin from second 1 you met her and also shits down on Farodin non-stop. What a great party. Most of the game is very inconsequential and you could just go straight to the end of the game without missing much. Its literally the king sending you to one location, then you go there and kill someone, then return to the king, rinse and repeat until you have the final confrontation with Vilithrulith, or how he is better known among fans: Villi. You could also call him Bill. It don’t matter. After killing the dark elf, he becomes a demon (although I thought he was a demon before), then you have to fight his demon form, to which he becomes a ghost (????????) that you also have to beat. AFTER THAT the grim reaper shows up (??????????????????) and destroys Villis existence. Like... uhm... okay. After the parties victory and the dark elf being erased from existence, farodin and company return to the king. Edwin suddenly attacks the king, stating that he wants to kill all the elves so the humans (Edwin is a human btw) can take over. You now have the decision to fight on Edwins side or Farodins side, each giving you a different Ending. SURPRISINGLY THOUGH, Edwins Ending is canon. Farodin and Selphia  die, Edwin takes over the world or something, the end. Wow.

So that was game number 1. A game with terrible level design, terrible encounter design (as the final boss literally is 3 phases of him being maxed out in everything with no change in tactic or whatever) and a confusing story that makes less and less sense, the deeper you dig into it.

[spencerberkeley]

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Full Name: Charles Arthur Spencer Berkeley.

Nicknames: Both parents refuse to call him anything other than Charles. Nora and Camilla both call him Charlie. Some of his old university friends started calling him Spenny to piss him off, and it ended up sticking in those circles. Professionally, however, he is always known as Spencer.

Birthday: August 27th.

Age: 37.

Gender: Male.

Place of Birth: Guildford, England, United Kingdom.

Nationality: British.

Places Lived Since: Fife, Scotland (briefly, during his time at St. Andrews.) Epsom and London, England.

Parents: Catherine Finchley, Alistair Berkeley.

Grandparents: Arthur Finchley (grandfather, maternal, deceased) Olivia Finchley (grandmother, maternal) Baron Orson Berkeley (grandfather, paternal) Cecelia Berkeley (grandmother, paternal) 

Aunts and Uncles: Vivienne Hathaway, Rosalie Romanova (née Berkeley, aunts, paternal), Alexander, William Berkeley (uncles, paternal), Alexandra Finchley-Barrington (aunt, maternal) Rupert Finchley, Sanford Finchley (uncles, maternal)

Number of Siblings: Two younger sisters, Camilla (30) and Nora (32). Had an older brother, George, but he died when Spencer was eleven.

Children: Two daughters, Ailsa Berkeley (4) Rosslyn Berkeley (6)

Relationship With Family: Spencer’s parents divorced shortly after George’s death, and it came as a total shock. None of the children were expecting it because they’d hid the stress of dealing with their son’s illness so well. Spencer definitely dealt with it poorly in comparison to Camilla and Nora, and was incredibly angry at them; mostly because he was expecting them to reconcile and they never did. Catherine and Alistair remain friends. Whilst his mother has since remarried, his father never did, but they all make a huge effort to see each other regularly as a family. Spencer is incredibly close to his father and Camilla, whereas Nora was always closer to their mother.

Happiest Memory: It was a pretty simple vacation to Devon, shortly before his brother got sick. The two boys sat watching fireworks for what felt like hours in Plymouth, talking about stupid things and eating awful food from a van. I think it sticks out as the most memorable for him because it was the last time they were all together as a family. The last time he has a solid memory of George not being ill.

Childhood Trauma: Seeing his brother, George, suffer through leukaemia was about as traumatic as it gets. Honestly, he’s still pretty irrationally angry about losing him, because he was way too good a person to go young. The family doesn’t talk about it, ever, and Spencer is glad. They were always the closest of the siblings—he worshipped the ground George walked on—and the topic is still too touchy.

PHYSICAL:

Height: 6’1”

Weight: 185lbs.

Build: Mesomorph. Well-built, very fit.

Hair Color: Light brown.

Usual Hair Style: Short back and sides, neatly styled on top. Neat, well-maintained stubble for the face. Only goes cleanly shaven for important events.

Eye Color: Blue.

Glasses? Contacts?: Neither. Perfect vision.

Style of Dress/Typical Outfit(s): Spencer is a stylish motherfucker, okay. Looking good is incredibly important to him, and so he puts a lot of effort into it. Three piece suits. Designer watches. He gets shit on by the press for spending too much money on his attire when ‘some people in his constituency can hardly afford to put food on the table’ but that’s one thing he won’t compromise on. Keep trying.

Typical Style of Shoes: Can’t go wrong with a good, stylish pair of Oxfords.

Jewellery? Tattoos? Piercings?: Always wears a gold signet ring, bearing his family’s crest, on his right little finger. It was a gift from his father after becoming elected. No tattoos or piercings.

Scars: A thin line through his top lip as a result of getting whacked a little too hard in the face by a sparring partner whilst boxing. Still didn’t teach him to think twice about winding his opponents up too much. Luckily, it kind of suits him.

Unique Mannerisms/Physical Habits: Spencer paces. A lot.

Athleticism: Boxes several times a week to keep fit and kill stress, so if he threatens to beat the shit out of you—which he very well might (but probably wouldn’t follow through on, shh)—then he’s not all bark and no bite.

Health Problems/Illnesses: None.

INTELLECT:

Level of Education: Attended Eton. MSc in Politics and Communications from LSE.

Languages Spoken: English (native) French (intermediate)

Level of Self Esteem: Very high. The fact that he’s in love with himself is not a secret.

Gifts/Talents: Being a raging cunt. Also a top class writer.

Mathematical?: Hugely.

Makes Decisions Based Mostly On Emotions, or On Logic?: Logic. Spencer doesn’t care about anyone’s emotions, and his own are usually included in that statement. He is a master at suppressing them—both the good and the bad—and always has been, particularly when it comes to work.

Life Philosophy: “You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it.” - Quote courtesy of his second political hero, Margaret Thatcher. 

Religious Stance: Atheist.

Cautious or Daring?: Incredibly daring. That being said, he’s had to tone down the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude since becoming an elected representative, as he realises the consequences of his actions are a lot more scrutinized now. He can’t get away with half of the shit he used to pull as a journalist.

Most Sensitive About/Vulnerable To: His kids. The press can hack his personal life to shreds all they’d like, but the girls are off-limits.

Optimist or Pessimist?: Pessimist.

Extrovert or Introvert?: Extroverted in personality—he’s about as outgoing as it gets—but he does so whilst sharing little about himself as a person.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Current Relationship Status: Single.

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual.

Past Relationships: Many very brief liaisons recently—enough for the media to drag him for it on multiple occasions, and for his personal life to become their main negative focus. But Spencer’s only real relationship came in the form of his marriage to Evelyn Whitmore. They met whilst he was in his final year of LSE, and were together for four years before marrying. The marriage lasted seven more, during which they had two children: Ailsa and Rosslyn. Evelyn left him when he stopped the journalism to become involved with politics, himself. She said it ‘changed’ him, and even though she’d tried, she couldn’t be with him anymore. It hurt because he definitely loved her more than he considers himself capable of doing again, but he has moved on. Spencer is not about pining. Not even for her.

Primary Reason For Being Broken Up With: Is an insufferable asshole. Hugely unsociable working hours.

Primary Reasons For Breaking Up With People: Boredom.

Ever Cheated?: Nah.

Ever Been Cheated On?: More than likely.

Level of Sexual Experience: If there’s such a thing as too high, then it’s that.

Story of First Kiss: A girl Spencer met whilst his family holidayed in The Maldives. They were both fifteen and her father chased him all the way down the beach when he caught them. He never saw her again, and can’t even remember her name, but still laughs when he looks back on the memory.

Story of Loss of Virginity: Spencer was seventeen, and he hooked up with his sister’s best friend, a year his junior, after he picked the girls up from their prom. Nora had threatened to beat the shit out of him. They briefly dated for a couple of months, but he soon got bored because she was fucking vacuous. Nora never got over it, and the relationship with her friend was never the same.

A Social Person?: Absolutely. Spencer feeds off social situations, and would implode if he didn’t have someone to rant to. That being said, he’s incredibly selective about those he’s social with, because most people annoy the shit out of him.

Most Comfortable Around: Honestly, he’s comfortable around few. Spencer is constantly waiting for someone to stab him in the back, because politics is nasty and that’s just how the game goes. Comfortable around his family. His assistants, Val and Pippa. Cassie, Jess and Gideon. Wished he still had Harrison, too.

Oldest Friend: Jack Bronson, an old friend from Eton, who now works as a junior political correspondent for the BBC. The brotherly relationship means a lot to him and sustained his sanity after losing George. Even though he could exploit the connection, he tends not to unless absolutely necessary.

Enemies: Adam Hassan. Fuck that bitch. Spencer is still convinced he tried it on with his wife (who was and still is working as his PA) whilst they were married, and he’ll never forgive him for that, or the fact he’s Labour and she let him.

How Does He Think Others Perceive Him?: Obnoxious. Blunt. Aggressive. An absolute royal asshole.

How Do Others Actually Perceive Him?: All of those things. Luckily, he’s too good at his job for them not to keep him around anyway.

SECRETS:

Life Goals: Foreign or Home Secretary sounds pretty good to him.

Dreams: To retire from political life with his reputation intact. For his kids not to hate him. Move into consultancy work. Make a fuck load of money. Own a yacht just so he can tell people he owns a yacht.

Greatest Fears: Elevators.

Most Ashamed Of: In all honesty, Spencer has very little shame. Maybe a little in regard to his conduct because he feels like he might be disappointing his mother? Aside from that, nah. You don’t work the way he works if you have shame.

Secret Hobbies: Painting. He never much considered himself an artistic person, but after attempting a mural on the wall of his kids’ bedroom at his place (with their help, of course) he actually picked it up as something to do in his very limited down time. He’s not amazing, but he definitely enjoys it.

Crimes Committed (Was he caught? Charged?): Aside from some illegal drug taking, he’s clean.

DETAILS/QUIRKS:

Night Owl or Early Bird?: Both. What is sleep?

Light or Heavy Sleeper?: Very light. Always rolling around expecting a phone call about some political disaster, or is too distracted thinking about work to fully switch off.

Favourite Animal: Snakes.

Favourite Food: Halloumi.

Least Favorite Food: Apples. General salady food because health is overrated.

Favourite Book: The Prince – Niccolò Machiavelli

Least Favorite Book: Does The Communist Manifesto count? Wouldn’t wipe his ass with that shit.

Favourite Movie: The Departed.

Least Favourite Movie: Fight Club.

Favourite Song: Hysteria – Muse.

Favourite Sport: Rugby. He would support England to the ends of the Earth. Also quite likes watching basketball.

Coffee or Tea?: Coffee.

Crunchy or Smooth Peanut Butter?: Neither.

Type of Car He Drives: Has an Aston Martin Vanquish, but God forbid he drives it anywhere. There would be less public backlash if he just set fire to a poor person in the street. Most of the time he tries to be a good MP and use the peasanty public transport. If not, he has a Mercedes Benz E-Class that’s just old enough not to offend.

Lefty or Righty?: Left-handed.

Favorite Color: Black.

Cusser?: If he’s not cussing, you need to be worried. Every other word is typically a curse with this asshole. Accept it.

Smoker? Drinker? Drug User?: Yes. Excessively so. Less so since becoming a father, but that doesn’t mean he won’t enjoy a line every now and again if he’s in certain company. Cocaine brings people together, guys.

Biggest Regret: No point wasting time regretting things.

Pets: Three goldfish he recently won at a fair with his girls. Even he wasn’t heartless enough to flush them. Rosslyn named two: Sparkles and Big Mac. He named the third Malcolm Tucker after his personal political hero, and is permanently disappointed that he still hasn’t eaten the fuck out of the other two. Often talks to them about political policy when he’s too stressed to deal with actual human beings. Thus far, they haven’t answered back.

[marquis-teren-kiden]

The Many Layers of Teren K.

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name: Teren Lussier Kiden

Eye Color: Sapphire Blue

Hair Style/Color: Black, loosely curled

Height: 6′ 4″

Clothing Style: Suave, Chic, Formal (Circumstances dictating)

Best Physical Feature: “My mind.”

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Your Fears:  “Failing my loved ones. Losing my loved ones. Being abandoned by my loved ones. Again.”

Your Guilty Pleasure:  “Group sex.”

Your Biggest Pet Peeve: “Willful ignorance.”

Your Ambition for the Future:  “To love and be loved. To wed someone who loves me as thoroughly as I do them. To spend the rest of my life caring for those I love.”

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

Your First Thoughts Waking Up:  “That I long to be with my family. My Lover, my children, and my grandchildren, desperately.”

What You Think About the Most: “That I long to be with my family. My Lover, my children, and my grandchildren, desperately.”  

What You Think About Before Bed:  “That I long to be with my family. My Lover, my children, and my grandchildren, desperately.”

You Think Your Best Quality Is:  Teren chuckles in mild amusement as he ponders his most recent responses. “Consistency.”

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: “Generally, I consider dates a formal occasion pertaining only to myself and one other party; though there have been exceptions.”

To be Loved or Respected: “Respected. I know of many who are respected as friends or enemies., but none who are loved without at least some measure of respect.”

Beauty or Brains:  “Brains, mate. The single most attractive feature I’ve ever found in a Lover is keen intellect.”

Dogs or Cats:  The gentleman erupts with a hearty laugh. “Oh, Light, mate. I’d best say dogs, or my dear Wolf will likely leave me for that Bitch he keeps in tow.”

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: “Not that I recall. I’m much more inclined to allow those in my company to lie to themselves.” he replies with impish amusement in his sapphire orbs.

Believe in Yourself: “In regard to most matters? Unequivcally. In regards to Love?” The nobleman shrugs, hands up briefly in a helpless gesture. 

Believe in Love:  “Oh, of course. I’m quite familiar with love, it’s joys, pains and hollow promises. Nonetheless, I make point to remain open to it. Perhaps it is the romantic in me. Or... perhaps I’m but a fool. The proverbial Tragic Lover whose most sincere efforts at acquiring true love and happiness will ever lead to nought. Regardless, I must try.”

Want Someone: “Currently? I have the one I want. Currently, he wants me, in turn. Fortunate, wouldn’t you say?”

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage: “Several times. My mate, @baron-larcos-soboavill and another Nishanian Lord ( @baron-janin-ninro ) historically tour together once a year in the summers to celebrate the Festival of Life in the Marche. - Free concerts for all Nishanian. ”

Done Drugs: “Nothing recreational.”

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: Teren laughs heartily, shaking his head. “Not for such a purpose, no. Though, I am not opposed to masquerade which leads to continued survival for myself or my mates.”

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

Favorite Color:  “I’ve no particular favor for any given hue or shade.”

Favorite Animal: “The Wolf?” he replies, clearly hedging his bets for a second time.

Favorite Food: “Ah!” He enthuses, smiling broadly. “Nishanian Raindrop cake. Truly a delight for the mind and pallet.”

Favorite Game: “Twenty questions.” He replies readily. A moment later he adds, “And... ‘Truth or Dare.’”

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

Day Your Next Birthday Will Be: “May twenty.”

How Old Will You Be:  “Forty-two, mate.”

Age You Lost Your Virginity:  “Twenty-two, with my first wife, Elif.”

Does Age Matter: “Of course. I’ve no interest in bedding children. I do try to steer upwards of twenty-five - now thirty - in terms of those I take into my my bed.”

LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL

Best Personality: “Confidence. In either.”

Best Eye Color:  “Here, mate, I have no particular preference.”

Best Hair Color: “Mate, when has any rational individual ever chosen a lover basedon hair color?”

Best thing to do with a Partner: “Fuck. For externded periods. Everywhere we can get away with.”

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: “Methuselah, Annest Rev’more Kiden, Garren Kiden, Scassira Kiden, Elias Hawthorne, Lochlyn Kiden, Nicosa Alatir, Wieda Ashcroft-Kiden, Kai Alatir, Lan’Do Alatir, Anou’e Nillion, Karrista and Evangeline Dawnchaser, Ync and Doyle Ubu, D’ashu Nivan, Lycanthos Maddox, Pax Urbi, Malura Underchild, Darsa Carrington, Baron Larcos Sobo’Avill--” Here, he pauses, his expression sobering. The added responses are less names, and more descriptors of painful memories. “--My Little Bird, and my Light.”

I feel:  “Blessed. Haunted. -- Haunted and Blessed.”

I hide:  “A great deal.”

I miss: “My family.”

I wish: “All that I might wish for would remove free will from others if it were to come to pass. I’ll leave this hypothetical inquiry where it lies. Thank you.”

Tagged By: @isolde-revmore

Tagging: @huntsman-hawthorne @rodanthemargrave @daughterofkiden @baron-larcos-soboavill & @strixena

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name:

Eye Color:

Hair Style/Color:

Height:

Clothing Style:

Best Physical Feature:

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Your Fears:  

Your Guilty Pleasure:  

Your Biggest Pet Peeve:

Your Ambition for the Future:  

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

Your First Thoughts Waking Up:  

What You Think About the Most:  

What You Think About Before Bed:

You Think Your Best Quality Is:  

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates:

To be Loved or Respected:

Beauty or Brains:  

Dogs or Cats:  

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie:

Believe in Yourself:  

Believe in Love:  

Want Someone:

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage:

Done Drugs:  

Changed Who You Were to Fit In:

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

Favorite Color:  

Favorite Animal:

Favorite Food:

Favorite Game:

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

Day Your Next Birthday Will Be:

How Old Will You Be:  

Age You Lost Your Virginity:  

Does Age Matter:  

LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL

Best Personality:

Best Eye Color:  

Best Hair Color:  

Best thing to do with a Partner:

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love:

I feel:  

I hide:  

I miss:

I wish:

Tagged By: 

Tagging: