#but osha comes first and so the pants come out

[aelloposchrysopterus]

I want to dress cute and girly, but my outfits aren’t OSHA compliant.

[jreads]

They were both panting, coated in a light sheen of sweat. He had a wooden staff to her throat, feeling the rise and fall of her breaths, her heartbeat reverberating through his arms, his chest. Over the weeks, she had been improving: movements getting quicker, blows turning more lethal, gaze more rapidly assessing. It was mesmerizing to watch Osha move. Like him, she had that mix of Jedi training as well, and it refined each step. She was violently calculating, unlike Mae’s rage-fueled offensive barrages. She was perfect. And beautiful.

“You’re distracted,” she huffed in his grasp, before twisting and bringing her ankle behind his own, knocking him off balance for just a moment…

But it was long enough. She pushed out with the force and he faltered. The impact of his back meeting rough rock face was enough to knock the breath from him. 

She didn’t miss a beat, leveling the point of her staff just under his chin. Qimir could tell she was trying to hide a smile of defiance. 

Osha tossed her hair over one shoulder. “That didn’t even feel like a fair win. I could tell your mind was elsewhere.” 

The sun on this planet had darkened her skin and it seemed to glow now. Her body was more toned and corded with muscle, and her lips seemed… impossibly fuller?

“Qimir?” she raised a brow.

Maker, the way she said his name. 

Bad idea. Fantastic idea.

He had her up against the rock in a second, wrists pinned at her side, staff forgotten at their feet. She was still heaving.

“Push me away,” he commanded, preparing to fight against the familiar weight of her force push. But it never came.

“I said push..." he tightened his grip for emphasis.

"me..." and pressed his weight further into her.

"Away.” She was looking at him with some new expression, hooded, dark, thrilling, dangerous. And when she angled her head, he knew he was done for. 

He tried to step back then, to put some distance between them, to dampen that red hot shot of lightning now spiderwebbing through his chest. Too late.

He couldn’t move.

The force was an unbreakable barrier against his back. Thrumming. So powerful. She was trapping him.

“Osha.” It was barely a whisper. She looked like she was lost, like she couldn’t even hear him. But she was close, so impossible close…

She leaned forward first, eyes fluttering closed. At the barest brush of her lips on his they both knew there was no coming back from this.

And it was a mess. Tongues and teeth and he could swear he tasted blood. She was a livewire, hands fisting in his hair, against his robes. It was like she wanted to tear him apart, and maybe she did, and honestly, in that moment, he couldn’t have cared less. 

i'm so normal about them can you tell? more to come, watch this space <3

[st0rmyskies]

I spent the day sweating my ass off at a smaller hometown theme park, so here's a list of how the boys enjoy their day trip to a fun park.

Twilight - He’ll go on any ride with anyone no matter how fast or scary, nor how slow or mundane. Although the teacups and other rides that spin you a lot tend to make him dizzy, and he's not a big fan of the haunted house. But our big soft-hearted country boy is partial to the antique carousel and needs to go on it just once. Come on, guys, anybody…? (Spoiler: They all go on it with him.)

Wild - It’s a wonder he’s going to survive any of the rides because this boy is all about the food. Funnel cake? Candy floss?? Potato pancakes??? Fudge????? Dippin’ Dots!!????!?!? He has his hands full of treats while they’re waiting in every line, and on any ride he can sneak them on to successfully, too. His favorite ride is the music-coaster-thing, and he’ll sing along at the top of his voice to every damn song.

Champion - Not too thrilled by rides, but he will go on them to be a sport. Except those rides with a sheer drop, tower-of-terror style. NO fucking thanks. Where he really slays, though, are the shooting games, with special bonus points if one of the other boys challenges him to a round. You bet your ass Champion is casually lugging around a stuffed Wolfie half the size of his body for most of the day.

Legend - He’ll get on some of the coasters and the crazier rides, but not all of them. He’s not a big fan of screaming his head off all day long, gives him a headache. He gets uppity with the fortune telling machine giving him the same negative reading over and over again no matter how many quarters he jams in the damn thing. And his fortune ends up coming true, too: he gets banned from the bumper cars after a vulgar road-rage incident.

Hyrule - Goes on one, maybe two coasters, and promptly pukes. He’s then the designated Bag Handler for the rest of the day. Which actually works out well, all up until the mid-afternoon when he wanders off to find himself some coffee and promptly gets lost, necessitating a rather embarrassing announcement over the PA system.

Warriors - He stressed out about his outfit for two weeks beforehand and STILL managed to choose the wrong thing to wear. Yes, those linen pants with the front crease are supposed to be breezy, Wars, but they’re meant for something like a wedding, not a fucking amusement park. He gets cranky when he’s too fucking hot and his hair is damp against the back of his neck. Eventually, one of the other boys — probably Legend or Sky — has to shoo him away from the group for a bit. When they turn up 20 minutes later Wars has an icy drink, a pair of novelty swim trunks from the souvenir shop, a headband for his hair, and a brand new “fuck it, we ball” attitude.

Sky - Loves all the roller coasters, LOVES THEM, and gets sad if he doesn’t get to sit in the front seat on every single one. He wants to go on the biggest, tallest, fastest, most OSHA-violating coaster no less than three times, and he’ll hop off of it just to turn around and get right back in line. Least likely to remember to hydrate and reapply sunscreen. You know he’s passed the fuck out that entire drive home. 

Four - He quite enjoys observing the inner workings of the mechanics that go along with the rides, then makes ominous comments about the engineering to his seat-mate as they’re being hauled up the incline for that first drop of a coaster. He also spends an inordinate amount of time in the air conditioned arcade winning as many tickets as he can to obtain some silly prize like an obscure toy from the 80’s or something similar. May not be tall enough to ride every ride.

Wind - Water rides are his JAM. His hair and clothes and shoes are soaked through well before halfway through their day, and he gets the cutest waves in his hair because of it. Although he also smells like chlorine all day, then. Also has way too much ice cream and cold treats during the day, so he’s nursing a hell of a stomach ache on the drive home.

Time - Bet you thought he wouldn’t be in attendance or would wait in the car or some shit, didn’t you? Time allows the boys to cajole him onto every coaster, every water ride, the carousel, into the haunted house, you name it. He’ll sit in the first row of the rides that take your photo, too, and he just. Deadpans it. Zero facial reaction, no screaming on coasters, ALL day. Flawless commitment to the bit. He does secretly enjoy all of this; Time didn’t get to do this sort of stuff when he was their age, so better late than never.

[reesecomic13]

Odelia Octavius Full Notes (Updated Regularly)

Background

* In her universe, she is known previously as May Octavius, but changes her name after the Big Change- She is related to Peter Parker, but she doesn’t know that he is her nephew

* She is basically May but went down the scientist path- Her family name is Octavius but her sister married and her last name turned into Parker

* Before the Big Change, Odelia was a shy nerdy scientist who just wanted to prove herself- Her nerdy/shy personality can come out if you ask her about her favorite topics

* She got her eyebrow slit and highlights before the Big Change because she wanted to look “cool” and “important” to others in her field

* She used to be a stickler for lab safety and called out peers who didn’t follow them

* Down the line she figures out the Peter/Spider-Man is her nephew- At first she is resistant and mad about it but accepts it- Aunt Odessa stuff also ensues (She is someone who comes in later on)

Facts

* Hates wearing a shirt- May wear only a bra in public or when working but it’s a 50/50 chance- Half of that hatred is because it hurts to have on/take off- The other half is because she doesn’t like the way they look and wants “The girls to do whatever they want.”

* Puts stuff in her mouth to hold it- Doesn’t matter if it’s dangerous or not- Mostly does it when working

* Bites

* Plant mom

* Non practicing milf, but if you ask her plants and arms are her children

* Smokes her own hand crafted cigars

* Gay but in denial

* Aggressive but sweet??

* Kinda goes from sexy feral woman to existential dread thought #56 on a daily basis

* Is Jewish and Odelia means “I Will Praise god,” but she’s more Cultural than Religious

* An OSHA Violation

* She has chronic back pain and carpal tunnel

* Likes mainly 70s, 80s, and 90s music but will NOT touch “The Beetles”

* Fleetwood Mac, AC DC, No Doubt, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Violent Femmes, Queen, Strawberry Alarm Clock, and David Bowie are her favorites

* Big fan of Rocky Horror, Grease, Heathers, and Little Shop of Horrors

* Her pants and heels are from her original “casual clothes”

* This pain may be chronic but this ass is iconic

* Wears inserts in her shoes so it takes a bit away from her pain

* When she wears bras she one hundred percent uses them as the universal pocket

* When the phase “Big Change,” is being used, it means when she got fused with the arms and the after effects of that

* Probably would have really enjoyed being a high school Physics teacher instead of her late profession

* Her plan for the Renewable Energy source would have operated like her arms, except in place of Gas it would be Electric

* She like the smell of gas and everything involving machinery

Cyborg Technicals

* Her glasses are prescription and emotes either with her or shows her hidden emotions- Her arms do the same because they are connected- The eyes in her glasses are the result of the Big Change

* The eyes in her glasses appear on any set and immediately converts into her prescription

* Her eyes are not contact compatible because of the AI

* Talks to her arms constantly

* Because of the arms, her blood has turned to gas and her tears as well- It actually hurts even worse to get hurt/to cry because it adds an extra burn

* Sometimes her arms can take over and she loses control- She and her arms are usually in sync with each other but in high stress situations, (or “System Malfunctions” as she likes to say) it becomes easier for her to fall victim to herself- This can also happen if she hits her back hard enough

* In System Malfunctions, her gas-blood becomes unstable. As a result, it starts to leak from the metal “belt,” and the gas on her arms start to drip

* Her arms were her first thing she invented and she continued to update them throughout her life

* She wanted to fuse with her robot arms in order to prove that she was capable- She had an idea for the “cheap safe renewable energy,” but she knew that she couldn’t do it in her current state

* Her arms are powered by a one-time gas filling and an AI (she didn’t need to keep reloading it/ the gas acted like blood in a human body)- They first started out as a remote controlled device- The AI is also in her neck so that she can control and talk to her arms easily

* The arms are mainly gas on the outside with a tube in the middle of them that discreets it- If you were to touch the gas it wouldn’t get on your hands because it forms a thin layer of air around any touching point- The rest of the arm is metal with sharp retractable spikes on the main body and “mouth”- The “mouth” is also shaped like spades

* The “heads” of the arms can act like drills and can rotate 360*

* She was going to change the gas to electric energy in order for her to fuse with it, but she never got the chance to

* Unlike Otto, her arms didn’t take right away; when she was programming her arms to be better for attachment, they sensed the AI in her neck and latched onto her back- While doing that, the arms started to turn her blood into gas in order for them to continue to function

* Because of the AI, she can annualize things like a supercomputer- Mainly annualizes height, weight, blood type, weather, math (any type), and ‘surface’ level defects like broken/injured bones/etc

* The metal “belt” around her waist can unclasp, but it can not come off fully- There is also a large amount of scarring underneath it

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Jay's Thoughts: Extended Cut pt. 10 Let's Go!

OKOKOK SOOOOO- we're catching back up to part 1! and like can i just say- i think it's ironic that the title became "song for a caged lovebird" and in the first part we get "in some respects, peter nureyev knew he was a songbird in a cage. a pretty little thing made to sing for its supper..." AND LOOK WHERE WE'RE AT! anyway i digress.

"It was Slip. Slip Jackson. How was he... How was he here?" ya know this is cruel and unusual punishment. after today's ep- this whole thing is cruel and unusual punishment.

"Until the winter got ahold of Slip, and he disappeared into the night." We learn that Slip died in winter.

"Slip had changed. He was taller, of course, [not you shutting down my three foot king hc!] and not nearly as skinny, [plausible that Nureyev could be like this too someday] his hair shot through with white and grey, [love love love love this thought collecting it for my slip jackson hc] perfectly complimenting the neat black suit he wore. [smth smth "smells like new money, dresses like fake royalty"]"

THE DAHLIA!! THE FUCKING DAHLIA AUUUGUGGGGH- biting and eating dry wall bc i wanna give all my thoughts but if i do i might spoil some stuff you haven't written for The Public yet.

"he couldn't look at that dahlia [not just the dahlia but THAT one in particular] without thinking of his dahlia" lOVESICK NUREYEV WHY'D YOU GO AND DO IT BABE!!

aaaguuuhhhhh- like i said, after Terrible Waste Pt 1 this is cruel and unusual punishment to read

"braiding flowers into long auburn hair" We learn that Slip's hair was originally auburn before turning white and grey. also i can hear the song of new kinshasa during this scene. the calm guitar playing in the town square as Peter Ransom looks out the window.... as Petya tells Slip about what New Kinshasa meant to him.... a dream...

"There was a faint sense of panic bubbling up in him now. He began to get the strange sense that admitting his lack of memory was a bad idea, but he just kept shaking his head." YEAH NO SHIT I WOULD BE SHITTING MY PANTS TOO IF I WERE YOU NUREYEV.

"We were in love. We were going to run away together..." THE DREAM! THE PASSION! THE DESPAIR!!!

"Nothing concrete." this is the second time that nureyev has had "nothing concrete" and if it doesn't happen a third time then I'll riot. Rule of Three my beloved beloathed.

"... is why you didn't come for me when I called.'" IT'S NOT A QUESTION. IT'S A DEMAND. and srry slippy, the old petya cant come to the phone rn. why? bc he's fuck'n dead juno. (SORRY I AM SO SORRY-)

and each time Slip says Petya makes my skin crawl like in canon each time "someone who wants to be my parent calls me Pete" ya know? same vibes.

"Surely you remember our little games and the fairy tales we liked to tell each other.'" Slip. Slip what do you mean. What does this mean. What fairy tale. What did you mean about "when i called for you".

"And then the vague fear cemented [CLOSE ENOUGH TO CONCRETE I'LL TAKE IT] itself into solid, steel [HAHAHHAHAH-] panic. He couldn't speak." THIS THIS THIS THIS- making me think now of Terrible Waste and when 'reyev and Juno were choking out. had me going here thinking that that is what was happening in this scene

"He initially thought it was a side effect of being- dead? Was he actually dead?" parallel to when Buddy woke up and she got pissed she wasn't dead. and also Nureyev trying to speak and can't parallel to Buddy trying to lift her arms and move and can't

"ushering a barely conscious and panicking Peter" My boy is Not Here. He is mentally clocked out (which, same tbh. me when I am at the deli and work past 8 o'clock)

I love how Slip sees absolutely nothing wrong with this situation. He doesn't see the fucked up power dynamics at play here at all.

"You wouldn't be paid..." SHUT THE FUCK UP NO NO NO NO NO NOOOO- LABOR WITHOUT PAY!! THIS IS NOT OSHA APPROVED (I am pretty sure OSHA has nothing to do with this) but also smth smth the miners in the company town sixteen tons smth smth-

"anger rising in his hear like a hurricane flood" oooooo this fucks.

"only to be told his voice is now gone, perhaps forever." OH WAIT YEAH WAIT- THIS IS HADESTOWN AU- HADESTOWN BASED OFF ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE- gnawing on drywall. he died calling out for Juno and when Juno tries to walk them back he likely won't have his voice to reassure juno that he is following.... grrrr.... Evil.

"All he wanted was to get away from poverty and trouble" fucked up because of what we know in part 1 bc Nureyev is working working working and he did find his out but at what cost?

the juxtaposition of flipping between Nureyev, Peter, and Petya. treating them like different people, reserving them for the right time. m'wah chef's kiss.

HE FUCKING PUNCHED HIM LETS GOOOOOOOOOO long legs nureyev for the win actually.

"And Nureyev had already been a master of disappearances while living." mmmm- What happened to Mag? Is there a Mag this au? bc Mag was the one who taught him how to Disappear. he was the one who called it Peter's greatest strength. his hidden talent. secret weapon.

"More of a ghost [get it, bc he's in hades? hell? the underworld? the afterlife?] than any of the souls here could hope to be."

"He was helpless [oh boy you got me helpless- sorry. sorry. wrong moment], a child who walked into the deep end of a pool too soon and was now floundering." Fun, Not So Fun Fact: I almost drowned in a pool as a kid. And it was indeed bc I walked into the deep end. I did it because my sister and cousin were over there and I was sick and tired of being alone.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes." parallel to Juno in Terrible Waste "Smart people, do dumb things" And Nureyev you idiot no- no you do not deserve this. you were starving and sick and tired and lonely. you did something dumb but that does not mean you deserve this

"Pull yourself together, Nureyev." = "Get your shit together, Detective." (disco elysium me beloved, i will find you everywhere intentional or otherwise.)

BENZAITEN??? AS IN- BENTEN???? BROOOOOO- benzaiten was a goddess. Goddess of knowledge, music, art... (also wait has anyone actually looked up Benzaiten and seen the stuff about Saraswati? cocking a brow at Kabet rn cause uhhh. huh.)

"Gods, he missed him." oh.... part 1 again "and now he was thinking of him again- sweet innocent Juno"

GLASS!! BECAUSE HIS GLASSES ARE BROKE OH- oh that's funny.

A party... will there be by chance, party hats?

"a little wine, a little dancing, a few flowers here and there..." oh oh oh shit. 1) Ben doesn't know about the eternal winter up above probably. this will/may come as shock to him when he does find out 2) this is the boozy oozy fun delighted Persephone from the musical and i fucking love Amber Gray

"I'll introduce you to the whole gang, Glass!" ooooo- who else are we gonna meet? hmmmm.... annie wire? mick's dog?

"perhaps something worthwhile might come out of this disaster after all." oh babey- oh sweet sunshine- this can only end in tragedy.

SONG FOR A CAGED LOVEBIRD: PART 10

wahoo!!! yippie!!!! part 10 and over 10k written!! let's go!!!!

this part is like. lowkey weird to me. and i don't know why. lmk if any choices i made here were a bad/weird idea bc i feel like some of them might have been lmao

MY PERSONAL CARTE BLANCHE CREW: @smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde @demonic-panini @the-private-eye

Nureyev struggled to get his jaw working as he stared at the man across the room. 

It was Slip.

Slip Jackson.

How was he…. How was he here?

He knew he had known this man when they were kids. They had been close, Nureyev supposed, from the fragments of memories he had of him.

Until the winter got a hold of Slip, and he disappeared into the night.

Nureyev never saw him again.

Slip had changed. He was taller, of course, and not nearly as skinny, his hair shot through with white and grey, perfectly complimenting the neat black suit he wore. His eyes looked harder. Not so much careworn as workworn, sharp and clever. His mouth was set into a stunning grin. In the buttonhole of a suit jacket was a perfect, red dahlia.

Nureyev had to look away at that point. He couldn’t look at that dahlia without thinking of his dahlia, left behind on the surface, probably was wondering where he was by now. Probably out in the snow looking for him. Probably confused and scared and- why are you like this, why do you make these choices that hurt other people and only benefit you, what’s the matter with you-

“What’s the matter, Petya? Don’t you remember me?”

He shook off the guilt and tried to think. He couldn’t remember a lot of their time together. He remembered laughing, an echo of a feeling warmer than the glow of the sun, braiding flowers into long, auburn hair, and splitting an apple, fresh off the tree, with a small, bone-handled knife, the same one he carried now in his left pocket. Nothing concrete. Nothing to explain why he now stood in front of this man, who was now the king of the Underworld.

He shook his head slowly.

Slip’s grin slid slowly off his face. His voice was far deeper than Peter could ever remember having heard before. “What do you mean? I thought you’d be happy to see me again.”

There was a faint sense of panic bubbling up in him now. He began to get the strange sense that admitting his lack of memory was a bad idea, but he just kept shaking his head.

“Well, then. Allow me to jog your memory. My name is Slip. Slip Jackson. We knew each other as teenagers. We were practically inseparable. Spent every day together. We were in love. We were going to run away together until I caught pneumonia one night and passed away. That would be as much of the story as you know, I think.”

Nureyev liked to think he remembered most of the big pieces of his time with Slip, but the two of them being ‘in love’ was new. He examined his memories a bit more closely. He did seem to recall a few shy kisses, huddled in the alleyway behind a bar, and maybe a few cuddles. Nothing concrete. Nothing to suggest they were ever in love.

“What I would like to know from you, Petya, is why you didn’t come for me when I called.”

The confusion must have been obvious on his face, because Slip sighed deeply before continuing.

“Oh come on, I know it’s been a long time, Petya, but I didn’t realize you would have forgotten so much about us! Surely you remember our little games and the fairy tales we liked to tell each other.”

Nureyev opened his mouth to speak.

And then the vague fear cemented itself into solid, steel panic.

He couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t speak.

His throat and lungs had already felt strange, empty and airy and wet and sticky all at the same time, like the air in them wasn’t escaping through his nose but his throat instead. He initially thought it was just a side effect of being- dead? Was he actually dead? It didn’t matter. Whether or not he was dead, there was nothing coming out of his mouth.

He tried again in case it was a fluke, but with the same results. Nothing.

His voice was just. 

Gone.

“Ah, I suppose I should have mentioned that to you sooner, Petya,” Slip said gently, ushering a barely conscious and panicking Peter over to a chair in front of the large mahogany desk at the center of the room. “Sometimes, the ways people die on the surface have…. side effects in the afterlife. I’m afraid your death is such a case.” 

He settled into his chair behind the desk and began shuffling some papers around. “I am looking into a way to get your voice back but chances of a good outcome are low, I’m afraid. Past experiments haven’t exactly been promising. But in the meantime, you are more than welcome to work for me! You wouldn’t be paid, but it would be something to do to pass the time.”

Peter was staring, mouth slightly open. He was pissed now, anger rising in his heart like a hurricane flood. What kind of bullshit was this? He got murdered by the henchmen of a childhood friend/lover who he barely remembered, dragged down to the Underworld, only to be told his voice is now gone, perhaps forever. All he wanted was a job. All he wanted was to get away from poverty and trouble.

And now he was right back in it.

Slip got up from his seat behind the desk and tried to block Nureyev’s path to the door, babbling something about giving them more time to find a solution and how all he wanted was for Petya to stay a while longer.

Nureyev punched him straight in the jaw. He didn’t give a shit anymore.

Slip stumbled backward onto the floor and Nureyev glided over him in two long, neat strides. He was out of the door and down the hallway in two more. By the time he had reached the front door, several of the henchmen who had brought him here earlier were barreling down the hallway after him.

But the funny thing about being dead is that you lose a lot of what makes you human. Heartbeat. Breathing. Pain. And without those, it becomes a whole lot easier to disappear.

And Nureyev had already been a master of disappearances while living.

He was already safely tucked away in a nearby alley by the time the executives charged out into the street in search of him. More of a ghost than any of the souls here could ever hope to be. He watched as they walked straight past him, never knowing that he was only a few feet away from them. He could reach out and brush the dust off of one of their lapels, but he stayed as still and silent as a stone statute. As soon as they were gone, he huffed out a quiet sigh of relief before the anger began to fade away and the reality of his situation hit him.

He was alone, penniless, and voiceless in a strange city a thousand miles from home.

He had nothing to his name except, well, his name.

He was helpless, a child who walked into the deep end of a pool too soon and was now floundering.

In spite of his best efforts, Peter Nureyev began to cry again.

What was that saying that Buddy was always so fond of repeating? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. He supposed, in some sick and twisted way, that he deserved this. He had made this situation, and now he had to live with it. Gods, he hated that he was like this.

Pull yourself together, Nureyev. You’ve gotten out of tougher deals than this.

He took a minute to breathe and pull himself together. He had no plan, but was almost prepared to go before he noticed the figure standing off to his left, watching him. Instinctively, he leaped up and grabbed the knife from his pocket, holding it out in their direction. The figure raised their arms in surrender.

“Whoa, I didn’t mean to scare you! I’m sorry! I just- you were sitting here all by yourself, and well, I thought you looked a little lonely. Do you need any help?”

Nureyev opened his mouth to make a snarky comment in return, but no sound came out. He silently cursed his rotten luck.

“Ohhh, did you lose your voice?” The figure took a few steps closer into the light.

The knife nearly dropped from Nureyev’s hand once he saw the man’s face. This person was…. 

That was Benzaiten Steel. Peter would have bet his life on it.

He was nearly an exact replica of Juno if life hadn’t been quite so tough on him. Same wide and curious eyes, same nose, same jaw, same glimmer of mischief and compassion lurking at the edges of his expression, dressed in denim overalls, heavy work boots, and grease-stained shirt. Juno didn’t talk about his brother often, but when he did, it was always with no small amount of pain and grief. He had always wondered what had happened between the two of them that had caused Juno so much hurt. Now, perhaps he could find out.

Nureyev hesitated, considering his options, then nodded, and dropped the knife back down to his side.

“Shit,” Ben said, real concern lacing his voice as he dropped his hands. “And you’re new here too, aren’t you? I can’t say I’ve seen you before.”

Nureyev nodded again.

Ben blew out a long breath, clearly thinking. His brow furrowed in the same way Juno’s did when he was trying to work out a particularly tricky problem. Gods, he missed him.

“Okay then, you’re gonna stick with me from here on out, okay? Heyyyy, don’t give me that look. Everyone who comes down here thinks they can take care of themselves, but they can’t. They always need help. And I’m gonna be your helper! Oh, and where are my manners! My name is Benzaiten, but you can call me Ben. And because you definitely can’t tell me your name, I’m going to call you… Glass. Because your glasses are broken. Is that okay with you? I thought it would be. I am pretty good at naming things, if I do say so myself. I can fix your glasses when we get back to the party.”

A party? Down here? Nureyev narrowed his eyes. That seemed… suspicious.

“Ah. That’s right. Well, you didn’t hear this from me,” Ben said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “but when the bosses aren’t looking, some of us like to have a little fun. A little wine, a little dancing, a few flowers here and there… it does wonders for the soul, I’ll tell ya. I’ll introduce you to the whole gang, Glass!”

The faintest of smiles crept across Nureyev’s face. Perhaps something worthwhile might come out of this disaster after all.

[angry-geese]

OSHA Non Compliance

Nanami Kento x Reader

Warnings: nsfw/minors do not interact. shameless smut. fingering, oral (fem and masc receiving), face riding, praise kink (kinda), multiple orgasms, mutual pining. gojo slander. a little dub con due to the sex pollen stuff. afab reader

Notes: some sex pollen smut with Nanami. i have a post thats pretty similar to this thats a gojo x reader which you can read here

Word Count: 3.3k

If there's one thing you two can agree on, it's how this is all Gojo’s fault.

The job was supposed to be simple; get in, exorcise the curse, get out. It wasn't a particularly deadly one, but it was proving to be difficult for lower grade sorcerers. Anyone who had come into contact with it fell violently ill, suffering effects that lasted between hours to days. The symptoms themselves varied from person to person. Nobody seemed to give a straight answer.

In response, you two were sent out.

As odd as it was, you didn't question it. Curses are odd, things like this happen. Two grade one sorcerers should have been enough to take this thing out. One alone should have been enough, not to mention the army of sorcerers sent after it before. Gojo wanted you to take backup just in case, shrugging you off when you asked why he couldn’t do it himself. You were certain you could take this alone, but he was insistent.

Reluctantly you dragged Nanami along.

The two of you weren't officially partners, but most of your jobs were done together. It was a mutual agreement. He found you much less annoying than Gojo. That's not to say he didn't find you annoying at first, but you were more tolerable. Nanami wasn’t much older than you—only by a few years—but he acted as a mentor when you first started out. You quickly improved, nearly rivaling him in strength. It wasn't long before you became a grade one sorcerer, same as him. On that day he was there to celebrate with you.

He likes to think you’ve turned out to be a semi-functional human being. Maybe he’s gotten sentimental as he’s grown older. He hated for his work life to cross over into his home life, but he’s made an exception for you. Any time you’d call, he’d come running.

The curse had taken up residence in an abandoned school, only being discovered when the building was being surveyed for possible reuse. You’re not sure why nobody had noticed it sooner, but you’ve learned not to question a curse’s behavior.

It’s attack had a strange area of effect. You've never seen anything like it. The fact that such a non-lethal curse was considered such a high grade should have tipped you off in the first place. The curse released some strange sort of fumes. Or spores. You really weren't certain what they were. It was airborne and you knew that you needed to stay far away.

While the direct hit missed you, you were still affected. You took in a lung-full of the stuff before you managed to get away.

If it weren't for Nanami…

You barely make it back to the car. You’re not injured, so much as you’re lightheaded, and nauseous.

“I’m not going to make it back to the school.” You say.

“Are you hurt?” He asks.

Slowly you shake your head. It's not wrong, per se, but it's not right either. This is a strange type of hurt.

Your apartment is closer. The drive was twenty minutes on the way there; you make it back in about eight.

You’re not sure what to do once you get inside other than contemplate your life choices. You toss your keys and bag aside. There's not much you can do aside from flop down on your couch and pray. Not that you’re the praying type normally, but what could it hurt?

The effects of the pollen seem to hit you all at once. The sickly sweet taste in your mouth makes you gag. You fall to your hands and knees and retch, but nothing comes up. If you thought you felt bad before, you definitely do now. Sweat beads on your forehead. You feel jittery, yet lethargic. Heat radiates off your skin like a furnace. Your mouth has gone dry. Your clothes feel too tight. You’d claw them off your body if your partner wasn't sitting a few feet away.

You swallow hard as heat begins to pool between your legs. You shift uncomfortably, trying to get some relief.

While you’re slowly losing it, Nanami looks fine. As calm and collected as ever.

Nanami didn't seem to get the brunt of that attack. Or maybe he's better at hiding it than you.

He is.

He’s been dealing with an aching cock since you two left that building. He was all-too aware of every corner and bump on the ride home. You were too busy trying to escape with your dignity to notice him, and the tent that grows in his pants. He covers his lap with his suit jacket. You think nothing of it.

He studies every dip and curve of your clothed body. They cling to your skin with sweat in a way that makes his cock throb. Nanami knows how wrong it is. He shouldn't feel this way. You're his damn partner! Looking at you this feels so wrong.

In an attempt to comfort you, he smooths a hand across your back, gently squeezing your shoulder. Sweat beads in your hairline. Your chest heaves.

“I don't think it’s something we can wait out,” you say, swallowing hard.

“What are we-” it’s as if he didn't realize what he was asking. His eyes go wide, before his gaze shoots straight to the ground.

“‘Ken-” You say, hoping he can't hear the way your voice trembles, “I feel like I’ll die if you don't touch me.”

It's with a sinking, horrifying feeling that he agrees. Slowly you climb into his lap. It feels wrong. But your body fits perfectly against his. He’s your partner—your friend—you shouldn't be wanting him this way. He’s pliant against your touch, moving with you, paying close attention to each and every one of your movements. Every cell of your being wants him to fuck you.

“I know.” He says. “Me too.”

He hauls you into his arms, setting you down on the couch back-first. The sudden weightlessness you feel makes you gasp. There's nothing gentle behind his touch. Your hands work to undo the buttons of his shirt, but they tremble so bad it's hard to do.

“Don't worry about that.” He coos. "Let me take care of you."

With shaky hands he undoes the buttons on your pants, sliding them down your legs. His face heats up at the way your panties are already soaked through. All this just for him?

He tries not to stare too long. If you were the only thing he looked at for the rest of his life, he'd be content.

He strokes at your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. He almost seems afraid to touch you. For a moment he is, but that quickly wears off when you moan. He can't help but watch the way you squirm and writhe under his touch. How the delicate fabric clings to your skin from how wet you are. He hates how much he enjoys seeing you like this. It feels wrong.

“Please,” there’s a hazy look in your eyes.

He swallows hard. You’re not thinking straight, he thinks, this is so wrong.

He pulls down your panties, throwing them aside with your pants. You tug off your shirt, quickly tossing it aside. His hands come up to palm at your breasts through the fabric of your bra. He gently tugs the fabric down, exposing your breasts. Your nipples harden in the cool air. As wrong as it feels, you would be lying if you said your partner wasn't attractive. Not only is he handsome, and one of the most powerful sorcerers you have met, he was a close—if not your closest—friend.

Nanami’s touches are feather-light. It's not that he's worried about hurting you—though the fear of that is there—he doesn't want this to ruin your friendship. He doesn't want you to view him differently because of this. The two of you have gone through much together; he doesn't want this to make things awkward. He’s just wanted you for so long.

He never intended for his work life to cross over into his home life. That was until you came along. Nanami can't imagine a life without you around.

Two of his fingers press against your entrance, his thumb circling your clit. His fingers are long, and fairly thick. Only one enters you at first, but you’re wet enough he adds a second one not long after. His fingers curl, stroking against your g-spot. His touch feels like too much yet not enough. You desperately grind against his hand, chasing your own release.

If he can just get you to finish, maybe he can wait it out. You’ve clearly got it worse than him. Right?

He pulls you up into a kiss. His lips taste sweet. Your lips part, allowing his tongue into your mouth. His chest presses against yours. Your thighs tighten around his hand, though not in an attempt to stop him.

Heat pools low in your stomach, slowly building in intensity. You moan into Nanami's mouth. You're reduced to a whining, whimpering mess under his hand.

His free hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your head so your gaze meets his. A sleepy grin spreads across your face. The pad of his thumb brushes over your glossy lips. In a moment of lucidity you wrap your lips around it, swirling your tongue around the digit.

Nanami almost forgets how to breathe. Nobody can get him nearly as flustered as you can.

The coil in your stomach snaps. If you knew how much you gushed around Nanami's fingers, you'd be blushing. Your cunt clenches around his fingers as you ride out your orgasm on his hand.

Your first orgasm provides no relief. In a matter of seconds—probably less time than that if you're being honest—you're ready for another round.

You work the last few buttons of his shirt open before he gets impatient and pulls the thing over his head. You let out an audible “oh!” at the sight of his chest. It's more toned than you expected; not that you’ve given it much thought.

“Like what you see?” He says in a sudden moment of boldness that it surprises both of you.

You nod. Now really isn't the time to be shy, but you can't help it.

He's painfully hard, his erect cock leaking precum against his thigh. The tent in his pants is impressive to say the least. You get on your knees, tugging his pants down his hips. You were right to notice his bulge. He's huge. Long and thick. Uncut too. The hairs towards the base of his cock are light—a similar sandy blonde as the hair on his head—and neatly trimmed. He always takes care of himself. A prominent vein runs up the bottom. A small pang of guilt hits you when you realize how needy his cock looks. His chest, the tips of his nose and ears, and the head of his cock are all dusted with pink. He looks at you with such adoration it makes your chest flutter.

You slide off the couch, getting on your knees. Nanami parts his legs just enough for you to kneel between them.

His eyes go wide the moment your lips touch his cock. You press kitten licks to the tip, watching the way his lip twitches in frustration. Nanami’s hands bury in your hair. The feeling of his nails raking against your scalp makes goosebumps raise along your skin. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you stroke with your hands. Saliva runs down your chin in streams, tears stained black with eyeliner streaming down your cheeks.

The only sign that he’s about to orgasm is the way he tilts his head back, cursing.

When he cums, he cums a lot. It's thick, but runny, and has almost no taste to it at all. His cum spills out the corners of your mouth when you pull off of him, releasing him with a pop!

Without thinking, you swallow.

With how long he stares down at you, it almost seems like you’ve done something wrong.

You can't stop the squeak you let out as he hauls you into his lap. He lays back, guiding your hips so you’re kneeling above his face.

“What are you-”

“It’s only fair that I return the favor,” he says.

No matter how hard you try, he doesn't let you wriggle out of his grasp.

“I- I don't want to suffocate you.” You say.

The amount of his testicles Nanami would cut off just to get a taste of your cunt… He’ll give you a hint, it's more than one and less than three.

“You won't.” He said. Even if you could—which you couldn't, he’s stronger than he looks—he’d die happy.

Your thighs cradle his head in an almost perfect way. There's almost no better feeling. His tongue dips between your folds, circling your clit. You taste sweet, he notes. A kiss is pressed to your clit before long, slow strokes of a hot tongue lavish it in affection. He kneads your thighs gently all while alternating between licking and sucking on your bundle of nerves.

He wants nothing more than to take his time with you. After all, he’s got years to make up for.

You can feel and hear him panting against your dripping sex. He can do little to hide the way he grinds his bulge against the couch. He grunts when you tug his hair, guiding him to where you need him most.

There's a feeling of emptiness as you cum, your walls contracting around nothing where something should be. You ride out your orgasm with a series of short, high pitched moans, rocking your cunt against his mouth. Nanami takes all of it in stride, lewdly slurping at your sex. Your thighs shake, your cunt spasming as he continues to press kitten licks to your clit.

And god- the sight of his face; his lips wet and slick from your cunt, eyes hazy with lust, his hair a mess.

"It's no use." You say. It's in-between whimpers and moans. Even as your second orgasm approaches, you feel no sense of relief. "I need your cock."

He feels himself twitch with need. His cock barely went soft the first time he came. Nanami wants nothing more than to sink his length into your warm, wet cunt.

He doesn't bother carrying you to your room. He would have fucked you in the car if you asked. He’d fuck you on every flat surface of your apartment if you wanted him too.

His cock presses against your entrance, rubbing at your folds. He doesn't mean to tease you, he just wants to drag this out as long as he can. You're so wet you take his cock with no resistance. He groans at the feeling of your cunt as you sink onto him.

Cumming on his tongue is intoxicating, but it feels like nothing in comparison to his cock. Nothing substitutes for the hot, full sensation of his cock inside of you. You string together words in some desperate attempt to make a sentence. Being completely filled is making you woozy. Nanami fits just so well inside of you. It's like you were made for this. You're not sure if it's the pollen, or just him, but you can feel every ridge and vein on his cock.

"Can't believe-" he huffs, "can't believe you got tighter after cumming twice."

"Please Ken," you whimper.

It hurts, but it feels too nice to stop. Nanami can't tear his eyes away from the way your tits bounce as you ride him. The sounds of skin slapping on skin echo through the room, mingling with his grunts and your moans, creating a lewd cacophony.

"Fuck," he says, his seemingly calm demeanor fading, "you're so fucking pretty."

Gojo would give him shit about this for weeks if he knew…

You're starting to think he meant to do this.

"I'm going to kill him," you say, although it's hard to stay mad for long.

“Me too,” he says.

Your orgasm rolls over you like a wave, throwing you around and spitting you back out, leaving you an absolute mess. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Eyeliner runs down your face in streams, leaving black trails across your skin. It's the first time you've cum from g-spot stimulation alone. But it's also the same as the other two times you've cum: you're ready for another round instantly.

At some point in time Nanami gets on top. Your legs lock around his back, pulling him in. Maybe you blacked out. Exhaustion creeps into your limbs, leaving them sore and wobbly.

Nanami thrusts harder, trying to quell the fire that pits in his stomach. He doesn't warn you that he's coming. If he's being honest, he didn't know he was either. You just feel hot ropes of his cum fill you, spilling out, staining your couch. When he cums, his cock doesn't even go soft. If anything he’s harder. Almost instantly he’s ready for another round. He's never felt anything quite like this.

The sensation of his cum dripping out of you, running down your thighs in streams is bizarre. There's so much of it. You don't want him to stop. He brings a hand down to give your ignored clit some attention. His spare hand wipes your tears away, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek.

Even as he's made you cum for the nth time tonight he doesn't stop. The two of you can only fuck and cum until you're no longer sure where your body ends and his begins. It doesn't feel like enough. You’ve never been so full. He wants to cum in you and breed you until your womb is swollen with his child.

At some point he collapses from exhaustion—he thinks—and he's certain the two of you are going to die. No human can survive this, he thinks, that's impossible.

Neither of you died.

It could be minutes, it could be hours; by the time you wake up the sun has set completely. You're not sure what time it is, but judging by how long the sky's been dark, it must have been a while. Nanami snores softly, his drool pooling in the valley between your breasts. You card a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. One of his eyes cracks open. He can't tell if he’s dreaming or not. If he is, then this is too good to be true.

"You still with me?" You ask.

He nods.

You're cradled chest to chest, his heartbeat as steady and alive as ever. He pulls out slowly, admiring the mess between your thighs. Even in his sobering state he finds you truly beautiful. From the way your skin glints with sweat to the way you run your tongue over your parched lips. You stretch out, trying to work the stiffness out of your limbs. You’re certain you’ll be sore in the morning.

Nanami disappears into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of water. What you could really use is a shower.

If you want, he'll never mention this again. He's starstruck by your naked form, his cum dripping down your thighs. Part of him wants to see you like this every night. But that might still be the pollen talking.

He's sputtering out an apology; stringing words together in hopes of begging for your forgiveness.

"I didn't think that's how it'd happen," you say, shrugging, "but…"

You really can't complain. Everyone but Nanami seemed to realize how head over heels you were for each other.

"You… liked it?" He asks.

If you didn't like it, he would know. Nanami can't believe it.

"Minus the nearly dying part." You say. "I've spent the past year and a half trying to get in your pants. So yeah."

Instantly his face turns red. How has he not noticed? He's both mortified, and relieved that you feel the same—or at least similar to him. Then the embarrassment hits him. He didn't think he could be more embarrassed than he was standing naked in your living room.

"I'm gonna go shower." You say. He gives a nod in response, stopping dead in his tracks when you say: "join me."

[okk--maaan]

Bad Kitchen Dreams

Hi. This is very dumb. But I couldn’t help myself when @ellelaconi​ threw out a Pale Kitchen Nightmares AU. So here you go. Feel free to imagine him in a blonde Matt wig and chef’s coat with a British accent.

WC: ~1.7k (whoops)

CW: you’re a really bad chef, Pale degrading you because you’re such a bad chef, pussy eating, fingering, PIV, brief drug mention, OSHA violations

Pale has traveled all over the country doing this. Helping desperate restaurant owners resurrect their businesses from the ashes. But in his twenty years, he’s never seen a situation as dire as this. As dire as yours.

When he pulls up in his big black car, he can tell the restaurant isn’t open. “Who the fuck ain’t open at one o’clock in the afternoon? Fuckin’ bullshit,” he mutters to himself. And sure enough. When he tries the front door - locked. He bangs on the glass and yells, “Hey! Hello! Anybody in there?!” After like five fuckin’ minutes of this, you finally appear -- wearing a dirty disgusting chef’s coat, your hair haphazardly pinned up, shit on your face. You wipe your hands down your front, smearing something orange across the little bit of white left on your apron.

As soon as you turn the lock, Pale pushes his way through with his big body. Without the barrier of safety glass, he can really get a good look at you. Even with all the mess, you’re pretty fuckin’ hot. Stunning really. Makin’ his cock twitch in his dark jeans, with your soft fuckin’ eyes and lips and shit. But he can’t think about that right now. He’s got work to do. Clearly.

He sticks a fat hand out and greets, “Hey doll. The name’s Jimmy. But call me Pale. Everyone calls me Pale. Hate that fuckin’ name in fact. Jimmy. Only person call me that is my fuckin’ wife.” You’re flustered with how quickly he rambles, but you take his hand and introduce yourself. “Well let me ask you something. Why the hell ain’t you open? It’s the middle of fuckin’ lunch,” he wave his hands all over the place like this is the most atrocious thing. And honestly, in his opinion, it might be. “Uhh well no one’s in here,” you try to explain. He scoffs, “Yeah no shit. Kinda hard for people to get in with the door locked and all.” He did have a point there. You wring your sweaty palms together, trying to fight the utter embarrassment. “Thank you for agreeing to help me, Jimmy - uh Pale. Please tell me what I need to do to fix this.” He leans in real close, jabs a thumb behind him, “Why don’t you unlock the fuckin’ door first?” You chuckle nervously and walk past him. Pale can’t help but glance at your ass as you do, just can’t help himself. And damn. You look just as good from the back as you do from the front. And again, his dick agrees.

With the restaurant officially open, you give Pale a tour. But the condition of the dining room is so deplorable, he doesn’t want to go any further. “Nah doll. I ain’t going in that kitchen. I got half a mind to even let you cook for me,” he throws his hands up in protest. He pulls out the cleanest chair he can find and plops down. Dusting off the tiny table in front of him, he asks, “So what kinda food you serve here?” “I create Mexican Italian fusion dishes,” you respond quickly and proudly. But that pride is short lived, with the way he’s staring at you. “Huh. Fusion. Well I’ll be the judge of that,” he purses his lips as he opens a cloth napkin and sets it in his lap. You take that as your cue to bring out his first course.

“Here we have a baby squid, steamed with lemon and capers,” you say in your best chef’s voice. Steamed? Squid? Pale thinks - knows - what’s sitting in front of him won’t be good. But you’re too fuckin’ pretty for him to flat-out refuse. He wishes he did a bump before coming in this place. By the way he has to stab the fish with his fork, he instantly knows it’s not cooked. “Look, I ain’t eating this. This squid is so raw, I can hear it telling Spongebob to fuck off.” Hot tears prick at your eyes. And he can see it. “No. Come on now. Don’t start that shit. Just - just bring me the next course,” he dismisses you.

You set two overly stuffed enchiladas in front of Pale. They look better than the squid, but his hopes aren’t too high. When he finally musters up the courage to take a bite, he wants to spit it out right away. “These are the worst fuckin’ enchiladas I’ve ever had,” he throws down his fork. You go to remove the plate, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you to his eye level. “Look doll. I know I said I didn’t want to go into that fuckin’ kitchen, but you’re going to take me back there. Right now. Show me with the fuck you got going on.” The way his breath blows over your face and his eyes bore into you, you can’t refuse. “Oh-okay,” you stutter.

As you walk to the kitchen, Pale follows, and you can feel his gaze locked on you. And he is truly mesmerized by the way your hips swing. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he demands any and every other employee leave. “Go clean something. And don’t come back in her til’ I say so. Got it?” All life - including the cockroaches - scatters. Except for you. And him. He stalks over to you liek a wild animal. And you’re his prey. Your ass back up against the metal counter, where he cages you between his strong arms. “How’s this sweetheart. Your restaurant is disgusting, your food is even worse. This place ain’t gonna stay open another month. But you? You’re the best damn thing I’ve seen this side of the Hudson.” He steps in even closer, pressing his hot hot body to yours. “Pale, I-” your eyes drop between your bodies. You can feel the bulge in his pants, insistent on your stomach. Before you can choke out another word, his fingers are digging into your soft hips. In one swift instant motion, he lifts you to sit atop the cold counter and mashing his mouth to yours. Demanding. Hungry. You part your lips for him without protest, let his tongue slide against yours. Your fingers comb and twist into his slicked back hair. He moans and thrusts into you when your nails scratch at his scalp. A sudden burst of confidence implores your hands to move to work at undoing his jeans. But he swats you away, pinches your cheeks between his forefinger and thumb. “Nuh uh doll. You’re not ready for my big cock yet.” When you nod in agreement, he releases your face and finds your own waistband, yanking down your pants and panties at once. With those around your ankles, he spreads you open and admires your glistening cunt. “God. Are you always this wet for every Joe Blow that walks in this joint?” You can feel your face heat up at the comment, but Pale ain’t paying not attention. He’s too busy dropping to his knees and wedging himself between yours. And he wastes no time diving in. You gasp and hiccup at the sudden contact. He licks and sucks at your silky folds, drinking down everything you give him. Occasionally, his proud nose nudges your stiff clit, sending shockwaves down your spine. He grunts and pulls away with a wet pop, “Finally something edible. Finally some good fucking pussy.” Fuck he really wishes he had some coke or a cigarette or a drink, something. He’s already too worked up and he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

So he doesn’t.

Pale stands back to his full, towering height and makes quick work of his belt. He uses one hand to free himself, while he coats two fingers on the other in your slick. “Are you ready to take my big cock sweetheart?” he asks before shoving his thick digits deep into you. You inhale sharply and groan at the intrusion. “Yes Pale. Please.” He shakes his head, his dick now in his hand, where he strokes it slowly. “Nah doll. I want to hear you say it.” It takes every last brain cell not focused on the sensation of his burning hand pumping into you to find the words. “Yes - ah fuck - yes. Please fuck me. I’m ready to take your big cock.” Before you even finish your sentence, he’s lining up and thrusting into you. Hard. Deep. Your head falls back and knocks the steel service pass at the same time his cock head knocks your cervix. “Fuck. Fuck me. I like the way you beg sweetheart.” As he sets his brutal pace, the only sounds you can return are moans and whimpers and gasps. Your sounds of pleasure mix with his grunts and groans and curses and the delicious sound of bare skin smacking on bare skin. The symphony you create together bounces off pots pans plaster walls. “Fuckin’. This tight little pussy is gonna make me bust. Mmnh - fuck. Play with yourself doll. Make yourself cum. Make yourself fuckin’ cum on my cock.” You think you nod your head, but you’re not really sure. Either way, you brace your weight on one hand and use the other to draw perfect tight circles into your needy clit. The extra stimulation, added to Pales’ filthy words and steady driving driving into you, pushes you right over the edge. “Unnhh Pale. I- I’m gonna cu- I’m gonna-” “Yeah. That’s right. Cum on my cock. Cum on my cock in your dirty kitchen. Add to the mess. I’m gonna fuckin’ add to the mess. I’m gonna cum all over you. Fuck it’s disgusting in here,” he babbles and rants. You don’t even care that he’s continuing to insult your restaurant, even when he’s balls deep in you. You don’t even care because you can feel your cunt tightening around him and that ball of fire tightening around your insides. He fucks into one, two, three times more and everything explodes. You lurch forward, eyes pinched tight, cum with a shout. He follows right behind, pulling out of your still convulsing cunt, fucking his fist fast. Shooting sticky thick streams of cum onto one of your thighs, your exposed belly, and the counter. As he groans through the end of his climax, he smacks your undefiled thigh and grunts, “Shut it down doll.”

And you do.

You never enter another kitchen. Never cook another meal.

And never hear from Jimmy - Pale - again.

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

Tagging a couple other pals who expressed interest for some reason lol @direnightshade​ @poetic-solo​ @blackredrose27​ @find-me-with-orion​

[ssfghfrrggf]

Day 1

I finally got around to writing about my first day of survival and rescue training from a month ago. I know some of y'all were intrested in reading it! So here's day one:

Preface

Being a firefighter isn’t a task to be tackled by the faint of heart, the training alone will test your character and strength and your heart. Training is where all the people crazy enough to pursue their dream of spending their life running into burning buildings and dancing with death for the sake of saving others discover whether they are actually crazy enough to do it. And you do have to be crazy to do it.

Firefighter survival and rescue training is to teach you how to survive when survival isn’t looking like an option and it’s to teach you how to save your buddy too, it also just so happens to push you to your limits and then push you further, to test your will and dedication. It not only teaches you how to survive, but whether you can actually survive the job you so desperately want to do. Day one is all about you and your survival. Day two is about learning to save your friend, your brother or sister, your fellow firefighter.

This is my account of Day 1

The Importance of a Mayday

The class starts at 8:00 AM. I live a half an hour away from where the first part of the day is going to take place. I get up at 5:30, which in my humble opinion is way too early for any living thing to be awake. I stay in bed for a good 20 minutes before I finally crawl out of my cozy warm bed and get dressed in my cloth that I have specially laid out for the day: my fire department t-shirt, my black cargo pants, and my fire department issued beanie. Then I make my way down stairs. Despite the butterflies in my stomach I eat a big breakfast and go off to load my 40 pound bag of firefighter gear in the car. That all takes me a good half an hour. I shouldn’t leave the house until at least 7:00. I end up leaving at 6:45. I am almost an hour early to class. An hour I spend with sweaty palms and nervous jitters. I’ve been amped up all week worrying about this class and dwelling in the existential fear that I won’t physically be able to survive this weekend. (it’s a back to back class. 8 hours on saturday and 8 hours on sunday (sunday ends up being closer to 10 hours))

In the classroom we are taught a lot of things. Mostly all the ways in which things can go horribly wrong for us, and all the ways we can die. We watch videos, some of which rattle me to my core, and I wonder if I'm the only one who’s shook as I look around the silent room of firefighters from all different departments in the state. I think that maybe I am. Most of them have seen a thing or two, and been on their fair share of calls. Even my buddy Adam has seen his first structure fire and he's younger than me. I am the newest person in the room, hell I'm not even allowed out on calls yet. In a lot of ways I'm right where I should be, in other ways I feel wildly out of place.

We're told about the old days of old mustache endowed men running into fires and eating smoke (literally, most trucks back in the day only carried one or two air packs, and if you took one you were a pussy). In the old days wearing an air pack and calling a mayday were held on the same level of "you wimp!" Right along with therapy. How the times have changed. Now if you go in air pack free, Osha will have you, your captain, and probably your chief too (just for good measure)’s asses. And if you get cancer the department won't do jack because "sorry buddy, you should've had an air tank" (every truck now has more than enough tanks to go around). Therapy has also become encouraged (you'll still occasionally get the big ol' old timer with a big white mustache who will tell you to suck it up), now we know bottling up feelings can be just as deadly as a flashover. And finally the importance of calling a mayday. It used to be shameful to have your ass dragged out by your buddies, but now it's encouraged. If you're in trouble you had damn well better call that mayday. We're told to practice calling one every morning in front of the mirror, because if you can't piece together what you need to say while you're standing safe at home there's no way in hell you're gonna be able to do it when you're fearing for your life.

Mayday's aren't pretty and neat like they are on tv, and they're certainly not that calm or audible. We listened to a few videos of maydays, and half the time you can't hear half of what's being said, hell you're lucky if you make out one of the three maydays (you always say it three times, then call your name, last known location, what kind of trouble your in, and what your air's at. That's the ideal mayday anyway). There's even a story of a firefighter that called a mayday and the only reason they knew about it was because a civilian heard it on their scanner and called 911 wondering if it was something to be concerned about. We were also told once you call your mayday keep trying to get out but keep reporting your location so RIT can find you. Calling a mayday can save your ass. You might get made fun of for it, but that’s a whole hell of a lot better than dying. The only place egos get you is dead. So when in doubt, call the mayday and if you get yourself out of trouble you can always radio in and cancel it. You’re buddies would rather haul your ass out of a fire than have to burry you.

There's so much more we went over in that class and so many important things, but if I try to go into all of it, it will take hours (3 or 4 is about how long we were in that classroom). So I'm going to get onto the better stuff.

Morning Line Up

I hook a ride to the outdoor training ground with my buddy Adam. We get McDonald's on the way there as our lunch (it’s about 11:30 maybe 12:00). I know I should hydrate before we start off the day of hard work ahead of us, but there are no bathrooms at the training ground and I really don't want to have to go pop a squat behind a bush and try to do it in bunker gear. I drink a little water, finish up lunch in Adam's car with him and then we get geared up and head toward the group of firefighters beginning to gather around the big red training building. The building is really a little breath taking. It's constructed of red shipping containers and about three stories tall. It looks a little like a fort (sadly none of us will end up going into it. Our work is all done outside.) 

It takes some time for everyone to finally get gathered around the instructors, but we finally do and then we're split into two lines and told to stand there. Then a big tall guy, we'll call him Hodge, steps in between the two lines and begins to walk the length of them. I feel a speech coming, and I'm right, and it's glorious. He walks up and down our lines, his breath freezing in the morning air and catching the sun light, and joining with the breath of everyone else there. It's really a beautiful awe inspiring sight. One i won't forget. For  the life of me I can't remember what all was said, but it was awe inspiring  and if I hadn't been surrounded by close to 30 other firefighters i probably would've cried. What i can remember is he told us today- the whole weekend really- would kick our asses (it did) and that we're really just a big group of crazy people with a purpose. He told us that it's okay to be scared, any normal person would be especially when it comes to diving head first out a second story window onto a ladder or lowering yourself out a second story with nothing but a rope, your own two hands and a halligan. He said it was okay to be scared, but what matters is what you do in the face of that fear. That's what sets us apart. That's what defines us. He also told us the day would test us and push us to our limits, but "can't" isn't something that should ever be said. He told us what can't means. Can't means you don't make it home. Can't means maybe someone else doesn't make it home. Can't means he doesn't get to see his kids again. Can't gets people killed. Can't is not an option. And i would later discover deep down, can't is something i just don't have in me.

You Want Me to be The Group Leader?

After the lineup and the speeches are over, each line is split into 3 groups and we are all given air tanks to wear for the day (you don't know back pain until you wear one of those things for close to 5 hours while being on your feet). Then we each line forms a circle over in the grass, we're taught how to go low profile in our tanks. The gist of it it is: you loosen your straps, and slide the tank over so it's between your side and your arm so you can fit through tight spaces. It's pretty simple. Then we are told to split off into the groups we were assigned and one of the instructors b-lines for me, points to me and says "you're the group leader". I am shook to say the least, and the least qualified person in the group to be the leader, but no one says anything. I get everyone's names (and can't remember them now), but i can remember distinguishing features for all of them. There's the guy who likes Jack from station 19, the german guy, another girl, and the super quiet guy in the black turnout gear who frankly i kept forgetting existed and looked like a middle schooler (what a great group leader i am). 

Our first drill is diving through a hole a wall and then climbing and hanging out a window cill. I have no problem getting through the hole, i have some problems getting turned around in the tight space and i have a lot more problems getting up to the window cill because i am very short. I use the halligan as a step stool and manage it. Everyone else in the group goes after me. If you ever want to be amazed just watch firefighters do this drill. There are still some guys that i still don't know how they fit through that hole in the wall or back out the window. But as i like to say, you'd really be amazed what firefighters can fit into. After everyone in the group goes, i go again. It's smoother this time, and I know how to properly use the halligan as a step stool. Everyone else goes again, and then we go to the next station: following hoselines. 

It's really pretty cut and dry. You keep both hands on the line at all times, if you're in a mayday situation you make sure the people outside know what color line you're on so they can find you easier. If you come across couplings on the hose, the easiest way to figure out if your heading outside is to recite a helpful little phrase (one that i love) "smooth bump bump to the pump". One coupling has a smooth part then a bump, the second coupling only has a bump. If the order that go is smooth, bump, bump, then you know you're heading to the pump which is outside. They teach us how to figure that out by just feeling aka we're blind folded for the drill. Also I'm slowly discovering that my job as group leader is moot. The group doesn't need much direction. Not that I'm really qualified to give it anyway.

The next skill on our little skill itinerary is learning how to untangle yourself when you can't see anything. When we do this skill the group splits into two sections to save time. Me and two other firefighters (the german and the guy who looks like jack from station 19) go to one instructor, the rest of the group goes to the other. I go first. How the drill goes is you crawl along blind folded and then the instructor will use two ropes attached to side of the shipping container building to get you nice and tangled up. Your job is to not panic and get yourself free from the rope. I, by some miracle, manage to do it pretty well both times. Then the German goes, and i gotta say it's more stressful to watch than it is to actually do it. You can see exactly what needs to be done, but the person doing it can't, and you're not allowed to help. The german frees himself pretty easily and then leaves to go stand with his buddies who are all cheering on the last member in that section of the group who appears to be struggling a great deal. I stay and wait while the who looks like Jack goes through the drill. He has a hard time of it. At one point he has the rope wrapped three times around his air tank. I stay right where I am waiting for him until he's done. I feel an obligation to stay, i'm the group leader, and I'm not gonna leave him alone. He eventually frees himself and we all regroup. Then it's time for the ladder and rope stuff.

Head First Out the Window

It's a scary concept, and a scary practice, all done to prepare you for some future scary situation. They want us to dive head first out a window, hook your arm on one rung, grab two rungs below that with your other hand and then use gravity to twist around so you're upright, all while a good 20 feet in the air. If you do it wrong you could dislocate your shoulder, break your arm, fall off the ladder or do all three. They have you hooked up to a safety harness just in case, but it's still scary standing in that second story window and staring down at all the people below you and then diving out the window. It goes against human nature. You are not supposed to dive out of anything 20 feet in the air and you're not supposed to go head first down ladders and yet- that's exactly what we're supposed to do… TWICE

I have butterflies in my stomach waiting to go up to dive out the window. My buddy Adam is a head of me in line and he seems to just be absolutely PUMPED. I watch him go through the window and he doesn't hesitate, he just dives down the window and flips around like he's done it a million times. I'll discover Adam is Just Like That. Before long it's my turn. I'm standing next to the window getting hooked up to the safety harness and I'm looking down at everyone and I'm beginning to question my life choices. I've done some crazy things in my life, but this is by far the craziest (it will shortly be one upped). I don't just go straight out the window, I take my sweet time and i go slow. But I do it and… it's actually a blast! I don't just want to go one more time, I wanna do it for the rest of the day! The second time waiting in line to do it again me and Adam are vibrating a chattering wildly because it was fucking awesome! Adam goes, I go again, this time with a little more speed. But my end result isn't as pretty. I end up with one foot on the ladder and the other off. When i get on the ground I am informed by an instructor that they thought I was gonna fall. 

Just Tip Out the Window

If I thought diving head first out the window was the craziest thing I'd do that day, I was really very wrong. That prize goes to me lowering myself out the window with just my own two hands, a rope, a halligan, some physics, probably a little bit of luck, and a whole ton of guts. How it works is: you sit on the window cill like you're sitting on a horse, one end of your rope is attached to a halligan that is anchored into place in the corner of the window, you drop the long part of your rope out the window behind you, then you hold the two sides of the rope together in front of you kind of like a belt (this process is way easier to show than explain using just words on a page). It's kind of like you're making a horseshoe around yourself. Then you lean forward and tip out the window, kind of like how you'd dismount a horse. If done properly you should be facing the sky and have your back to the ground. Then to lower yourself you just loosen your grip on the rope a little and to stop you tighten your grip. The friction is what stops you from falling full speed and hitting the ground. I know all that babble doesn't sound simple, but it really is very simple and straightforward. And you're attached to a safety harness just in case something goes wrong, which should be comforting but really isn't.

You discover something about yourself when you're sitting 20 feet in the air getting ready to entrust yourself to mere physics  (and a safety harness that somehow doesn't even register as existing). I'm sitting there thinking about how absolutely right good ol' Hodge was right about having to be crazy to do this. And as I sit on that window ready to tip out in all ways except for mentally, I'm wondering if maybe I am not as crazy as i thought i was and if i'm actually crazy enough to cut it. I've never been a fan of heights, so looking down at the ground and all the other firefighters looking up at me is absolutely terrifying. And there is a moment where I seriously consider saying nevermind and getting off the window cill and walking back down safely. This skill isn't even required to pass the class. But as I sit on that window cill i discover a very important part of myself, i discovered my point of no return, which was probably all the way back on the first step leading to the window. Once I start I can't stop. I wanted to climb off that window cill and run back down to safety, but I was incapable of doing so. I had come this far, so I was going all the way. I had started so I wasn't going to stop. Once I start something that I am truly passionate about or want really badly to succeed at,  I can't stop until I've seen it through all the way, and I think that is going to carry me through the rest of my career. My inability to back down. There’s no can’t.

I gripped my rope tight and tipped over out the window. I lowered myself down and the whole thing probably only took 10 or 15 seconds. As soon as my feet hit the ground I wanted to go again, sadly we were only allowed to do it once. Adam however managed to worm his way through the line a second time. Lucky sneaky bastard.

I still want to lower myself out more windows and whenever anyone does it on tv i get jealous.

Closing Speeches

No one's allowed to leave the training grounds until everything was cleaned up and put away. Once clean up is done the instructors all gathered us into a big group and we get some nice closing speeches from the different instructors about how we did a great job. Surprisingly enough the only thing Hodge says is a curt "good job", i guess he used up all his speech giving for the day that morning. Once all the instructors are done talking to us, Hodge stands up and very loudly says, for all to hear, "Like they say at the end of classes in the academy. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here so get the hell of the property." And with that we are released.

[tearlessrain]

30 questions tag game

Tagged by: @mercurypilgrim (thanks!)

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 5 blogs you are contractually obligated to know better.

Name/nickname: I’ve been going by tearless/tearlessrain for so long that a friend once called me that in person and I did not notice that it wasn’t my name until they said something. but I also have a lot of other names, only two of which have legal relevance.

Gender: male

Star sign: virgo, but I’ve been told by the local astrology gays that I’m also an aquarius moon and that it “explains a lot”

Height: 5′2

Birthday: a secret. I do not like being the center of attention.

Time: it’s like 3:40am. I will experience deep regret tomorrow, and I will learn nothing from this.

Favorite bands: queen feels like a cop out but like I’m never really not in the mood to listen to queen. linkin park, unironically. and all the different permutations of the crosby/stills/nash/young/simon/garfunkle cloud.

A few I am currently listening to, though: I can’t really call out specific bands/artists because I’m mostly listening to my oc playlists lately (I literally can’t stay in a bad mood listening to riska’s playlist and that’s just the energy I need in my life right now).

Favorite solo artists: (all together now) david bowie. also hozier and joni mitchell.

Song stuck in my head: O Come All Ye Faithful, in latin, for some fucking reason. it’s been there for days. send help.

Last movie: Kung Fu Panda, discord server was having a movie night.

Last show: WandaVision but I’m behind on it (loved the first two episodes but now I can feel the Marvel-ness looming again and I dread it)

When did I create this blog: god I don’t even remember, I’ve been here since the first age and never changed accounts/urls so like. around ten years now I think.

What do I post: whatever the hell passes through my brain from moment to moment, I can’t believe anyone follows me. lately a lot of rambling about my swtor ocs, sometimes it’s tolkien/silmarillion content, sometimes I liveblog terrible movies on purpose, sometimes it’s isaac asimov hours, sometimes just shitposting or unsolicited opinions about completely random things I’m not qualified to talk about. the only thing I can be relied on to provide is reblogs of ocean and horse photos, but not on any kind of consistent schedule.

Last thing googled: celtic invasion of portugal. I got slightly sidetracked from something else I was doing.

Other blogs: I’ve got art over at @tearlessrainart, horny art over at @a-world-of-osha-violations, and a little pile of extremely specific sideblogs I rarely use.

Do I get asks: not often, but those I do get are appreciated. except you, ray bans bot. I don’t appreciate you.

Why I chose my url: I originally used it as a deviantart handle (still there) because it wasn’t taken and I liked the overall way it sounded, and kept it because it’s rarely taken anywhere. and now it’s been ten years so like it’s stuck at this point.

Following: 305

Followers: 1392 which is far more than I deserve given my wildly inaccessible blogging style

Average hours of sleep: 7-8 hours usually but my actual sleep schedule skews late. I’ve never been one of those people who can skate by on 5 hours and be functional, if I get less than 6 hours I am absolutely useless and was that way even in high school/college when everyone else was pulling all nighters and shit.

Lucky number: I honestly have never understood lucky numbers, and how much I like any given number is solely dependent on how appealing its colors are according to my synesthesia. if anyone’s wondering, 420 is a hideously tacky blue/orange clusterfuck, but 69 is pleasantly greyscale.

Instruments: I play the flute, in that I own a flute that I was pretty good at playing in high school and can, if I choose, still play notes on it. I also own a melodica but I cannot play it, which to be clear does not stop me from playing it.

What am I wearing: pajama pants and a sith cloak. which sounds like a joke but I do actually own a set of sith robes and the cloak happens to be warm and very comfortable so I just kinda. wear it around the house sometimes in the winter.

Dream job: ornamental lighthouse hermit who may or may not be a wizard.

more realistically though I’m hoping to go into sfx makeup and cosmetology (I was like a week away from getting my license when the apocalypse hit)

Dream trip: I’d love to visit australia and new zealand, would also very much like to go back to scotland and possibly just not leave scotland.

Favorite food: sushi, specifically good salmon nigiri. god it’s so good. smeagol was right.

Nationality: regrettably, american.

Favorite song: god I have no idea. uh. I really like the boy in the bubble by paul simon. something about the visuals in that song speak to me.

Last book read: rereading The Robots of Dawn by Isaac Asimov, which is a terrible book that I nonetheless subject myself to periodically because I like all the books around it a lot. I need to start on Robots and Empire but shit’s been going down recently so I haven’t been reading much.

Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in:  

okay LIVE IN is a very different question from “universes I think are neat” because like. I love the whole thing firefly has going on but I wouldn’t survive it for more than five minutes. so with that in mind:

1. middle earth but like, the shire during the third age specifically.

2. I think I would enjoy being a legend of zelda npc. I could just be a weird little potion seller who lives in a tree or something. or maybe an inexplicably sexy fish man. or better yet, the inexplicably sexy fish man’s husband, who sells potions. yeah I’ve got my fictional life here completely figured out now, this is good. I would also own an extremely chonky horse.

3. one of the ones I made up, specifically the one that involves a lot of gryphons and interdimensional bullshit. more specifically the origin universe of said gryphons, which exists at the heart of an extremely complicated multiverse that includes both earth and at least one fantasy world but is part of neither. anyway it’s a nice place.

Tagging: @raemanzu @sith-nb @vampiraptor @nyriad @crypticspren

(only if you want to of course)

[dtechsavvy]

Top 10 Less Known Facts About Apple

Today, we know Apple as the world's greatest tech company. But Apple too, as a company, has had its fair share of ups and downs, and has made interesting history. Here are 10 facts about Apple that not many people know of.

1. Apple Has Three Founders

Apple Inc. was actually started by three people. While two of them are well known, the third person is known by fewer people, his name is Ronald Wayne. He was born on May 17, 1934. He provided administrative oversight and documentation for the company, and was the person to illustrate the first Apple logo. Due to his earlier experiences with his slot machine business, which had him indebted, he was not willing to take risks with Apple. A few days later he sold his 10% share of the company to Jobs and Wozniak for US$ 800, and about a year later he accepted $1500 to forfeit any potential claims against Apple in the future.

2. Apple Was Started With A Calculator

While Steve Jobs sold his Volkswagen van to raise some money for starting Apple, Steve Wozniak sold his HP 65 scientific calculator. Now, this might not seem like a fair deal, but scientific calculators at that time were much more expensive than they are today. While the van generated $750, the calculator was able to bring in $500.

3. Apple Started A Clothing Line In 1986

Over the years we have seen that Apple's brilliant sense of product design, with its stunningly minimal looking products and its sense of what people want next, has developed an enormous following for Apple. But even Apple hasn't done everything right. In 1986, a year after Steve Jobs left his position as the chairman of the company, Apple started a clothing line named as "The Apple Collection". Under this brand, Apple developed clothing accessories ranging from shirts and pants to watches and sunglasses. This actually did not turn out very well, you would understand when you check out the collection.

4. Steve Jobs Invented The Computer Mouse By Stealing It From Xerox

It is quite commonly believed that the computer mouse was invented by Steve Jobs. But this is not true, Steve Jobs took the concept from Xerox. When he visited Xerox's Palo Alto research centre in the 1970s, he was amazed to see a new three buttoned computer mouse. Upon realizing that it would be the perfect interface device for his Apple computers, he took the concept to Dean Hovey, an industrial designer, who removed two of the buttons, improving the concept for Jobs and also reducing the cost from $300 to $15. This is how Jobs made the design more practical and affordable for consumers.

5. In 1997 Apple Was Saved By Microsoft

In the year 1997, Apple was about to go bankrupt. Jobs had just become the CEO of Apple, he made some serious moves to save the company, one of them was to make a deal with Bill Gates. Apple and Microsoft are companies founded around the same time, though one was more focused on making computers and the other, on software, they still had a rivalry. Apple had filed a copyright infringement suit against Microsoft. When Jobs called Bill Gates, he talked about leaving behind the competitive approach to their existence in the business and rather have a supportive attitude towards each other. After that Microsoft agreed to invest $150 million in Apple stocks, both the companies agreed to settle their court matters, Microsoft Office was made available for Macintosh, and Internet Explorer was made the default browser on the mac, with no restrictions on other browsers.

6. Apple Has More Cash In Hand Than The US Treasury

Being the world's greatest tech company, Apple has got to have some perks for itself. It has more cash in hand than the US government does. But if we really look at it, the government has a virtually unlimited amount of cash, they are the ones who print it, they can always get more for themselves. But until they don't, we are going to say Apple has more. In 2015, Apple had almost twice as much cash as the US government.

7. If You Use iTunes, You Have Already Agreed To Not Use It To Create Nuclear Weapons

There is a clause in Apple end user license agreement, which says that you have agreed to not use the shiny music app for the development, design, manufacture or production of nuclear, chemical or biological weapons. Now you would think, who in the world would use iTunes for such a purpose or how in the world could it even be used in that way. I would say that Apple just maybe likes to fill all the gaps.

8. You Have A Better Chance Of Getting Accepted At Harvard Than Getting A Job At An Apple Store

Apple once had an acceptance rate of 2% for an Apple store, in the same year the acceptance rate at Harvard was 7%. Now, it can't be a direct comparison, as the conditions for acceptance for a retail job and for acceptance at a university are very different. It is still a fun comparison though. There is a quite significant difference between the acceptance rates. Now you know that it is not so hard getting accepted at Harvard, that you have a better chance at it than you have at being employed at an Apple store.

9. Smoking Near Apple Computers Voids The Warranty

Though there is no direct statement in Apple's warranty clause which says that cigarette smoke voids the warranty, there have been a number of cases where Apple has refused repairs to computers damaged by cigarette residue. It is not the smoke that is the reason behind it, Apple clarifies that it is actually the nicotine residue and nicotine is on OSHA's list of hazardous substances, therefore they cannot make a repair employee work on a computer contaminated with it. You've got one more reason to not smoke now, if you use an Apple computer.

10. Siri Will Flip A Coin For You If you Can't Make A Decision

Sometimes, it is just hard to make small decisions and you might not even have a coin to toss. But if you have Siri, you aren't yet completely out of luck. Siri can always help you decide which ice cream you should get, you just have to summon Siri and say, "flip a coin" and it will flip a coin for you. Of course, it won't be as good as an actual coin, with which you come to know what you actually want when it's in the air, but it's going to be random enough. Siri can also help you when you want to play a dice game but you somehow don't have the dice, mind you, it's not that difficult to lose those small cubes. You just have to summon Siri and say, "roll dice" and it will do it for you.

Top 10 Less Known Facts About Apple, originally posted on Dtechsavvy.

[thanksjro]

Last Stand of the Wreckers, Issue #3: Garrus-9 is Fun for the Whole Family

Noticed a little something as I was reading- in issue #1, Roberts is credited for contributing to the story. However, in issue #2 and on, he’s credited as a writer alongside Roche.

Maybe it’s just a change in the how the credits were being labelled within IDW, because it never seems to stay consistent between series, but that’s still quite the jump. He’s accumulating power much faster than I originally thought. How delightful, and also terrifying.

Getting back to the story, we open up this issue with a flashback: two years ago, Overlord deigned it necessary to reunite Shockwave’s head with his body. Now, this was still nearly a year after he’d first taken over Garrus-9, and Shockwave can’t help but question the wait.

Back when Megatron still had Overlord under him, he had Shockwave slap something called an “Achilles virus” into the guy. This virus made it impossible for Overlord to comprehend any weaknesses Megatron might have- something positively devastating to a tactician as ruthless as Overlord. He, of course, wants the thing removed. Shockwave agrees.

With how many of the IDW universe’s problems this chunky purple fuck is responsible for, I’d honestly be more surprised if helping Overlord DIDN’T help him further his own agenda in some way.

Once Shockwave frees up Overlord’s processors, he’ll be free to go and cause more mayhem, while Overlord keeps doing his thing on Garrus-9. Shockwave, because he’s a smarty-pants, knows what he’s up to- he’s trying to goad Megatron into coming to see him, by way of ultraviolence.

When I was a little kid- we’re talking no more than five- if I wanted my parents to come see me after I’d woken up in the morning, I’d do this god-awful thing where I’d shriek at the top of my lungs repeatedly and then hide under my blankets acting as if I’d been sleeping like a perfect little angel the whole time. This feels a lot like that, except Overlord’s been screaming for three years.

Back in the present, we get a taste of some dramatic irony, by way of Fisitron’s fanboy datalogs.

You’re never going to guess what’s happened.

Since the ping-pong ball Verity was riding in smashed right into where Overlord likes to hang out, it’s looking somewhat grim for them. Not that things are looking any better over here.

Guzzle isn’t much of a team player, it would seem.

Springer’s worried that the others were DOA, but Twin Twist seems to think things are alright.

And he would know, I suppose.

Over in the Pit, Overlord’s greeting his new guests. Rotorstorm tries to break the tension  with a joke. It actually goes over pretty well with Overlord.

Still, it’s a tough crowd.

Back over with Wrecker team A, the boys have just blown up a hallway to buy themselves a little time. Well, Guzzle blew up the hallway, since he’s a tank, but the others were there for moral support.

Things have really hit the fan, and Springer makes the call to split up and look for clues get help. Guzzle and Kup pair up and run for it, which seems appropriately themed, while Twin Twist decides it’s time to break out the alt-mode and dig through the floor so they can get to the Autobot prisoners. Springer’s not too sure about that, seeing as Twin Twist’s hurt, but he says they can take it. Yes, they.

After that painful scene transition, Overlord implores the Wreckers before him to surrender. Perceptor, having a case of terminal bad-ass disease, orders Pyro to keep Verity safe- which he does by stuffing her into his chest?- while he and the others attempt to bare-knuckle box Overlord into submission.

I’m not kidding, he’s just shoving her in there.

While Perceptor and the gang commit suicide, Twin Twist’s just finished drilling, and it’s looking like it’s a bit more of a drop than he was expecting. Luckily, Springer swoops in and catches him before he can take any fall damage.

Both they and Impactor land safely on the floor of an energy reactor, and it looks like they’ve got company.

The company is Kick-Off’s corpse. Guess Overlord kinda sucks at rewarding people.

As Impactor and Springer discuss Kick-Off’s very brief stint as a prison gladiator, Twin Twist makes the horrific discovery that they’ve set off a defense mechanism, and if they don’t get out of there pronto, they’re gonna be robo-toast.

Overlord gets word of these guys running around in the energy reactor as, he kicks Percy and pals’ ass. Repeatedly. Delighted that there are more toys to play with, he makes a prison-wide announcement: anyone who brings him the head of a Wrecker can leave Garrus-9.

I don’t think Percy likes that idea too much.

Without any further ado, Overlord sicks the entire prison populace on the Wreckers. Perceptor, ever the brainiac, buys them a little time by blowing up a fuel tank that managed to survive the ping-pong ball crashing. The Wreckers book it out of the Pit, ready to head for Aequitas. Only one problem- Ironfist is having a breakdown. Perceptor is surprisingly considerate about the whole thing.

Like, this is about as much as anyone could ask for in such a dangerous situation. Of course, Ironfist is a bit too hung up on the complete annihilation of a skull he just witnessed to appreciate Percy’s kindness.

Here’s the thing about fanboys; they have a bit of a habit of putting their heroes on pedestals.

No, the adventuring doesn’t happen until 2012, Ironfist, and you aren’t going to be there for all that.

Seems like Overlord’s presence on Garrus-9 has sort of smashed Ironfist’s dreams of grandeur. Though given the constantly-changing roster, and the fact that Ironfist probably knows more about the Wreckers’ escapades than most, one would think he’d at least be prepared for something this wild to be a possibility.

This whole spouting off attracts Topspin, who berates Ironfist for being a baby. He doesn’t even know why the guy got brought along on this mission, seeing as none of the established Wreckers voted him on. Ironfist is just sort of here. Before we can get into all that though, Perceptor breaks their little squabble up, because we just don’t have time for that right now.

Over with Guzzle and Kup, we’re descending a ladder and reveling in implications, as Guzzle notes how he had a bunch of friends die in a rescue attempt similar to this one. Kup mentions that he hopes the guy being rescued was worth it. Guzzle says that it depends on who you ask.

So we’ve got an angry little tank dude and the old man who’s responsible for several of his friends’ demises, working together, without any other supervision, in an insanely dangerous place filled with murderous Decepticons and high places that don’t follow OSHA regulations. What could possibly go wrong?

Back with Percy and the boys, we finally get the down-low on what Topspin and Twin Twist’s whole deal is. Turns out they’ve got a rare and potentially exploitable manufacturing error- they’ve got branched sparks, which means that their nervous systems overlap to a point where they can feel each other’s pain. This seems like it ought to discourage one from joining the Wreckers, but since when have the Transformers ever been about self-preservation?

Look at that face. It’s like he knows what the narrative’s gearing up towards.

Perceptor’s found a funny part of the wall, which gives him a pretty good feeling that Aequitas is right behind it. It’s at this point that the others start asking just who the hell Aequitas is, and then Pyro remembers he’s still got Verity trapped inside his chest cavity.

Verity is released from the torso jail, a little banged up and a lot pissed off about being forgotten. She starts saying some rather uncalled-for things about the dead before she catches herself, and we get a bit of an insight into Wrecker ideology.

Perceptor has busted through the wall while Topspin’s explaining the group philosophy, and we finally find what Fortress Maximus’ has been up to while all this has been going down.

The Decepticons have been using ol’ Max here as a lock pick, seeing as he wouldn’t just GIVE Overlord the code to the chamber. Perceptor starts cutting the poor guy out of all the cabling he’s hooked up to, and everyone once again questions just what’s up with Aequitas that the Decepticons want to get to him so badly.

Speaking of Decepticons, they’re collecting in droves in the hallway, just itching to rip off some Wrecker heads for a free ticket out of Garrus-9. Perceptor unhooks Fort Max, passes his limbless, eyeless body off to be carried by the two largest friends at his disposal, and the chamber opens up.

This is about the time that the story catches up with the other team of Wreckers, the guys who were trapped in the energy reactor. Yeah, that branched spark plot point is about to get very relevant.

Dentists are the worst, even in space.

And that’s the end of issue #3.

[breachtopology]

prompt: we’re secret friends with benefits and you accidentally wore my shirt to to the party so you’re pretending you came as me and it turns out your impression of me is on point and you know me better than you know myself are you sure you’re not in love with me?? \\ requested by @hermannsthumb

sorry this is so late (but it’s still halloween on the west coast? did I make it??) some shatterdome-era, halloween-themed com dram.

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

Newt cracks an eye open, waking from a nap he hadn’t realized he was taking. He lifts his head and looks where it had previously been resting—on Hermann’s bare chest. Newt’s eyes drag upward to Hermann’s face—eyes still closed, gently resting.  

Reaching over to his nightstand without looking, Newt first mistakenly grabs his glasses, then his remote for the A/C setup he cobbled together from scrap jaeger metal (not officially approved, but no one has to know), Newt finally picks up his phone and checks the time. He bolts upright immediately. “Uh.” He glances down at Hermann. “Not to kick you out, but I’m gonna need to kick you out.”

Hermann props himself up on his elbows. “Oh?” He says coolly. “Plans this evening?”

“The Halloween party, dude!” Newt exclaims, leaping up out of bed, tossing the covers back so forcefully that they’re flung off Hermann as well. “It’s only like, my favorite holiday out of the whole year.”

With a yawn, Hermann reclines back onto Newt’s mattress and pulls the comforter back over himself. “In July you said Christmas was your favorite holiday,” he says up at the ceiling.

“It was in the heat of the moment,” Newt says, fishing through various piles of clothes—piles he insists are clean but just haven’t been put away yet. “We really do need some kind of mid-year holiday to break things up, you know? Why save all the good stuff for the last three months? Anyway.” Newt retrieves a white tank from one such pile and pulls it on. “I’d invite you to come,” he says as casually as possible. “But there’s a strict costume policy.”

“How gracious of you,” Hermann says, again in that cool tone. “I’m not interested in costumes.”

“Or socializing, or games, or fun. Yeah, I get it.” Newt hops into a pair of tan pants, belting them at record speed. “Now hurry up, will you?”

Hermann groans as he sits upright. His hair is mussed and sticking up at odd ends. Newt swallows down an impulse to run his hands through it one more time, to straighten it, to tuck it in place just the way Hermann likes it.

Instead, he tosses a discarded white shirt from the floor of his quarters, pelting Hermann squarely in the chest. “Here.” He follows up with a deep maroon sweater. “We’re burning daylight.”

---

They step out into the concrete hallway of the Shatterdome and start to walk toward the Mess Hall, the same direction as Hermann’s own quarters.

“You could have given me a bit more time,” Hermann grumbles, fussing with his hair, still sticking up a bit at odd ends. “I look...disheveled.”

“Hey, it’s working for you.” Newt steps in front of Hermann quickly, but continues to walk backward as he holds his arms out wide for display. “How do I look?”

Hermann looks him up and down. After a short pause, he says, “I can’t evaluate your costume until I know who or what you’re supposed to be.”

“John McClane!” Newt falls back to Hermann’s side. “You’ve seen /Die Hard/, right? Tell me you’ve seen Die Hard.”

“I’ve seen Die Hard,” Hermann says, deadpan.

“You’re lying. It’s okay. You’re forgiven. It’s unforgivable. But I forgive you.”

“Gracious of you,” Hermann murmurs with a small smile. He tugs at his sweater collar. “It’s bloody warm.”

“There’s an easy solution for that, Erdos,” Newt quips. “It’s what you get for wearing sub-zero-ready knitwear in a tropical climate.”

Hermann scowls and stops, handing Newt his cane as he proceeds to pull his sweater over his head. He looks down and lets out a groan. “Newton, this is—“

“Dr. Geiszler, Dr. Gottlieb!”

Mako approaches from the other end of the hallway, clad in a long black trench coat—clearly borrowed from someone who was at least a foot taller and broader than her—and thin sunglasses.

“Mako!” Newt waves. “Are you Neo? Dude, did you watch The Matrix? Amazing, right? That is so badass.”

She lifts her sunglasses and smiles broadly. “Keanu Reeves, he’s the best.” She lifts her sunglasses and considers Newt’s attire.

“Dr. Geiszler...Are you...someone whose clothes have been stolen?”

Newt twitches. “I’m John McClane. Die Hard? Don’t worry about it, it’s from before your time.”

Mako shrugs and smiles politely as she turns her attention to Hermann. “Dr. Gottlieb, you are a...Velvet Underground fan?”

“No, Newton is—“

Newt snaps his attention to his left and sees what Hermann had noticed—under his maroon sweater was Newt’s own Velvet Underground t-shirt, the iconic Andy Warhol banana print. Something that Hermann would never wear, on principle.

Hermann is wide-eyed in surprise. “Er, what I meant to say is...” He clears his throat. “That’s, er my costume,” he says simply. “Newton.”

“WHAT?” Newt exclaims reflexively, unable to stop himself. The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitch upwards. His expression is some bizarre distribution of mortified and smug. “I—...Yes.”

“That is cute.” Mako looks back at Newt, mildly disappointed. “I’m surprised you did not come as each other.” Before Newt can protest and explain, she lowers her sunglasses back down, strikes a pose of such genuine intensity that Newt feels momentarily frozen, before breaking out into a smile and gently leading the two of them, each with one hand, into the mess hall.

Tendo, leaning casually on the snack table, greets the two of them as they grab a couple of drinks—beer that had been snuck into the Shatterdome by some brave anonymous individual, he explains. “So,” he says to Newt. “What are you, a discount construction worker?”

Newt flips him off. Tendo laughs and turns to Hermann. “What’s your ‘stume, doc?”

Newt watches Hermann take another drink before responding, “I’m, er. Newt.” He laughs nervously. “It’s a shallow approximation—“

“Don’t sweat it, doc, no one’s got time to do anything detailed.” Tendo waves his plastic fangs. “You know. More important stuff going on. But—“ he pauses to put the fangs in. “You’ll also be amazed at how far an impression goes to sell it. I’m sure you’ve got some stories.”

"Well, yes, just the other day...” He glances quickly at Newt. Newt looks back at him and crosses his arms.

Hermann straightens up and starts speaking, more quickly and pitched than usual. “‘OSHA procedures are more guidelines than rules,’” he says, quoting—Newt realizes—something Newt had said the day before. A few near bystanders turn their heads to casually tune in. “‘So by extension, I’m the Captain Barbossa of lab safety.’”

A few scattered laughs. Hermann looks around, shocked, possibly by the getting any sort of reaction and possibly by his own delivery.

“Ha!” A nearby J-Tech officer exclaims. “That is legit.” He turns to someone on his left. “I heard the Marshall chew him out a couple weeks ago for—“

“Hey, asshole.” Newt shoots him a glare. “Shut up.” It’s not intelligent, Newt knows, but it’s enough to make a new officer wince.

Tendo lets out a laugh and claps Hermann on the shoulder. “Good one, doc.” He glances at Newt and smirks before taking a sip from his cup. Newt calls that glance and raises it with a death glare that fully transmits, Don’t you say a fucking word.

The initial bystanders disperse. Newt crosses his arms. “That’s not an impression. That’s just one single thing I said once. Taken way out of context, I might add.”

Hermann starts to silently fish through the candy bowl on the snack table.

Newt leans over to watch. “Lookin’ for something?”

At last, Hermann meticulously plucks a green Jolly Rancher from the bowl. “Green is the best flavor,” he says facetiously, delicately unwrapping it from the plastic. “Never mind that green isn’t a flavor but a color.” He pops it into his mouth and grimaces. “These are so sweet,” he says, returning to his usual tone. “Newton, how on earth do you eat these.

Newt rolls his eyes before taking a green Jolly Rancher out of the bowl for himself. “That green was wasted on you, dude” But when he looks back at Hermann he’s smiling slightly, albeit not looking in his direction.

---

For the next half hour, Newt tries to keep a safe distance from Hermann. He makes lap around the mess hall. One engineer, dressed as a pirate (basic, but effective) calls out, “John McClane!” And Newt makes a show cheering and giving her a high-five that is audible throughout the hall.

But the space is finite, and eventually his path leads him back to Hermann, who’s at the center of a small group of PPDC staff who are amused by his current monologuing. Newt slides up behind them and catches Hermann in mid-sentence.

“—and it’s an album from the point of view of a man who’s wretched, who is confronting his misdoings, his mistreatment of others, his skewed relationship with love, in this operatic way—“

In that moment, it strikes Newt that Hermann may have actually been listening. Through all the monologues, through all the rants. Newt flushes with equal parts embarrassment in the accuracy and another feeling he’s tried to push down for seven years.

“But the thing about Weezer,“ Hermann continues, emphasizing the band with an American emphasis on the -er, “Is that they created two perfect albums, so their next twelve mediocre ones are forgivable—“

“The White Album is not mediocre!” Newt finally exclaims from behind the small group, unable to stop himself. He pushes forward and softly grabs Hermann by the arm. Hermann looks up at him with a raised eyebrow, defiant. Newt turns around at the small group casually listening in. “Yeah, yeah, he’s great—excuse us for a sec, will ya?” Without waiting for a reply, he gently pulls his colleague by the arm to the hallway outside, promptly stepping in close, so Hermann is the only thing between Newt and the wall.

“What the hell, dude?” Newt hisses.

Hermann leans his head back against the concrete wall. “Being you is very easy,” he says scathingly.

With a short laugh, and Newt goes in for the kiss. Rough and agitated, how this sequence of events typically starts out. How things started hours prior in the lab, resulting in the change of location to Newt’s room to tear off one another’s clothes as quickly as possible. He slips a hand under Hermann’s/Newt’s own shirt and slides it up and beside Hermann’s ribcage, pulling him in closer.

“This is a new level of narcissism,” Hermann says breathlessly when Newt pulls away. “Even for you.”

“Says the guy who tastes like green.” Newt smirks. “You think you know me?”

“You are impossible not to know.” Hermann says, lifting his chin.

They lock eyes. Newt searches for some confirmation of something in Hermann’s gaze. There’s a hint, close, just behind his eyes, but it’s just out of reach. Despite his better judgement, Newt slips his hand out from under Hermann’s shirt, lifts it, hesitates momentarily, but proceeds to card it gently through Hermann’s hair, smoothing out the odd ends. From front to back, then around to rest on Hermann’s cheek. Hermann looks at him, wide-eyed.

“Newton,” he says softly.

Newt swallows. “Yeah?”

The faceless drone of the party on the other room extends the silence. They look at one another for a minute. And it strikes Newt that it’s longest either of them has gone in each other’s company without a word.

But as “Monster Mash” comes on the speakers, the mess hall erupts into cheers. The incongruity of it all breaks whatever was there, between them in the hallway. Hermann swallows. “I’ll be returning to my quarters, now,” he says, voice just above a whisper. Newt steps back, giving Hermann the space to collect his cane and step out. He gives Newt one last look, opens his mouth to speak, but closes it. He walks away without another word.

[emmyrosee]

Okay but what happens when high school!axel has to leave for his scholarship!!! My heart needs that kind of angst😭💚🖤

Soooo this is full of cliches because secretly I’m a hopeless romantic, and this is exactly how sophomore Emmy wanted to kiss senior muse goodbye.

So if you’re not into super cheesy, corny goodbyes, this probably isn’t for you 

But I liked it and I think it’s cute so shush😖💕

“Will you be back for my graduation?” You whisper, unable to peel your eyes from the ground. You’ve been kicking the same patch of gravel for the past twelve minutes as himself and his father pack the truck.

The scholarship is for 6 years. It makes you feel sick. You feel like you’re about to crack. You know inside the house, his mother is baking snacks for him to eat as he’s driving because she can’t bear to watch him pack, but once she comes out, he has to go.

He sighs softly, pushing the suitcase as flat as he can against the other bags.

“You know I wouldn’t miss graduation for the world, pretty girl,” he assures, leaning against the bed. “And I’m going to try as hard as I can to come back for proms, okay?”

You nod around a sob, wiping your eyes clean. You’re trying to stay composed, strong like he told you to.

(“Need you to be strong tomorrow, alright?” He whispers, dragging his fingertips up and down your arm. “Can’t have you crying on me, lovebug.”

He held you so close you started to sweat from his body heat, but you didn’t dare try and part. Living without him for the next few years is something you can’t even start to think about. He’s just such a huge part of your life, and it’s hard to imagine everything happening without him.

Going through the rest of high school without your guard dog, your mental breakdowns without him coming to your rescue, going to proms and homecoming games without him...)

“Hey,” he whispers, snapping you out of your thoughts. His knuckle guided your face to look at him, “don’t start crying, Angel.”

“I’m not crying,” you manage around a sob, wrapping your arms tightly around him. He nuzzles his face in your hair as you sob in his chest, the loud wails shaking your whole body. He squeezes you tighter, and you feel your hair dampen by his own tears.

“What can I do to make it better, baby?” He whispers.

“Don’t go,” you beg. “I don’t want you to leave me, Axel, please. There are plenty of scholarships here, please.”

He chuckles softly, “anything but that, baby.” He places a kiss to your head, squeezing tighter. “You know I can do anything but that.”

You still can’t look at him, you know you’re soaking his shirt with your tears, but you don’t care.

“No...” you whimper. A large hand cups the back of your head, “do you wanna go on one more date? I’ll drop you off home after?”

You toy with the idea, maybe you should. One final goodbye, one last hurrah, before he leaves for years.

But there’s a pit deep down that makes you feel sick, knowing if you go, you’re not gonna let him leave.

Reluctantly, you shake your head, but your grip doesn’t loosen. You’re scared to.

He kisses your head again, “that’s okay. I get it.” He tries to pull away, “I got you something, Angel. It’s nothing big, but I wanted you to have it before I go.”

You let him part, but you still can’t look at him. It’s almost like you’re trying to forget his face, the piercing emerald eyes you got lost in the day you first met.

Axel gently grabs your hand, and slides a silvered ring with a teeny green diamond in the middle.

“It’s not a huge diamond only 0.1 carat, but it’s real. A promise ring.”

Your eyes shoot up to his in disbelief, “a real diamond is one hell of a promise ring!”

He shrugged, “since I got the scholarship they upped my pay and I started saving a bit each week. Don’t you worry your pretty mind about it.” He leans down to kiss your cheek, “a promise that one day, I’m gonna come back to you.” He slides a chain out from under his shirt, around it was a matching ring.

“It’s not OSHA safe to wear rings, but I can wear the necklace.” It jingles as it dangles in his fingers, and you’re fixated on it.

You’re not sure what came over you.

It was like a natural instinct, but when you came to, you were kissing axel.

Not like a kiss in passing in the hallways. Not like the first time you slept with him, or anyone. Not like the little pecks when you two would spend the night together.

There was no sexual tension, no shyness despite his parents being right there, no cowering from the fear of him meeting someone else at his school.

Just.

Passion.

Love.

The only thing on your mind is the feeling of his lips on yours, being so gentle and careful to not break or corrupt you, and the fact he’s trying- tried so hard- brings more tears to your eyes as you fall deeper and deeper into the new void that is Axel Cluney.

He falters slightly, and pulls away. “I have to go,” he whispers. You nod, sniffing and panting from crying and from the kiss.

He hugs his parents, giving a promise to call them once he’s settled in, and finally, he climbs into his truck, blowing one final kiss to you before creating a vanishing cloud of dust and smoke, disappearing from your life.

[toasttz]

From the Tabletop X

Shit yeah! I'm totally alive! It's not that our games stopped or anything (though our D&D GM was ready to throw it all at the wall, he has decided to soldier on). Just that I've gotten wrapped up in other things. Like, uh, GM'ing! Yeah, remember, like, a year ago when I started this series and mentioned I really like Shadowrun? We kicked off a Shadowrun 5e game! So, today's special 10th-ennial extravaganza will be Shadowrun talk time, or me at the opposite side of the table. To begin, our players' runners: Troppo - an Australian who ventured to Seattle in search of work once a military injury (several lost fingers) had him on a medical discharge. His role in the party is infiltrator. Which gives him license to trivialize otherwise-challenging moments in my campaign by stealth-killing all the enemies I made for them. Later ends up dating a Johnson after a particular run. Still active as of this writing. Then there's Big Iron - our street sammy. An ex-cop who was put on indefinite administrative leave when she became known as Knight Errant's personal walking PR disaster - effectively the sixth world's version of the Demolition Man. However, as part of the conditions of this arrangement, she had to be on-call when KE needed her for anything. She became a runner to make ends meet and kind of became the Team Mom. And lastly is Clockwork. Clockwork is a decker who runs hot or cold - either hyper-compotent and hacking the planet, or getting thwarted by an OSHA-compliant stairwell (not joking about this) with no inbetweens. Rare flashes of brilliance illuminated the short and underwhelming career of a runner who, as of the most recent update, was sent to the hospital because his overweight girlfriend sat on his face. As the GM, I refuse to issue apologies or excuses. Mostly because, God damn man, you could've done SO MUCH BETTER! Oh yeah, I realize there is a canon runner named Clockwork. Well, we didn't know that going into it, so he got to fly under the radar on that. If he had actually hung in there, I planned on having the canon Clockwork troll him at some point. So, to start, we're all new and Sixth World is out of reach at the time (and debuting late at our local shops), so I decide to pitch the classic: a Stuffer Shack run. Seattle, 2080, early nostril-freezing early January. Big Iron goes into said Stuffer Shack, getting herself some snacks and condoms (in order not to look "lame"). The boy at the counter sleepily rings her up, just in time for Troppo - Spider-Manning his way up to a rooftop in order to eye a gang of elves acting shifty outside the store. This leads to the first glitch of the game - the elves glitch in their attempt to notice Spider-Troppo. Elf 3: Whoa! Look! That pigeon is fat! Elf 4: Who cares?! Focus! Troppo: Troppo sits in silence to watch these crazy elves, taking only minor offense at being called a fat pigeon. One of the elves goes around the side to start hacking the security (which isn't exactly top-notch), and the other three enter and declare themselves the "Daggerbacks" - an elven supremacy movement looking to expand the glorious empire of Tir Tangaire (and sucking at it). Big Iron attempted to take the high road and offered them a chance to reconsider this terrible decision, but they scoff at the offer and a shootout ensues. This goes poorly for the elves (and would've gone worse for them, had I properly read about how this system handles damage! Shadowrun is a ruthlessly kill-y system!) as Big Iron sends the three scattering, one diving for cover, one wounded who slumps into a wall, and the leader with a baseball-sized hole in his torso, blown backwards into the store's front door. He is then grabbed by a colossal, Troll hand, which firmly affixes to his head, causing him to drop his firearm in defeat. The owner of the hand is Oscar, a former coworker of Big Iron who "just so happened to be in the neighborhood" at the time and lent a hand in arresting them. Oh yeah, and Clockwork traced their network activity and arrived at the scene in the nick of too late. Troppo ultimately intimidated their decker into absolute surrender, lifting a coupon for "SUSHI RAINBOW - NOW WITH REAL FISH!" and his deck off him in the process, causing him to flee - claiming to never really care about the Tir - without deck but with soiled pants. The firefight inside dies down not long after. Cashier: You shot it, you bought it! Big Iron: Now's not the time! By sheer coincidence, the other elves had SUSHI RAINBOW coupons on them as well - my subtle shove towards a meet-up place. Big Iron and Troppo meet en route, having established they did work together in the past. Before long, we were all together, meeting at SUSHI RAINBOW, its owners being Japanese immigrants, Yoshi and Rinko Watanabe and their gyaru daughter, Honoka. Since we were playing with few players than normally constitutes a full runner team, I made a few NPCs to help fill any niches that needed addressing. Honoka was a technomancer and had skills like auto mechanic and gunsmith. And, due to an amusing typo (AKA: Clockwork's persistent illiteracy), a new team of runners was born: "Hey, guys! Someone's biting my runner handle!" complained Friend Octopus. "You really need to change it, dude," Observed Radical Larry. "You're one to talk," sighed Sexy Penguin. "All of you, shut up and focus. This bomb isn't gonna defuse itself and if it goes off, we'll lose the entire shipment of irridium discs!" scolds their leader, Disco Panda. Anyways, back in Seattle, we learn Yoshi and Rinko are retired runners who still have contacts throughout the city. Rinko agrees to bring the runners on on a regular basis, provided they assist with a little issue that's been plaguing them for a while: The Silver Knives. A gang of over-the-hill mostly-mages, who are going around and harassing people as of late in the area. I learned many of the foibles of GMs that day. On account the first leg of the run (a shoot-up down a narrow corridor/alleyway) was trivialized by Troppo Spider-Troppo'ing down on them and assassinating them. For reference, I use the dice that came in the Sixth World Beginner's Box - cuz they're super cool - and these geezers were glitching left and right. So, having made complete work of that, the runners got to the main event - a raid on their warehouse compound (where they would be paid for each of the gang necklaces of each head they popped) and were assigned an NPC shaman, Fallen Snow, an Amerindian Shaman who had a... very special master spirit. I used Shark from the core book as the basis and... well... Go to Youtube, and search for "Lumpy Touch Movie Sonic". Once again, as GM, I never make apologies. Except in one run. But that was only half my fault. Fucking stairs, man. Not even once. Well, I underestimated them again and, though the gangers had a numbers advantage, Troppo and Fallen Snow were stealth/assassin builds and Clockwork was given the rival in the form of the 1337 H@X0R, an elderly, experienced hacker who was learning computers before the previous Great Crash, well up to 2080. Fallen Snow then reveals her spirit as Wendigo (full name: Wendigo of the North), who proceeds to beat the hell out of and then subsequently eats the gangers as they go. Now, a small excerpt from our game: "Snow thrusts her arms out to the side as she glows dimly, as two disproportionately long, clawed hands extend up, then out, landing on the ground and pushes up a lumbering, terrifyingly large spirit. Its head is clad in a goat's skull, but its eyes still seem to bulge and protrude from the sockets, as if they are being squeezed. It has a massive set of jaws and ever-convulsing skin that paradoxically seems to hang limp off the spirit's frame. "HEY GUIYS!" the spirit announces itself in an echoing, unearthly voice, "I'm STARVIN' over here!" “Jesus fuck, Snow,” Troppo says under his breath, without taking his eyes off the sprawling enemies. "Wendigo. By our contract. Kill the Silver Knives. Oh, and don't swallow their necklaces. We need those," Snow demands. "Does that mean... WHAT I THINK IT MEANS?!" the spirit cackles. Snow sighs, rolls her eyes, and replies, "Yes. You may eat them. Don't belabor the point. We're in a hurry and outnumbered," “Jesus FUCK, Snow,” Troppo repeats, with greater emphasis this time. Clockwork gasps "Holy shit" Snow rests her eyes for a moment with a sigh. "When gangers killed my family... my magical 'spark' ignited. And I screamed for anything that would give me revenge. And I summoned a Spirit of Hunger," "OH BOY OH BOY, YOU GUYS! It's like a buffet line! Sure, the meat's tough and been under the heat lamp too long, but there's SO MUCH TO TRY!" Wendigo guffaws as his legs manifest and he rises to his full height. After Clockwork used his gun to off a guy in meatspace, Wendigo even pried, "Are you gonna eat that?!" with a sadistic laugh. Clockwork won (narrowly), just in time for the BOSS FIGHT to stomp in - a cybered-up ork with raw strength to spare. When he threw Wendigo across the warehouse, even Big Iron strongly considered the better part of valor. Boss: Well, well, well... I go out for one night on the town with the missus and I come back to find everyone in my branch has kicked their damn oxygen habit... Troppo: Well, to be fair, it's a bad habit to have. Everyone who has it eventually ends up dead. Boss: Too true. Too true. Especially in this day and age. So, you busted up my joint. Least I can do is tell you my call sign. Y'er, uh, runners, yeah? You got call signs, I wager. Mine, when I was a young man, was Wrecking Ball Big Iron: GET SOME, GRANDAD! (Proceeds to open fire wildly). Wrecking Ball: (Dodges, much to the team's horror). The old way it is, then. This was not a fight I had any intention of making easy on them. Hell, I was even going to give them the chance to use social combat to escape. But Big Iron cast the first stone and thus, the battle was underway. But with a bit of teamwork - and a review of how armor works in the game - they were able to beat him - and obtain a specially ranked insignia off his necklace with a color ranking - a green jewel. Rinko paid the team handsomely. The team then got the chance to go back to SUSHI RAINBOW and rest a while. Not long after, I assigned their next run - in what would come to be known as the COFFEE RUN. Join us there as we also DRAW DICKS ON MUSEUM WALLS! And meet a SUPERHERO TEAM! See you there!

[plantshares]

POLYGON’S UNRAVELED SENTENCE MEME ( part two )

part one / part two

CASTLEVANIA’S SEXIEST MONSTER

“ or at least i THOUGHT it would be nice! ”

“ so i ate a chicken sandwich... DRENCHED. ”

“ that was very educational and extremely entertaining. just kidding. it was boring as hell! ”

“ i am going to throw myself into the sea. ”

“ why are vampires always the hot monster? ”

“ that! was! a joke! i’m not! gonna do that! ”

“ we all know that dracula is hot. ”

“ that’s not a monster. that’s a bird. ”

“ i went back and forth on these, and then i realized: they creep me out. ”

“ anything unique can be sexy. ”

“ you should be wary of anyone who builds their personality around swords. ”

“ obviously, the name makes it sound bad. ...it also is terrible. ”

“ he might kill you. but! he also might open up and be really lovely. ”

“ they’re also ripped as hell. ”

“ if you’re not attracted to this, you’re wrong. ”

“ you can’t just name your child your name backwards! ”

“ and if someone comes up and introduces themself to me as duke mirage, my pants are already off. ”

“ and if you’ll excuse me, i’m going to go throw myself into the ocean now. ”

SMASH BROS VS OSHA

“ there is no better place to make a friend than on the battlefield. ”

“ safety fan and bureaucratic wunderkind. please address me as such. ”

“ and unfortunately there isn’t an o.s.h.a. guide to bloodsport. ”

“ because, when you walk into an unknown space, i want the first question on your mind to be, ‘am i safe to smash?’ ”

“ that’s probably just an underground fighting ring, which is another form of illegality. ”

“ just put one wet floor sign, anywhere. and i’ll let it slide. ”

“ i’m ignoring the fact that they’re fighting on top of a jet. ”

“ they are designed to harm and kill you. ”

“ you don’t need me to tell you it’s broken. ”

“ i couldn’t give a shit about death. ”

“ again, i could not categorize that. but i know he shouldn’t have been there. ”

GAME OF THE YEAR

“ anything that i say is just a drop in the ocean of discourse. ”

“ they called me a fool, but do i look like a fool to you? ”

“ you can’t make me do that. legally. that’s not in my contract. ”

“ i have not been in a pure mathematics class in about five years. ”

“ i’ve figured it out! which means that no one has to write anymore goddamn think pieces about this topic ever again! ”

“ this is a lot of research into things that really have very little meaning. ”

“ why should we even be defining what is and isn’t art? ”

“ shit. i ran out of space. ”

“ hope you’re not as big of an asshole as the last few of your friends. ”

“ ...no. i stand by that decision. ”

“ it was supposed to be prop water! ”

[fuckyeahalexjo]

Hi! First of all I love your posts and fics! I was wondering if you could possibly do one like jo finds out she’s pregnant a few weeks after she starts her fellowship? (:

“Dr. Karev, will you just follow my finger?”

Jo weakly attempted to slap away the ER doctor’s handfrom in front of her face, “Dr. Young, this is unnecessary, I’m really fine. Itprobably just happened because I skipped lunch.”

“Even so, you hit your head pretty hard on the basinso we need to do a full work up.” He shrugged, “Humor me. For OSHA.” Jo gave awithering look before following his finger as instructed, “Let’s just let youhang out here until that bloodwork is back and then go from there.”

Jo rolled her eyes and collapsed back into the pillow,“I’m really fine. I have some post ops to check on and that robotic tracheoplastyto prep for.”

Dr. Young looked down at his tablet, “If you think I’mletting you anywhere near that kind of procedure without a full work up, you’renuttier than a fruit cake at Christmas.” He set the tablet on the bedside tableand crossed his arms, “So for starters you can quit resisting and put on thegown. If you need help, I can get a nurse.”

“No, I can put it on,” she responded dejectedly.

“Good.” He fished his cell phone out of his lab coatand narrowed his eyes, “Now we called your emergency contact, but haven’t heardfrom him. Do you have a different number we could try?”

Jo looked up horrified as her guts dropped, “Youwhat?”

“Look Dr. Karev, several people have reported that youhaven’t been yourself today and you’ve been in and out of it since you werewheeled down here. Even if everything comes back clear, I’m not comfortablereleasing you alone.”

Jo sighed and leaned back, rubbing her eyes infrustration, “Well, the number on file is right. But he probably won’t callback. Knowing him, he’s already in the building or at least on campus dependingon traffic.”

Dr. Young nodded as he watched her vitals, “So he‘snot far then?” 

Jo smiled proudly, “He’s an attending at The FloatingHospital.”

Dr. Young was nodding in understanding when acommotion just outside Jo’s area made him turn in question. A second later thecurtain was yanked back to show a stricken Alex, his eyes wide and mouth agape,“What the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” Jo emphasized, trying to reach for his handas he rushed towards her side, hoping to soothe him, “Just calm down, youdidn’t even need to come.”

“I get a voicemail saying they are looking for yournext of kin and I’m supposed to cool my heels at work? And now I get here andsee glue all over your forehead and I’m supposed to be calm? What happened?”

Before Jo could respond, Dr. Young spoke up, “And youare?”

Alex turned back to the doc and extended his hand,“Alex Karev, I’m Jo’s husband. What happened?”

Jo rolled her eyes behind Alex’s back but nodded forDr. Young to fill him in, “She fainted and hit her head. We’re running tests.Have you noticed anything different recently?”

He turned back to Jo, his eyes full of worry, “She wascomplaining of lower abdominal pain last night and said she was queasy thismorning.”  

“Snitch.”

He rolled his lips in, a look shehad seen a hundred times before when he wasn’t sure what to say, “Jo, come on,something is obviously wrong.” He raised his right hand to rest on her head,his fingers massaging her scalp soothingly, careful to avoid the area she hadhit on the metal basin. Jo felt herself start to become emotional and reachedup blindly grabbing for any part of him, her hand landing on the back of hishead, the simple act of fingering the ends of his hair calming her instantly. Sheinhaled deeply, feeling herself relax for the first time since her fall. Heeventually moved to sit on the bed facing her, his fingers tracing the veins onthe back of her hand as she laid her head back and closed her eyes.

She felt her eyes warm withunshed tears, her mind racing with possibilities. The moment the first tearbegan rolling down her cheek Alex was back on his feet and at her side, gentlywiping the tears away, but not saying a word. She opened her eyes to look athim as they shared a look, Jo immediately understanding that his mind wasracing with the same possibilities. He had just placed his lips on her templewhen Dr. Young returned, surprising Jo that she had missed him leave, “I havethe lab results back.” He looked squarely at Jo, “Is it okay to share this?”

She glanced up at Alex, smirkingto try to lighten the mood, “Like we would be able to get him to leave now.”

Alex didn’t move, his armscrossed over his chest as he seemed to be studying Dr. Young for any possibleclues as to what was going on. The older doctor sighed and looked back at Jo, “Whitecount slightly elevated, but not enough to be vastly concerning but the HCG ispositive. I’ve put in for an OB consult and I think I just saw Dr. Anderson afew moments ago so maybe you won’t have to wait long.” He looked between Alexand Jo, who both appeared dumbstruck, “I’ll just give you both a moment. Pleasehit the call button if you need anything.”

The curtain area was silent for amoment as neither of them moved, both seemingly shell shocked. Alex moved tothe foot of the bed to retrieve the hospital gown and slowly began unfoldingthe fabric as Jo’s small voice broke the silence, “That can’t be.”

“Jo…”

Her eyes blazed, “No, I wouldknow. I would know if I was pregnant. I would know.”

“Let’s get this on, alright?” Hehelped Jo rid herself of her scrubs, being extra careful to avoid the cut onher forehead, “You’ve been manipulating your pills. First for the wedding causethe island only had a couple of availabilities and then when you started hereso you wouldn’t be on it your first day.”

“Are you saying I caused this? Ordid it on purpose?”

Alex walked down to her feet totake off her shoes and placed them against the wall. “No I’m saying it would beharder to know. It makes sense you wouldn’t know is all.” He motioned for herto lift her hips and pulled down her scrub pants and underwear, making sure tocover her immediately with the hospital gown and sheet. She watched himcarefully as he folded the garments and placed them on top of her shoes beforesitting down on the side of the bed, appearing a little timid as he seemed tolook everywhere but her eyes, “Jo, are you upset about having a baby or thetiming? Or both?”

Jo closed her eyes and leanedback, “Do you really think that I’m ready for this?” Alex’s head snapped up,his eyes wide in question, “I mean….I don’t know.  I…I want this, but it’s terrifying.”

He gave her a warm smile, “Ithink it’s normal to feel that way, Jo.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as herlips curved in a smile at his words, “What about you?”

“I’m shocked as hell, but in agood way.”

She reached for his hand that wasresting on his thigh and stroked his skin with her thumb, “Are you thinking whatI am though?”

His eyes seemed burdened as helooked up and held her gaze for a moment before he began nodding jerkily,“Let’s just wait and see what the OB says, okay?” Jo sniffled as she noddedquickly, Alex immediately twisting more fully towards her to envelope her in ahug, “It’s gonna be okay, Jo.”

Despite her best efforts, shecouldn’t keep the tears from falling once she was in his embrace and she waspretty sure Alex was losing some tears too. She later wondered how long theywould have stayed in each other’s arms had a nurse not interrupted to move themto a more private area of the ER. Alex got up so quickly Jo wasn’t able to seehis face and that seemed to upset her more. She laid her head back and closedher eyes but jerked upright when she heard the nurse disengage the break,“Alex!”

He immediately returned to herline of vision and quickly took her hand, “Hey, I’m here. Just getting yourstuff together.”

She watched as he placed herbelongings bag at the foot of the gurney and squeezed his hand tighter as thenurse maneuvered them through the ER, “Dr. Anderson should be in to see younext. She’ll be doing a vaginal ultrasound so we wanted to get you to a roomwith an actual door.”

Jo felt herself smile uponhearing Alex’s low chuckle, “Thanks.”

The nurse moved the gurney to themiddle of the room and put the brake back on before hooking Jo’s monitors backup and placing her call bell close, “Let us know if you need anything.”

After the door closed, Jo watchedas Alex looked around the room awkwardly, seeming to not want to look at her,“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he gave softly as he saton the edge of the bed to face her, “It just suddenly feels very real.”

Jo curled her lips in nervously,“Yeah.”

Alex had opened his mouth tospeak again, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. They both looked tosee an older woman step in carefully as she rubbed sanitizer into her hands,“I’m Dr. Anderson, I hear you got a bit of news today.” She rolled a stoolcloser to be able to look at both of them, “Is this a planned pregnancy?”

Alex shook his head and startedto speak when Jo interjected, “Let me help you. It wasn’t planned, but it iswanted. But we also know it’s an ectopic so I’d appreciate skipping some of thesmall talk so we can get the procedure underway.”

Jo felt Alex’s sorrowful eyes onher, but didn’t dare look up, causing him to rub her thigh comfortingly. Dr.Anderson stood, “To the point, I like it. But how do you know it’s an ectopicif I don’t?”

“I justknow. The pain and the nausea, not to mention the fainting. We know that’s whatthis is.”

“Okay,” thedoctor responded gently, “Let’s just take a look okay?”

The doctorwaited until Jo nodded and then went to the door to summon a nurse as Alex tookJo’s hand. Jo could feel her anxiety increasing with every passing second butwhen the ultrasound machine was moved closer, she felt as if she mighthyperventilate, “Breathe, Jo.”

She lookedup at her husband’s face and managed a small grin, “You too.”

“Alright,Dr. Karev. We’ll need you to place yourself like you would for a pap. I needyou closer to the end of the exam table.”

Jo movedawkwardly as Alex tried to help as much as he could, but did not release herhand, “I’d like to make a request.”

“Anything.”

Jo looked upand smiled at Alex, “Not of you.” She then turned to Dr. Anderson, who hadquirked a brow and was waiting on Jo to speak, “He gets to be in the OR withme.”

She sawAlex’s head whip around out of the corner of her eye, “Jo….”

Jo looked up, instantly regretting it upon seeing the lostlook in his eyes, “We don’t know anyone here. Robbins is closest and she wouldnever make it in time.” She then turned back to Dr. Anderson, “He’ll crawl thewalls if left alone, he’ll be inconsolable, but if he’s there…he won’t get inthe way. I promise. He would never do anything to…he won’t even break scrub.He’ll…”

The doctor interrupted as she motioned to the nurse for thelubricant, “So you’re a surgeon, too? Where at?”

Jo’s brows knitted in confusion at the OB’s calm deflection,“What does that matter?”

The older doctor smiled warmly “Dr. Karev, just let mefinish the exam first and then we’ll talk schematics if needed.” Jo lay back onthe bed in frustration and covered her eyes with her hands, trying to keepherself from crying once again, “Okay, you’ll feel some pressure.”

Jo blindly reached for Alex, hitting what seemed to be hiselbow, but he immediately took her hand into his and pulled it up to his lips,“Don’t you want to see?”

She shook her head quickly as she kept her eyes closed andher hand that wasn’t in Alex’s covering her face. She didn’t recognize her ownvoice as she answered, “No.”

Alex leaned down and kissed her temple, murmuring in her earjust for her, “I really think you should.”

At this, Jo’s eyes opened wide as she looked at the screenand then back at Alex before looking at the screen again, “It’s not…”

“Single early intrauterine pregnancy. No issues of concernseen. It may be too early to hear a heartbeat but we can try.”

A moment later a steady beat filled the room causing Alex toturn to Jo with a huge smile before kissing her soundly. Jo couldn’t believeher ears and pushed him back to be able to focus on the sound, “It’s healthy?”

Dr. Anderson stood as the nurse offered Jo a towel, “I thinkyour issue today was probably a combination of your body adapting to thepregnancy compounded with all the stress of a new fellowship, which leads me toassume that you had maybe skipped a meal or two recently.” She looked up to seeJo nod sheepishly and gave an encouraging smile, “I’d like for you to be seeneither in my clinic or one of your own choosing in a week for follow up. I’dlike to see how you have been doing: if there are any improvements in yoursymptoms or anything new and repeat some labs. If things get worse or if youhave another fall or if the pain gets worse, I want you back here to get checkedout again, okay?”

Alex nodded quickly, “She will.”

Jo rolled her eyes behind his back as Dr. Anderson smiledand handed over a single frame of the ultrasound to the excited couple, “Forthe refrigerator.”