#especially when it comes to like. my mouth to chin ratio. not a lot of space between the two

[lucifer-kane]

Are there any fictional characters you think you resemble, either in appearance or in personality?

Interesting question, I do enjoy stuff like this. Hmm. I don't... really think so? At least not that I've come across. I would like for some characters to look or have a similar personality, it would be neat! I think the most I could think about, but it's really only one thing, is Warren Godby (Red Valley podcast) and Lloyd Allen (Shaperaverse) in terms of their anger issues and how they deal. Other than that? Especially personality and how my autism shapes it, it's. Rough? It's something.

I feel like unless I headcanoned a character (since I primarily listen to audio drama and most of those, characters don't really have canon looks) to have similar features to myself, none of them would really have my body type/appearance. But that's more a thing of the lack of fat people in media, even trying to find real people who have similar body types to myself is hard

[askaalaska-vdeppressed]

Seeing Stars and Stripes

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

This is just porn, I have no excuse for it other than I need the practice

Here you go babes 

You were sure that many would see the upturned lip, the finale of the cacophony of scars that marred his face as off-putting. They’d see the way the injured skin forced his lip up into a permanent snarl as a warning. Yet as you stared at him from across the room you couldn’t help up imagine what it would be like to run your tongue across it. Letting the tip slide quickly over the before quickly jumping back and smirking. Would he grow at you? Call you a minx? Drag your head back to do it again? Put you over his shoulder and take you away to have his way with you? You hoped a version of all three.

So engrossed in your daydreaming you completely forgot where you were or whom you were with till one of your friends—Alma-- cleared her throat.

“Y/n?..... Y/N?” She playfully slapped your shoulder getting your attention. You turned to her, still clearing your head of the vision.

“Are you going to continue to make eyes at strangers or are you going to take your turn?” Your other friend at the table Jordie chimed in.

“Are you saying I have a choice?” you replied. As they both laughed you reached out to grab the dice that were in front of you on the table.

“I say you just go for it” Jordie said looking down at the scores for the game and then back up at your roll,

“Damn Y/n, 650 you gonna take it?”

“What’s my score again?” You asked coyly. Jordie looked down at the board with the scores and back up at you.

“Plenty high” She said not giving you a proper answer. You had been ahead of both the girls for quite some time. Poor Alma having only just gotten on the board about three rounds ago.  

“I’ll take it” you answered passing the dice to Jordie.

“I’m with her on this one” Alma stated splitting her attention between you and Jordie’s rolls “You never go after men on our girls’ nights, if this stranger’s got something that’s getting you going I say chase after it”

Jordie let out a small curse as the dice went cold for her. You waved a server down to refill your drink as you contemplated Alma’s words.

It was true you never were one to go get lost in a man’s arms. It wasn’t that you were prudish or that you lacked offers. It really boiled down to two factors. The first being that your town was small. And any news, especially who slept with whom was bound to get spread as soon as your legs were. The second being that all the men and near all the women for that matter lacked depth. There lives were firmly planted in this village. They were born in this land, they grew in this land, they will die in this land and they will eventually become this land.  Every thought in there heads was of this land. Even your friends were not immune to this. Sleeping with men here felt more akin to sleeping with a very polished rock.

Your mother blamed your wanderlust on all the reading you did. Your family was the only completely literate one in the whole village. You and your mother being two out the three women that knew how to read. The third being Jordie. Together you were trying to teach Alma, though she insisted it was a wasted endeavor.

Altogether the village was simple, routine and safe. You had given up years ago of trying to force yourself to be complacent with it. You soothed your wanders heart by travel for business. From a family of farmers you took up soap making to cure your boredom. During the summer months you would travel to different markets to sell your wares and see the different villages and cities. But one woman can only travel so far on her own, and summer can only last so many months. And then it was back to this. Back to the cage of a home set in stone.

Yet looking at the traveler he seemed to ooze an aura complexity. You imagined he had seen many places, fought many fights and tasted many flavors. For a brief moment when you first saw him you contemplated asking him to tell you of his travel rather than anything untoward.

Then he’d rolled his neck, thrown down his pack with a clamor, and with a voice of gravel ordered a meal, a bed and an ale.

And it was all over for you.

Alma smiled as she rolled a cool thousand points in one role and surpassed Jordie on the board when you put your hands on the table and forced yourself up. Both girls gave you a wink as you passed the server from before grabbing the pitcher he had brought to refill your drink. You sauntered over to the man in the red striped jacket. He was looking absentmindedly at the wall when you approached—the sound of the pitcher landing on the table breaking him out of his daze.

He looked up to meet your gaze and his golden amber eyes hypnotized you for a moment.

“Can I help you lass?” The low tone of his voice mixed with the roughness of it made you weak at the knees. You got control of your legs and broke the spell his eye had cast on you and fixed a smile on your face.

“You looked like you could use some company” You grabbed your skirts and swished them to the side in order to sit on the chair cattycorner to him. He turned his body to you, his eyebrows held high on his head in a face of skepticism.  He looked around the room before addressing you.

“It looks like this place is filled with men that are much more suited for you company” He gave a half hearted gesture to the lively bar.

You gave a snort and rolled your eyes.

“Oh believe me I’ve tried but the whole lot of them is either boorish or simple” You scooted your chair closer to him not touching shoulder. You pointed at a blonde gentleman in a green vest.

“That’s Karlson, he is completely convinced that boiled beaver testicles are curing his wife’s monthly pains” The man pulled a face and your let out a snort.

“She replaces them with boiled eggs when he’s not looking. The real thing helping her is the whiskey she mixes in her tea.” The strangers hand shot up to cover his mouth as he struggled not to laugh.

You turned a bit and pointed at another gentleman. This time a balding man in a shirt much to small for him.

“The man one bend over from busting a seam is Magnus. He once lectured me for two hours on the science behind putting grooves in your teeth to make you a better warrior.”

The man scoffed looking up. His hair fell from his face falling behind his ears in a motion like water.

“Humans will try anything to be more than they are” You fixed him with a look.

“You say that as if you aren’t one” He turned to you perplexed.

“I’m not”

You made a big gesture out of looking him up and down. Inspecting his eyes and hair. You stuck your hand out and poked his arm—careful to avoid the spikes that poked out of his shoulders.

“You seem pretty human to me” You looked over to him smiling from ear to ear. Your cheeks forcing your eyes to squint. He broke your gaze as a small smile crept onto his face for a moment.

“Your too cute for you own good….”

“Y/N” you filled in for him

“Y/n” He parroted back.

“And I don’t know…”

“Eskel” he provided.

“I don’t know Eskel” you started “I think I balance on the perfect ratio of sweet timid kitten and sexy goddess” You waited until he was posed to take a drink to continue. “After all I came over here too see if you wanted to fuck my  brains out”

Your timing had been perfect and Eskel’s hand shot up again to his mouth to try and stop the spray that was currently coming out of his mouth from the shock of your statement.  He wiped his hand with his mouth and gave a harsh swallow.

“Your funny Y/n.” he choked out. You put your arm on the table and placed your head in your hand.

“True, I am masterful in whit” your gaze lingered on his lips, a small amount of ale his hand had missed dripped down his chin. You moved fluidly reaching one hand to wipe his chin and the other to rest on his thigh. You leaned in close as your thumb moved from his chin to his bottom lip.

“But I was being quite sincere with that request” His eyes seemed to take you in for a moment. In his irises he seemed to be fighting something. For a split second he looked like he might start crying before his gaze turned hungry. He leered down your top then back up to the pout of your lips, slightly ajar.

“Eskel” you regarded him, the name low in your voice.

“Y/n” he returned. The combination of his gaze and his voice sent a shiver down your spine and caused your cunt to clench. You caught your breath for a moment, ever so slightly rubbing your legs together.

“You have a room upstairs?”

“Indeed I do” he smirked at you. That damned notch in his lip driving you even crazier. You lifted yourself up going to grab your bag from your friends quickly.  You three had planned on staying with Jordie that night since her husband was away.

You were sure she’d understand.

As you passed they both smiled and winked at you again. Eskel—having gathered his own belongings—met you at the entrance to the stairs. He stuck out his arm, making you giggle. You hooked your hand into it as you made your way up. You looked more like a pair of nobles ready to meet a monarch than you did strangers on their way to hook up in a backwater inn. He lead you too one of the inn’s three rooms. You made your way across the threshold, heading to place your bag in a chair in the corner. When you turned around Eskel had set his belongings down and was anxiously shifting on his feet. A hand behind his head playing with the skin of his neck.

The moment was awkward. Back in the crowded bar you had both been in high confidence. Safety in numbers giving you courage to speak boldly. When the doors were closed and it was just the two of alone it was a different story.

Fearing he may be getting cold feet you strode across the room. A woman on a mission. At the very least you were going to fulfill the fantasy from earlier. Coming this far you were not about to walk away with nothing.

When you reached him your hands sought either side of his face. Pulling him towards you. Your lips met tenderly. The plushness of his lips not being lost on you. Eskel became more and more receptive to the kiss, the two of you now beginning to push against the other. Your thumbs caressed the bones of his cheeks. The sun ravaged skin providing just the slightest bit of drag against your finger pads. He stepped into you deepening the kiss and your hands migrated so that your arms were hung on his shoulders. You rubbed your core against the leg that was nestled there, releasing a small moan at the friction. You broke apart for air for a split second before diving back in. His mouth much more open this time. It was now or never

You swiped your tongue along his bottom lip first. Then migrated up. In a split second you ran your tongue into the divot in his upper lip. Sliding it back and forth before pulling away. You looked at him through your lashes, biting your lip to try and control the giddiness inside you.

Eskel looked wild. His mouth was still agape and his breath was ragged. His brain seemed to need a second to catch up. With a jolt he fixed you with a stare. His pupils blown out and his lips in a snarl. Eskel grabbed your waist and lifted you with no effort. Instinctively you wrapped you legs around his torso as he all but slammed you against the wall. The force of the impact causing a tapestry to fall from it’s place on the wall.

Ravaged against a wall… You were so close.

Eskel pinned you again the wall with his hips. The pressure of it causing you to whimper. With his hands free he violently wrung the jacket from his torso, dropping the leather to the floor unceremoniously. The blue undershirt underneath open and loose on him.  You reached out push open the center. Running your hand down the firm muscles of his neck and into the coarse field of hair on his chest. The muscle underneath was firm and the heartbeat usually slow.  

Eskel leaned into you, his mouth making its way to the junction of your neck and shoulder. He nipped at the spot, forcing a breath out of your lungs. You brought your hands up to tangle into his hair and bring him closer. Pushing him into you. As Eskel began littering your chest with bruises he started to grind you into the wall. You whimpered at the friction, griding back with enthusiasm.

Eskel had made his way to the tops of your breasts, giving one a playful bite as he looked up at you through his lashes. You felt his hand grab your ass lifting you with his arms. He slid down to his knees as you yanked up your skirts to see what he was doing. Eskel fixed your plush thighs on his shoulders, moving his hands up to play with the band of your undergarments.

“You’ve had your dinner, am I dessert?” you asked, quickly scolding yourself for never being able to stop your mouth. Eskel laughed, the puffs of air cooling the damp fabric surrounding your pussy.

“Do you want to be?” he smirked, giving your waistband a quick snap. You let out a high pitched “mmhmm” and it was all the confirmation he needed. HIs large and calloused hand peeling the garment down, flinging it behind him with no regard for where is landed. He moved in closer, at first nuzzling your thigh and placing languid open mouth kisses on it.

You fisted the skirts in your hands, trying desperately to be patient. However as he continued to tease you, you started to inch your cunt closer and close to him, using the wall as leverage. Eskel caught on to what you were doing and gave out a tisk before pushing the pair of you closer to the wall. Using the same momentum he dove head first into you. Flattening his tongue and lapping at the excitement that was dripping from you. You pulled the skirts up higher in your clenched fists as he ate you out like a man starved. Alternating between long broad stokes and precise attacks using the tip of his tongue on your clit.

Eskel shifted on his knees. One hand coming to press your sternum to the wall.  And the other coming to join him at your pussy. He suctioned his lips around your clit and gave a hard suck as he thrust two fingers into you. The double assault caused you to convulse. Moaning out his name, glad that his room was upstairs and not closer to the crowded bar downstairs. You switched to hold your skirts with one hand, tangling the other into his hair. Your pleasure becoming tug of war as he fought to push against the wall and you fought to push away from the wall to get even closer to him.

As the pumping of Eskel’s fingers continued he added a third finger to the mix, causing you to hit your head against the wall as you panted up towards the ceiling. Just as you were starting to look down again he curled his fingers inside you, hitting that soft spot in you head on. The intense pleasure sending your hear careening once again with the wall. Eskel began to hit your g-spot full on increasing the pressure and speed. It only took a minute at this speed before your legs were clamming on his head and you were coating his face in release.

Eskel worked you through your release, stopping as you dismounted your legs to try and stand. He stood up backing up to give you room. The first step was rocky but it didn’t take long for you to reach him and slam up into him in a kiss. You felt the very need to consume him as you tasted yourself on his tongue. Your hands forcefully yanked his shirt from where it was tucking into his breeches. He broke the kiss to toss the shirt over his head to join your undergarments somewhere in the room.

Your hand reached out to him, nails dragging over the chords of muscle and scars. Eskel’s hand traveled over your waist to the back of your dress, unlacing it. As the fabric dropped to the floor his hands stayed in there position beginning to unlace your corset. However after the dress he seemed impatient, because all you heard was a growl and a quick “fuck it’ before a second hand joined its brother and pulled the corset open. The laces violently popping out of the weaving. It would be a pain to relace in the morning, but right now your mind was elseward. Mainly on trying to get him to join you in being naked.  

Your hand fumbled with the belt and Eskel granted you mercy in helping you take it off. Once rid of it you took hold of his pants and underwear and pulled them down in one fell swoop. Caught off guard by it Eskel stumbled back, landing with a bounce on the bed. You knelt down, finalizing your mission in making him naked. You looked up at him and he looked as if his mouth had gone dry. You moved your hands over his thighs, his breath hitching up as if the gentle touch had scared him.

Lifting up even more you threw your arms over his thighs his cock coming into your direct eyesight. Thick was the first word that came to mind. It was thick, the head starting to turn purple as it leaked onto his stomach. You moved you hands up over his stomach you brought your mouth closer. You followed the prominent vein on the underside with the tip of your tongue as you made your way up.

You readjusted his cock with your hand and placed you mouth just so over the tip. You looked up at him and gave him a smile.

“You will have to forgive me Eskel” you started, “I’m quite starved” and that was all the warning you gave as you sunk your lips down over the tip. Eskel let out a groan, bending over slightly as he twisted a hand into your hair. You played with his tip a bit. Giving it a hard suck using your tongue to play with the slit. Trying not to tease him to much you sunk down quickly, using your hand to stimulate what your couldn’t reach.

Eskel seemed to struggle holding back as you sucked his cock. With each pass of your tongue over his head or hard suck on his shaft the string seemed to fray more and more. Eskel moved you off of him, urging you up and onto the bed. He pressed you down onto your stomach with an almost shocking tenderness. As he mounted you he pressed a languid kiss over the back of your neck, breath coming up to tease the shell of your ear.

You felt him spread your lips pressing his head in through the first ring of muscle. Being so close to your ear you cloud hear each and every delicious sound as it escaped his mouth. The gravel of it only deepened as he pushed further into you. The thick cock pushing your further apart and your walls clenched around him. He fully seated himself and pressed his chest into your back. As if Eskel was trying to get as much skin to touch as possible.

Slowly he pulled out, the tip just barely in as he slammed back home, causing your to shriek out in pleasure. He set a brutal pace. Simultaneously sweet and sinister at the same time. His hands gentle as he toyed with you, roaming over your sides. Yet his thrusts were brutal and punishing. His mouth was ajar and pressed into your shoulder.

Eskel’s thrust began to get erratic and your legs began to shake. The sounds he was making into your shoulder going up in tone. He slithered a hand to play with your clit and your body gave a jolt. Bucking up into him his paced increased even more. Suddenly his thighs began to shake and he gave a few hard thrusts before spilling into you. His bottom lip between his teeth as he pressed a far into you as possible. The fingers on your clit continued to speed up and combined with the feeling of his release inside you, you clenched down onto him in your second organism of the night.

Eskel stayed on top of you for a few moments before heaving himself off and onto the other side of the bed. His chest still driving up and down. You crawled your way over to him, grabbing the blanket that lay on the end of the bed with you. You halfheartedly draped the fabric over the two of you as you rested your head on his chest. As the fuzziness of sleep began to over take you, you reminded yourself of one thing.

To ask him if he would be interested in a traveling partner.

[thiswasinevitableid]

68 from the winter prompt list seems Very sternclay and I would love to see your take on it, nsfw if it fits would be great too, thank you!!!

Here you go, it is indeed NSFW!

68. you’re obsessed with my homemade soup that I serve at my cafe and I’m too embarrassed to tell you that I’ve only been trying out new recipes to see you get excited for the soup of the day

Stern tries to avoid being rude in public, or in general, really. But right now he’s wondering if he can get away with shoving his face into this soup bowl and licking out the bottom. The food at Amnesty Lodge has always been stellar, but lately the soups are the highlight of his day.

Reluctantly, he leaves the last delicious dregs at the bottom of the blue ceramic bow and heads to the counter to pay his bill.

“How was everything?” Dani rings him up with a smile. 

“Incredible. I swear, Barclay out does himself every time I come.”

“Great! I’ll tell him you said so. I know he loves getting feedback on new recipes.”

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

“You did not say that.” Barclay drags the rag down the counter top. 

“Okay, so I didn’t add ‘especially from guys who he thinks are hot,’you got me.” She smirks as she clocks out. 

“It’s not my fault he’s so cute when he gets excited about food.”

“Barclay, just ask him out already.”

“But he’s a customer!”

“Who you also see once a week at game night at Duck’s. He’s for sure in friend territory at this point.”

“She’s got a point. Besides, sometimes flirting with customers ends well.” Aubrey leans against the kitchen door, twirling her car keys and winking at her girlfriend, “right, honey?”

“Absolutely, firebug.” Dani loops her arm around Aubrey’s waist, then levels Barclay with the look that routinely makes people mistake her for his little sister, “ask him out, or I am going to leave your number on his check the next time he comes in.”

“Okay, okay” He holds up his hands, chuckling, “you win.”

He waves goodnight, finishes locking up once the two women are gone. Then he climbs the stairs home. Amnesty Lodge was a real lodge, once upon a time. But as the city grew and buildings were divided and repurposed, only the restaurant and the rooms above it, plus the small house next door, remained. Mama, the owner, lives in the house, and Barclay has the apartment. It’s nice; he has no commute, he can run up and change if he gauges his layers wrong, and he likes being able to hear the river running nearby and the traffic humming through his window. 

Maybe Joseph would like to come up here after closing some night for coffee? Or is that too forward? Would he be interested if it was forward, or if they took it slow? Would he be interested in Barclay at all? Does he just like him for his soup?

God, the soup. He never meant for it to become a thing. His usual menu had three or four soups of the day in rotation, but then Joseph ordered a bowl of the corn cheddar chowder to go with his club sandwich and ate it so joyfully that Barclay caught him licking his spoon. Which did nothing to quash his budding crush on the guy. So he started trying out new recipes just to see Joseph get excited, and now it seems like Joseph is coming in just for the soup, and the upshot is he may be stuck forever in a soup-loop because of the way Joseph’s eyes crinkle when he’s happy. 

He knows that Joseph agreeing to a date would make him happier than a fresh produce delivery. But he has no clue if he really stands a chance with a guy who’s always well-dressed and friendly, when he himself is an often quiet, scraggly looking cook. 

Well, if nothing else, he has to try. Dani is not a woman of empty threats. 

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

“How do you do it?” Joseph rests his chin in his hand, spoon sitting in his empty bowl. He’s at the counter seating, so he can see Barclay working at the grill. 

“Do what?”

“Come up with such good recipes. And don’t try to say it’s cookbooks; you said last week that you’ve come up with a lot of them on your own.”

“It’s, uh, it’s nothing special, just a lot of tinkering.” He gets an idea, one that flashes over him so hot and fast he’s afraid the stove caught fire. 

“Would, uh, would you like to help me out with the newest one? I get off in an hour since I was on the early shift today.”

“I’d love to! I have some errands to run downtown, so as much as I’d like to hang around for an hour and watch you show off, I’ll see you at seven.” He sets down the cash to cover the bill and a tip, winks, and heads out the door. Barclay really hopes he stays in the suit when he comes back.

“Uh, dude?”

“Yeah, Jake?”

“Toast’s on fire.”

“Fuck!”

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

Barclay finishes setting out his mise en place right as there’s a knock on the front door. He swings it open and finds Joseph waiting patiently, a grocery bag slung over his shoulder. He’s still in his suit; Barclay can just spot his black tie with little ufos on it peeking out of his winter coat. 

“Dani said I should just come on up.” He slips off his shoes, revealing socks with Bigfoot on them, “and I brought some wine, and a fancy beer I found at Jenny Street Market, since I wasn’t sure what kind of soup it is.”

“My take on a traditional Irish stew, so let's do the beer.” Barclay grabs two pint glasses and pours as Joseph finishes hanging up his coat and joins him in the kitchen. He’s down to his dress shirt and slacks, eagerly rolling up his sleeves before taking the glass. 

“Right, what do we do first?”

Barclay takes a prolonged sip to avoid blurting out his real answer, then starts explaining that they need to figure out the right ratio of vegetable to lamb and which spices work best in the stock. 

They talk as they work, Joseph sharing his theories on the plausible plot twists in this season of Agent X and Barclay teasing him whenever he gets going on a tangent about the monster of the week episodes. The easy back and forth, the warmth of the apartment as the air fills with spices and butter, the way the kitchen lights plays off Joseph’s face; it feels like a home, and his stomach twists whenever he remembers that the other man will leave in an hour or two. 

“Barclay, I have to ask; why the sudden zest for soup?” Joseph sets his glass down, still half full because they’re talking too much to drink more than a sip at a time. 

“Uhhh, just, uhh a good fit for a winter menu.” Barclay sets the lid onto the dutch oven; it’ll take at least forty-five minutes for this batch to thicken and develop flavor. When he hazards a glance at Joseph, the man is studying him, one eyebrow raised. 

“Is that all?”

He washes his hands to buy time to build up his courage, then sighs, “Nope. It started after the first time you ordered it. You just got so excited whenever I had a new soup of the day, and I liked making you feel that way, so I just kept finding or making new recipes I hoped you’d like. Heh” he rubs his wrist, anxious, “sounds hella weird when I say it out loud like that.”

Turning, he finds Joseph with his hands covering his mouth. 

“Fuck, sorry, probably shouldn’t have confessed that when we’re alone-”

“What? Oh, Barclay,” Joseph steps forward, taking his hands, “I’m not upset, I’m shocked. That’s, um, that’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s done for me, going to all that trouble, you didn’t have to.” The words are a bit stuttery and jumbled, Joseph going pinker after each one. 

“I wanted to. I’d make a whole new menu every day if it’d make you smile that way.”

His lower back bangs into the counter as Joseph crowds him, fingers digging into his hair so roughly that it starts coming loose from its tie. He tastes like beer and stock he kept sampling, and Barclay licks it up, pressing his tongue between his welcoming lips, desperate to bring them as close together as possible. 

Joseph pulls away, resting their foreheads together, as he undoes Barclay’s shirt with ruthless efficiency, “Do you have any idea how hot that is?”

“The...doing nice things for you part?” He cups Joseph’s cheeks, trailing his thumbs over the hints of five o’ clock shadow. 

“You went to all that trouble, just for me.” Joseph drags his mouth up Barclay’s neck as he continues, “just to make me happy.”

“I mean, made me happy too.” He mumbles into black hair.

“I’m trying to compliment you, big guy.” Joseph nips his bottom lip. 

“Oh fuck.” He whimpers at the nickname, at the way the other man doesn’t hesitate to shove his hands up his now-bare chest, demanding and adoring, “guess all those jokes about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach are true.”

“While the food helps, there’s so much more about you that I like. For instance” he drags his hands down to Barclay’s stomach before palming his hardening cock through his jean, “you’re the most handsome man in town.”

He whimpers louder this time, Joseph keeping up the light pressure on his cock. 

“Bedroom?” It’s both an encouragement and a question, the ton letting Barclay know he’s welcome to continue but not obligated to.

“The, can’t, can’t leave the stove unattended.” He gropes Joseph’s ass through his slacks, kisses his neck as he tries to calculate if turning off the stew will mess up the recipe. 

“I love how responsible you are.” It’s another compliment, a dead serious one, “and I have an idea.” He steps back, hurries over to the grocery bag, and pulls out a small, rectangular box. 

“I couldn’t tell if this was a date, so I decided to be on the safe side.” He surveys the kitchen, “feel like picking a surface to bend me over?”

Barclay practically knocks a stack of cookbooks off the tiny kitchen table, dragging a laughing Joseph over to shove him across it. 

“This okay?” He pants as he covers the back of his neck with kisses. 

“Better than okay. Barclay please, I’ve, um, I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, and basically non-stop for the last two hours.”

“Fucking-A” He’s amazed there isn’t a cartoonish boi-oi-oing  when he gets his pants and boxers down, his cock--his whole being, really--aching for the chance to fuck the man in front of him. Getting Joseph’s pants down takes two tries, and opening the condom takes three because he’s shaking so hard from excitement. 

“Need a hand, big guy?” 

“Nope. Just need this.” 

“FUCKohfuck, shit” Joseph reaches forward, gripping the far edge of the table as Barclay sinks into him, “yes, need it too, need you so bad.”

“You got me babe” he loops one arm around Joseph’s hips, sets his free hand next to his on the table for balance, “and I got you.” He starts slow, relishing every little sound he gets in reply to his thrusts, kissing any exposed skin he can find, then rucking Joseph’s shirt up his back to find more. 

Joseph’s hand moves down towards his cock, but Barclay gently guides it back onto the table, “No need to babe. Like I said, I got you.” 

He doesn't mean to start railing him the instant after his fingers find his cock. It’s more that feeling him soaking and hard, all because of (and all for) him, the grateful moan he lets out at the contact, the way he grinds his hips back and forth, it sets off every part of Barclay’s brain at once, and all he wants to do is take him, make him cum, break the fucking table showing him how much he wants him. 

“Ohmylord” Joseph gasps, raising his head, “oh my fucking--Barclay yes, like that, lord you don;t disappoint.” His smile is ecstatic, more than the worlds clumsiest hand-job deserves, and Barclay forces his fingers to find their professional finesse, rub and stroke in the ways that make Joseph beg for more. 

He growls as he feels his orgasm building; not yet, no fucking way, he wants to feel Joseph cum around him. With Herculean effort, he stills his hips and focuses, growling again as Joseph tightens around him. When the man beneath him cums, the last of his restraint evaporates and he hammers into him, table scraping forward inch by inch in time with his grunts and Joseph’s weakening moans. 

His climax doubles him over, and he spills with a muffled moan, mouthing at Joseph’s shoulder through his shirt. 

Then his legs give, ten minutes of furious fucking after a ten hour shift enough for them to peace out. He lands with an “oof” on the floor, and Joseph is laughing again as he turns to stare down at him. 

“Are you okay down there?”

He gives a thumbs up, “Cute guy just shorted out all my circuits, no big.”

Joseph fixes his pants and shirt, joins him on the floor and pulls him into his arms, “I’d say it was very big.”

Barclay snickers, rests his head on his shoulder, “Walked into that one. Gimme sec, then I can make us some dinner. Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

“We’re not having soup?”

Barclay kisses his cheek, “Nah, you can have that for dinner tomorrow at the Lodge.”

Joseph’s smile is full of delicious trouble, “How about for breakfast?”

He holds him close, smiling at him, “Babe, you got yourself a deal.”

[inprogresspokemon]

For example the squaring of the jaw and rounding of the points on Shieldon's in-progress. Togepi's in-progress looking less like it's hatching from the shell and more like it's fusing with it. Venonant's in-progress losing functional limbs is a bigger one. The wings no longer piercing through in-progress Shelgon's cocoon. But even minor things like the shifting of the darkened pattern position on in-progress Purrloin's rear. In-progress Shuppet is another interesting one (legs/energy color).

Sure, thanks for asking about specifics. I’ll address them as much as I can, but there’s some general information that applies to all of them.

When I work on redos, I typically don’t like to reference or look at my original versions because I want to bring a fresh interpretation. Sometimes elements change, sometimes they stay very similar. But I’ll try to articulate why I may have made certain changes this time around. A lot of it boils down trying to be more accurate to what I believe a true in-between would look like by better comparing features of each stage.

But let me address those points:

For example the squaring of the jaw and rounding of the points on Shieldon's in-progress.

Barriodon’s (in-progress Shieldon) face got a real overhaul. I remember when I worked on it initially, I didn’t quite understand where Shieldon’s mouth was (it's underneath its face) and I had to go back into the drawing last minute and add a mouth in. Oops. Going into Barriodon 2.0, I had a better idea of including the mouth and yellow chin. Bastiodon's face is extremely squared, so an in-between face shape would be a rounded rectangle instead of... whatever shape the old version was going for. As for rounding the points, when going from completely round to having spikes, I don't think they'd be sharp points yet. Barriodon 1.0 was jumping the gun there and I made them more gentle in the second Barriodon.

Togepi's in-progress looking less like it's hatching from the shell and more like it's fusing with it.

I think the first Togetatch (in-progress Togepi) had too high a shell ratio. Togepi is only 2/3 covered in shell, but the old Togetatch is almost 1/2 covered in shell still. So the new Togetatch has less shell on it. As for how I depicted the shell, the excess cracks in the first version felt a little too complicated/detailed for Pokemon art, especially Gen 2. I wanted to match the overall look of Togepi's broken shell, since realistically, it would probably continue to break in the same manner.

Venonant's in-progress losing functional limbs is a bigger one.

I wouldn't say that in-progress Venonat/Venonymph lost function of it's feet at this point, but they're definitely small and walking on them is awkward. I feel that the old Venonymph's feet are too prominent to realistically be the midpoint of a Pokemon that ends up with no feet. The new Venonymph is transitioning into only using its wings to travel, so while the new wings are too weak to go very far, it's beginning to use them more and more.

The wings no longer piercing through in-progress Shelgon's cocoon.

I think when I did Wyrmalys (in-progress Shelgon) the first time, I was nervous about not including the wings in some way; I thought they had to be represented. But I wasn't worried about that when I did the redo. I think that naturally the wings would stay folded close to the body before they're developed enough for use, and at the point we're seeing Wyrmalys, its wings are not developed all the way. Also, I just think it's unlikely the hard, sturdy shell would peel open like that.

But even minor things like the shifting of the darkened pattern position on in-progress Purrloin's rear.

For the placement of the light patch of fur, looking at Purrloin, it's really on its lower back and not its rear, so I felt moving it to the back was a more accurate placement that I had gotten wrong the first time.

In-progress Shuppet is another interesting one (legs/energy color).

I really liked Malavettet’s (in-progress Shuppet’s) concept when I made it originally, and four years later when I did the redo, I was still fond of it. But I wanted to do it better. So I tried to make the floating elements more dynamic. As for the legs, I didn't love how I showed the fabric coming together to form them, so I went with the ruffle/float-y bottom to both tie more into Shuppet and this whole "unfinished/work-in-progress" look, and also because I thought it was a more natural way for the fabric to look. I went with red energy initially because I wanted it to have a sinister energy, but when I looked up images from the anime, telekinesis is usually shown to have that aqua-blue color, so that's what I went with.

[help-on-four-paws]

How I Help My Girl as a Medical Alert and Response Dog

To read the original blog post, click here.

TW: self-harm mention

This photo was taken while I was just finishing up doing Deep Pressure Therapy for my girl. I moved to her legs because her body had already started responding to the pressure I'd been putting on her chest earlier, so she just needed some final grounding before this episode passed. You can see from my face how seriously I take my job!

A Medical Alert Service Dog performs a trained behaviour to indicate that their handler is about to have or is currently having a medical episode,* and a Medical Response Service Dog helps a handler who has a medical disability.  Both types of Service Dogs can assist with a range of medical conditions, from epilepsy to type 1 diabetes, and from postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome to narcolepsy, and everything in between.  It's not uncommon for a dog who is a Medical Response Service Dog to also be a Medical Alert Service Dog, because we dogs are perceptive creatures with strong noses and will often pick up on our handler's changes in body chemistry.  Remember, though, that a Service Dog under the ADA must be "individually trained" in the task(s) that they perform for their disabled handler.  This means that a dog who performs a natural medical alert does not qualify as a Service Dog in the US unless that alert is reinforced by the handler (or a trainer) since the Service Dog must be "trained to take a specific action" under the ADA.  As a Service Dog for my girl, I am both a Medical Alert and Medical Response Service Dog because I perform tasks both that alert her to a medical episode and that are in response to medical episodes.

Because my girl has such a broad range of symptoms, I also have a variety of alert behaviours so that I can tell her exactly what's going on with her body.

As I explained in my post about my Psychiatric Service Dog tasks, I alert my girl to rising anxiety and incoming panic attacks through a variety of her body's signals.  One of the very first tasks I learned to help my girl was pawing with increasing intensity in order to interrupt her when she starts nervous-scratching or picking at herself.  Her anxiety causes her to do this unknowingly, often to the point where she bleeds, and since the scabs that form become itchy, the cycle can continue quite easily -- so the trick is interrupting the cycle so that she can catch herself before she starts bleeding, which is exactly what I do!  This pawing also acts as an anxiety alert because the scratching indicates that her anxiety is rising close to the point of "no return."  I can also alert to increasing heart rate or elevated cortisol as signs that her anxiety is rising, as well as to her anxious "hand flapping" that she does as a physical anxiety tic, and I use a paw for these as well so that all anxiety alerts are clumped together into one behaviour.

A couple years ago, my girl added a hypoglycemia alert to my repertoire of tasks.  Her GI issues are understandably the (most likely) culprit of her drops in blood sugar, which itself causes an assortment of un-fun symptoms, but the situation is even more nuanced than that: thanks to my girl's chronic nausea, she often doesn't want to eat, but she has to be careful because blood sugar dipping too low can be a trigger for her migraines, which can last multiple days.  As you can imagine, my girl is grateful for any kind of preventative action!  My hypoglycemia alert can tell her when she absolutely needs to push past her nausea, even if eating causes its own form of discomfort, because that discomfort is the lesser of the two potential evils.  I currently alert with a nose "boop" when her meter reads 80 mg/dL or lower.  Sometimes I do a "chin rest" with a serious look on my face, and although this is my default "there's something wrong with you but I'm not formally trained to alert to it" behaviour, my girl has learned that sometimes I do this instead of a nose boop .  My girl hasn't yet figured out if this is because her low blood sugar stems from two different causes, and since I'm a dog, I can't really communicate my reasoning to her.  For the time being, we're treating it as a training glitch, and she keeps reinforcing the "boop" whenever I offer the "chin rest" instead.  When I learned my hypoglycemia alert, I also learned the Breath Check command, where my girl leans down so I can sniff her breath better.  This behaviour helps reassure my girl that my alert was a true alert and not just an accidental nose boop, because if I still give the nose boop after a Breath Check, then my girl knows to definitely check her blood sugar.

If you've read this far, you've already learned that my girl has migraines, and they most likely have a genetic component to them because they run in her family.  Although my girl knows some triggers for her migraines -- pressure changes due to thunderstorms, low blood sugar -- these migraines are tricksters and don't always let her know what causes them.  That's where I can help!  I have a migraine alert where I gently "mouth" my girl on the hand in order to let her that a migraine is coming on.  This behaviour lets her know to take her migraine medication, which can help lessen the impact and also duration of the migraine (however, it's not perfect and sometimes her migraines ignore medication completely).  We haven't figured out a way for me to tell my girl how long her migraine is going to last, since it would be helpful to know if one is going to last 9 days or only a few hours, but hey, at least I can sometimes give her a bit of warning and that's better than nothing!

My newest medical alert (that I'm still perfecting, by the way) is to my girl's fatigue crashes.  For a period of time after my girl exerts herself either physically or mentally, even to an extent that most normal people would consider "minor," she experiences a major energy crash, often accompanied by a "flare up" of other symptoms like chronic pain, anxiety, overstimulation (aka lots and lots of tears), or headaches and even her migraines.  With these crashes, she can often barley think coherently, let alone function like a normal person, and even walking can sometimes feel like an insurmountable feat.  When I give her an alert to an impending fatigue crash, I'm letting her know that she's going down fast so she needs to get herself ready for that, whether it's getting water to put beside her bed, finding the nearest dark and quiet space, or emailing someone to cancel plans while she still has the brain power to do so.  Anyone who knows my girl knows that her face has it's own "alert" -- her cheeks turn lobster-red immediately before a fatigue crash.  However, my alerts help for two main reasons: first, fatigue crash-to-lobster face isn't a 1:1 ratio and my girl can crash without lobster-ing, and second, fatigue crashes can happen in a time frame ranging from immediately after an exertion to a day or so after doing the exertion.  My absence of an alert reassures my girl that she has at least a little more time to live her life normally, so my alerts offer her some predictability, which is nice to have when your chronic illness is largely unpredictable.

I want to take a moment to note that my medical alerts vary in how good I am at performing them.  Medical alerting has probably been my biggest training struggle, so my girl and I still practice with scent samples quite frequently (and if you want to learn how I was taught to alert to medical episodes, click here).

If I alert my girl to her rising anxiety or an impending panic attack, one of the ways she can respond to that alert is by asking me to perform Deep Pressure Therapy (DPT), which is a form of firm sensory input that results in a calming effect for the body.  I do DPT for my girl by lying on her chest preferably, especially because it forces her to take deep breaths instead of hyperventilating, but I can also lie across her legs if we're not in a situation where she can lie down fully.   My body weight acts to quiet her sympathetic nervous system, which is responsible for her "fight or flight" response, and instead activates her parasypathetic nervous system, which is responsible for her "rest and digest" response and therefore is associated with decreased anxiety.  As a result, her panic symptoms decrease, and she can eventually continue her life as normal.  DPT may look like "just cuddling," but - scientifically - it's so much more!  I can also do deep pressure therapy for her chronic pain, most often my girl's hips.  My body heat acts like a hot water bottle to soothe her joints.

When my girl has one of her migraines, I can respond by doing forward momentum pulling, where I act like a dog-sized tugboat by pulling into my harness.  Many people think of migraines as "just a headache," but migraines are actually a neurological problem.  My girl's migraines "scramble" her brain and make it short-circuit on her, even if she has taken medication to get rid of the pain.  Navigation can be a little tricky with a brain that's not cooperating, especially in a crowded area.  Add in light sensitivity due to the migraine and navigation can be just downright difficult.  But that's where I can help!  Because my forward momentum pulling as a guiding aspect to it, I make sure that my girl gets safely where she needs to go.  She can just close her eyes against the light if need be, and I'll weave around people and other moving obstacles as needed.  The pulling aspect of this task also helps with my girl's balance, which is often thrown off by her brain's migraine "scrambling."  I know how to find a few locations, lead her to a handful of important people in her life, and follow an indicated person.  Sometimes words are tricky when my girl has a migraine and she'll trip over her words while trying to tell me where to go or what to do, but luckily I know her well enough after four years of being her pup that I can interpret her vague gesturing pretty accurately.

Of course, I can also perform forward momentum pulling when my girl's fatigue is flaring, even if I often do it to save her energy.  When I pull her along, she doesn't use quite as much energy while walking and therefore doesn't get tired as quickly as she would walking on her own.  Of course, the energy saved isn't vast, but every little erg of energy is necessary when you start your day short on spoons.  When I do forward momentum pulling for my girl when she's experiencing fatigue, it can make a huge difference in whether or not she can accomplish a task.

Moving to a home with more space has meant that I've been able to expand my tasks in migraine response.  Over the course of the past year, I've learned how to open doors using a special tug, as well as closing them with my nose.  I have slowly begun learning how to turn light switches on and off all by myself.  Being able to close doors and turn off the lights is helpful for my girl's migraines because she can get very light and sound sensitive.  However, the pounding in her head gets worse with any small movement, so if I can save her getting out of bed, I prevent her from having to endure that pain.  Similarly, I can do both of these tasks when my girl is having a high pain or fatigue day and appreciates whenever I can save her from doing even small actions, like when I help her undress at night.

Opening and closing doors has led to another task that I'm currently working on: retrieving a bottle of ginger ale from a specific spot in the fridge.  In order to complete this task, I need to know how to open the fridge with a tug, grab the drink in its special holder (since its glass and therefore slippery), deliver the bottle to my girl in another room, and then return to close the fridge.  Assuming I'm in my girl's bedroom with her, I would also have to open and close her bedroom door as well.  That's a lot for a pup to remember to do!  It's taking a lot of practice (and many treats!), but I'm starting to learn what I need to do.  Once I've perfected this task, I'll be able to respond to my girl's bouts of bad nausea by bringing her a bottle of ginger ale.

You may have noticed that there's a lot of overlap between my psychiatric tasks, my mobility tasks, and my medical alert/response tasks.  One symptom can be helped by many tasks, and one task can simultaneously help many symptoms.  My girl's health issues are often interconnected and have similar symptoms, so it makes sense that my tasks can overlap to help multiple aspects of her health.  I have a lot of aspects of my job, it's true, but I'm a pup that needs a job and needs to be mentally stimulated -- my foster mom knew this when she was trying to find me a fur-ever home, and so far, thanks to my girl's ever-fluctuating symptoms, there's been no shortage of work for me to do in this fur-ever home.  And as a bonus, I get paid with fetch, and that's a pretty good trade-off in my opinion!

* Some people classify Medical Alert Dogs as only those dogs who alert their handlers before a medical event occurs, but we're including dogs who alert both before an episode and during episode (e.g. since dogs who assist diabetics are usually called Diabetic Alert Dogs, even though most of the time, they're alerting to a handler's already high or low blood sugar level - although some also alert to rapidly rising or rapidly lowering blood sugar levels).

If you missed Part 1 of this series about how I help my girl as a Psychiatric Service Dog, click here.  And if you missed Part 2 of this series about how I help my girl as a Mobility Service Dog, click here.

[destiel-love-forever]

Locked Out

Anon asked for this (based on a post from tumblr):

“The lock jammed on the front door of my shitty prewar apartment building so I just spent twenty minutes forcing it open while my very drunk neighbor sat on the steps nodding at my efforts and going “This is fun. Being locked out together. We should hang out more.” // He’s like 6’2 and jacked. At one point he was like “Try a kick. Try… kicking it.” So I donkey kicked it as hard as I could and it did absolutely nothing but he was still like “Wow. More Torque… than I expected. You’ve got a surprising, uh, torque to size ratio.”

Based on this post by @youcantcancelquidditch

Read below or on AO3: Locked Out

Locked Out

When I get home from the library, it’s already nearly three in the morning. I’m dead on my feet with a brain stuffed so full of information on human anatomy that it feels like my skull might split open. The coffee buzz that’s starting to crash isn’t helping my mood. Since my luck is total shit, my key isn’t working. I try to jiggle the lock at the same time as I shove my shoulder against the door, since that sometimes works, but to no prevail.

I throw my head back, squeeze my eyes shut, and silently count to ten. I’m too tired for this shit. 

Pulling my phone out, I call my landlord. The asshole that owns this shitty prewar apartment building almost never answers his phone, always making you leave a message, and it’s rare that he responds to anything - even things like the heat breaking in the middle of winter - within the first 24 hours. 

Still, I hope. 

Then I get his voicemail. 

Through gritted teeth, I tell him that the door is jammed - for the fourth time this month - and that I’m going to end up breaking a damn window if he doesn’t show up soon, because it’s the week of final exams and I need sleep. 

Just as I’m stuffing my phone in my pocket and about to start working on this door again, a loud engine revs behind me. It’s combined with music so loud it thrums inside my chest and a chorus of guys laughing like children. I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

Sure enough, “Heeeyy!! Cat guy!” is shouted at me from above the rest of the noise. I tense up and begin to frantically throw myself against the door. The car leaves and the music and laughter fades, leaving me with a silence that I know won't last long. 

“Cat Guy! Wha’s happenin’ man?” he slurs, shouting even though he's right next to me now. 

I turn around to look at him, completely unimpressed. The thing that bothers me the most about my neighbor is how unfairly attractive he is. He's one of those men who literally take your breath away, which pisses me off because I'm a control freak and don't get flustered easily, so my body's response to his bright green eyes and thick eye lashes and tall, muscular body and freckles and worn leather jacket and big hands that cradle his cigarettes so gently that I sometimes wonder what it would feel like if it were me he- anyway - point is, I hate how much my body wants him when I, in fact, do not. 

I don’t even know the man’s name, but I know that he lives in apartment 8, he smokes an awful lot, drinks heavily but only on the weekends and special occasions, and the first day I moved into apartment 7, he caught me in my boxers chasing my cat down the hall. Somehow Mr. Fluffers had figured out how to open the goddamn door. Hence him calling me ‘Cat Guy’ even though it's been four months since that terribly embarrassing day. 

“What's up?” he asks again, either not noticing that I'm not in the mood to talk, or not caring. 

“The lock is jammed.”

“Ah man. That sucks.” He slumps down on the staircase and takes out a cigarette. I watch him as he lights it, takes a drag, releases the smoke, then smiles up at the night sky. I get the feeling he doesn't think this sucks. Not as much as I do at least. 

I stare at him, watching as he casually flicks the ashes off the end of his cigarette. My annoyance gets the best of me and I snap, “How are you so huge and muscular and in shape when you smoke like a fucking chimney.”

He raises one eyebrow, his lips tilting into a smirk. He puts the cigarette out and stands up so that he’s towering over me. I immediately regret saying anything at all. “Well, I’m huge because I was born that way. You think this is bad? I’m only 6’2. My brother’s 6’6. And I’m in shape and muscular because I work out. And I don’t smoke like a fuckin’ chimney. In fact, I don’t smoke very often at all.”

“Almost every time I see you, you’re outside smoking.”

“You ever think that maybe it’s just an excuse to be sitting here when the cute nerd just happens to come home? Usually at the same time every day because he sticks to a routine and is a control freak?”

I open my mouth in shock, then quickly slam it shut. Not knowing what to say, I just turn back to the door, slamming myself against it again. He chuckles under his breath and sits back down in his spot, pulling out a new cigarette. He lights it, takes a drag, puffs out the smoke, and smiles again. It's endearing and I hate him even more because of it. 

I squint out into the dark parking lot of our complex. It’s a small building, just ten units inside, and it’s quiet this late at night. No one around to help. And it doesn't look like apartment 8 wants to help, either. 

With a new wave of determination, I start back on the door. I get down on eye level with the lock and try to wiggle my key slowly inside it, hoping to jostle something free. I don't even know if that's how it works, but it sounds right. 

As if we're friends, he asks, “So, what are you up to on this fine evening?”

I look over my shoulder at him like he's insane. “Trying to get into my fucking apartment.”

“Right. Yes. Of course. I suppose I meant, what were you doing on this fine evening before coming home to find the door jammed.”

“Studying,” I grunt, getting pissed off enough to pull my hand back and slap the door a few times. It does absolutely nothing, but it's a nice release of anger. 

He whistles low and says, “Damn. Do that again.”

“Why? It didn't help anything.”

“No, but I enjoyed it.” When I just roll my eyes and go back to pressing my shoulder against the door, trying to push against it, he asks, “Studying for what?”

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper under my breath, both at the door and at him. 

“You were studyin’ Jesus Christ? Huh. Funny. I didn't peg ya for one of those. Not that there's anything wrong with bible bangers. It's just, like, when I pictured Cat Guy's life, it was never like oh yeah I bet that guy bangs bibles.”

“I am not a bible banger. I was studying Anatomy and Physiology for my final exam tomorrow.” I growl and slap the door again. “And my name is Castiel. Not Cat Guy.”

“Castiel,” he says slowly, testing it on his tongue. Or, at least, trying to. He's slurring too much and butchers it. With a huff, he states, “‘M jus’ gonna call ya Cas.”

“Fine.”

“I'm Dean.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.” When I don't continue the conversation, he chuckles. “So, Cas, how’s Mr. Fluffers?”

My face heats up and I know it must be beat red. I deflect, trying to embarrass him instead. “What kind of person finds out their neighbor’s cat's name before their actual neighbor’s name?”

“The kind who witnessed said neighbor sprinting after a white puff of fur in nothin’ but Star Wars boxers screaming, ‘Mr. Fluffers! Get back here this instant!’ Mr. Fluffers wasn't exactly calling your name back, so it was a lopsided informational session.” 

I just stare at him. He talks fast, especially for a drunk guy, and he’s funny. I have to fight myself so I don’t smile at him because smiling will only encourage his behavior. After clearing my throat twice to make sure it comes out normal, I say, “They weren't Star Wars.”

“Oh yes they were.” He winks at me and shifts so he can pull his shirt up and a corner of his jeans down. “Don't worry. See? Batman. No judgement here.” 

“Oh, lord. Please don’t show me your underwear.” 

He laughs. “I like you, Cas.”

“You barely know me.”

“I should know you, though. I think knowing you is a great idea.” 

Feeling my face flush, I focus back on the door. I slam my shoulder against it a few times, grabbing the knob and giving it shaken-knob-syndrome from how hard I twist and jiggle it. 

Nothing. 

He spreads his arms out, gesturing to the space around us. “This is fun. Being locked out together. We should hang out more.”

With a laugh, I slump down against the door and look at him. “Your definition of fun and mine are very different.”

“What’s your definition of fun?”

“Honestly?”

“I mean, we've already discussed our underwear. Might as well.”

This makes me smile. A real, genuine smile. I'm not sure the last time I've done that. So, I tell him the truth. Because, like he said, he's seen me running down a hall in Stars Wars underwear, yelling at a kitten named Mr. Fluffers. It can't get much worse. 

“I like going to museums and the art gallery. Book stores. Coffee. Bingeing Netflix. Kayaking. Um,” I pause, trying to think. He waits patiently with his head tilted slightly, like he's genuinely interested. That makes me blush again, so I stare at my hands and continue. “So I'm not a writer or very creative or anything but I love going to like poetry readings and slam poem contests and open mics. I’m a logical thinker, not an artist, but it fascinates me to see people who are.”

“Hmm.” His smile is full of secrets and amusement as he turns his chin to look out at the parking lot. It makes me nervous, my belly doing flips, so I hurry back to my feet and start in on the door again. He watches with his head tilted like he’s studying me, the smile on his face growing. 

“Try a kick. Try… kicking it,” he suggests, waving his hand in the general direction of the door. 

He’s still grinning like he knows something I don’t, and between that and my embarrassment that I actually told him the truth about the things I enjoy and he pretty much ignored them, I’m angry enough to actually listen. I take two steps back and donkey kick the door. 

It does absolutely nothing. 

Other than impress him.

“Wow.” He clears his throat, his smile slipping into a look of amazement and confusion. “More torque… than I expected. You’ve got a surprising, uh, torque to size ratio.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, falling back down beside him and burying my face in my hands. 

“No, Cas, I mean it. Like… you gotta tell me where ya learned that. That was badass, man.”

I snort. “It didn’t open.”

“Well, no,” he stands up, crushing a cigarette beneath his boot and wiping his hands on his jeans. “That’s because you didn’t kick in the right spot.”

Before I can ask him what he means, he’s taking two steps back and lifting his leg, kicking it out. His boot slams against the wood near the doorknob and the thing breaks apart. I stand there staring in amazement while he nudges the bottom of the door with his toe, making it swing the rest of the way open. 

He crosses his arms over his chest, resting a shoulder on the doorframe and leaning against it. The smirk on his face, combined with how turned on I am by watching him actually kick down a door, makes me want to lunge forward and kiss him silly. 

���How the hell?” I ask when my voice finally returns. 

“You first.”

I roll my eyes. “Look at me. I’m a twink. My dad put me in kickboxing when he realized I wasn’t going to grow much more than this.”

The way his eyes flash makes me blush, the realization that I just used gay slang to describe my body type making me want to disappear. 

“Funny,” he says in a low voice, pushing off the doorframe so he’s no longer blocking the entrance. 

Shoving my hands in my pockets to hide that they’re shaking, I walk past him and into the apartment building with my eyes focused on the floor. “What’s funny?” I ask, attempting to sound nonchalant and miserably failing. 

Two hands settle on my waist, heavy and warm, as his front presses into my back. I shiver when he whispers against the shell of my right ear, “Twinks are just my type. Especially nerdy ones who like open mics and have mischievous cats and wear Star Wars boxers.”

I sink into his hold, thankful he’s behind me so he can’t see the stupid grin glued to my face. “Funny.”

“What’s funny?” he asks in a teasing voice, playing along. 

“I fit that description perfectly.”

“No way!” he gasps, then turns me around so he can look in my eyes. “You know what this means, right?”

Honestly having no idea, I shake my head at him and shrug. “What?”

He licks his lips slowly, giving me time to track his tongue as it travels. When he pulls his tongue in, his upper teeth ever so slightly pull at his full bottom lip before letting go. Then his mouth turns into the most amazing smile I think I’ve ever seen. “When we fall madly in love with each other and decide to move in, we’re getting the fuck out of this shitty apartment building.”

The words surprise me, making me throw my head back from the force of my laughter. When I finally calm down, wiping my face clean of a few stray tears, I nod and say breathlessly, “Sounds like a deal.”

“Cool.” He grabs my hand and pulls me along, heading toward our adjacent doors. “First date is tomorrow. I’m playing the open mic at Blue’s Cafe. 9 o’clock.”

My heart lurches and I nearly swoon. “What do you play?”

“Guitar. And I sing.” He looks over his shoulder, shooting me a wink. “You have no chance, Cat Guy. Prepare to fall hard.”

For the first, and probably only, time, I’m thankful for my shitty landlord and his apartment’s jammed lock. 

[cruisercrusher]

Dicktiger week day 5- Assassin (This is a rotten thing to keep inside)

If Tiger had to choose one word from his (extensive) vocabulary to describe Wayne Manor, then he figured just ‘BIG’ would suit it fine.

Everything about the manor was big. The rooms, the halls, the windows were all big, even the air, the presence of wealth was massive and all encompassing. Even the furniture seemed to Tiger like it was made for giants-- especially the fireplace at the back of the… Tiger wasn’t sure what this room would be called.

The front doors of the manor led you into a pretty regular sized foyer, symmetrical, two cushioned benches on either side of the door under each of the two windows, and two coat closets. The foyer then opened up into a cavernous space wherein the stairs that led up to all three of the manor’s floors resided. It was almost completely open, and if you stood at the right angle, looked up and squinted you could see the ceiling of the third floor between the railings of all the winding staircases and the chandeliers.

To the immediate left was a doorway that led into a hallway that took you to a parlor, a bathroom, the dining room and through there the den in which there was the entrance to the batcave, the kitchen, the laundry room, and the library. If you wandered further eventually you would find yourself in what appeared to be a home art gallery housing a lot of cat themed pieces, another bathroom, and a billiards room that had a bar and seemed rarely ever used. Many rooms in the manor seemed rarely used. It made Tiger a little mad to think about. All this wasted space.

On the right side was a doorway that led into a family room, called as such because there was a tv there and seemed much more frequently occupied than the other sitting rooms that were more classically decorated, and wide, grand doors that opened up into the ballroom.

In front of the massive fireplace, in the wide space beneath the first floor landing, was a couch and two armchairs, and a plush carpet, as well as a grand piano. On the wall above the fireplace were so many family portraits and photographs that counting them all would take longer than it would to count all the stars in the sky.

It was in this ‘room’ that Tiger found himself in presently. He stood awkwardly off to the side while Dick, his boyfriend of only two four months but his love for over a year, fussed and fawned over the youngest Wayne.

Damian Wayne stood, back straight and stiff, at the bottom of the stairs, designer luggage in hand, waiting patiently for Dick to be done mother henning him.

Damian Wayne was about to go spend the long weekend with his mother. Talia Al Ghul would be coming to the manor momentarily to pick him up herself.

Tiger did not particularly want to be present at the time that Talia arrived, but he wanted even less to be left alone in the manor, away from Dick’s side. It was the first time that Dick had brought him to visit, and Tiger did not want to get ambushed by any of his boyfriend’s family members in a place he couldn’t escape.

Tiger just hoped Talia would not say anything… damaging. Damian seemed content to keep his young mouth shut. Maybe the same could be said about his mother.

Ha. And maybe Tiger would spontaneously become Superman sometime in the next ten minutes.

As if.

“Oh, Dami,” Dick gushed, pressing sloppy, wet kisses to the young boy’s cheeks. “I’m so glad you and your mom are reconciling! Now that both of you are out from under Ra’s’ thumb… this is going to be really good for you, Dami, I know it.”

“I know, Grayson.” Damian grumbled, though a small smile still made itself known on his face even as he wiped saliva off his cheek. “I’m glad, too.”

Then, a knock on the door. Alfred, who had been waiting with them, reached forward to open it, revealing none other than Talia Al Ghul herself waiting on the other side.

“Hello, Mother,” Damian said with a slightly hesitant smile. He walked over to her after one last hug from Dick. “I’m ready to go.”

“Habibi,” Talia greeted him with a hand on his shoulder. Then she looked up at the other people present, nodding to Alfred and Dick, before her gaze landed on Tiger.

Talia’s eyebrows rose very purposefully. “The Tiger King of Kandahar… it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Tiger stilled as Alfred and Dick turned to look curiously between him and Talia. Damian looked down, suddenly finding the wooden floor very interesting.

Well, Tiger thought, it was nice while it lasted.

“You know each other?” Dick asked him, a careful edge to his voice. Tiger couldn’t lie to him (not anymore). He nodded.

“I used to work for her.”

Silence hung heavy in the manor foyer as the implication set in.

“Used to.” Talia stressed, sighing. “Which is too bad, really. You were one of my best assassins.”

Tiger winced. He kept his challenging gaze on Talia, almost daring her to keep throwing him under more buses.

Now, don’t get it twisted, Talia was rarely intentionally malicious. But the last time they saw each other wasn’t on the best of terms, and, well, no one was perfect. Even internationally renowned assassin queens could be petty.

“I am going to go wait in the car.” Damian said, picking up his luggage and leaving out the front door.

Tiger looked at Dick and nearly flinched at the look on his face. A veritable thunderstorm of conflicting emotions roiled across his face. The clench of his jaw said anger but the draw of his eyebrows said upset, and his eyes… in Dick’s eyes was disappointment, clear and palpable. It was the disappointment Tiger couldn’t stand. Dick’s anger, he was familiar with. His sadness, he knew how to soothe. But disappointment…

He had hoped that that part of Tiger’s past could have remained secret for… forever, if Tiger could have helped it. Along with, well, almost literally every other part of Tiger’s past. He’d done a lot that Tiger knew if Dick knew then he might not… love him anymore.

His career in the league of shadows was very high up on that list.

Suddenly Dick moved from his frozen place, like one of Medusa’s stone statues reanimating. He stormed out of the room, shouldering roughly past Tiger.

“Master Richard,” Alfred called after him, but it was no use. Dick was gone in the depths of the manor.

Tiger took the opportunity to glare full force at Talia. She just raised an eyebrow at him, the barest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, Tiger,” she said. “Surely you knew you couldn't run forever?”

And with that she turned on her heel and walked out the door after her son, closing it firmly behind her.

Tiger made to go after Dick, but Alfred stopped him. “Might I recommend, Master Tiger,” said the elderly butler, “Waiting a bit, until Master Dick has had the chance to cool down, and think? He struggles to be rational when he gets upset.”

Alfred’s firm hand on Tiger’s shoulder stopped him from ignoring the advice and going after Dick anyway. Instead, Tiger found himself being led towards the kitchen.

“Come,” Alfred said. “Have some tea with me.”

Damian stared sullenly out the window of the moving car, watching the trees rush by. “You didn’t have to do that, Mother.” He said.

Talia kept her eyes on the road ahead, empty though it was. “And why not?”

“Grayson was very upset. And when he is upset, everyone is upset, including me. And, if Grayson’s relationship with the King ends over this, it will only make everything worse.” Damian crossed his arms over his chest, staring out the window harder. “He thinks I don’t notice these things, but I do, and Richard’s real to fake smile ratio has improved greatly ever since he and the King became romantically involved. Even I approve of him, even if Father still does not.”

“The way I see it, habibi, is that when a secret like this festers, it is only ever that much more rotten when it comes to light.” Talia said. “And this is a family full of detectives, Richard included. Tiger’s history would not have stayed secret for long.”

About an hour and two cups of tea later, Tiger was finally released from the kitchen and allowed to roam the manor in search of Dick. He checked the two parlors at the front of the house first, then the library and every other inch of the first floor for his boyfriend, to no avail. He even made sure to look up and check all the chandeliers. It wasn’t until he checked the ballroom a second time that he noticed the doors that led out to the garden were left open. Slowly he crossed the polished marble floor, his footsteps echoing lightly throughout the empty room. He poked his head out the door and into the garden, and spotted Dick a few yards away, sitting on a bench among the bushes of roses.

Dick pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them as Tiger approached, glaring all the while at the blooms around them, he made no outward indication that he noticed Tiger’s presence. Tiger sat next to Dick on the bench. He was unsure of what to say to make this better. Words of healing had never been his strong suit.

He just couldn’t get the image of Dick’s disappointed eyes out of his mind.

“I’m sorry.” He tried. Dick didn’t look at him.

“What are you sorry about?” He said, voice monotone and hollow. Tiger almost couldn’t stand it.

“I…” he trailed off. He didn’t know. “Everything?”

Dick let out a huff of air through his nose. His eyes stayed trained on the roses. “I’m mostly upset you didn’t tell me before but it’s also… I knew, theoretically, that you’d killed before. As a spy. I knew. It was just-- easier, I guess, when it was more… ambiguous.” He said. “I never watched you kill anyone. I never knew how many people you’d killed. I think that made it easier to look past. When it could have been as low as only one person, if I wanted to be foolishly optimistic.”

He sighed. “But now… an assassin. One of Talia’s best assassins. And I can only imagine how many… the blood on your hands… Tiger, I understand that sometimes killing is done in self defense. Sometimes, there’s no other choice. But I still don’t like killing, Tiger. Really don’t like it. And not just because it’s Bruce’s rule.”

“And I know you’re not that person anymore, I know it shouldn’t matter. But it does, somehow. An assassin-- to be making a living off of taking people’s lives, over and over again. I hate that.” Dick’s voice started to stray from that empty tone. “It-- it’s different for Damian and Cass. They were raised to be that way, since they were children-- Damian still is a child. But you-- wait, Tiger, were you--?”

Dick finally looked at Tiger then, contempt replaced quickly with concern.

“No, I was not raised as a child to be an assassin.” Tiger said. “Though… I still didn’t have much of a choice.”

Dick’s gaze softened, and Tiger couldn’t help thinking he didn’t deserve that look. “Tell me about it. I-- I still love you, Tiger. So please, help me understand.”

“... I was seventeen.” Tiger started after a pause, where he tried to get his thoughts together. He’d never actually told anyone about his past before. He wasn’t quite sure how. But he was going to try, anyway. For Dick. “I was seventeen, and a scout had found me, hungry and dehydrated, out in the desert, far from Kandahar and farther from everywhere else.”

“I was scrappy. I put up a fight. He brought me back to the league of shadows’ base, and I was recruited as a low level assassin. Started training right away. The scout, Abdel, mentored me for a time.” Tiger paused again. Now it was his turn to fixate on the flowers. “Abdel was twenty-two when he found me. And, at the time, I wasn’t delusional enough to think that what we had would last, but I was delusional enough to believe he loved me.”

Dick’s brow furrowed. “You two were…?”

“Yes.”

The furrow of Dick’s brow deepened. “Tiger, twenty-two and seventeen… that’s not--”

“I know.” Tiger said. “I know that now. It’s just-- Dick, back then, I had nothing, and then I had nothing else i became very skilled, rose in the ranks quickly until killing was just about all I knew how to do. I was… poisoned, for a long time, until you came and pulled me out of the hole I’d dug myself into. You were right, Dick, that I have blood on my hands. A lot. But you were also right when you said I am not that person anymore. I never will be again.”

Dick just looked at Tiger for a long moment, searching, considering. “Okay.” He eventually said. “I understand, now. Thank you for talking to me about it.” He reached over and squeezed Tiger’s hand. “And I’m sorry for storming off like that.”

“It’s okay.” Tiger said. Dick let his legs fall back down and leaned over, resting his head on Tiger’s shoulder. Tiger rested his head on top of Dick’s, taking in the scent of jasmine from his shampoo.

They sat like that, together, in silence, until the sun started to go down.

[orcinus-ocean]

Everything below is posted with liberty and credit to Jemima Harrison and the PDE blog, with the sole purpose for this information to spread as far as possible.

Time to get tough

It is... • soon to be 10 years since Pedigree Dogs Exposed • five years since The Advisory Council on the Welfare Issues of Dog Breeding highlighted the issues linked to head conformation in brachycephalic breeds • 18 months since the publication of research (funded by the kennel club) spelling out the link between stenosis (pinched nostrils) and respiratory issues, especially in French Bulldogs • a year since a veterinary petition demanding urgent reform for flat-faced dogs • almost a year since the Kennel Club set up the Brachcycephalic Breeds Working Group in response to that petition .. and of course I have highlighted the issue of pinched nostrils endlessly here on this blog. Endlessly.

And yet... the picture at the top is one the Kennel Club has used as the ideal depiction of the French Bulldog in its new edition (2017) of its Illustrated Breed Standards. And it isn't a one-off. Here's the one the KC has used for the Boston Terrier standard.

The Bulldog.

And the Pug.

Dogs are as near-as-damn-it obligate nose breathers. And even if they can supplement by mouth-breathing when they are awake, they are unable to do so when they are asleep, meaning thousands of these dogs live lives of interrupted sleep as they have to wake up in order to not asphyxiate. Study after study has shown that these dogs pay the price for not being able to pull in a decent lungful of air and that starts with the nostrils. These pictures are all the proof you need that the Kennel Club is not taking this issue seriously; that at its very core the KC is paying nothing more than lip-service to the demands for reform by the veterinary profession and animal welfare campaigners. At one of the first meetings of the Brachycephalic Breeds Working Group, then KC Chairman Steve Dean expressly said that he didn't want "changing the breed standards" to be at the top of everyone's list of actions that could be taken. And indeed, it hasn't been. There have been some new measures.  The KC continues to fund brachy research. There is also now a brachy learning resource available on the KC website, the promise of better education of judges and a breed club commitment to educate better about the importance of keeping brachycephalics slim. There are also now health schemes for the Bulldog, French Bulldog and the Pug which do test for respiratory issues. All this is welcome. But, bottom line, the Kennel Club continues to bat for the breeders who do not want the basic phenotype to change because it's the breeders that pay their wages. Of course the simplest, quickest remedy is to give these dogs back some muzzle - to help not just with breathing issues, but to help protect their eyes from trauma and to give their teeth some room in their overcrowded mouths (a Pug here compared to an Australian Shepherd).

The problem is that breeders are wedded to flat faces, particularly in Pugs and Bulldogs. They talk about the perfect "layback" - which essentially means that the nose should not interrupt the line between the forehead and tip of the dog's chin. In fact, there's a new book out on the Pug head (yours for only $159) which reminds everyone that the word Pug comes from the latin for "fist" and that this is the shape the Pug's head should be in profile - i.e. totally flat.

Here's a reminder from a top UK show breeder of what the Bulldog's head should look like.

As you can see, a  protruding nose or a less severe underbite is considered a fault.

There was a big review of breed standards following Pedigree Dogs Exposed but it was mostly to add vague qualifiers such as, in the Pug standard,  "relatively" short rather than just short when describing the length of the muzzle. This gives the breeders way too much wiggle room.  We need proper metrics - a defined minimum skull/head/muzzle ratio and we need to find more profound ways to change their minds about what constitutes their breed in their eyes.

Large open nostrils are a requirement in brachy breed standards, but this is widely ignored because other points of the breed are considered more important. There would be outrage if a Frenchie with one lop ear or a Bulldog with a liver-coloured nose won in the show-ring, but dogs with slits for nostrils continue to be made up to champions.

Meanwhile, on my CRUFFA group, whenever you post a picture of more moderate examples of the breed, current of historical, the breeders heap scorn. A few days ago, one breeder insisted that the dog featured in this famous painting of a Pug by Carl Reichert, dating from the late 19th century, was a crossbreed.

Same for these ones. Mongrels, the lot of them.

She admitted that the eye-white showing was undesirable but preferred the look of this Crufts dog.

Today, this was posted on a public Facebook page by one French Bulldog breeder in response to a plea by vets for more moderate dogs.

(My bolding below)

To those who say you cannot rebuild Rome in a day I say... rubbish. There are already more moderate versions of these breeds out there being bred by breeders more interested in health than the current fashion. 

For more than 10 years, I have called for moderation and hoped it would come from the breeders. But  I now know it won't. If we want anything more than a wee bit of tweaking round the edges, then we need to demand it.

It is time to get tough. These dogs suffer - not all of them all the time but too many of them too often. 

Brachycephalics live a third less long than non-brachy dogs. Fifty per cent have significant airway disease. Almost all struggle to cool themselves. Most Bulldogs still can't mate or give birth naturally. Pugs have 19 times the risk of developing corneal ulcers.  All suffer from very low genetic diversity. And so on.

Today, Bulldogs, French Bulldogs and Pugs make up one in five of the dogs registered with the Kennel Club - up from one in 50 in 2005.

Yesterday, a new petition was launched asking for a ban on brachycephalics.  Over 20k people signed it in the first 24 hrs.

Have we reached a tipping point?  With your help.

I haven't been able to blog much recently because I am busy finishing off a television series for BBC2. But I have taken time out to write this because the new breed standard pictures made me so angry.

So please... Although it's moderation I want, not a ban, sign the petition. Make your feelings known to the Kennel Club (see here). Complain if brands or media use generic pictures of brachycephalics to sell their wares.

Vets: thank you so much for all that you are now doing, but please keep the pressure on.

And, of course, to everyone out there - please don't buy that puppy.

It is not safe to buy a Pug, Bulldog or French Bulldog. Not safe for them and not safe for your wallet.

[dreadhaus-literature]

{WC} OC #2 : Galene Grimhilt

Same as yesterday, I’m delving into my music library to help inspire me and my new creation tonight. Kiran’s been hanging around all day, which is nice, so here’s to hoping #2 is just as vivid.

Tonight’s musical selection is “SUURIN” by RÁN!

Super powerful theme, so I’m expecting big things. (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و

☾ Basics ☽

◎ Full Name: Galene Rhiannon Grimhilt

◎ Meaning of Name: Galene means “calm”. Rhiannon means “great queen”. Grimhilt means “battle”.

◎ Nickname: Galene’s name is never shortened, but she does occasionally go by her middle name, or even her last name--fittingly, in battle.

◎ Birth Date: December 15th.

◎ Astrological Sign and Details: Sagittarius

“Sagittarius is a noticeably restless sign with a deep love of traveling and exploring. Sagittarians are open to anything new, and they’re known to be perfectionists. Sagittarian’s positive attitudes and natural curiosities help keep them going, and they rarely give up. People of this sign love to laugh and enjoy deep conversations, and are always surrounded by friends and family; they also make excellent parents. Despite this, they fiercely value their independence, and are known to marry later in life than other signs--but once they’re married, they’re known to be good partners who place great emphasis on the happiness and well-being of their significant other.”

◎ Age: 201 years old.

◎ Race / Species: Half-Orc (Red sub-species), Half-Ogress (Mountain sub-species)

◎ Hair Color: Dark red at the root, fading to burnt orange at the ends.

◎ Hair Style: Waist-length dreadlocks; often worn braided down her back or secured at the nape of her neck. Galene has famously never cut her hair, and isn’t known to wear her hair in any other style.

◎ Shape and Features of Face: Galene’s facial shape is that of a diamond; it’s severe at four points, most noticeably at her chin and cheekbones, with her brow prominent enough to give her a permanent look of displeasure. The hollows of her cheeks draw attention to the severity of her sloping jawline and tusks, and her eyes, though on the smaller side, are set just far enough apart to compliment the slope of her scarred nose.

Galene has two sets of tusks, one large, one small, both protruding from her lower lip. The larger tusks reach above her upper lip when her mouth is closed, and she often tops these with silver.

It should also be noted that Galene’s ears are not long, but they are pointed.

◎ Glasses or Contacts: Neither.

◎ Eye Color: Galene’s eyes are the color of dull embers, with a kiss of gold near the iris.

◎ Skin Tone: Being half Red Orc, Galene’s skin has a carmine hue to it, with a deep russet undertone thanks to her half-ogress heritage. At night she’s difficult to see, but catch her skin at sunrise or sunset and she almost seems to glow.

◎ Scars or Distinguishing Marks: Galene is covered in scars; she’s been in many a battle and has the war-torn flesh to show for it. Her scars range from deep gouges to raised battle wounds, head to toe, with a very noticeable scar splashed across the bridge of her nose.

And where she doesn’t have scars, she’s got tattoos.

◎ Disabilities: Galene is missing her right leg below the knee. She wears a prosthetic limb, and walks without much of a limp, but if one pays attention during battle, she favors the leg.

◎ Build or Body Type: After two centuries of life, Galene has more or less honed her body into the war machine she wants it to be. She’s stocky, muscular, and she carries herself with a swagger earned by her win/loss battle ratio triple digits to single.

◎ Height: Galene, being a mountain ogress, is taller than most orcs by heads and shoulders, and it would take two human men standing on one another’s shoulders to come close to looking her in the eye.

◎ Speech Patterns: Galene’s got a rough mouth on her. She’s brash, sometimes confrontational, other times argumentative, and she’s not afraid of anyone or anything. As such, she speaks with conviction and confidence, and she’s not one for frills or fuss. She swears, she’s loud, and she doesn’t give a fuck what you or anyone else has to say about it.

That being said, Galene isn’t necessarily vulgar. A lot of passersby confuse her confident manner of speaking with a lack of manners, but in reality Galene is just brutally honest about who she is and what’s on her mind. Don’t confuse the two.

◎ Mannerisms: Galene talks not just with her hands, but her whole body. She’s extremely expressive, and is known to gesture to or touch the person she’s talking with, especially if she likes them.

◎ Weaknesses: Due to her handicap, if she doesn’t have her prosthetic limb Galene does need to use a cane or crutch to be properly mobile.

◎ Special Abilities or Powers: Galene’s mixed heritage has afforded her some special gifts; namely, Fire manipulation and control. As a Red Orc, she has mastery over the element Fire and all it’s subsets, ranging from magma to thermal, smoke and solar. At it’s core, Galene can create and manipulate fire, magma, solar energy, and as a result can control smoke and thermal energy.

This also means she herself is immune to fire damage of any and all sorts.

As a mountain ogress, Galene also benefits from denser bones and thus, hits harder and can withstand heavier damage dealt.

In battle, Galene is known to wield a dual-headed battle axe with her left hand and a hellfire whip with her right. The battle axe she forged herself using stone from the mountain she was born upon, and the whip? You got it--burns with the fires from deep within the earth itself.

☾ Characteristics ☽

◎ Bad Habits: Sitting with her boots on a table, engaging in gossip, heavy drinker, sharpening her tusks in public, heavy-handed when solving problems that likely don’t...need such a heavy hand.

◎ Good Habits: Extremely loyal, known to defend or stand up for others, well-read, generous/willing to share, often has good/wise advice.

◎ Best Characteristic: Her curiosity; Galene has an almost insatiable curiosity and once she’s wondering about something, she’s dedicated to figuring it out and won’t stop until she does.

◎ Worst Characteristic: Her temper. Galene has a nasty temper, and she often won’t stop with just yelling; it gets physical, fast.

◎ Worst Memory: Losing her leg, and it isn’t because of the severity of the wound, but rather the reason she received it. It was in defense of her home village and though in the end the battle was won and her people saved, she was down half a limb as a result of her inexperience.

As a result, she vowed to get stronger, more experienced, and used the pain of such a devastating, crippling wound to remind her what happens when one is unprepared.

◎ Best Memory: Forging her own prosthetic limb. For a number of years Galene went to forgers for her limb but eventually tired of it being good enough, but not perfect.

She knew she could do better, and so she did.

◎ Proud of: Her battle axe. Go ahead and ask her how many she’s beheaded with it.

◎ Embarrassed by: Truly, nothing. Galene sees no shame in any of her wounds, scars, or her history. She’s come as far as she has on her own merit, and that she doesn’t see the need to feel shame about.

◎ Temperament / Attitude: Day to day, Galene more or less lives up to her namesake. She’s calm, content to go about her business whatever it may be that day, and she does tend to fall more on the cheerful side than the gloomy side. She meets most challenges with her shoulders square and her head up, and it’s not often she finds herself down.

In battle, however, Galene becomes the very element she controls. She’s like living hellfire, all vengeance and retribution--teeth bared, bloodied axe raised over her head; there’s no mercy to be seen in the blazing depth of those eyes. She is not someone you want to meet on the battlefield, which is somewhat ironic considering she’s just the sort of person you want to spend the night at a village pub with.

◎ Weakness (Non-Physical): Galene’s temper gets her into trouble--not so much physical, she can handle herself there, but when it comes to relationships and friendships, her temper can land her in hot water if she isn’t careful.

◎ Fears / Phobias: Galene is pretty fond of saying she’s not afraid of anything, but everyone is afraid of something, and if one were to take a peek inside her head...she’s afraid of losing another limb.

Battle wounds are inevitable in her life, at least the way she lives it, but it took her a long time to become so formidable even missing a limb. A part of her is uncertain if she could come back from another terrible injury.

◎ Secrets: None to speak of; Galene lives her life like an open book, without regrets and without secrets.

◎ Feels Vulnerable When: Her prosthetic limb is off or beginning to wear down. Galene replaces her limb regularly, but if she’s on a journey or her limb starts to show signs of strain, as if it’s going to break, she worries.

◎ Pet Peeves: Having to repeat herself, dull weapons, inexperienced fighters, insecure males, weak alcohol, greedy shopkeepers, slow walkers.

◎ Motivation: At the moment, Galene is content with life. She goes where she wants, when she wants, and is waiting for the next adventure to find her.

◎ Goals / Hopes: Eventually, Galene hopes to settle down at the outskirts of her birth village, with a wife and maybe a few little ones, though if she’s honest with herself she’s unsure how likely that is to happen.

◎ Sexuality: Galene is a lesbian.

◎ Day or Night Person: Galene likes high noon or the dead of night, there’s no inbetween.

◎ Introvert or Extrovert: Extrovert.

◎ Optimist or Pessimist: Optimist.

◎ Talents: Galene is a gifted whistler (must be the tusks), she’s adept at forging and can craft a wide range of furniture, weaponry, and other assorted odds and ends, as a mountain ogress she’s got a green thumb, which also lends to understanding herbalism and wilderness navigation, and due to so many battles under her belt she’s a brilliant strategist.

☾ Likes and Styles ☽

◎ Music: Galene likes anything with a strong tribal beat; it reminds her of home.

◎ Books: Galene isn’t much for reading, but if she is curious about a skill she’s learning, she’ll pick up a tome or two on the subject.

◎ Foods: Galene loves meat. It doesn’t matter the type, or how it’s prepared (ranging from raw to well-done) but she’ll eat meat for any meal of the day--including dessert.

◎ Drinks: Ales, the darker and stronger the better.

◎ Animals: Being a mountain ogress, Galene feels a kinship to bears. She has a dire bear she raised herself--a beast she affectionately named Odilia (meaning “good fortune”), because the bear has turned the tides of Galene’s battles many a time.

Despite Galene’s formidable size, she can ride Odilia easily, and adorns her beloved mount with the same armor she protects herself with.

◎ Color: Reds, oranges, and yellows.

◎ Clothing / Jewelry: Galene isn’t known for frills and fancy dress; she’s often seen wearing leathers and furs, but one thing she does adorn herself with are dread charms, ranging from gold and silver to bone.

◎ Greatest Want: Galene finds she doesn’t often want for anything as she’s prone to just going out and getting something if she wants it. So if you ask her this, often her response is, “For you to stop botherin’ me or bring me another drink.”

◎ Greatest Need: Galene needs an anchor. A reason to plant her roots and grow.

[riftmeanewone]

a night out | @quietresistence

Later that evening, cleaned up and neat, Katherine walked to the club, beaming the entire way, mostly because of who she was meeting.  Giving her name, she was able to walk right in…

Sorren was dressed up in a nice, crisp, dark blue suit for the night, not too noticeably more put-together than usual, though he had spent far more time getting ready. He was making the rounds chatting up his guests when one of his employees came to tell him Katherine had arrived. He nodded, trying not to appear too eager as he made his way over to her, smiling. "So, what do you think?"

Beaming up at him for a moment, she glanced around, taking it in.  “I think it’s lovely.  A much nicer place than I’ve ever been in.”  He looked very handsome…

He grinned, just enjoying the sight of her in the low light. "What would you like to do? We've got a band scheduled soon, a little area for dancing, I'm guessing you don't care for smoking or drinking but I can make you something to eat, anything you want."

Smiling softly, she huffed a laugh.  “You’re right about smoking, but I wouldn’t say no to something light to drink.”  He was really being sweet…  “As for food, I’ll definitely take you up on that,” she laughed again as she peered up at him, “What do you recommend?”

"Oh?" He was pleasantly surprised that she wanted something to drink, mostly because that was, after all, one of the main purposes of the establishment. He put a hand on her shoulder and led her toward the bar. "Honestly, I intended to run this place as a restaurant originally, so I've always made sure to keep the menu at its best, but... my favorite is the pan-seared shrimp."

She was going to allow herself a little fun so she would do things she normally wouldn’t.  “One drink,” she amended with a laugh.  Glancing over at him as he spoke, she kept smiling.  “That sounds wonderful,” she admitted, not going tell him she couldn’t remember the last time she had shrimp.  “I’ll have that.”  A drink and some food, perfect.

"Well if you're only going to have one drink, I'd better make it a good one!" Letting her sit at the bar, he went round to the other side and started making her order himself. "How does an ice cream float with a kick sound?"

At his suggestion, she grinned softly.  That honestly sounded amazing…  “I’ll take your advice,” she teased, “What are you putting in it?”  Seated at the bar, talking to the handsome ‘bartender’, she actually felt normal…

He didn't think he'd ever seen her smile so genuinely out in public before. The other bartender just smirked to himself as he made room, obviously used to Sorren hopping in to help sometimes. "Depends. Do you like vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry?"

On the verge of laughing, smile wide, she joked, “You should know for future reference that my favorite flavor is chocolate but I prefer vanilla in my floats.”  She knew she was blushing because the question brought on a happy memory - her uncle taking her to a tiny ice-cream parlor up in the mountains and her joking and laughing with the owner’s son, who was making her a root beer float, as their parents talked.

"Oh yeah?" Grinning, he put the shrimp out to cook while he started on her drink, hands moving quickly. First the ice cream, then a splash of Irish whiskey, some apple cider, and topped with cinnamon. "Here you go, try that."

“Yes,” she laughed, “That’s right.”  She watched him silently, still smiling as she leaned her chin on her hand.  He was so sweet… she so hoped that whatever was between them would grow…  When he offered her the drink, she took the cold glass and tried the float of sorts, a smile appearing as she set it down.  It was wonderful.  “Perfect,” she announced with a laugh, “I love it.”

"Really? It's hard to get the ratios right on that one so it tastes like apple pie and not a glorified spiked cider," he said with a laugh.

She grinned.  “It’s not too sharp and it tastes like apple pie… so i think you got this one right.”  She took another sip.  It really was nice…

"Good." Next he finished with the shrimp, plating it up nicely with a little garnish before placing it in front of her. He opened his mouth to speak to her, but at that moment another man came up to the bar and coopted his attention. "Uh, just a moment, Kat."

“Thank you,” she told him with a smile.  Oh, it looked too delicious.  When they were interrupted, she tried a piece, keeping her eyes on the plate as she waited for him to finish.

"Ben! What are you up to lately? Still want me to write down that recipe for your wife, or would you rather me find you some company?" he asked the other man with a wink.

The man grinned.  “Same old, same old, Sorren.  I actually came over because I was wondering if you’d like to come and celebrate the Führer’s birthday with us.  My wife will be cooking, of course,” he added with a laugh. Kat softly bit her lip, trying not to frown.

"Oh yeah! Can't forget that, huh? Actually, I might be staying with family out of town that day. Easter, you know. But I'll check the calendar and get back to you, I might be able to swing it." He came around from behind the counter and clapped a hand on Ben's shoulder, steering him away from the bar. "There are a couple girls I'd like you to meet, though..."

“Well, let me know if you can make it,” he replied enthusiastically, letting Sorren steer him away.  “I like your thinking, Sorren, you always know the best sluts,” he joked. At that, Kat nearly choked.  What the hell did he just say?

Sorren laughed as they moved out of earshot. "Oh absolutely!"

Shifting uncomfortably on her stool, she chose to nurse her drink a little, her mind racing even as she screamed at it to stop being so stupid.

Across the room, Sorren introduced Ben to some well-dressed women who were all smiles and giggles, chatting with them for a few minutes before returning to the bar. "Sorry about that. Now where were we?"

As much as she wanted to act like what she’d heard hadn’t gotten to her, she kept seeing how she’d encouraged him, wanting him, earlier that day in her head.  Did he think, as much as she knew it was wrong, that she was a slut?  Maybe he hadn’t before but after today…  Glancing up briefly from her plate, she gave him a strained smile.  “you were about to say something but I don’t know what.”

"Ah," he said, taking a seat next to her as the band began to play. "I'm glad you came today. Sorta gives me a bit of extra energy, you know?"

“You want to impress a girl,” she teased, though the spark that she had earlier had disappeared.

His lips quirked up in a smile on one side as he put his elbow on the bar and rested his head on his hand, turning toward her. "Not just any girl."

Hiding her face in her glass, she blushed, but didn’t respond.  She felt so horrible and it was only getting worse, but he seemed oblivious to how uncomfortable she was.

Laughing softly, he nudged her foot with his. "Come on, that cheesy line really got you that bad? Or is it all the people around? You're quiet, but you're not that quiet."

She didn’t realize how much she’d closed off until she jumped when he nudged her foot.  Flushing with embarrassment now and reluctant to explain how many times she’d been called that as well as what happening in her head, “Yes to the former,” she replied softly.  maybe this was a bad idea…

He gave her a curious look at her reaction, straightening up in his seat. "Hang on, what happened? What's wrong? Did somebody come annoy you while I was away?"

“No.”  She felt horrible now but there was nothing she could do about it.  “No one did.”  After another moment, all the while screaming at herself to be an adult and speak, she added, “I’ve been called that a lot.  And after today…” that was all she could manage, wanting to sink into the floor.

Now he was just confused. He sat up fully, brows furrowed. "Called what? Quiet?"

Oh, this was the worst…. but she owed him an explanation since he was so clueless.  “I know he wasn’t calling me in particular that but,” she swallowed hard, quietly answering, “A slut.”

"Shit, you heard that?" He cursed himself inwardly for not being more careful. "I'm sorry, Kat. I didn't know he was gonna say that."

“I did,” she confirmed softly, staring at her plate, glancing at him when he apologized.  “I’m sure you didn’t know.”  That made her feel a little better.

Wondering what else she'd heard, he considered telling her more, but it wasn't safe to do that anywhere they could be overheard. He sighed. "You weren't thinking I'd call you that, are you?"

She sighed, wishing she could tell him no.  “That’s why i’m so quiet right now.  The part that’s been… tossed around too much says you would, not to my face, but the rest of me knows you never would.  They’re fighting right now,” she quietly joked, giving him a slightly warmer smile.

"Kat..." he said softly, tilting his head as he studied her with a concerned frown. "Well if it helps, I'd never call you that, not even behind your back - especially not behind your back. Hell, I don't call anyone that if I can help it."

“I know you wouldn’t,” she sighed.  “I believe you.  It’s just….. me, sometimes.”  She smiled.  “Don’t worry about it too much.  I’m sure something will come along soon to cheer me up.”

"Well if you're finished eating, would you like to dance a little?"

Smiling, she took another sip of her drink.  “I’d love that.”

He grinned, standing up and holding out his hand to her. "Fantastic."

Laughing softly, she took his hand, whispering only loud enough for him to hear, “I won’t do it obviously,but my uncle taught me to swing dance.”  It was a small thing but still illegal.

His eyebrows raised as he beamed down at her, leading her to the area that sometimes served as a dance floor. "Maybe we can do that one day, just the two of us." Nodding at the band, they transitioned into a song more suited to dancing.

Laughing surprised, she beamed up at him.  With that kind of response…. that was promising.  Not that she already was sure he was one to break the rules.  “I’d like that.  A lot.”  Smiling, she started to dance with him.  Like she said, give her a minute and she’d be fine.

Sorren wasn't exactly the best dancer, but he had rhythm at least and knew a few moves. Kat, however, seemed to be a different matter entirely and he quickly realized he was out-classed, eyes fixed on her in almost awe.

She enjoyed it immensely, turning and spinning with his lead.  Dancing with someone was amazing and she missed it so much.  A minute or so into it, however, she noticed how he was staring at her.  Blushing, eyes dropping, she asked, “What?”

He chuckled, somehow managing not to step on her feet. "Why, you're a regular Ginger Rogers, Miss Harris."

Flushing darker, she couldn’t help but giggle.  He was a flatterer.  “I’m not and I’m out of practice too…”

"Could'a fooled me," he said with a grin, lifting their joined hands so she could twirl out more extravagantly. "And your dress is perfect."

Now laughing, she was beaming up at him, using to opportunity to twirl quickly, skirt flying up almost ‘too’ high.  “And thank you.  Sometimes older is better,” she joked.

He blushed at that, not certain whether her comment had a hidden meaning for him or not, and a little too self-conscious to ask. Many of the other guests had shifted their attention to the two of them, and though he enjoyed showing her off, he didn't want to draw any suspicions from any of the more maliciously-inclined. So when the song ended, he stepped back and bowed with a grin.

Laughing a little as they finished the dance.  Despite the little hiccup, this was the best day she had since her uncle died.  She felt safe, cared for even, and that meant so much…  A day like today would keep her going for a long time.  When he bowed as the end of the song, she gave a little curtsey with a smile.  “That was wonderful.”

Several of the patrons clapped when they finished their dance, but he only had eyes for her. "Whaddaya say we get out of here?"

She laughed softly, beaming up at him.  “I certainly wouldn’t mind that.  You have a place in mind?”

He thought for a moment, then smiled. "Yeah, I've got an idea. And no, it's not where you might think," he said with a laugh, taking her hand and leading her out of the club.

Shaking her head, she huffed a laugh.  “You’re always full of surprises, Sorren.  I don’t know what to expect from you so I’ll be surprised no matter what,” she joked as she let him lead her out.  “But where are we going?”

It was dark out when they emerged from the building, but too bright on the ground to see many stars in the sky. "Somewhere with a good view," he said with a cryptic smirk. "We're gonna go through some back ways but you'll be safe with me, I promise."

Holding his hand tightly, she walked by his side, brow furrowing with confusion.  “A good view?”  Whatever it was, it was sure to be interesting.  Plus the night was warm…. “Oh, I trust you.”  She smiled up at him.  “I know I will.”

"Yeah, don't wanna ruin the surprise by telling you all the details." He was eager to get there, but made himself keep a leisurely walking pace, especially as Kat was so much shorter than him. "It's just faster this way, that's all. So tell me about this uncle of yours. You've mentioned him a few times now."

She giggled quietly before sobering at the question.  “I miss him…” she began with a sigh.  “He was the only relative willing to take me in after my mother died, my father’s brother.  He used to be a diplomat in Germany before Hitler’s rise and lived way out in the Catskills.  I got to be a child for six years… and that’s it.”

"Wow, so you lived up in the mountains, then?" His hazel eyes sparkled with interest, having a fondness for mountain areas himself. "But why didn't your other relatives want to take you? Where was your dad?"

“Yes, I did.”  Her grip on his hand tightened as she kept her gaze forward.  “They say he just died, but my father was killed by the Nazis toward the end, when I was seven.  He was a Major in the Army.  And my mother’s sister wanted nothing to do with the daughter of a woman who wouldn’t shut up about how the Nazis murdered her son.”  Her tone turned bitter.  “they wanted me even less after I was released.”

As they went through a back alley, he looked at her a bit sadly, squeezing her hand. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he still wasn't sure it was safe to do so. 'If you see something, say something' was so drilled into everyone, even otherwise trustworthy people. But she was being so forthcoming, he had to give something back. "My... friend was killed, a little while after the war. He and his mother stayed with us after his own dad died fighting overseas. Seems like everyone lost someone."

She nodded sadly before adding, “And some people lost everyone.”

He huffed out a sigh as if pushing out his sadness. "But let's not dwell on the bad stuff. Tonight, we can do whatever we want," he said as they emerged from between two buildings to the edge of the island, overlooking the river. Here, with the wide open sky in full view over the water, the stars were far more visible. "There now! What do you think?"

Huffing a sigh of her own, she switched hands so she could wrap one arm around his, clinging a little closer.  A small smile played on her lips at whatever they wanted.  Staring up at the sky, she smiled wider.  “It’s beautiful…  reminds me of home.  Every nook and cranny was stuffed with stars out there.  It’s a shame the lights are still so bright.”

He chuckled, threading his fingers with hers as he pulled her even closer. "Well, I could take you out to my old place in the mountains, but that'd be a whole weekend trip."

A now contented sigh escaping her, she relaxed against his side with a smile.  “I’d like that sometime.  I haven’t been out of the city in forever.”

A bit surprised, he looked down at her fondly. "Seriously? You'd wanna go out in the middle of nowhere with me?"

She laughed softly, still looking out at the stars, not seeing his look.  “We’re friends.  And it would be getting away from this insanity…  Of course I would.”

He watched her for a long moment, just studying the way the light played across the features of her face. Was he satisfied with being friends? He certainly wanted to stay friends, yes, but also... "Let's go then," he almost whispered.

Startled, she look up at him with a laugh, leaning back on his arm.  “What, now?  I can, but don’t you have a club to run?”

It was crazy talk, he knew, and yet he couldn't help himself, grinning from ear to ear. "They can manage without me for a couple days, they've done it before. And you have time off, right?"

Actually giggling, she turned in to face him, smiling up at him.  He was crazy… and wonderful… and kind.  “That’s true for me.”  She laughed softly again, leaning her forehead against his chest for a moment.  “Then I’m up for it.”

For a second, he worried he was making a mistake, but there really wasn't any reason for them not to. Anything possibly incriminating in his old home had long since been put away under lock and key, or simply thrown out. There were words on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them down. The only thing that scared him was how happy she made him. Instead of speaking, he touched her chin, lifting it as he leaned down to kiss her.

She smiled up at him as she waited for his response, but she didn’t get a clear one, nor a verbal one…  When he lifted her chin and bent to kiss her, she released his arm to wrap her arms around his neck as she leaned up into the kiss, nipping slightly at his lower lip like he’d done to her earlier.  Her heart leapt every time he kissed her…

He let out a soft, appreciative hum into the kiss, smiling against her lips. She was a quick learner. Arms circling her waist tightly, he held her close and lifted her slightly as he turned in a circle.

Giggling with a quiet cry of surprise when he lifted her, she held on tight as he turned, laughing out, “Sorren!”  He was crazy….. and she loved it.

He laughed, cheek to cheek as they spun, before he stopped and let her down. "If we're gonna go up to the mountains, you'll need to pack."

Staring up at him, lips twitching with laughter.  “I’m not going to tell you why… but I actually have a bag packed already.”

One eyebrow up, he laughed in surprise. "What? You're not looking to skip town, are you?"

Poking him in to ribs, she laughed softly.  “I told you not to ask.  A girl has to have some secrets…”

"Just as long as you're not gonna disappear on me," he said with a grin, though he was a bit serious. "I guess all that's left is to get going, huh?"

Her smile faded slightly, but she nodded. “I won’t….”  Laughing again, she grinned up at him.  “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

"Me neither," he said. Then he took her hand tightly, looking out toward the city. "But we are."

[boylesharon]

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