#have never played the first one i just dove right into 2. already very attached to artemy

[iraprince]

will return to artfight festivities tomorrow but for now i am busy getting my shit kicked in by pathologic 2 for the first time. i keep having to take breaks bc it's literally giving me headaches. this is all said reverently btw

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

i’m an idiot. i screw everything up.

Titans 3.03

still here, still doing this. these reviews take a fair bit of time that i cobble together across days (like, ten minute chunks during breaks, etc) and i tend to struggle to keep up with episodes as they come out. this means that by the time i’m done with one, most of my stuff is jossed (or geoffed in this case? idk) or outdated and the post sinks like a stone into oblivion. so! i’m going to change things up a bit with this one and write as i see the episode rather than collecting my thoughts later. in my experience with spn, that was a faster way to get them done. 

anyway. let���s see how it goes! *shadowboxes*

SPOILERS ahead.

1. an auspicious start with some grave-digging!

digging up a grave and breaking open a coffin is some serious, back-breaking work--that dick did it on his own, likely straight after that fight with red hood, is a testament to the sheer intensity, stamina and discipline that he’s capable of. like, we like to joke about dick cooking cauliflower crust pizzas and making gar and rachel spar and memorise sun tzu--and despair at the obvious consequences of some of bruce’s parenting skills--but imagine crime-fighting almost daily without any superpowers, performing some of the most intense parkour in bulky, uncomfortable armour, doing detective work, pushing through every last barrier of exhaustion and then getting up to repeat it all over again the next day. dick probably thought he was going extra-easy on rachel and gar.

1.5. then again, dick probably had a hundred different easier ways to confirm whether jason was still buried or not, from using equipment to merely asking connor to have a quick look with his x-ray vision. but, no, he’s too caught up in confusion and terror, not really having come to terms with jason’s death in the first place, leave alone the possibility that he could be alive after all. he can’t possibly let the others know until he’s confirmed it himself, even if it means digging all through the night until his arms are jelly, thinking over and over again about jason’s eyes, jason’s voice, from behind that red mask. 

... besides, dick has good reason to believe that he could’ve been hallucinating. wouldn’t be his first psychotic episode, after all.

that just imbues this sweaty, desperate, fingers-scrabbling-in-gravedirt scene with that much more poignancy, and a fair bit of bone-chilling terror. dick is horrified to realise that jason’s grave is empty, but a part of him is also probably relieved.

1.75 (... also it’s curious that we’re never shown any of the team asking to see jason’s grave after they come to wayne manor. i guess it’s because the writers--and the audience--know that jason is actually alive, but these people don’t know that. i don’t know if it’s sad or infuriating or both that they’re barely shown mourning him.)

2. oh GOD the sheer TENSION in kory saying, “i don’t want to say it, but--” and dick quickly interrupting, “it was jason. i saw him,” and hank giving him this loaded sidelong glance. i love how dick’s precarious mental health from last season is still this big elephant in the room but at least nobody’s blowing up in his face and questioning his every decision yet

2.25. i love the relative matter-of-factness with which they’re discussing a possible resurrection. and, of course, ra’s al ghul is brought up and quickly dismissed

(still wouldn’t put it past this show to bring him up at the very last second as the real real mastermind)

2.5. “maybe they can bring donna back” OH KORY

2.75. didn’t they have this same conversation about killing/not killing rose last season? man, the og titans make me tired.

and i don’t know if it’s just hank, but there’s a definite in-group/out-group vibe going on with the og titans, where they’re not only ready to consider killing anybody who threatens the group but makes it difficult for new people to fit in. donna and kory got along well with each other, but the dynamics between hank/donna/dawn and gar/rachel/rose were somewhat strained, and with jason, they were really fucking terrible. it makes sense when you think about how the titans started and how they broke up the first time--both were fairly disruptive events, i’d imagine, in that they probably got together to break away from their mentors and strike out on their own, and when they split up, it was the first time they felt directly responsible for the loss of an innocent life.

but the titans that dick is leading now is explicitly about mentoring a young generation of heroes, about second chances and found family. dick definitely wants to reach out to him first, and i have a feeling he’s going to be forced to make some sort of terrible Choice later on in this episode. 

2.8. (honestly tho, this also seems like hank struggling with his own guilt re: jason; if red hood is not the kid that he failed, it’d be easier to fight him.)

3.

HANK NO

4. honestly this season is already ticking off so many things on my wishlist, but i really wish dick would sit down with the newer members of his team and trust them with important information the same time that he’s telling them to the other members. gar searching for help and reassurance from a man who just dumped all of his responsibilities on his son overnight and went AWOL is a sad sight

4.25. has it only been just 48 hours????? wow! jason’s definitely been planning the red hood gig for a long time now...

5. ezekiel, my man! shady looking guy gets into your cab without a destination in mind... no problem, get right in! said guy gets a call to go to the observatory when he’s barely even looked out of the window so far at gotham... yep, a damn tourist! i want more ezekiel in this show.

5.25. (of course jason has upturned table lamps all along the floor... we have to *gritted teeth* balance the TEAL with the ORANGE don’t we?)

5.5. “dick’s a fucking psycho--he could be following you right now.” hank... has no objection to that lol

5.25. hank, hank... this is bad-decision-palooza. i can’t imagine that hank actually thought that jason was reaching out to him for help, given that the last time hank and jason had any substantial interaction hank had been one of the people accusing jason of sabotaging the team. but for him to go seek out jason and go along with his demands without any backup, weapons or equipment? not the best idea he’s ever come up with.

(add to that getting into the swimming pool of a condemned gym... oh yuck.)

((yes, i have enough self-restraint to not cap his ass.))

(((cap his ass! HA!)))

5.5. do you think jason has bugs/monitoring equipment planted in wayne manor to monitor the titans, or remote access to the cave’s systems? wouldn’t put it past him.

6. oh man, hank came back before dick and the others could meet ezekiel! this is TRAGIC

6.25. i mean, it’s plot-convenient that connor was able to give so much information about the bomb from just looking at it once, but i also like to think it’s the luthor-side of him coming to the fore. it also reminds me of that (in)famous scene from the new52 run of Nightwing comics, where a bomb was attached to nightwing’s heart and luthor disabled it by killing nightwing (temporarily). it’s a neat little callback. 

6.55. “where i come from, you go after family? there’s no mercy.” BUT THAT’S THE PROBLEM ISN’T IT

6.75. i mean, dick’s making sense: this is a game, and they need to get it off playing out on jason’s terms. but having a member of his team in his face, doubting his reasoning and every decision? a very familiar sight. 

6.8. krypto with an a+ sense of humour? also a very familiar sight.

7. wayne enterprises... providing the military with... bombs that can be implanted in humans? a BIIIIG yikes. i guess it’s not too many steps above developing clandestine intra-dermal trackers and implanting them in your own sons, and bruce probably thought they could be used as part of negotiation tactics, but still... YIKES.

7.5. on the other hand, conner being asked to build a deactivation advice seems part of a growth arc that started from last season... he knows so much, but part of growing is learning, and part of learning is using what you know to create something new.

8. oh man, my heart broke at hank going “i’m an idiot... i screw everything up.” like. for him to go like this, after being brought down to such a low last season? struggling with pain and addiction and his relationship with the love of his life? it’s so sad.

9. oh, oh, oh! ronnie from schitt’s creek! i love her!

9.5. “one of jason’s minions” took his body out of the morgue... how deliciously morbid that he planned out his own death like this!

10. TALK TO HANK, DICK

honestly, tho, i’m quite impressed with dick here. trying to think beyond just the most alarming part of the crisis at hand, keeping his cool, delegating tasks, frequently touching base with different members of his team... well done. 

10.25.... whoops, spoke too soon. i’m genuinely confused here, tho. where did the van full of gold bars come from? why did they stop there and get out? how did dawn even know about this?

on the other hand, it’s cool to know dove has bulletproof feathers!

10.5. eh... curran walters isn’t really selling red hood’s menace to me so far. but then again, if titans version of red hood is vulnerable-kid-with-father-issues-trying-to-overcompensate, then yeah! yeah, it makes sense. 

11. “when bats have sex, they gotta have something to hang from” OH GOD HANK

... because i want smiley!gar on my blog :)

11.5. awww. i feel sorry for hank but NONE of these fuckers deserve gar except maybe kory

12. ohhh FUCK! look at jason being exactly one step ahead of the titans at every turn. nice.

no really, i love the building stakes and the building mystery - i feel like the deathstroke arc from last season should’ve been more like this. the flashbacks about jericho and rose came too late and after too much build up, which resulted in a very underwhelming and confusing season throughline.

13. HANK AND DIIIIIICCCKKK

“you’re doing your best by me. always have.” WAILING HERE

it also kills me to think that hank thinks that his imminent death is because of his failure to keep the team together (when he was clearly struggling with his own issues and was spiralling towards rock-bottom) and his fear that he will once again be the cause of the team falling apart. 

also:

14. “i grew up... you can, too. you just have to face your fear.”

yep, got scarecrow’s grubby little fingerprints aaaaalllll over this. 

14.25. nightwing’s got specialised batarangs! yay! (somehow i can’t see this universe’s dick calling them “wingdings”)

15. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

oh man, that was devastating. well done, show. fuck, well done, jason.

this is going to bring up all sorts of “if onlys” for the team. i can’t wait for some fucking aftermath. 

[hitsuackerman]

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.8

a/n: so nothing much happens here but in a way im just establishing how reader and her fam interact :)

warnings: this cannot be read solo, filler because author-chan needs a break xD

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 9

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased​​ @infinite-universe-love​​ @dirtypride​ @blackymomo03​ @azzie​

Inside his car, you were buckled in the front seat as he took the wheel. It felt weird seeing him drive his own vehicle. Though he looked good in it, if you were to be honest.

Your thoughts ran to the precinct. The cab which the chief took was heading that way. Recalling how he held on to his anger and chose to leave with silence was the worst thing that could ever happen. More so for tomorrow. Tadrona Manor was an hour’s drive from the city.

Playing with the zippers on your bag, you began to think of a plan. One that would be so unexpected that even the chief wouldn’t dare think of it as staged. Speaking of plans, you had to check your schedule again. How did he change your meetings and interviews? You had a feeling that the remaining days would be cramped.

When he finally reached the drop-off area, you adjusted your position so you could look at him. His eyes focused on what’s ahead of him.

“Thank you for the ride.”

“Just get down and cleanse yourself.”

Bowing your head, you exited the vehicle and watched as he sped away from the building.

Now inside your unit, you decided to skip the tub and just scrub. Showering with cold waters, you felt energized and much better than before. Shorter than intended to be, you were now wearing a loose shirt and sweatpants. Taking your laptop, you set up work in the living room.

Once everything was good to go, you immediately checked your schedule. Tomorrow was only half of your working hours. The rest of the days were just as expected. With only 30 minutes for lunch, you were bombarded with an adjustment of meetings and interviews. All with barely enough interval times.

Going to your emails, you received a new one from the chief. Opening it, you cursed every single word you knew of. Attached to the email were 4 new cases. Reviewing them, you estimated it would make things with Overhaul a little more tricky. Going back to your schedule, you were thankful that he had the brain to include the necessary meetings already.

Heading to your room, you took 3 cases from your personal files and flopped back to the sofa. If the chief was playing dirty, then you had no choice but to act as well. Dialing a number, all it took was one ring and you were greeted right away.

“What can I do, (N/N)?” The voice over the phone asked.

“I need a favor, Takashi-kun.” You reached for the folders and scanned which of the three were appropriate for him. Deciding on a minor case, you opened the folder and skimmed on the papers. Making sure that he was the right one for the case. “I need you to do a case for me. It’s practically 70% solved at this point.”

“It would be a pleasure, (N/N).” Takashi replied. His voice telling you he was smirking at the request handed to him. “Is the chief overloading you with work?”

“Yeah.” Clicking your tongue, you reached for the next folder. One that revolved around aggravated assault. “I also have one for Nomura. He’s there at home right?”

“He’s listening to the conversation as we speak.”

“Good evening, (Y/N)-chan! I’ll give my damn best~” He was always a cheerful one.

“Is that all?” Takashi asked.

“There’s one more. For Kaien, I need him to gather information on one that involves perjury. It’s a bit complicated but I know he can do it.”

Takashi, Nomura, and Kaien. Those three men were your equivalent of Overhaul’s Eight Precepts of Death. Your father had entrusted them to look after you when you were still a toddler. As you grew up, you managed to build a solid bond with them. They always treated you as a princess and even till now, if it means making you happy, they would gladly assist you.

Of course you preferred not to take advantage of their skills. It was only in times like these where you would reach out to your roots for… assistance. They did, however, follow a set of rules. No killing, no fighting unless absolutely necessary, and that their safety is vital.

“Will you drop it off here at the estate or shall we pick it up?”

“I’ll drop it off tomorrow in the morning.” The butterflies in your tummy did a somersault at the thought of going home. “It has been quite some time after all~”

After saying your goodbye’s, you bagged the 3 files and began working on the new cases assigned to you.

Early the next day, you found yourself parking your car inside the Abegawa Tenchu Kai estate. It wasn’t as big as the Shie Hassaikai’s but it was home. The minute you stepped into the hallway, Takashi, Nomura, and Kaien practically glided on the floor just to greet you. They were wearing yukata, so today must be their day off.

“Where’s my lovely daughter?” You heard his voice coming down the stairs. A toothy grin formed on your face when you saw your father. Opening his arms, you hopped your way into his arms into a loving embrace. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Not yet~ What’s to eat?” You followed him to the dining area.

“Nomura cooked your favorites.” He said as he ruffled your hair. “Takashi took the liberty of buying your favorite fruit as well.”

More than excited to eat Nomura’s food, you practically dove to your seat once you saw the table filled with amazing food prepared just for you. Digging in, you savored the taste and the warmth of your home.

Half way through the meal, you handed the files to their assigned yakuza. Your father simply shook his head at your actions. He didn’t mind that you were using them to your advantage. He thought it amusing that you somehow managed to use your roots as a way of assisting you in your cases.

“How’s work, daughter?” He asked after he sipped his coffee.

“It’s pretty interesting.” You nodded. Trying to suppress the giddy sensation your tummy felt. “I’ve been assigned a case for the Fukuo Kai.”

“The chief’s still using your background as leverage?” Nomura inquired. He never fully trusted that guy the moment you first talked about him.

“Yeah…” You groaned. “I also have to work with the Shie Hassaikai for this one.”

“Shie Hassaikai, huh?” Your father repeated. “Are they treating you well?”

“He is. For the most part. Overhaul is relatively stable when I’m with him.”

“THE Overhaul?” Takashi confirmed.

“Yes. That Overhaul. I have to admit. He is intimidating. Everything you’ve heard about him might just be true.” You felt your cheeks burning at the thought of him. Not wanting them to ask questions, you took your coffee and hid your face. But that was a little too slow on your part.

“You’ve taken an interest in him.” It wasn’t a question but your father could sense things. “Has Gei seen him?”

“Once. He went to my apartment to hand over information. Gei happened to be there as well.”

“I’ve met him once.” He recalled. His index and thumb holding onto his chin. “His loyalty to the yakuza is very strong. He followed the boss as if his life depended on it. Still, he had his mask on. That was a long time ago though. He went by a different name.”

“As much as I’d like to know what his name is…” You put your mug down and began to play with the half eaten bacon. “I think it’s safer if you don’t mention it. For his sake.”

The tenderness in your voice as you spoke about him alarmed your father. There was no hiding it from him. In his eyes, he could see the subtle signs of infatuation. Observing your mannerisms as you talked about the young yakuza boss, you were still unaware that it’s slowly growing. The feelings and future complications should you pursue him.

To say that it worried him was an understatement. He knew what Overhaul was doing. He had, after all, been acquaintances with the former boss. The sudden disappearance was all too timingly when word went out that he took his place.

Still, he trusted you and your judgement. You were one of the top ranking officers and managed to keep your family ties hidden from the media. The way of the yakuza had been molded into you and how you managed to prosper with it only swelled his pride.

With breakfast done and the cases handed over, he was now standing outside your car. Leaning on your door as you strapped yourself in. The engine revved as you were preparing to leave for work. The childish smile on you was something he always strived to protect. Closing your door, he watched as you exited the estate.

Three men walked up to him. Faces filled with uncertainty.

“It’s alright, you three.” Your father assured them. “I do not fully trust him but I can only hope that the person she’s seeing is Chisaki-kun and not Overhaul. Come now. I think we all need to light up some incense.”

Inside the car, you clenched on the steering wheel. The sense of safety gone the minute your precinct was in sight. Looking at the parked cars, you were more than relieved when you saw his car wasn’t in its designated spot. Scanning the area once you stopped your engine, you deemed it safe and basically ran all the way to the entrance.

Now in the protection of your cubicle, you turned your desktop and waited for it to boot. When it did, you scanned your emails and began to count the hours.

4 more hours before you’d be sent home.

9 more hours till you would have to sit face to face with that wretched boss of yours.

Beginning your day’s work, you mentally prepared for what was to come next.

-----

so yeah nothing much really happens here~ do you guys have any questions? feel free to comment and ill gladly answer them :) take care and i hope you guys like this chapter <3

[darling-i-read-it]

Dove

Robb Stark x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: standard game of thrones things, cuss words, insinuations to sex

Author’s Note: I wrote this when I first started watching the show and hadn’t seen the red wedding yet so I was still a happy person. But I found it and it cute so let’s all go back to simple times now. This is set around late season 1 early season 2.

Summary: The reader, who has been with Robb since a young age is feeling discouraged at his betrothed marriage to someone else.

Genre: fluff and angst but mostly fluff

(not my gif)

You stared at Robb from afar, admiring his bravery as he attempted to talk to the people of the North. Robb was your childhood best friend and your first and only love. You had been best friends when you were very young and then as you grew older and learned of love and your bodies, you both realized that you were soulmates.

He had never been betrothed to anyone and so Ned and Catelyn let the two of you fall into mad love.

It had been known by the entire North of the eldest Stark child and his lover by the time the two of you were 15. Ned used to warn Robb that you couldn’t get too attached because one day he might need to send Robb to be married for land or advantage or something like that.

But there was still the matter that everyone was aware that you and Robb were lovers and the whole North knew tearing the two of you apart would be practically impossible. However as soon as the war began and people from other places, who weren’t aware of the two of you were involved had come.

And so began the girls, throwing themselves at the new King of the North.

“Are you going to tell her or just let this happen?” Catelyn asked. After the death of Ned Stark she had become more invested in her sons lovelife. She had always been aware that the two of you had been together and never really minded but now she had told Robb that he was betrothed to someone else. You were still furious at her but tried to act civil.

A woman, someone from a different land, had her fingers dancing on Robbs chest. You felt no jealousy in your heart. Simply annoyance.

“I’m going to let it play out. See how long it takes him to hit her.”

“As a king he shouldn’t hit his subjects.” You rolled your eyes and glanced at her and then back at him.

“And women shouldn’t hit on a man betrothed to another.” Catelyn scoffed.

“You should take your own advice.” You looked at her and for the first time you wanted nothing more then to hit her. You never wanted to hit her before, never to put harm on your best friends mother.

You took your dress and clumped it in your hands and walked over to the drinks, pouring yourself one. You took a big swig, allowing the strong liquor to burn your throat. You hadn’t let yourself think much of anything but the war and Robbs safety lately.

It made you yearn for being young again when all you had to worry about were avoiding your studies and running through clear lakes.

“Everything alright darling?” A voice asked. You turned, met face to face with one of Robbs knights. One that had been nice to you before and was sometimes assigned to protecting you, even when you thought you could protect yourself fine.

You nodded, gulping down the drink.

“I’m fine. Just tired of war already I suppose,” you spoke truthfully. The man sat down and poured you another drink.

“May I speak freely my lady?” he asked and you scoffed.

“I’m no Queen. You don’t need to fear I’ll send my powers on you, I have no powers.” He nodded, lips pursed in a fine line.

“Why is The King supposed to marry another? I thought you were married? I thought you were the Queen,” he asked. You took a deep breath.

“He is my love. He was my love but war means more to anyone here then love. Even to Robb Stark,” you said. You looked at your hands.

“You don’t need to hear my problems. Thank you for asking if I was alright and obviously I am just fine.” You walked away after giving him a smile. You were making your way to your tent. Before the news that Robb was to marry another you shared a tent and then you were given your own. It was the first time in many years you had slept alone. Tonight would mark a week of sleeping without him.

You poured another cup of drink and made your way to sulk alone and when you got there you found tears coming down your face in droves. You brought your knees to your chest and sat on the ground, wondering what would become of you.

Most of your life you were sure you were going to be Lady Stark of Winterfell, married to Robb Stark. You had prepared yourself for that all your life.

You barely heard the tent fold open over your sobs and blurry eyes. You only noticed another's presence when you saw someone sit beside you and place a hand on yours that were folded on your knees.

You wiped your eyes and met those of Robbs. You tried to stop the tears and attempted to wipe away all remains of them but it was too late. He had seen and now he wasn’t going to let it go.

“What's wrong dove?” he asked, worry lacing his voice.

“You can’t call me that. We aren’t to be married remember?” you pointed out. He placed his hands on your cheeks and sat on the floor.

“You will never stop being my dove. You know that. Even on my wedding night when I have to sleep with another I will be thinking of you.” You sighed.

“I shouldn’t be the one to make you lose such loyalty. A man and wife should not sleep with others-”

“Tell that to the Lannisters. If the Queen of the seven kingdoms can do it, so can I. She might be a perfectly decent woman but she doesn’t know me enough to love me,” he explained. His thumb rubbed your cheek and you sighed, his touch never failing to make you melt underneath it.

“Robb, I can’t do i-”

“Shush. You be quiet. I’m going to kiss you now and as your King I say you can’t protest.” You rolled your eyes but let him close the space between you. Your lips moved with his and he picked you up, placing you on your bed.

As you both finished up later and you lay on his chest your thoughts had eased.

“Your wedding night will never be as good as that, I can guarantee it love,” you told him. He chuckled.

“I’m glad you’re back to calling me love. And I’m glad we’re back to sleeping in the same bed. I missed you stealing the covers.”

“I was usually naked and therefore had every right to the blankets,” you joked. He rolled his eyes and put a finger under your chin to force you to look at him.

“Did my mother say something? Is that why you were crying?” Your smile faltered.

“It was just a comment. Really it was nothing.”

“And yet, you were crying,” he muttered. You raised your hand and kissed his neck, peppering kisses down to his chest. He grabbed your head by your cheek and made you look at his shaking head. “You’re not going to fuck your way out of this problem,” he said.

“It has worked for me before.” He rolled his eyes and you sat up.

“She gave away my right to marriage to win this war. And when we win and when I’m married, we will still be together. No one can tell me no.” He sat up and moved your hair out of your face.

“I love you your grace,” you said with a soft voice. You had said that you had loved him a thousand times before and yet, this one felt different. Like it was a Queen telling her King she loved him.

He leaned forward so your faces were near centimeters apart.

“I love you more my Queen,” he whispered harshly, like he was going to fight you to prove he loved you more. Very unlike Robb, but not something you didn’t like.

And he was kissing you again and you pulled away, hand on his chest. His mother had entered your tent. You both stared at her and Robb moved the blankets of the bed to cover your bare chest.

“Lady Stark,” you addressed her. She looked at you with hard eyes.

“I came to tell you that I appreciated you staying away from my son with his marriage approaching with the end of the war and yet…,” she trailed off. You held the blanket to your chest and Robb rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to be married for a long time mother. And if you would like to tell me I’ve done something wrong go right ahead but you leave my Y/N, out of this,” Robb said in a kingly way. You couldn’t help the smile sneaking on your face. Catelyn nodded stiffly.

“I’ll leave you be,” she resigned and you watched her go. Robb sighed and put his hands back on you, one of your cheek and the other on your waist.

“My King,” you muttered and he smiled, kissing you with such conviction that it surprised you. You pushed him away and giggled like when you were young.

“What?” he asked. You smiled.

“My my my how you have grown up Robb Stark.”

“Oh shut up and let me kiss you.”

[estelofimladris]

The Healer: Critical Role

[ warning: here follows a long rambling story of feelings about losing a fandom and finding new love and happiness in an unexpected way ]

Here’s a little personal story about how some fandoms hurt and some heal. It goes from Fillory to Exandria. (It feels really right when I say it that way.)

I wasn’t ready for the healing that I got, but it’s here now. Thank Sarenrae.

Everyone loves that thunderstruck feeling when you fall in love with a fandom. It’s literally like all the tropes about falling in love. You meet and sometimes there’s just a spark.

That was me with The Magicians. I spent a year immersed in a welcoming fandom in a show that made me feel seen and whole. I had friends in the fandom as well as the friends irl who were into the show. I got to dive into it when I really needed a fandom to help carry me a little through a hard time.

It was heaven. Until it wasn’t.

In April of 2019, The Magicians broke my heart. Again, just like all the tropes about love. Just like a bad breakup, there’s things about it that I really enjoyed, but at the end of the day, I can’t go back to the way things were with that fandom. No matter how welcoming the fandom remained, I couldn’t go back because the show had cut me so deeply.

Then through 2019 and into 2020, I drifted through some new loves and lived in my love of some of my oldest fandoms. Lots of Star Wars. New excitement from Good Omens, The Dragon Prince, and The Old Guard. It’s not to say that I don’t love these things, but at least two of my new favs are, for the time being anyway, done. And, though Star Wars (and in the same breath my other love Marvel) are never really done, I like loving them in a bubble because as anyone in those fandoms knows it can be a complicated relationship.

Also in late 2019, my buddy @wittynamehere1443 decided she wanted to try and run a D&D campaign for our family of misfits. I hadn’t played since high school (D&D 3.5) and was super excited to get back into it. I picked up quite a bit while prepping to play from a mix of reading, remembering old things, and watching some tutorials and stuff on ye ol’ YouTube. I had dabbled in tabletop, but never thought I’d go charging back in, but once I started I couldn’t stop.

I immersed myself in as much as I could, but I’m really a visual & kinesthetic learner, so eventually I was going to have to supplement my book-learning with some real-play to really understand. I played as much as I could as I delved deeper, but even as I dove, I realized I wanted to do more. I started to write my own campaign setting and adventures. I suddenly found myself needing to just know how D&D worked without having to always have the books open.

Now, I had been lightly introduced to some real-play before I really understood what it was. A buddy of mine had shown me a clip of Critical Role out of context quite some time ago and I really didn’t understand how so many people I knew and shared a lot of crossover interests with could be so obsessed with watching 8 people play D&D.

My buddy who was now my DM had consumed all of The Adventure Zone and had very lovely things to say about it and I had the lingering curiosity about Critical Role form the many people who had recommended it to me as well as the complete mystery attached to why people loved it so. And me, being a big lover of visuals and being at home because of COVID, dipped my toe into real-play with the first episode of Critical Role back in late June.

I did it completely on my own at first, which is rare given that most things I watch, I watch them with my best friend and roommate, @hawkeyekate.

( Also, as a weird note, I’ve managed to deftly avoid most spoilers about Critical Role up to this point and I’m not completely sure how. I know one big one in Campaign 2, but until yesterday (when I watched the first episode of Campaign 2) I didn’t even know the classes of 1/2 of the Mighty Nein. I didn’t even know Sam played Nott until about three weeks ago. That bubble has come in very handy. )

I immediately began to get out of it what I was originally there for: great real-play with explanations of rules (especially vs. house rules and the whys of everything). Watching the cast fumble through transitioning from Pathfinder to D&D 5e was very helpful to me because I had some similar questions from the figments of memory I had from 3.5 as well as my other random tabletop experience. I was completely inspired and found myself cranking through pages upon pages of my own world and campaigns as well as delving deeper into my characters that I’d been honing already.

I quickly noticed that I was worrying less about the rules when I played and was getting to enjoy my character for who he is. I was starting to craft interesting mechanics and not just story in my adventures I was writing.

Lightning had struck and suddenly I was in love in a way I hadn’t been in a long time.

As I was watching Critical Role, I definitely wasn’t just learning to be a stronger DM and a better player. I found myself able to tell the twins apart. I was invested in the mysteries as they unraveled in Exandria. I hung on Mercer’s every word.

Then without warning, when the party said goodbye to Pike in Vasselheim, I found myself in tears. I don’t know why but I remember being so struck by that moment. I knew it was partly because Ashley was leaving for New York, but the story for Vox Machina hit a soft spot for me. I was no longer just watching 9 people play D&D. I was invested in the story, the characters, and the world.

I was suddenly a Critter.

I think notoriously at this point, when I fall for a fandom, its often connected to a character. I saw in Vax’ildan a lot of things that really sucked me in from the beginning. He is at the same time like many of my favorite characters of my youth and like many of my favorite characters as an adult. I feel like he’s my heartstrings manifest in a lot of ways, complete with many of the flaws in that.

Then what was a slow crawl accelerated. I would occasionally ramble to @hawkeyekate about the adventures of Vox Machina and it would be on when she was around, but she wasn’t exactly watching it with me. Then at some point during “The Trial of the Take”, she was suddenly sitting with me to watch. She was asking me to pause when she had to go do something - and wait for her.

We were watching together.

We were acutely aware of how the twins echoed things in us and that often we are referred to in the same sentence in the same way. I had my Vex’ahlia.

Only a little over a month later, we’ve battled Briarwoods and now we’re hunting Vestiges and gathering allies. It is a rare day that we don’t watch a little Critical Role. I sport my “Gilmore’s Glorious Goods” shirt. I’ve read Vox Machina: Origins and am making plans for two cosplays already.

I’ve also DM’d six sessions of my first adventure-turned-campaign in my own world I’ve built, Perlen. I play tabletop two-to-three days a week with my friends via the internet. I hoard dice.

I’ve fallen in love again and this time it feels safe.

I know good and bad things will come for Vox Machina ahead. I know the same can be said for The Mighty Nein in my future as well, but the Critters in my life have been so welcoming and it’s been so nice to have something new to talk to my friends about. And I trust the cast of Critical Role not to destroy things just because they made them like The Magicians creators did, a trust I didn’t think I would grow back any time soon. I know that some of the pains in Critical Role aren’t just scripted but are actually to chance, which gives me comfort, too. People live and die by the dice in tabletop and I can abide that. It doesn’t mean I won’t cry and ache every time something bad happens to them because I love them all.

So I will go running through Tal’dorei and look forward to Wildemount while I carve out the mountains and seas of my world of Perlen. I’ll cry when they hurt and smile every time Pike and Grog talk. I’ll be healed the way that stories can in ways I didn’t expect, which has now happened much more than once.

I’m here now and I love it.

[ special shout-out to the Critters in my life that have been so welcoming. Especially my super-enabler, @oniumbra. ]

[starr182]

@raspberrymama Here is is, chapter 1! 

Summary: You’ve been hunting with the boys for awhile and your birthday rolls around. Crowley gives you a special birthday gift. 

Pairing: Crowley x Reader.

Warning: Smut. Just 18+ please.

Word count this chapter 2066. 

Let’s be honest, your childhood sucked; both parents, correction adoptive parents, were very abusive. You had an inheritance from your birth parents, but your fake parents wouldn’t let you use it. Nor did they tolerate you to have an opinion or personality. They felt kids should be seen and hot heard. So from a young age you dove into books and drawing the quietest hobbies one could have. The pain of this existence drove you to the enjoy the darker things in life, the moon and stars, mythical creatures, demonology, witchcraft. You learned a few spells or charms to protect yourself, you found that it came naturally to you. As grew older you started having recurring dreams about a large suspended over a pit of nothingness, writing on the bars and a soft glow of red and blue light emanating from within. You tried searching but you could never find anything that matched the writing, but then again you could never really remember it clearly once you woke up. You collected many books on lost languages which lead you down the road of the supernatural. Of course, you never thought the creatures you often read about were actually real.

One night while having dinner with the fake parents when three people broke in. Not people, they couldn’t be. Their teeth were razor sharp and they had too many of them. You hid under the table as your parent were butchered, their screams faded to gurgles as they choked on their own blood. Your mother fell to the floor as you watch the last light fade from her eyes. Two of the monsters leave but not before telling the third to make sure you were taken care of. She pulls you out from under the table and pulls you up to her face. You notice she isn’t much other than you. She tells you she’ll let you live but you have to promise her something. You have to get her away from the monsters that killed your family, that she wasn’t like them, they liked hurting people but she didn’t. You agreed and she let you go. It took you awhile but you held up your end of the bargain. And that is how you became a hunter.

 ***Time jump***

Those vamps were long since gone, the younger female freed. Your in your 30’s now and haven’t run or hid from monsters in years. You’ve embraced the hunter lifestyle with ease. A couple years back you ran into the Winchesters and they pretty much adopted you. You first met them when you were both working the same case and staying at the same shady motel. You noticed an Impala in the parking lot with the hood up and offered to help. Dean looks at you from under the hood and says “Yeah doll you could jump me. Uh I mean the car, the battery.” You both laugh as you decide to help them out, you pull next to Baby in your 67 Shelby GT 500 and Dean is impressed. You two hit it off right away and decided to work the case decided to make the team up permanent.

Hanging with “your boys” as you call them, meet all sorts of interesting characters; Castiel an angel of the Lord, a witch named Rowena, Charlie a nerdy hacker and your favorite by far, Crowley the King of Hell. You were always attracted to the darker things in life and you couldn’t get much darker than a demon who reins over Hell. He was suave, smart, sarcastic and nice-ish to you at least.

The first time you met Crowley you were on a hunt for some rogue demons with the boys. You were hold up in an abandoned house in the woods. They boys sent you on a food run and you came back with a couple pizzas, an apple pie, a case beer and a bottle of Jamison. You barge in the door and say “I got pizza, pie and beer.” Dean replies its about time sweetheart. Crowley, who doesn’t even look up from the map that Sam is showing him stated “You’re redundant darling. You don’t need to say pizza pie, everyone knows it’s a bloody pie. “Not redundant. Pizza comma pie. Pizza and apple pie…dumbass.” You reply. Dean almost chokes on his beer. “Oh feisty, I like her.” He replies as he looks you over. Sam tells him to back off as you just roll your eyes. The was the first job you worked with him, the first of many. After a few cases with you two busting each other’s balls, you started to like the guy, demon, whatever. You weren’t supposed to like the King of Hell, but you did. The boys would kill you if they found out. Well not literally but they WOULD kill Crowley. Of course, you couldn’t tell Crowley you had feelings for him. How the hell could he ever like you, a human, a hunter, a Winchester.

Its your birthday and you and the boys are hunting a Wendigo in Nebraska. They needed Crowley for something unrelated and have him stuck in a Demon trap on the first floor of this abandoned house.  You come down the stairs and Dean informs you there was another death; that he and Sam have to run into town and that you would be babysitting the demon. After they leave you sit on the desk across the room from Crowley, legs crossed in your jean shorts, black tank top and purple plaid shirt. Crowley eyes you seemingly with boredom in his eyes. You decide to grab your duffle bag and drop it on the desk. “You wanna drink? Don’t worry, it’s not the swill my brothers drink.” “What’s the occasion?” He asks. “My birthday you reply.” He cocks an eyebrow as you pull a bottle and 2 crystal glasses from your bag. “hmm, what’s your poison?” You turn holding the bottle of Glencraig and you see a smirk grace his face. You pour a glass and hand it to him carefully so not to disturb the trap lines. You pour yourself one as he says “You can’t possibly be related to those two. You don’t have a bad bone in your body.” Ah fuck it you think as you down your glass, step over the trap line to face Crowley. You stand on your toes to whisper in his ear “If you play your cars right, you can be the bad bone in my body.” As you grab his crotch. Holy shit he’s huge. His eyes widen and jaw hangs open as you step back out of the circle. He’s speechless as he downs his drink too. He shakes the empty glass signaling a refill. You pour yours first then carry the bottle over to refill his. He backs up so you have to reach your arm over the trap line to pour. As you finish pouring, he grabs your wrist with his empty hand and pulls you to him. He plants his lips on yours as you bring your empty hand to his face to lightly touch his stubbled cheek. He pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with those whiskey eyes “Let me out of this trap so I can give you your gift.” You shake your head “the boys would kill me” he replies, “No, they’d kill me. Later then Darling.” He smirks before leaning back down for another kiss. This one rougher than before; he bites your bottom lips, his tongue wrestles yours for dominance. His empty hand grabs your ass as he leans back towards the outline of the trap, its magic holding him up as would a wall.  Just then you hear Baby coming up the driveway and detach yourself from Crowley and head back to the desk to sit down as if nothing happened.

Both of you grinning as the boys enter. Sam is carrying an ice cream cake while Dean carries a small package, “Happy birthday” they say in unison. Aw they did remember. Dean gives you your gift which turns out to be the latest installment in your favorite book series. Sam cuts up 3 slices of the cake, hands one to you and Dean and takes one for himself. “What about Crowley?” you ask. “What about him?” Dean asks. You stroll over to the trap and hand him your slice of cake with a wink and cuts another slice for yourself. Afterwards the boys get whatever they needed from him and release him, He winks at you before disappearing.

After another half hour or so of drinking you head upstairs to take a cold shower and head to bed. Sitting on the chair in your room is Crowley. “Took you long enough. I’m not a patient man, love.” “Sorry, didn’t know you were waiting for me.” You reply “I did say later didn’t I? Now come here.” He raises from his chair in the shadow and grabs you, both hands on your waist. He looks into your eyes before he teleports you both out of there to a dark bedroom with a large 4-post bed with black satin sheets. You can only assume this is his bedroom. The room smells of burning wood, leather, cashmere and whiskey; some of your favorite things. Is this on purpose or coincidence?

He allows you a moment to take in your surroundings before his attach begins. His lips seem to be everywhere at once; your lips, cheeks, ears, neck, jawline and collar bone. His hands explore your curves, your hands planted on his pert ass. He starts to nibble on your neck, but carefully so that he doesn’t leave marks. He pulls away and snaps his fingers and you feel cold around you as your clothes are now gone. You move to cover your breasts and women hood but he slaps your hand away, “don’t you dare, love.” He cocks his head to the side as he looks you over, a predator stalking prey. He smiles as he the pushes you back onto the massive bed.

He climbs on top of you and quickly kisses you while one of his hands starts to massage your breasts. You let out a small moan as he pinches and pulls on one of your nipples as he tries to gauge your preferences. He lowers his head and uses his mouth to play with the only. His tongue caresses it and uses his teeth to gently pull it. All the while watching your face to make sure you are enjoying every moment.

He drops his head lower between your legs and inhales your scent. The smell of you is rather earthy something vaguely reminds him of his childhood home. He pushes the thought from his mind as he dips his long tongue into your folds. You moan out his name in response. He licks from your clit down and into your entrance eliciting another moan. “Fuck, darling, you taste so damn good. You’re so wet for me already.” He plunges a finger inside of you causing you to moan, he adds another in response. His tongue works your clit as he pumps his fingers into you and out of you completely before diving back in again at a maddening speed. His other hand alternates between kneading your breasts and tugging your nipples. “Oh God, you feel so good.” Crowley stops, removes his fingers from you and lifts his head. “Don’t. Don’t ever call his name when you’re with me, love. Got it?! God’s not here.”  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Crowley.” You whimper as he resumes his onslaught against you. You quickly approach your climax as your clench around his fingers, bucking your hips up into his face as he buries his face further into you as you cum on him. He pulls away from you, licks his fingers and smiles, “you are delicious. I could live down there.” You blush as you crawl to him and kiss his neck. He pulls away and tells you to get dressed. Fuck, what did I do wrong? You think. After your dressed he poofs you back to the abandoned house. “We re you pleased with your gift?” he asks. “Yes, very, but I’d like to return the favor.” “It was a gift, not a favor, Darling. Happy birthday” He kisses you quickly then disappears.  Best birthday yet. 

[essieeeeeeeee]

FUCK IT, i’m posting part 1. no title yet, so it’s just “bad touch villain fic” for now until I can get my act together enough to come up with one.

may I just start by saying that I love how we all as a fandom have collectively taken one look at our guy Shaw and thought: this boy needs to get fucked.

on a separate but equally important note, Transporter 2 may have been an absolute train wreck of a movie, but it gave me the gift of some quarter-dressed villain chick licking up the side of Jason Statham's face while he exudes such gay "I'd rather be literally anywhere else than here in this moment" energy, so there's that.

i’m fucking wheezing, man. his face.

anyways, in case it’s not obvious, I’ve stolen the T2 villain couple and threw them into here instead, so if you’re curious about what they look like, feel free to look them up (Gianni Chellini and Lola). this isn’t a crossover, it’s just me being lazy and stealing characters from other movies and playing with them.

a’ight, here we go with part 1. will get part 2 out relatively soon, I think. hopefully. god, I’m so slow at writing, guys.

----------

The bell above the door chimes merrily as Shaw pushes it open and steps into the diner, breathing in the homey scent of grease and caffeine that wafts out at him the moment he crosses the threshold. He lingers in the entryway - tucking his sunglasses carefully into his front left suit pocket, and letting his eyes drag over the establishment in a quick, practiced once-over.

American, is the first thought that comes to mind. Tacky, the second, though he supposes that’s a given, considering the first.

To be fair, it isn’t the worst diner he’s ever stepped foot in - that dubious honor went to a crusty hole in the wall in New Jersey, the name of which he couldn’t and didn’t really care to recall - but even so, the place isn’t exactly what he’d expected from a meet and greet with the CIA.

It's… lively, for starters. 

Shaw skims his gaze over the laminate red and white booths, the worn looking tabletops sticky from dots of leftover syrup. Bright sunlight peeks through the big windows, now that the storm clouds are dissipating in the frankly oven-like California weather.  Patrons chat loudly from each corner of the room. It's open and cheery and packed with parents and their tiny screaming sprogs, and all of it's already giving him a very sleep-deprived headache.

Shaw can pinpoint every word of the conversation that’s happening six booths to his left, too, which means privacy won't be much of a concept here either.

Strange choice in location, he thinks, for a debrief with top secret government information regarding a world-ending cyber death cult.

Deckard shrugs off the discomfort of it all, though. Partly because he honestly can't muster up enough of a fuck to give, and partly due to the fact that the smell of freshly brewed coffee has been relentlessly beckoning him forward since the initial whiff of it hit him from the doorway. He takes a quick moment to map out the visible exits, more habit than anything - front door, side door, likely a back one through the kitchen if needs must - and, once satisfied with his perusal, makes his way towards the bulky figure in the back right corner that’s stuck out like a mountain among mole hills since Shaw first walked into the place.

“Hobbs,” he mutters wearily, and spares a grimace at the grungy empty seat across the table. He resignedly lowers himself into it anyways.

The lawman’s eyes flick up from the plate in front of him, and he doesn’t look all that surprised; but Shaw knows it’s because he caught Hobbs’ gaze since the moment he stepped out of the rental car in the lot outside.

They’re both just a couple of paranoid bastards like that, he supposes.

And Hobbs looks - good. Better than the last time Deckard's seen him, awkwardly parting ways at a terminal in LAX, the both of them littered with bruises and scrapes that were only a small testament to the absolute shitshow they'd somehow just survived. Now it seems the bigger man's nicks are less than scabs, and the large bruise Hobbs had been sporting across his left temple at the time is nearly gone.

Shaw grudgingly notes that he's also been nursing his own wounds, and steadily healing, if slowly. His right shoulder still twinges when he moves it the wrong way, paracetamol continues to be a three times a day affair, and the spastic tick in his left hand hasn't quite let up since Brixton's electroshock therapy session, but overall - things are better.

His ribs still ache something fierce, though. Fractured, likely. Not that he's about to whine about it.

“Tinkerbell,” Hobbs greets, and then blithely stuffs another bite of the fried monstrosity that sits on his plate into his mouth. Shaw’s grimace deepens. “You’re late.”

“Blame your shitty weather. Flight delay.” Deckard ignores the insult; he's too fucking tired to pick up Hobbs' volley today. Instead, he leans forward, careful to avoid the greasy stain at the edge of the table, and gets straight to the point. “Where’s your contact?”

Because that was the obvious missing piece here, wasn’t it? Shaw didn’t come traipsing all the way to Los Angeles just to witness the Hulk stuff his oversized mug with substandard diner fare.

Two weeks out from Samoa - two weeks of very different, yet equally consequential family reunions, of settling affairs that only a forty-eight hour hotseat on every major news channel in the world can cause - and now it was time to get down to business. Hobbs’ CIA friend had promised intel. Shaw may be reluctant to forego his solo status for another team-up with Ms. America here, but he wasn’t an idiot. Information on Eteon didn’t exactly just rain from the sky.

Nine years of hunting the bastards down on his lonesome taught him that much.

Besides: the fact that Hattie’s life wasn’t on the line with this one left Deckard feeling a mite less prickly. Hobbs may be an annoyance, but he's at least a tolerable one.

“Also late,” Hobbs says, glancing down at his watch. Then the man sighs, and rubs at his temples in a way that makes Shaw wonder exactly what he’s getting into, here. “But he’ll probably show up -”

“- fashionably late and with Starbucks? You bet your perky muscled ass I will, Rebecca.”

Deckard startles a little in his seat, because where the fuck did this arsehole just come from, and his hand reflexively slides over the utensils on the table in front of him, but he smothers the instinctive urge to lodge one into the meat of the thigh that's suddenly appeared at his side. The scruffy, grinning man it's attached to seems to catch the movement, from the way his eyes dart down to the table. He shifts, just slightly, away from Shaw.

Smart fucker.

And no sensible shoes, either. That was interesting.

"Locke," Hobbs says, resigned, scooting in to make a little room as Scruffy slides himself into the seat left behind.

"Aw, don't be like that, Becky," the man whines, and Shaw can't help but mouth a bewildered 'Becky?' at Hobbs with raised brows. Hobbs only drops his head and rubs at his temples a little harder. "You know my delicate emotions can't handle the strain."

"You brought Starbucks. Into a diner."

"Never judge a man for his grande quad nonfat one-pump no-whip mocha habit, Lukas. Gosh, have I taught you nothing?"

"I can sincerely say," Hobbs grinds out, and Shaw is somewhat delighted by the disgruntled twist in the other man's features, "that the only thing you've ever taught me is the true meaning of patience."

"Don't you sass your father like this in front of company, young man. Already in the rebellious teenage phase, Christ, they grow up so fast, don't they?"

"Like mold," Deckard drawls. The disgruntlement on Hobbs' face grows deeper.

"Ha," he says, flatly. "What'aya got for us, Locke?"

"Don't rush me, sweetums, I'm famished," CIA titters, enthusiastically waving down one of the bustling waitresses. Deckard's somewhat grateful for it; he'd murder for a coffee, and that wasn't a metaphor. "And, what, no introduction? The manners on you today."

Hobbs sighs. Shaw honestly can't help but be somewhat amused by the balls this bloke must have, riling up the lawman like this. He's not sure quite yet what to think about Chatterbox - intriguing or just downright irritating - but he can at the very least admit that anyone who can put that level of utter frustration into Hobbs' eyes was worth looking into.

"Shaw, meet Locke," Hobbs says, waving impatiently at the agent beside him, who wriggles his fingers at Shaw in greeting while slurping loudly around his straw. "Locke, meet Harry Potter's uglier cousin."

Deckard scowls.

"Well fuck me sideways, but Dudley sure grew up nice, didn't he?" Locke says, and - Shaw’s actually a bit flattered to see the agent’s eyes flick over him lasciviously.

But before he can quite unravel that one, a server appears at the table edge, shooting a wide, familiar smile in Hobbs' general direction. "Can I get you boys anything?"

Locke straightens in his seat. "I'll take one of everything."

"No he won't," Hobbs snaps, smacking the idiot’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

"You're so right, snookums, gotta watch that girlish figure." Locke rubs his arm with a wince, beaming at the woman, who's started to look a bit flustered at this point, poor dove. "I'll take a number two, extra syrup, extra mayo."

She nods slowly, and turns to Deckard, as though hoping to re-establish some sort of normality.

He takes pity on her. "Coffee, thank you. Black.”

"To match his soul," Hobbs mutters around a sip from his own cup.

"To match my shoe," Shaw corrects with a tight smile. "Going up your arse."

Hobbs snorts. "Think you got that one twisted, son."

"Think you might want to start ponderin' the merits of a wing-tipped enema. Son."

"Jesus, you two are adorable," Locke interjects, resting his chin in his hands as the waitress pours out the coffee and shuffles nervously away. "Like some sort of walking, talking, opposites-attract, enemies-to-lovers, sixty-nine kay slow-burn. Is there a kudos button hiding around here somewhere?"

Shaw can't interpret even half of that. He has a strong inkling that he should probably just shoot the man for it anyway.

"You wanna get to the point, chuckles, before I put your head through this table?" Deckard says. He drums his fingers casually against said tabletop, just to make his own point that much clearer.

Entertaining as Hobbs’ little motormouth of a friend has been, Shaw has just spent the better of his last twenty-four hours on a transatlantic red eye: he's exhausted. Even a verbal spar with Hobbs isn't quite giving him the usual spike of adrenaline it deserves. The only thing he wants more right now than the coffee in his hand is his head on the pillow of a hotel room bed, and CIA here was the last obstacle standing in the way of that particular goal.

Not a safe place to be, generally speaking.

"And oddly in sync with your threats, too," Locke muses. He shifts back in his seat, though, and quickly raises his hands in surrender when Shaw leans forward menacingly. "Right, yes, ok, the point! I, ah. I definitely have one of those."

Finally, he digs into the bag at his side, hastily pulling out a few manila files. He slides them across the table towards the two of them. Shaw lets the murder in his eyes simmer down a bit as he snatches up his own.

“So, the Snowflake,” Locke starts. “Turns out the late professor wasn’t the only one with his hands in that diabolical cookie jar - ”

Scruffy keeps talking, but Shaw stops listening the moment he opens up the folder and skims his eyes down the first page.

Oh, shit, he thinks.

His stomach makes a very abrupt descent to his knees.

Because there, tucked under a paperclip in the top right corner, is a set of photographs. Generic, really. Black and whites, likely mugshots from the look of them. A man and a woman - staring straight towards the camera, little smirks nestled in the corners of their mouths like poorly hidden secrets. Shaw’s gaze traces over the sharp curve of a cheekbone, an aristocratic nose.

The faces staring up at him are jarringly familiar, in the worst possible ways.

The kinds of ways, in fact, that suddenly makes it very tempting to get up from the table and walk away, as quickly as possible.

“-ellini and Lilian Nuata,” Locke says, pointedly tapping the photos in his own file, and it’s as though the world’s volume has abruptly turned back up again. Shaw blinks, then snaps his eyes back up to the two men across the table from him. He blanks his face to cool disinterest when he finds Hobbs staring back at him.

Deckard’s not sure what kind of expression worked its way across his face while he took in the literal goddamn nightmare in his hands, but the perplexed look Hobbs shoots him makes Shaw think it wasn’t as subtle as he would have hoped.

"You know 'em?" Hobbs asks.

And fuck, but that's a loaded question. Shaw can feel his face twist like he’s sucked a lemon. It's completely involuntary, and he hates himself for the tell.

“We’ve… met,” he answers, somewhat honestly.

As if 'met' could ever sum up the amount of sheer overwhelming fuckery their run-ins entailed. Shaw covers his discomfort with a fortifying sip of his coffee.

It curdles in his stomach.

"Oh, good," Locke says, almost obliviously cheerful. "Then you probably know just how pants shittingly insane our Harley Quinn and Joker duo here are."

Bit more than you'd think, Shaw muses with faint dread. 

"Nuata's the big brain behind our little Snowflake," Locke continues. "Andreiko may have invented the capsules that carried it, but the whole organ-melting, blood-spitting, eugenics genocidal virus shebang? That's her bouncing bundle of joy." The man takes another flippant slurp of his latte. The sound grates on Deckard's nerves, but he's feeling a bit too numb to give much of a shit about it.

"And Chellini?" Hobbs asks. The lawman's still shooting curious glances Deckard's way, and Shaw figures that's his cue to stop acting the part of nervous wallflower.

"Muscle," he finally speaks up. The word somehow comes out normally, despite the fact that Shaw's throat is feeling drier than the Sahara. "But also happens to have a brain, unlike someone else I know."

Hobbs' semi-concerned expression falls back into an irritated scowl. That’s good. Deckard doesn't need the man's cautious hovering. 

They may have a somewhat decent, if not entirely amicable working relationship now, but Shaw wasn't about to dump his sordid histories into Hobbs' lap. They weren't friends. 

Deckard didn't really know what they were at this point, actually, but it certainly wasn't that. 

"Nuata can take care of herself, but they're… formidable, together," Deckard continues, before Hobbs can open his mouth. "They're sadists. Like to play with their food before eating it."

"And you've… met, huh?"

Something about Shaw's voice must have been slightly off, because the concern is creeping its way back into Hobbs' eyes. It makes Shaw's skin itch in irritation; he's not some child to be coddled and fretted over. Best to cut that nonsense off right here and now.

"Worked with 'em on a job once." Deckard shrugs, nonchalant, and leans back in his seat. "Briefly. Didn't quite appreciate their methods, so we parted ways."

It's the truth, if a heavily edited one. Either way, the mission is accomplished: the concern vanishes immediately.

"Of course you worked with them," Hobbs snorts bitterly. "Looney tunes here sound just your speed. What kind of job they end up luring you in with, anyway? Selling poison to toddlers? Murdering puppies in Tokyo?"

Ah. Well - ouch.

That one hit somewhat closer to home than likely intended, going by the expression of mild regret on Hobbs' face moments after the words leave his mouth. The sting of it is sudden, surprisingly unexpected, and altogether earned, really. It’s an abrupt reminder that even in the wake of Samoa, there’s still a decent amount of unpacked baggage between the two of them. The kind of baggage that comes with literal skeletons in closets 

Or in fiery, crumpled sports cars, smoldering vengefully on a busy street in Tokyo.

Shaw considers himself a reasonably self-aware person; he already knows he's a piece of shit. Doesn't mean he'll tolerate Hobbs shoving his nose into the fact like some misbehaving dog.

"Fucking hilarious," he snaps, narrowing his eyes. "Don't think that's any of your business, is it?" 

He leans forward, and suddenly Deckard finds that he's angry. The irrational kind: no specific target, no specific cause. Angry at Hobbs - angry at Locke - angry at every little shout and laugh in the air of the diner around him. Absolutely, completely, furiously angry that this file, with those pictures, has been dropped into his lap like a fucking grenade when he least expected it.

"You sure seem real interested though, Tiny. Maybe you get off on that kind of thing, huh? Puppy murder? Kiddy killing?" Hobbs' mouth twists, as though he knows he deserves the retort, but that it's pissing him off nonetheless. Shaw smiles grimly. Good. "'Cause I know a few people who could give you some details -"

“Yeah, I’m sure you know plenty of people -”

"Maybe we could table that steaming pile of inhumanity for another day," Locke interrupts suddenly. "Fascinating as getting in touch with our inner Cruella de Vils sounds, we're on a bit of a time crunch, darlings. Your flight to Spain to bag us Bellatrix Lestrang and her boytoy is in five hours, and we’ve still got some ground to cover here."

Shaw cuts himself off, and reigns in the bright spark of rage still flickering in his head. Closes his eyes for a moment.

What is he even doing?

He opens his eyes again, lets them flick back down to the photographs in front of him with the morbid helplessness of watching an imminent disaster just waiting to occur. Knows, with swift clarity, exactly where the anger is coming from.

Tired or not, Shaw’s aware that the abrupt flare of resentment is an unreasonable reaction to what was meant to be an innocuous comment. He attempts to tamp it back down a bit; difficult, with Hobbs’ narrowed-eyed gaze staring at him from across the table, but do-able.

Professional, he thinks. You’re a fucking professional.

"Spain, huh? Always liked Spain. Good memories," Hobbs says suddenly, voice far too innocent to be anything but deadly. Shaw watches with sharp eyes as Hobbs takes a very pointed sip of his coffee, staring Deckard down. The bigger man places the cup back on the table with a quiet thud, and smiles. "Like when we blew up your brother’s plane, for instance."

On second thought, fuck professional.

"Whoa now,” Locke says, hastily grabbing at Shaw’s wrist with a nervous laugh as the Brit's fingers spasm hard around the cutlery on the table in front of him. Lucky timing - Deckard had half a mind to jab the butterknife in his grip straight into Hobbs' hand, crowded diner be damned. “Let’s just take it easy there, Scarier Spice. We’re all friends here.”

Shaw very deliberately glances down at the hand on his arm, before letting his eyes drag back up to the agent’s.

“You’re gonna want to let go of me,” he says, slowly. “Friend.”

The hand is instantly snatched away, with frankly satisfying speed.

“So aggressive,” Locke says with another nervous little chuckle, fanning himself. “I gotta say, the fearboner I’m getting right now? I’m kinda into it.”

The ache in Shaw's temples gives another sudden, violent throb, and - yeah, no.

He wasn’t throwing himself back into the wreckage that was Chellini and Nuata for the sake of the two men in front of him.

Deckard rises from his seat. "Have fun with your little mission, Hobbs. You go enjoy knocking a couple of pissant nobodies' heads together in Spain like a good dog, while I go find some useful intel to work with."

"Yup," Locke mutters quietly. "Definitely aroused in this moment."

"Locke, shut your goddamn mouth," Hobbs snaps. "Shaw, just - sit down."

And oh, but that's rich. "In case you haven't noticed, steroids," Shaw sneers, leaning forward on the table, "you ain't the boss of me."

Hobbs just rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid, jackass. This is our best shot at getting these bastards, and you damn well know it."

The DSS agent leans forward himself, hardly backing down from the challenge in Shaw's eyes. And usually, that would get Deckard going - really throw some fuel on the fire - but now it just makes him hesitate.

"Besides," Hobbs adds, and his mouth quirks up into the beginnings of a wry grin. "Can't knock some pissant nobodies' heads together without my sidekick tagging along."

… goddamnit.

Shaw didn’t feel guilt very often, but Hobbs’ playful, friendly little smile was causing an avalanche of it. He falters; stands at the edge of the booth, half-turned towards the doorway, towards freedom, towards his ticket out and away from not-so-old wounds he’d rather take a bullet to the head for than let Hobbs be an audience to.

But. But.

He also wasn’t quite monster enough to allow Hobbs to wander into that horror show on his lonesome.

Slowly, grudgingly, Shaw sits back down.

He does not flush when Hobbs beams at him like the giant fucking golden retriever he is.

“Wonderful!” Locke says, clapping his hands together cheerfully. “Gosh, isn’t this exciting? It’s like we’re a team. Like the X-men or something. Ooooh, I call Wolverine.”

“Locke,” Hobbs says forlornly.

“Yeah, no, you’re right, Shaw definitely pulls off the brooding loner better. I think I’m more of a Jean Grey myself, too.”

“What’s the plan?” Shaw asks brusquely, flipping open the file again. He slides his gaze past the photos this time, and further on to the information on the page beneath.

The pictures still manage to haunt him out of the corner of his eye.

“They’re holed up in Chellini’s private chalet in Almeria. Real fancy stuff,” Locke says. “These two may be balls to the fucking walls bonkers, but they're not stupid. Guards and security out the ass, I’m tellin’ ya. We’ll need you two to go in, extract them, and maybe not destroy half the city in the process, because Big Daddy Government isn’t thrilled at the thought of covering your usual laundry bill.”

“Get in, get the marks, get out. Simple,” Hobbs says, leaning back in his seat.

“You’re simple. This is not,” Shaw snaps, tapping at the folder. “We need an actual plan, not your usual smash-and-grab theatrics.”

“Pretty sure my ‘theatrics’ are what threw your ass in jail.”

“Pretty sure your incompetence is what got me out of it -”

Somehow, an hour later, the smallest semblance of a strategy comes together. The stability of it helps soothe the tension buzzing at the edges of Shaw’s mind, but even so, it lingers, like a bad taste on the back of his tongue. He traces his fingers along the black and white images in front of him for a brief moment as CIA pays the food bill, before forcefully flipping the folder shut.

"Still one thing I need to get straight,” Deckard says, gaze suddenly pinning Locke to his seat. “You had me fly to Los Angeles, from London - just to fly back to Spain?"

The murder must be back in his eyes, Shaw thinks, because there's certainly a new hint of fear in Locke's.

"Ok, to be fair," Locke starts, edging back in his seat slightly, "one: I didn't actually know you were in London, because two: you're a very naughty, sneaky boy who happens to be incredibly difficult to track down, and did I mention I have a very delicate bone structure?"

Locke's voice climbs increasingly higher as he presses further back into the booth - likely because Shaw was leaning across the table with the intent of strangling him.

“Shaw, stop scaring the rabbit,” Hobbs says, shoving at Locke’s shoulder as the man pushes himself into Hobbs’ space. “Locke, let me the hell out of this booth.”

Shaw slips out of the booth himself, but not without a withering glare in Scruffy’s direction.

They make their way out of the diner, Locke scurrying off with rambling goodbyes that Shaw doesn’t bother listening to, and the sudden wave of heat as he steps out of the doors with another chime of bells above them is almost nauseating. Deckard grimaces at the bright blue sky as Hobbs siddles up next to him.

"You good?" Hobbs says, and bumps his shoulder awkwardly against Shaw's own.

And the move is just - so fucking Hobbs, so endearing (though Shaw would commit a fantastic amount of homicide before admitting that fact), that Deckard slowly, reluctantly deflates. The still-smoldering anger finally winks quietly out of existence, and just leaves him feeling exhausted in its stead. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Fine," Deckard mutters, glancing away with an irritated little sniff. "Just -"

He looks down at the file in his hand. Thinks of the photographs.

Trepidation hits him like a roundhouse kick to the gut. 

"- tired," he finishes dully.

Hobbs pats him on the shoulder with a big hand, and then just. Leaves it there. Like they're pals, or something. Shaw hesitates, but decides not to shrug it off.

It's ridiculous that it helps his nerves somewhat.

"Yeah, well. I've got a guest room, if you need to crash for a couple hours before the flight."

The offer is unexpected - possibly for both of them, going by the slight discomfort Shaw can pick out of Hobbs' posture, and the way he won't quite meet Shaw's eyes after - but Deckard honestly considers it for a moment. 

Only a moment, though. "Already booked a place," he lies through his teeth.

Fat fucking chance he'd be able to get any sembleance of sleep, with images of mugshots seared into his mind. Shaw knows himself; in all likelihood he'll find a place to kip out, with enough caffeine to hotwire an elephant, and drown himself in research for the next three hours.

Preparation never really helped when it came to Chellini and Nuata, but it sure as hell would make him feel less like he was throwing himself into the lion's den. Again.

"Right," Hobbs says. He gives a little squeeze to the shoulder under his hand, before letting it fall back to his side. Shaw refuses to let himself acknowledge that the sudden lack of pressure there is a disappointment, because he's not a fucking child. "I should head out. Gotta find someone to watch Sam while I'm gone."

Ah. The daughter. Strange, to suddenly remember that Hobbs was a man in charge of nurturing something. "Wheels up in four, then," Shaw says, slipping his sunglasses back onto his face in the California sunshine. "Just don't bitch to me about your leg room this time, Gigantor."

"Not all of us suffer from being vertically challenged, short stop."

"Just mentally, in your case," Shaw says, and can't help the corner of his mouth from ticking up slightly at Hobbs' snort of laughter.

“Sure,” the big man says with a huff. “Guess I’ll see you in España, tonto.”

And with that Hobbs walks off with cheery little wave, Shaw following him with his eyes as the lawman hefts himself onto the motorbike and departs with a roar of the engine. Shaw just shakes his head, and sighs.

Chellini and Nuata. Jesus fucking Christ, he thinks.

Well.

If nothing else, at least he'll have back-up this time.

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Spontaneous Attraction Ch. 11

Pairings: Kyungsoo x You, Past Chanyeol x You

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut | Ambiguous AU

Warnings: Drunk sex, underage drinking

Word Count: 3.2k

Description: Rules were made for a reason. It wasn't always to break them.

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The hand on your thigh squeezed as it inched higher. Plush lips moved against yours lazily. Kyungsoo remained seated next to you on the couch, one arm slung around your shoulders. Pulling you closer subtly.

For the past few weeks Kyungsoo had become more comfortable around you. With the secret out he relaxed into himself. He laughed more, talked more about how his days went, made an effort to eat breakfast with you once a week when Chanyeol stopped coming. You had made up with your old friend, but both of you agreed it was best he only see you in group settings for a while. You learned Kyungsoo wore glasses. The next thing you learned was how hot he looked in said glasses. At your insistence that you loved them he began wearing them more around you. He wasn't afraid of speaking his mind. If his schedules changed he would apologize for canceling a date, and one time to make up for it even taught you how to make pancakes. You're pretty sure there would be a stain on the ceiling forever. One of your favorite things, however, was his quick-forming habit of stealing kisses from you.

The first time it happened he said you looked cute. The next, food was on your lip. His explanations grew weaker and more corny as he kept going. The kisses lasted longer, too. His hands slowly started to wander. He would make your head spin and get you worked up only to pull away when your hands slipped along the same path he had on your body. Almost like he was holding himself back. It was like he was testing you. You said you would wait for him to be ready, but his constant almosts made you want him more.

After having a few drinks with you that night he pecked your lips and told you they looked lonely. You both cracked up and joked about how Junmyeon's humor was rubbing off on him. You were tipsy, but the way his eyes swam as they glared at the movie playing on the tv made you think he had less of a tolerance than you. It wasn't even halfway through the film when he had turned his head and kissed the corner of your mouth. It got your attention so he could capture your lips fully.

That's how you ended up with his hand on your thigh, mouth trailing down your jaw to your neck. His tongue darted out to lick your skin before gently nipping it, making you shiver.

"Movie too boring?" you asked in a teasing tone.

"Restless," he mumbled back roughly. When he continued to suck on the same spot you shoved him away lightly.

"You're going to leave a mark." He huffed, but bent his head to do the same thing just above the collar of your shirt. You let out a shaky breath as you rubbed your thighs together, fingernails digging into your palm. Heat creeped down your body and pooled between your legs. He was going to stop soon, and you didn't think you could keep your composure the rest of the movie when he did. He felt your thighs move to press together tightly and lifted his lips to your ear.

"Are you getting turned on by this?" You didn't need to look to know he was smirking. When you didn't answer he gently bit the shell of your ear. "I know you want to touch me." You felt his eyes on you as he unfurled the fist you made in your lap and set your palm on his thigh. You knew you were blushing. Kyungsoo chuckled darkly after you pulled your hand back. "All this waiting and now you're going to make me work for it?"

"You're just teasing me."

"Don't you want to find out?" The hand on your thigh left to turn your face towards him, capturing your bottom lip with both of his. You whimpered in the back of your throat. You'd imagined pinning him down on your sofa and riding him so many times. The alcohol had you caring less if it was only teasing. In a string of boldness you twisted around and straddled his lap, knees digging in to the cushions on either side of his hips. His hands flew to your waist. Kyungsoo broke apart when you grinded your hips down, feeling his growing arousal. He watched you with hooded eyes. You echoed his words.

"Are you getting turned on by this?" You repeated the action a bit harder and heard him curse under his breath. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, lifting the material. You raised your arms for him to finish removing it, the shirt dropping beside him on the couch carelessly. His dark eyes raked in the newly exposed skin before attaching his lips to your collarbone. His movements were more urgent and slightly clumsy. Being further away from where anyone would see a mark if you wore a shirt you let him bite and suck until a deep purple color bloomed. Seeking friction, you kept grinding down onto his clothed member, earning quiet grunts and heavy sighs. His mouth journeyed to the swell of your breast. You were starting to understand he had a thing for biting and marking. You tangled a hand through the hair on the back of his head. There was more to grip since he'd been growing it out. Just this simple friction of his jeans on your core and kissing wasn't supposed to feel this good, was it? God, you felt high. Every sensation doubled across your body. Your skin tingling with electricity. It was hot and it was too much, and you wanted more. When Kyungsoo seemed satisfied with the second mark his lips dragged up the side of your throat. The timbre of his voice was deeper but tender as he sighed,

"Fuck, I want you so badly." Goosebumps followed his fingertips up your spine, stopping at the clasp on your bra. "Can I?" His question came out slightly slurred. A flashback to a similar situation slapped you with reality. What were you doing? You stopped your hips and put your forehead to his shoulder to mutter,

"Shit." Now you were being the tease. You tore his hands from your torso. He looked at you confused as you stood up and put your shirt back on.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No," you answered gently. "I don't think tonight is a good idea."

"Why?"

"You're drunk."

"It was only a few drinks," he tried to brush off. "I can still make rational decisions. You've seen me when I'm actually drunk."

"Doesn't matter." You were going to stand your ground on this one. "It's--" you sighed. "With the chance of this sounding stupid, it's a rule of mine not to have sex if either me or the other person is inebriated. I'm sorry. I really want to, but I can't." Kyungsoo looked off to the side a minute thoughtfully before nodding.

"Okay." You rejoined on the couch beside him.

"Really?" He nodded. "Thank you."

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable." You glanced when he tugged on his jeans and readjusted how he sat, the bulge in his pants still prevalent. "Eyes on the tv, pervert." Your gaze snapped to his and he chuckled. You blushed and did what he said.

"If you want to pretend you need to use the restroom you can, um, go take care of that."

"Thanks for the offer, but I have better self control than that. You'll learn." His voice was full of promises. The response had your imagination reeling, swallowing thickly. He smiled proudly at your reaction and went back to watching the movie. Teasing bastard. He was making it hard to take the higher ground.

That rule stood firmly in your mind, however. Not surprisingly, it came about because of Chanyeol. Neither of you liked to bring it up. It's not like you remember very many details of the encounter anyway. You were impulsive, dumbass teenagers drunk at a party.

It was at a house party. You think it was a friend of a friend's brother's college graduation or something. Didn't matter what the party was for. All you were told was there would be alcohol and all your other friends would be there too. This was right before you started dating Chanyeol. The bass downstairs was giving you a headache so Chanyeol took you to a bedroom on the second floor. The entire night he had been glaring at any guy that danced with you. At one point someone was refilling your drink and Chanyeol swooped over with one already handy. He steered you off the dancefloor and once you told him your head hurt he lead you upstairs. You had never been so unbalanced in your life, and it didn't help that Chanyeol's uncoordinated limbs were in the way. You both crashed on the large bed and you set your drink somewhere. Probably the floor.

"Why are you acting so protective suddenly?" You had questioned. You were still oblivious to his feelings at that point.

"I've always protected you from creeps."

"He wasn't a creep."

"He shouldn't have been touching you like that," he grumbled, pouting. The room swayed so you moved with it to keep it still. You poked Chanyeol's chest.

"What? Jealous?"

"He just wanted to fuck you and leave you like some cheap whore."

"Maybe that's what I want," you countered. His eyes grew wide. "I'm sick of being a virgin. It's nothing special to me. I just want it over with so guys stop running away."

"Run away?"

"The second I tell a boyfriend I'm a virgin he gets scared I'll fall in love with him or hurt me or some other bullshit. The older I get the worse it is. It's just a nuisance at this point. I want to know what it feels like to have sex." Chanyeol shifted and cupped your face, holding you still. His dark brown eyes pierced yours.

"I won't run." It took your brain several seconds to comprehend anything.

"What?"

"I'll sleep with you." You pushed his hand off and pretended to laugh.

"Ha ha very funny."

"I'm serious, dove" he replied. "I know you better than anyone, and then it won't be with some nameless stranger. It'll be someone who cares about you." You squinted your eyes at him suspiciously. "You said yourself it's not special to you. It'll be tonight only and everything will go back to normal."

"Aren't you a virgin, too?"

"Yeah..."

"Well great," you said sarcastically, throwing your hands up. "You'll never get me off."

"I've watched porn and read books and stuff."

"Because porn is exactly what you should be basing sex off of." You rolled your eyes.

"Say yes and I'll prove it."

"Fine," you agreed without thinking. Chanyeol crushed your lips to his and pushed you down on the bed. He tasted like vodka. Your memory was hazy on the details of how he got your clothes off, but you distinctly remember how the bass of the music downstairs pounded in your chest. His mouth closed around one of your nipples and sucked the same time he slid a finger inside of you. You arched off the sheets and moaned. Chanyeol groaned,

"You're so fucking wet. Do you want me that badly already?" You felt yourself stretch as he added a second finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. It was remarkably different from feeling your own fingers, and you suddenly understood why your other close friend was so obsessed with her boyfriends hands. You gasped sharply when he placed a tentative kitten lick to your clit. You hadn't realized he moved down that far on your body. "You have to talk to me, dove. Does it feel good?"

"Yes," you whined, hips bucking up into his hand. Trying desperately for him to reach something you didn't know. "More, please Chanyeol." You knotted a hand in his long, soft hair and urged his mouth down. He licked again. His tongue was so warm. "Keep doing that." He pressed his tongue harder to you, moved in circles, then sucked. Your breath hitched and you let out a loud moan with his name. "Fuck, don't stop. Chanyeol. Please don't stop." He continued to work you with his mouth and fingers. For some reason it didn't feel weird. It should have been weird the guy you grew up with had his head between your legs. Instead there was this blast of adrenaline and excitement. Like you'd secretly been wishing for this to happen. Like he belonged with you. Finally he twisted his wrist and hit just the right spot, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you came around his long fingers. Chasing air back into your lungs, you had to pull his head up and grab his wrist to stop him. "Too sensitive." Chanyeol licked the juices from his fingers, never breaking from your gaze. He sat back on his knees while you watched him undo his jeans.

"I am so glad I got to taste you first," he growled. "I already proved you wrong."

"Don't get too cocky. I can still find that other guy downstairs."

"You're insufferably stubborn," he griped. You giggled and squirmed on the mattress impatiently. He kicked off his pants and boxers at the same time then gripped the collar of his shirt and threw it behind him. You stared wantonly at his lithe frame. How his collarbones stuck out, skin stretched taut over his naturally lanky figure. The little 'v' in his hips and the trail of hair from his navel leading to his hard and leaking cock. A smile formed on your lips and you found yourself thinking, 'finally.' Chanyeol collapsed forward, catching himself on either side of your head, bouncing once on the springy mattress. "Are you sure you're ready?" he asked. You nodded emphatically. Chanyeol looked down and guided himself to your entrance, going back to watch your face as he pressed forward. You screwed your eyes shut and breathed deeply, focusing on relaxing your muscles. At first it was like a slight pressure, but your hand snapped up to his shoulder once the head was in, the stretching unfamiliar. He halted instantly and kissed your forehead. You took another deep breath before nodding.

"Okay, keep going." Chanyeol inched further into you, and you made it most of the way before there was a slight stinging sensation and you hissed, nails digging into his chest and shoulder. "H-hold on. Hold on. Give me a second."

"Are you okay? Did I not do enough?" Chanyeol whispered urgently. You opened your eyes briefly to see him biting his lips hard. He was doing his best to control himself. Two deep, shaking breaths, and you let up.

"I'm okay. I'm okay I promise." He sheathed himself fully inside of you before releasing a breath it seemed like he was holding. The way he stretched and filled your walls took you a minute to adjust to. Chanyeol kept still so you could, peppering kisses along your neck and face. He waited patiently for you to slip your hands into his hair and say, "go ahead, Chanyeol." His hips went back until he was almost all the way out before rocking carefully in again. Chanyeol groaned and dropped his face into the crook of your neck.

"It feels so fucking good." On the second thrust the uncomfortableness went away and spread pleasure all the way to your toes. It wasn't like anything you'd felt before. It was a very specific pleasure unique to connecting your body with someone elses. "It's such an overused phrase, but goddammit you're so fucking tight, dove. So tight and hot and wet and--" Chanyeol's voice caught in a high-pitched whine as you wrapped your legs around his waist. It drove him deeper. Your nails ran down his back as his hips picked up speed. You did your best to match each of his thrusts. Chanyeol was panting. "Does it feel good for you too, dove?"

"Yes," you answered easily. "You feel so good, Chanyeol. Fuck me. Harder, please." He didn't hesitate to give you what you wanted. You called out. There was a familiar tightness gathering in your abdomen. But it felt like more as Chanyeol reached deep inside you. It was going to be more. A fuller orgasm? More intense? Satisfying? You weren't sure, but you wanted to find out.

"That's it, dove. Scream my name so everyone hears how good I'm fucking you right now." Chanyeol lifted his head. Deep brown ringed large pupils, lips red from chewing on them so much. How anyones eyes could look so innocent while pounding into you was beyond you. You were far past the dillusion of purity at that point. Sweat gathered on his forehead, eyebrows furrowing. "Is this not enough?" Without warning he pulled out from you. You whimpered at the unexpected empty feeling it gave you. He flipped you around so you were on your knees, leaning forward on your forearms as he re-entered you with a low moan. He hit a sweet spot and the coil in you jerked tighter.

"Fuck! Right there!" Chanyeol grabbed your hips with bruising strength while he continuously slammed into that spot over and over again.

"You like this better? Isn't this what you wanted? To be fucked like a whore?" You keened into the mattress, fingers grappling at the sheets. You opened your mouth to warn Chanyeol of your peak, but it hit you harder than you anticipated. You were yelling into the covers, quaking and tensing through the rattling pleasure, mind blank. A string of curses left his mouth, hips stuttering. That empty feeling was back and Chanyeol came with a load groan. The sheets were stained and a void materialized inside of you as you returned to reality. His hands were pulling you back against his chest, mouth awkwardly moving on your neck, but you were lonely. The emptiness was more than the absence of his cock. Not even his burning skin and the alcohol you consumed was warming you. The room continued to wobble, thoughts swimming, limbs heavy. You don't remember how you got home.

The sick, dirty feeling that encompassed you the next morning was something you never wanted to experience again. It wasn't that you didn't enjoy it. You couldn't pinpoint why you felt nauseous. It wasn't hangover nausea, either. Something didn't feel right inside of you for the next few days. Some pocket in your gut opened up whenever you thought about Chanyeol's hands on you. Like he took something. Like he still had it and wouldn't give it back. You were fidgety and spaced out constantly. He didn't speak to you for a week. Avoiding you whenever he could.

So you made a rule never to sleep with someone if either of you were drunk. You couldn't risk the regret. You couldn't risk the emptiness coming back. Chanyeol had been your best friend and it almost broke you. You cared too much about Kyungsoo to take that chance. Instead you let the movie finish, and called a cab to take Kyungsoo home.

[lnicol1990]

BatIM - Devil’s Deal - Part 2

For @squigglydigglydoo‘s Toon Henry AU.

You can read the first part here.

You can also read this on DeviantArt.

I hope you enjoy.

Henry was relieved that the hallway was relatively linear, except for the twists and turns of corners. Soon enough, he began to recognise the layout and could make a pretty good guess as to where his destination was.

In some ways, he wondered how he could have thought Joey would have gone anywhere else. Perhaps he was thinking the old director couldn’t have been that obvious. But, as he turned the last corner and slowly approached the room at the end of the hall, he had to sigh quietly as he realised that yes, the director really could be that obvious, that predictable.

There it was.

The Ink Machine.

And there was Joey, fiddling with the controls. The man was frantically trying to activate the beast of a contraption, but, no button he pressed, lever he pulled or valve he spun, nothing seemed to work. It looked like he had tried everything twice because the man suddenly hit the panel hard with a fist and swung a foot at its base, perhaps hoping to kick-start it a bit of violence.

“Having a little trouble?” Henry asked, watching his old friend jump into the air in surprise at his voice. He reached behind himself and pulled out the little, black book. “You always were useless with machines, always needing someone to hold your hand. Someone like me, or Norman… or a demon, in this case.”

He could see Joey eying the book, could see the calculating look. He calmly returned the machine’s manual to his Hammerspace. He wasn’t going to let his old friend get any ideas of fighting him for it and he watched the director’s attention snap back to him.

No… He was looking over Henry’s shoulder…

The animator didn’t even need to turn around. He knew who was there. He could feel the cold breath on the back of his neck, smell the stench of ink. His heart was beginning to hammer in his chest, making his blood –his ink– thunder in his ears.

He had to remain calm. Any sudden movements would undoubtedly spell his end. So, he breathed deeply –trying not to gag on the smell or wince when his side complained, and swallowed the lump in his throat before slowly turning around to face the demon.

While still terrifyingly deformed, Bendy did look better. Henry could still see only one beady eye, but the devil’s face –his whole body even– looked better. His limbs weren’t quite as stretched, his smile was better proportioned to the rest of his face and he didn’t seem to be dripping ink at all.

Even the malignant aura was gone.

Still, the animator backed away slowly from the half-toon monstrosity; he didn’t like the look in the other’s eye, still too wild, unhinged, to be dealt with safely. He ceased his retreat when he realised that he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Joey, and the pair of them shared a knowing, horrified look.

There was no running this time.

“Wha’s the matter?” Bendy asked with a dark chuckle. His voice was still distorted, though not as badly as it had been in Joey’s office. “Neither of ya are getting in on the fun. Oh Boris an’ Alice? We’ve been havin’ loads of fun. I didn’t know they could do half of them gags!”

Henry felt his stomach clench. Had something happened? Were the others…? Had Bendy burst them, or had they simply lost him in the corridors?

“I think it’s my turn, now.” The demon’s smile grew uncomfortably wide again as he reached behind himself. After a moment, a huge mallet was pulled out from behind the devil’s lanky form. He held it in both hands before turning to Henry. “Remember this, old man? How about we do it right, this time?”

Memories flashed through the animator’s mind. For a moment, he could feel the ropes that tied him to that blasted pole. For a moment, he could hear Sammy begging, for Bendy’s approval and then for his life. For a moment, he could he could see the mallet crushing the man, leaving behind nothing but a puddle of ink.

For a moment…

Movement tore him back to the present and he realised that Bendy was bearing down on him, mallet above his head and ready to strike. Instinct taking hold, Henry dove to a side as the hammer crashed into where he’d been standing moments ago. The landing was painful and jarred his side, it almost felt like the wounds had torn open.

The sound of laughter made him look back at Bendy. He was on one side of the demon while Joey was the other, clearly having jumped to safety from the devil’s attack as well. And, like Henry, the director hadn’t managed to land on his feet and was splayed out across the floor, thought he was quicker to sit up.

By the satisfied smirk on the distorted toon’s face, it had been the plan to split them up.

The devil turned slowly to advance on the director, who was trying to inch backwards. Joey scooted back on his rear for a few seconds before turning and scrambling away, only to meet a corner. He looked terrified when he turned back to the demon and all but curled in on himself in the corner, seemingly accepting death but fearful of the send-off.

All the while, Henry could do nothing but stare in horror. His mind was racing, trying to think of a way out –at least, a way that didn’t involve the brutal murder of at least one of them. He staggered to his feet and stumbled forward to the pair. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, to break the fixation between the two, but his collision with the floor had left him winded, and he was still gasping.

Suddenly, Bendy drew his mallet back in what was clearly a killing blow aimed for Joey’s head. The hammer swept past Henry, catching the animator squarely in the gut as it arced upwards. With little else in the way of options, the man held onto the oversized head for dear life as he was lifted off the ground at a fair speed. He felt his stomach lurch as the hammer dropped slightly and then came to a halt.

Finally looking beyond his immediate surroundings, Henry found himself staring at a perplexed and vaguely irritated ink demon –who had clearly startled slightly at the sudden added weight. For a moment, Bendy did nothing but stare. Then, the toon altered his grip on the mallet’s shaft and shook the hammer in an attempt to dislodge the man.

And he shook it hard.

Henry felt his hands slip from the force, but miraculously, he remained attached to the hammer’s head. Without a second thought, he inched his fingers to a more secure hold and wrapped his legs around the mallet, practically tying himself to the oversized weapon.

It was only once he was certain that he was immoveable that he wondered if that had been a good plan.

Indeed, Bendy had waited –almost patiently– for him to make his play, and now huffed exaggeratedly at his choice of action. And without so much as a second thought, the distorted toon continued to mercilessly shake the mallet. The ink demon’s smile almost looked playful for a moment.

After that, everything in Henry vision blurred. The force of the shaking jostled his entire body, returning the sense of nausea to full force. And then he felt it go further. He felt his body lose definition, only regaining semblance at the highest and lowest peaks of the shake, which was now reaching inhuman speeds. Then, his arms and legs began to blur and merge, his upper and lower torso distorted until it was practically flipped, and his head and face stretched to three times its natural length. And finally, his vision returned, juddering to a half dozen positions.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Up.

And.

Down.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t close his eyes. He didn’t even think he could yell out. All he could do was hold on and wait for Bendy to stop and for the gag to end.

Because this was a gag, he realised –not a very fun one from his perspective, but a gag none the less. And from his knowledge as an animator, he understood what his body was doing, what he was going through: his body was smearing to keep up with Bendy’s antics. It wasn’t what he’d call a pleasant experience at all, the feeling of his whole body melting into a blur, disassociating from his real proportions even more than it had to already in this half-toon dimension…

And then it was over. The demon stopped shaking the hammer and the animator felt his body snap back into proper form. His legs, however, felt as solid as water and his grip was as strong as a new-born kitten. As such, he slid off the mallet and landed in an undignified heap on the floor, with the world not quite done bouncing up and down in front of him.

“I… did not order a smear… with that gag,” he groaned painfully. He barely had the strength to lift his arm up in protest, his finger swaying as he pointed up to the ceiling. “Waiter… check please.”

Henry let his arm fall to his side. He lay prone on the floor, unable to do anything but breathe. That gag had been too much –far too much– for him. Too many rules broken, too unreal. It felt like if he didn’t just take a moment to breathe and let his equilibrium restore itself, he’d burst, fall back into the ink and probably never have the right sense of self to pull himself out again.

He could only barely hear Bendy laughing beside him, though the sound was surprisingly helpful. It was real, and it was grounding. And as his vision returned to normal, he saw the ink demon wipe a tear from his one visible eye.

“Man, Henry, you’re a riot!” The distorted toon chortled. “I didn’t know ya could smear. Yer practically a full, bone fide toon!”

Bendy’s chuckles eased as he appraised the animator more carefully. As his eye raked over the man, the demon almost looked concerned for him.

“Although… I think that last one may have been a bit much for ya.” The toon paused and turned back to Joey, who hadn’t moved from the corner he was stuck in. A wicked grin swept across Bendy’s face as he turned back to the prone figure at his feet. “How about ya take a breather, old man. And while yer at it, I can finish up my business and then we can go back to shooting gags and havin’ fun! That sound good?”

Bendy didn’t give Henry a chance to answer and once again began stalking over to Joey, mallet in hand and a murderous glint in his eye. The animator could hear his old boss whimper as his creation drew closer and closer.

The old man knew he had to do something; he had to stop the toon from doing the one thing he knew would destroy the little devil and leave this monstrosity behind. He had to do something –anything– but his body still couldn’t move. But, if he couldn’t do something physically, then… what else could he do?

Henry glanced over desperately to Joey as the director shrank even further into himself as Bendy raised the mallet, ready to strike.

“I’m… the Dancing Demon,” Henry croaked out, barely able to make it sound song-like. God… even trying to speak made him feel like he was going to throw up –or burst. But, if it did the trick, then he could suffer it. He took a few more gasping breaths. “Watch me twirl… and hop… and spin.”

Bendy had paused, frozen in mid-strike. Then, ever so slowly, he turned his head back to Henry and just looked at him. After a moment, he straightened up, facing the animator fully, and dropped the mallet head to the floor with a thud, leaning against the handle.

“Really? That’s what’s ya going for?” he asked incredulously. The demon shook his head. “I mean, if ya really wanted to go for a musical number, yer could at least put some effort into it. ‘Cause I know you can sing.”

“Well, why don’t give it a go… if you think you can do better,” Henry challenged weakly, still struggling to breathe.

“Like I would fall for that,” the distorted toon laughed, in a way that almost sounded good-natured to the animator. Bendy shook his head slowly. “I know what yer thinkin’. Yer thinkin you can trick me into a musical number and run off with ol’ Joey here. Well, it ain’t gonna–”

Henry frowned in confusion as the ink demon stopped midsentence, before hearing floorboard creak. While awkward from his position on the floor, he could see the director behind Bendy on his hands and knees. Clearly he had decided now was the perfect time to try and crawl for freedom, not accounting for creaky floorboards.

Without a second’s hesitation, Bendy reached behind himself and pulled out a large pitchfork from his Hammerspace. Effortlessly, he threw the weapon at Joey, who didn’t have time to flinch, and caught the director by the neck between two of the long, sharp prongs as the tips embedded themselves in the wall.

“Stay put Joey, I ain’t done wit you, yet!” Bendy’s voice distorted terribly as he shouted at the now pinned man. His ink flared up in rage before calming as he turned back to Henry. “Now, what was I sayin’? Oh yeah! You can’t trick me into a musical number.”

“Is that so?” The old man muttered quietly to himself. With effort, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and positioned himself to lean against a nearby pillar. His vision swirled and he took a few seconds to breathe the nausea away before looking back to the toon, who was watching him warily. He smirked at the demon. “Well then, I guess I’ll have to sing it then… off-key.”

“Oh, don’t you dare.” Bendy growled menacingly, his eye narrowing on the animator.

Henry, however, simply smiled at the toon, unfazed by the veiled threat. He cleared his throat as best he could, ignored the feeling of inky bile that kept wanting to rise, and began to sing. If he was being honest with himself, it was probably the best bad performance he’d ever done. He made his notes uncomfortably high, cringingly flat and everything in between. He paused for too long and then not long enough, only barely keeping to a beat, albeit a slower one than the song actually had.

All the while, he kept his eyes trained on Bendy, watching the distorted toon squirm and flinch. He watched gloved hands clench and unclench, but never relaxing as much as before. He watched inky skin bubble uncomfortably. He watched the ink demon almost curl into himself, hands at his head, trying to block out Henry’s atrocious rendition of his debut song.

“Enough!” Bendy roared after the first four lines, almost exploding from the ball he’d been curling into. He stormed into the centre of the room and paced in a hyperactive way. “It don’t go like that, old man! You know that’s not how it goes!”

Henry didn’t respond, letting the demon rant at him, explaining the ins and outs of a musical number and the finer details of a bad singing gag.

“You wanna know how the song goes?” the toon finally challenged. “You wanna know? It goes like this!”

“I’m the Dancing Demon; watch me twirl and hop and spin! I’m quick to give a smile; you should see my happy grin.”

As Bendy sang –perfectly, Henry noted happily– the warped toon also began to move, taping his feet and grooving to the music they both knew went with the song. And as the demon danced, his body began to shrink and his limbs shortened. Slowly, little by little, the distortions lessened and the little toon Henry knew and loved slowly started to reform before his eyes.

“I’ll beam from here to Sunday; and I’ll dance the whole time, too. ‘Cause I’m the Dancing Demon, and I’m having fun with–”

Bendy stilled, his back towards Henry. The little devil didn’t move for what felt like an age before slowly turning round and facing the animator.

He looked normal to Henry, apart from one last bit: his eyes. The toon’s eyes were still wild, beady and off-model. Over the last few days, he could almost say he’d gotten used to seeing his creation in this state –almost. Previously, Bendy had always been angry whenever the animator saw that particular face, but now… Now was different.

“I… I don’t get it,” Bendy whimpered, tears streaming down his face. “Why? Why go through all this trouble… for him? Yer almost fallin’ apart, ol’ man. Why would ya do that ta yerself?”

“Who said I did this for Joey?” Henry chuckled weakly as he straightened himself against the pillar he was leaning against. He watched the little devil stare back at him, not understanding, looking more lost than he had during the acetone incident. It broke the man’s heart. “I couldn’t let you go through with it. You wouldn’t have come back to us, if you had.”

“Come… back?” the toon echoed. His eyes dashed wildly in every direction, seeing nothing, as he was clearly trying to catch his racing thoughts. “I– I was– I was gonna… was gonna…”

The animator said nothing. There was nothing he could say, he knew that. All he could do was sit there, letting his own body finish settling back into some semblance of solid matter while Bendy sorted himself out.

A quick glance at Joey told him the director wasn’t going to be a problem in these next few moments. The older man had stilled completely, neck still caught between the pitchfork prongs, and seemed barely able to lift his gaze from the few inches past his feet.

Henry turned back to Bendy when the toon collapsed into an undignified heap, sitting down with his legs out in awkward angles. Even from where he was still resting, he could see the little devil shaking. He frowned worriedly as he noticed the demon’s ink beginning to run and bubble.

“I was gonna… why was I gonna… Toons– Toons don’t do that!” Bendy shrieked in horror. He giggled –quietly at first, but the sound quickly got louder and more panicked, more hysterical. The toon held his head both hands, his grip looked so tight Henry was sure the ink demon was hurting himself.

And then Bendy went silent. His hands dropped to the ground as he finally looked back to the animator.

“I ain’t really a toon, am I?” The little devil’s voice was soft and level as he spoke. His face was blank as he stared at the old man. “I’m real, like you. I’m– I’m a real demon. I…”

Bendy trailed off, though Henry suspected the little guy had nothing more to say. He quietly watched the ink creature wrestle with this newfound realisation, waiting for the questions he knew were coming.

But after a few moments of silence, the animator noticed the demon was changing again, elongating… distorting. But unlike previously, where there’d always been a toony element to his body, the ink was turning sharp –bony, almost. Protrusions started forming at the devil’s ribs, hips and spine, while ink began to creep down his face again.

Henry had to do something.

“Why can’t you be both?” he asked, his voice gentle. A rush of relief flooded him as he saw Bendy pause, his new, terrifying transformation frozen in the moment. When the demon looked him in confusion, he shrugged nonchalantly before continuing, internally grateful that he was still being listened to. “Real… Toon… Who says you have to be one or the other?”

“But… how can I be both?”

Bendy’s question almost felt rhetorical, as if there wasn’t meant to be an answer. His tone certainly implied that he felt there wasn’t one to be given.

It made Henry chuckle.

“Don’t you get it, punk?” He smiled with the insult he’d once hurled at the toon before him –an insult he now said with affection. “You’ve always been both; you just never noticed it.”

“But I can’t be two things!” the toon protested.  He pointed a gloved hand at the animator, which was slowly reverting back to its on-model appearance. “You’re real and you’re not two things.”

“Of course I am.” Henry frown, a little confused as to how Bendy had reached that assumption. “I’m real, but I’m also a toon –at least, for now. But I’m more than that, too. I’m an artist, an ex-soldier, a mechanic working in a garage, and the unofficial handyman of my apartment block. And, I’m lots of different things to different people.”

“That’s not the same. That ain’t what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Yes it is. No one is just one thing to everyone,” the animator explained. He raised a hand and gestured to the toon. “Yes, you’re a real demon… but you’re a cartoon too. You’re Boris’ best friend but Alice’s boyfriend. And Sammy might have worshiped you as a god, but Suzie thought you were evil incarnate. And Joey…”

Henry trailed off, glancing in the direction of his old friend. The director tensed at his mention and finally looked up at his ex-colleague. Joey’s expression was surprisingly calm, with no trace of the previous distain he’d held towards Henry.

The man looked like he was waiting for his damnation.

“Joey… You were his every hope and dream,” Henry said finally.

His words didn’t feel enough to him, an inadequate description, but it was probably the best he could manage. Bendy seemed to accept it, though, by the way he was absentmindedly nodding his head.

“What about you?” the demon asked after a couple of seconds of contemplation. “What am I to you?”

“You’ve been quite a lot of things to me.” Henry dodged the question, unsure of how much he wanted to admit. However, the desperate look in the toons eyes made him sigh in defeat. He glanced over to a tattered poster of the little devil, and sighed again, reminiscently this time. “I can still remember showing Joey my first drawing of you, telling him that… this is a character people are going to love. And I was right, you were an instant hit.”

He paused, once again hesitant. Looking over to Bendy, he realised that the toon closer than he had been previously. The little devil hadn’t changed the way he sat, as if he’d simply scooted or dragged himself across the floor towards him, inching closer to the animator. Although he had frozen the moment the old man had looked at him.

Well, if he didn’t want Henry to watch him…

“I think your debut was the proudest moment of my life.” He looked back to the old poster. “And now, I’m here and… and I don’t know. I created you in the first place, so I guess I should think of you as my child, but– but that doesn’t sit right with me. Maybe if I’d been here thirty years ago, I could think like that, but it’s far too late now. I’m far too late for that sort of thing. But I still feel responsible for you, and the others. I feel responsible for making sure you’re all okay, so… what does that make me? I don’t know.”

From the corner of his eye, Henry could see that Bendy was an arm’s length away now. He could reach out and grab the toon, draw him into a hug, if he wanted to –God, he wanted to. But he stayed still and kept his hands to himself, feeling that the little devil wasn’t ready for that sort of contact, not yet, at least.

“I suppose we could agree to be… some abstract idea of a parent and child, or maybe a ward and guardian.” He turned back to Bendy, who was once again on-model except for his eyes. The animator gently reached out to the toon, stopping just short of the demon and offering and open hand. He told himself not to take it personally when his old creation flinched. “How about we go for friends, for now? ‘Cause the beauty of being real is that we can always change our minds later if we don’t think that fits.”

Henry waited as Bendy looked at him, focus bouncing between the animator’s face and his outstretched hand. Slowly, the toon started to calm down properly, his eyes turning from wild and beady to the regular pie cutout look –albeit half the size they should be and still with an off-model ring.

Eventually, Bendy took Henry’s hand, the weight behind the gesture tangible. He held the toon’s gloved hand tightly for a moment before releasing it. He rose to his feet –unsteady for a moment– and gently helped the little devil stand as well. And then, with a protective, comforting hand on the back of the demon’s head, he guided them out of the room and off to find their friends.

Joey was left behind, forgotten.

---***---

Henry looked up from the book, watching the toons quietly talk amongst themselves. It had taken him and Bendy half an hour to find Boris and Alice, and then another half hour to calm Bendy down again.

At least this time, it had been tears over scaring them.

Henry sighed and looked back down at the page he’d been reading. The Illusion of Living was far from the most engaging book he’d ever read, but he was glad that he had done it. It had been… informative, in more ways than one.

“Somethin’ up Henry?” Boris’s voice made the old man startle slightly, unaware that the toons had been keeping an eye on him, like he had them.

Wordlessly, the old man gestured for them to join him.

“Before I start, did you want to look through this, Bendy?” Henry asked, offering the black book to the toon. When the little devil looked at him confusedly, the animator grimaced slightly. “It’s Joey diary, for lack of a better word. It’s got all his dealings in there.”

“You mean his deals with me,” Bendy clarified, his voice flat. The toon stared at the book for a moment before shaking his head, pushing the book back towards Henry. “Whoever I was, then, I ain’t him now. Besides, I don’t think I’d trust Joey to be very fair in his, uh… description of me.”

“Fair enough.” Henry nodded understandingly, opening the book up again to the page he’d been reading. “Well, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you three. I don’t think Joey was bluffing when he said we couldn’t leave.”

“What?!”

“Are you serious?!”

“No!”

The toons stared at Henry, aghast at the declaration. As they moved their focus from him to one another, the animator could see horror taking root in their expressions.

“From the deals he made with… the demon before Bendy, it doesn’t look like he ever made an agreement for this place to have a way out,” the old man explained, catching the toons’ attention again. “But, we may be able to work around it.”

“How’d ya figure that?” Boris asked, tilting his head.

Henry didn’t answer. Instead, he looked pointedly at the smallest toon and watched Bendy’s face fall in understanding.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, old man.” The demon frowned worriedly, shaking his head. He fidgeted with his hands, a nervous habit Henry hadn’t seen from the toon before. “I– I don’t remember any of the deals I made with Joey. I’m not sure I could change them… without breakin’ something.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to change the deal you made with Joey,” Henry assured him. He knelt down and laid a hand on the little toon’s shoulder. “I think it would be our best bet if we made our own deal.”

“A- Are ya sure?” Bendy continued to look uncomfortable at the idea. “I mean, I don’t even know how it works. I– I don’t remember any of it. I just know toon stuff, not any of this occult shtick!”

“Easy punk, calm down.” Henry moved his hand to the demon’s head, noticing the little devil was starting to hyperventilate. He gently stroked the toon’s forehead with his thumb, watching him sympathetically. “I know this is a lot to take in. God knows I haven’t; I’m just rolling with it at this point. But if we want out of here, I think this is our only option.”

Bendy continued to breathe heavily for the next few moments. When he finally did start to calm, the animator could see the toon’s thoughts were racing, perhaps trying to find an alternative –any alternative. Eventually, the demon closed his eyes and, after a deep breath in, he nodded.

“Do you know how we do it?” he asked, opening his eyes and looking solemnly at the old man.

Click for  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S1 Ep 43: Mokuba Simply Has No Survival Instincts

While it surely wasn’t intentional, since the 00′s hadn’t finished their course at the time this show aired, the storyline of Kaiba, the moodiest millennial of them all, the boy who works his ass off, wins every award, studies hard, and then fails at every aspect of his life when he actually goes out to try and get his career on track is just so very millennial. It’s a pretty familiar story--trained to be a shark in a small swimming pool, dreams as big and high as the moon, but occasionally completely disconnected with what’s going on around us because we’re trapped in some MMO videogame. Again.

We’ve already had quite a few episodes that dove into Yugi’s psyche, including one where we literally walked through his labyrinth brain full of traps and real legit problems as he said “nonono this is all really just fine.” But, this is an arc that’s all about Kaiba, who is about to be devoured by the same insane pipe dream ideas he worked so hard to create.

Mai and Joey suddenly realize who the other is and then just decide “youknow lets not duel” and I praised the sun because how pointless would that have been?

The Mokuba orange text is very close to the Joey yellow. Sorry if any of you are colorblind, I never realized that Mokuba would have so many speaking lines when I started this. Maybe I’ll make him a light blue at some point?

I know I titled it as Mokuba has no survival instincts but honestly it’s every single person on this show.

(read more)

I only say I’m too afraid to check the skyrim mod forums because most those mods are a little too kinky for me.

Like...

Why didn’t Bakura use THAT card back on the island? Holy cow. It’s a good thing Joey isn’t cursed with the ring because everyone would be very super dead.

So they trot along across the desert and not much happens. I guess a sand worm or something? It’s just a desert.

And like do I even need to make the obvious joke or is it already--

No, not yet.

Anyways, what’s at the other end of the desert, hm?

We are SO CLOSE to finishing this season how is there ANOTHER MAZE!? There’s only like 6 episodes left we could have been maze free I just...whoever was in charge of maze design for this show worked overtime.

God bless, storyboarder. This is a frame I caught completely by accident--most people would not be able to notice that Joey just takes two hands--one on Yugi’s head, the other on his chest and just pushes him completely over like he’s one of those roly-poly toys.

The hell Mai? She is the age to date Joey’s Dad.

This labyrinth is different than Yugi’s, in that it is crowded by a bunch of huge inconvenient tanks that all want to kill them for some reason. I have no idea how any of these tanks ever turn a corner.

Mazes seem to be the most boodthirsty thing in this universe--can’t pass through a maze without every law of physics/tanks wanting to murder the hell out of you

Imagine the David Attenborough documentary on this family of wild tanks.

And then this weird thing happened--as if we weren’t already seeing the weirdest collection of things that Kaiba chose to focus on in this magical world where he could have made anything else happen.

It’s Marie Antoinette Mokuba. She’s just here. To exist.

Speaking of bad ideas, Kaiba is getting crucified.

Every anime ever made just acting out the Passion for kicks and giggles, it ain’t even Easter yet.

So quick side story about bad ideas and stuff, because sometimes we spend YEARS of our lives trying to make something that is not very good work and it just doesn’t--it just doesn’t happen. I work in freelance so I see that a lot. I see it happen to other people, I’ve seen it happen PLENTY to myself.

I knew this guy, I’ve known him my whole life (and he’s way super old so he won’t read this blog) and for the entirety that I’ve been alive he’s been trying to make an operating system to compete with Windows. Now I’m from the Bay Area, so this isn’t SO weird. There’s this whole crazy world outside of Linux where everyone and their mule is making an OS that will change the Silicon Valley landscape and make them the next Bill Gates. It’s kind of like “here’s my neat app idea” but like 2 steps more ascended.

For about 40 years, this guy has *and still is* making this OS. 40 years. But his OS is now like 40 years behind the times because he never released it in any form because it wasn’t done yet, it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t ready.

One of the most important things I’ve ever learned is that whatever you may be working on right now will not be your Magnum Opus. It just won’t. So finish whatever you’re on and move on to the next thing. When I was told this, I was working on my first comic and although I wasn’t really aware--it was hella not great. But, it was a story I grew up writing, so I was hella attached to it. So, it could never be perfect. It mattered so much to me to get it right, and I was so worried about what other people would think, that I worked on it for about 4 years before I ran into the OS guy and I realized “I need to just post this and move on or this will be my endless OS”

Like, this is all a silly story of climbing through Kaiba’s bad fiction, but sometimes our simple ideas can turn into parasites, and we become so obsessed with them, that our good efforts are robbed of ever getting a chance to finish something good. Like this is Kaiba’s one big huge sprawling terrible video game idea and all of his friends and his brother are here to basically give him an intervention. Also to save him from the guys who are still heading Kaiba corp for some reason.

Anyways, now these guys are in a generic carriage because they got to the Camelot section of Kaiba’s cyberworld because this boy could not focus on one single genre.

Whatever because inside this castle is DINNER

The vague orange oblong fruit is back! The gravity melons! We still aren’t sure what they are--because they could be mangoes but they’re orange like oranges. huh...

Anyways, it’s about time for this show to get dark.

So this is a game mechanic of playing the card game Yugioh--so like...it actually does make sense why it’s here but like. This is just medieval The Lottery, huh? Is Kaiba getting ritually sacrificed by his own video game? Ritually sacrificed WHILE getting crucified? For a DRAGON? It’s like right in front of him that his Dragon Obsession has maybe gone too far but I assume that once this is over he’ll be right back on ship dragon.

I just like to think that, for the past few years, Kaiba’s just been drawing birds and medieval stuff in class and being all “it’s going in my sweet ass video game, Joey, it’s not a princess, it’s Princess Atena, and she’s gonna get sacrificed to satisfy the Mythic Dragon” but none of his classmates ever remembered any of this lore because their brains kept getting wiped by some Season Zero Pharaoh nonsense.

This color scheme on the walls is just...that’s lime green and lilac all right.

Anyway, how generic 90′s fantasy anime can we make the armor here?

None of them use swords.

Scratch that--Pharaoh would know how to use a sword. For the rest of them the weapon seems kind of moot because they’re all card wizards?

So off they go, Joey in a minidress made for...breastfeeding? I guess? And the rest in matching armor suits. Seems like Kaiba’s game is programmed to recognize and harass Joey just as part of it’s core code.

OH.

So there was a lot of buildup to that happening and I blinked and missed it and had to rewind, it happened so quickly.

Man if they had just stayed indoors none of this would have happened.

So Mokuba is in a 7 layer ballgown for the rest of this show right? I feel like the hoop skirt would make it very difficult to get crucified in. So, at least he has that.

As they bring this ancient bird to life with the time card, we get to see what Tristan and Tea have been up to--mostly just pushing stuff.

So when Tea does ballet she’s on the bottom just tossing everyone else around, right? That girl is jacked.

So, that was a lot of random things in succession--Next week, on Yugioh:

Does Kaiba turn into a dragon, finally, like he’s always wanted? Will the next environment in this randomized video game land them right in the middle of a Fallout Post-Apocalypse? Or will it be in the middle of a Petz kitten-adoption center? Or, will it be the ultimate challenge for these kids--in a Japanese High School visual novel sim where they actually have to attend class?

[simmancy]

I was wondering how you first started your berry legacy? Did you make a new simblr for it? How did you first start posting and getting into a routine? I really want to make a legacy myself but i'm scared that it would look really mediocre and unorganized! Any tips on how to plan out the storyline and start posting? Thank you!! (asking this to a few different blogs so sorry if yo see this question somewhere else)

I’m honestly super honored that you’re asking me! I’m still a pretty small simblr compared to a lot of people.

I’m going to put this under a cut, just so it doesn’t clutter up people’s dashes because I RAMBLE (like seriously, I’m re-reading it all now and I go on and on and on) but I’m gonna cover everything you asked!

TL;DR: get mildly inspired, get involved in the community and have fun with it!

I cannot recommending creating a new blog enough. While it’s definitely easier to just create a sub-blog off your personal, you’ll have a harder go at keeping things separate once things take off. Plus then you probably won’t have ALL your million tumblr things that you’re already following mixed in with your sim stuff, making things so much harder to follow.

Once you start your simblr (whether a sub-blog or whole new tumblr), TAG EVERYTHING. XKIT SAVES LIVES. Not really, but it will save you a lot of time once you install the Quick Tags and make tag bundles. Seriously.

At least once a day, a “reblog if you’re a maxis match simblr” thing comes across my dash–don’t be afraid to reblog those when you’re starting out. (Or the alpha equivalent if that’s your thing).

Seriously, don’t be afraid to reach out to people and get involved. Ask for sim requests, reply to things, join a Discord server–don’t be afraid to talk to people! I’ve actually made a few good friends this time around. It’s awesome.

This is just one of the unfortunate realities about things–if your pictures look good, you’ll get noticed quicker and blah blah. You can get by on just writing, but it’s a lot harder. This is still tumblr. It’s microblogging. LOOOOONG text posts (like this one lmao) are not what it’s geared towards.

Anyway. I play TS4 on Ultra, and that does a lot of work for me. Sometimes all you really need to do is sharpen and brighten things up. Reshade is another good alternative, if your computer can handle it–that takes a lot of the decision making out because it edits for you! I used to use PickyPikachu’s reshade presets. The downside is that it’s pretty resource heavy.

The basic point here is that having good lookin’ pictures goes a long way to making your stuff look “not mediocre.”

Also, and this is a side thing–find a good theme for your simblr, something that looks good for both text posts and pictures, probably something with either a sidebar or header (or both).

This is the meat of the section and it’s all really Kit/Pastille-specific.

I started up the Pastel Pastilles because I saw Berry’s challenge–I had already read Splash of Color a long time ago, and had a (now obviously abandoned) TS3 rainbowcy. But TS4 was fun and ran like a beast and I liked berry sims, so I dove in. If you were to go back in my archives, though, you’d see that I started posting a TS3 LEPacy, and that’s not even my first one.

I’m not going to even talk about the Grims in this post, since they’re really new. But they’re a prime example of using community involvement to stay interested haha. I’m very excited to play with Ruby and her future family because of all the nice sims people sent for her to eat alive become friends with. 

Planning with the Pastilles

With the Pastilles, I honestly got a little tipsy one night and did my initial planning based around Halsey’s Hopeless Fountain Kingdom. Like… Not even gonna lie. That was honestly my starting point. You can almost see hints of this in some places. From there, I had certain scenes I wanted to hit.

Gen 1 - Luna - “Hopeless”; it’s about being in a shitty relationship and hoping that changes lmao (“I hope hopeless changes over time”). Luna and Dianthus were meant to have a much more obviously toxic relationship but Luna ended up having four kids by her second pregnancy and I just couldn’t play and write that fast. However, I always knew that Luna’s big moment would be telling Dianthus to get out.

Gen 2 - Verity Vine - “Now or Never”/“100 Letters” - There are a couple things that have stayed consistent in this gen: Veri and her dreams, the peach spouse’s dad was gonna be a dick and they would be separated for years, and they were gonna hook back up at a wedding. 

My very first concept was that Riesling was going to be a bit more wishy-washy and bend to his father’s will (hence “Now or Never” being the song). By the middle of the generation, it was clear that Veri would become the distant one (“he said ‘please don’t go away,’ I said ‘it’s too late’”).

Part of writing a sims legacy sometimes is… letting the sims do the writing for you. Meri and Forest weren’t supposed to be the ones getting married (it was supposed to be Chai Tea and Black Cherry) and they definitely weren’t supposed to have the twins but honestly the story is better for it, you know? And obv most of Veriling’s story isn’t the way I initially planned.

All this said, once I knew where I wanted the story to go, I knew I wanted to plan around a few set-pieces: the fountain scene where Riesling trips onto Veri and she realizes “OH SHIT,” the scene where Eiswein walks in, Punk!Veri’s “I don’t dream at all anymore,” and Riesling’s “Hi, I’m Riesling Puck, you might recognize me from your dreams.” Those were all scenes I knew I HAD to get.

Gen 3 - ??? - “Angel on Fire” - it’s about anxiety lmao so I don’t mind linking it, it’s pretty obvious. Gen 3 has an anxious heir, a song about anxiety was on the nose.

I don’t really recommend the getting tipsy part, but definitely do recommend going in with a basic concept.

The cool thing about challenges is that you already have the guidelines as a starting point. One of my favorite parts about this challenge in particular is seeing how people re-interpret the rules–for instance compare the Gumdrops, Frosts, Amours, Pastilles, Fairyflosses, Prisms–we all started from the same basic rules and there’s still a lot of variation, especially once you get past the initial introductions.

Also, SERIOUSLY: don’t be afraid to take inspiration from crazy places–a song you heard on the radio, a movie, your own life, whatever. Like, I decided Veri’s generation would have it’s first Act at Oxtail University because of the “dream of ivy covered walls and smoky french cafes” line in “Beautiful” (from the Heathers musical). The song otherwise has VERY LITTLE to do with Gen 2. It’s just that line became a starting point for me.

Keeping Things Lookin’ Snazzy with the Pastilles

Looking back, you can kind of see Gen 1 was a bit brighter and lighter/different in editing style than Gen 2. I purposefully set out to get a “dreamy” feel for Gen 2′s pictures. It works for me and the Pastilles–it might not for your legacy! Play around with things to see what works.

I’ve also noticed a lot of banners nowadays (they weren’t as big my first go around here on simblr, but they’re everywhere now). I think that helps to keep things “on brand,” organized and consistent too. I personally don’t use a banner for the Pastilles–I didn’t start with one, and now it looks super wrong to me when I try to use one…. So instead, I’d recommend looking at @frost-rainbowcy–she is SUPER on-brand. I can only aspire to reach that level of #a e s t h e t i c.

HOWEVER, I do keep everything on my blog hyper-organized–there’s a main page where everything’s pretty much linked, and the character page. 

TBH, you don’t need to go that in-depth. I just like leaving weird easter eggs in places. You might too.

Posting Consistently

So, I started posting the Pastilles officially almost a week after I made the first post with Luna. That’s because I played a BUNCH right at the beginning, so I’d have something consistent to post for a while. It wasn’t initially as story-heavy as it is now. That’s something you probably want to decide before you start posting.

Right now, I’m posting inconsistently because I’m trying to wait around for Cats and Dogs and not give into the temptation to give Veri and Ries the babies they keep wishing for, but….

I’m in game almost every day–I get off work most days between 2 and 4 now, so by 6 PM I’ve eaten/showered/started up TS4. Even if it’s just to make a sim for someone.

I tend to do all my picture editing on Sundays, as it’s my day off. Sometimes it bleeds over into Monday, my other day off. I don’t always write posts up those days, but I at least stick them in the queue so they’re THERE. For me, it helps giving myself that weird deadline lmao

As a result, I almost always have something queued up.

I utilize the queue like MAD. Right now it’s set at 6 posts a day between 3 PM and 12 AM EST, but I change it up depending on what I have going on and what I can crank out. Usually I leave it on 13 posts a day.

Basically, learn what works for you. It does take some trial and error, but you’ll get it eventually.

Now here’s the real truth: you won’t post consistently if you don’t love your game or your sims.

I love playing the Pastilles as much as I love writing them. To the point that I have them backed up in several places just in case. I’m genuinely attached to the family, and that makes it worth it to me. Sometimes that doesn’t happen immediately (I love Luna, and Vino, and even Dianthus that shitbag, but you can tell that I got invested with Veri and Ries–Gen 1 is 30 pages long on my blog. Gen 2 is 92 and counting).

Storywise, I stay interested because I love the fluffy romance bits and snappy dialogue as much as the Drama Bombs, and also (spoilers) I’m a sucker for supernatural stuff. So I tailored my legacy to fit that.

But when I don’t want to play sometimes I just go in game, grab a few pictures of them in CAS and redo the character page for the 25th time. And that’s okay too. I just always try to make sure I have something to post, even if it’s a small (even if it’s just Riesling’s face. Because I know that’s what y’all want. It’s cool. I get it).

I seriously rambled a lot, but I hope this helps!! Once you get started, please let me know too! I’m rooting for you, non, and any nons to come after you.

[oncethrown]

Female Shadowhunters Characters in Order from Most to Least Interesting

(and who are in more than one or two episodes and have more lines than can be counted on one hand)

1. Maryse Lightwood

Maryse used to be a Circle Member, but turned herself and her husband in, betraying her leader and all of her friends in order to save her son. Then she was banished from her home coutnry, but somehow still became a high ranking member of the government she once tried to overthrow, and rebuilt her life around rigidily following that government’s rules, while no one in her family-- the only thing she has and what she gave up everything for-- manages to follow those same rules, affecting her standing in a society she once rebelled against but now mindlessly clings to. She is occasionally summoned to/ imprisoned in that country, while her marriage falls apart and she tries to maintain her relationship with her children, and fucks it up royally, because of both the clave, and the predjudices that brought her into the circle. 

Show taking advantage of this? Meh. Sort of. Introducing Aldertree was fucking pointless when they had Maryse to work with, and condensing her and Alec’s huge amount of baggage and conflict and the actors chemistry into a side plot halfway through the season was an idiotic move. 

2. Lydia Branwell

Ambitious, kind, calculating and tender. Lydia wants to run and Institute an work her way up the Clave ladder. She takes her duty as a shadowhunter very seriously, but is still unsure of the Clave’s methods. She agrees to torture Seelies on Clave orders, but that speaks out againt it in court, in front of a super high ranking official. Her fiance who she was deeply in love with died, and she dove into work, but was prepared to marry Alec in order to get the institute, knowing that he’d never love her, and the relationship would never be real. 

Show taking advantage of this? NO! WHERE IS LYDIA?! I love her and I want her back!

3. Jocelyn Fairchild

Ran away from the circle and her lunatic despot husband to make a new life in the mundane world with her daughter. Stole a super important artifact and still evaded the clave and the circle for two decades. Plays the loving mother perfectly, and still manages to pull the strings of everyone around her, (Magnus, Dot) even those that she loves (Clary, Luke). Just as blinded by duty as Maryse (trying to kill Jace) but coming at it from such a different perspective. 

Show taking advantage of this? Actually they were doing a good job until they killed her off to goose Alec’s plotline, which didn’t need goosing.

4. Maia Roberts

Has gone through mysterious bad shit, but is now relatively healthy and well adjusted (taking into account the very low bar this show sets for that). Has enough standing in the pack that Raphael is willing to listen to her. Takes matters into her own hands. Is willing to do what needs to be done when it’s brutal (kill Clary), and when it’s smart but goes against her feelings (send Simon into Clary’s arms). Willing to do what the security of the pack demands (kill Jace) and stands up for herself (not taking Jace’s shit at the bar), but can also graciously admit when she was wrong (talking to Jace at Magnus’s party) Generally the most well rounded and human-feeling characters on the show.

Show taking advantage of this? Sort of. She’s only been in a few episodes and while she shines in all of her scenes, she also ends up taking a lot more shit from Luke than makes sense, and I have a feeling we aren’t going to get a good coda on how amazingly shitty Luke treated her in the end of 2A. But her scenes with Simon and Jace give the show the breathers it deperately needs-- moments where we get to love the characters instead of just watch them sprint through all the plot hurdles. 

(unrelated thought, I love her 70′s vibe)

5. Season 1 Isabelle Lightwood

Brilliant, sexual, emotionally vulnerable, and not afraid to loudly be all of those things at the same time. Loving to the point that she sacrifices herself for others, but never a doormat. She starts converting herself into her the daughter her mother wanted in order to redirect parental pressure from Alec while he’s going through something, because she loves him more than anyone. She risks seriously fucking everything for Meliorn, and then stands up straight at her trial, proclaming what she thinks is right, while having Magnus Bane represent her, for just that extra dash of “Fuck You”

Show taking advantage of this? (See Season 2 Isabelle Lightwood)

6. Iris Rouse

Several centuries old warlock decides to get proactive about the fact that warlocks can’t reproduce themselves. Very much an echo of Valentine. Lives in a horrifying rape camp that she maintains herself... very caring with her young warlocks, and not just in a “ah yes, you will increase our numbers”  way, but in a taking them to the park and clearly loving them way. Immediately willing to do what it takes to further her own agenda, whether that’s trick Clary, or do valentine’s bidding... but still decides to go all out in a wierdly vicious way just to trick magnus into revealing the location of his spell book. 

Is the show taking advantage of this? I was actually surprised at how well the show used Iris to bump the 2A plot along. I think she’s served her purpose, and is probably gone forever now. 

7. Cleophas Graymark

Always believed in the circle, but hides out as a badass weapons nun, finds out her old leader is out there, murders her way out of the nunnery, joins his team but IMMEDIATELY turns on him when he finally goes a bridge too far, because she truly believes in the glory of heaven. Particularly interesting when you imagine her and Maryse Lightwood (who believed in the glory of Valentine) as compatriots.

Is the show taking advantage of this? Sort of. She was another plot-point only character, just like Iris Rouse... but she was interesting and also opened up the Shadowhunter world a little bit in a show that suffers from outrageously shaky world building. 

8. Rebecca Lewis

Lawyer, recovering alcoholic and widowed mother, who raised and upstanding kid like Simon, and does her best trying to take care of him, and find help for him when he starts acting wierd beyond her understanding. 

Is the show taking advanatage of this? She’s a very solid supporting character who is used well. As far as character meeting plot, Rebecca Lewis may be the most solidly written character on the show. 

9. Season 2 Isabelle Lightwood

Refusal to look weak ends with her unknowingly entrapped by Clave bad guy. With minimal effort, manages to trick the whole institute, and Magnus, into believing that Aldertree has given her a special mission, and then finds an extremely rapey and poorly written way of getting her fix without Aldertree, only to have him try and buy sex from her, with drugs as currency, not knowing that she’s already coercing someone she has an undue amount of power over into drug/sex. 

Is the show taking advantage of this? Nope. Season 2 Isabelle Lightwood is the shows second biggest failure (right after the way the Malec first time was handled). Nothing she does ties into the main plot in any significant way. Even the fight she causes between Alec and Magnus has no lasting repercussions, or emotional weight. It seperates Emeraude Tobia from everyone she plays well against, and traps her in a pointless and racist plot line, which plays into none of Emeraude’s strengths, and makes her look like a worse actress than she really is, which we know from season 1. 

10. Clary Fairchild

Everything that Clary does is caused by her doing something that she was just told not to do. This can be interesting when it’s stuff like “Don’t befriend downworlders, they can’t be trusted”, but it’s way less interesting when it’s something we all know is stupid (don’t try to raise the dead) over and over again. Characters who act as though they don’t have even the vaguest sense of what genre they are in aren’t interesting. She’s also just as manipulative as her mother, but is never called out for it and the writers are failing to give her meaningful relationships and connections. Her and izzy’s plot always feels like izzy comforting her, and clary never noticed anything off about Izzy. She also didn’t tell anyone that Izzy had demon stuff going on after their fucked up purity trial scene. She and Jace just keep looking sad and reminding eachother they can’t fuck. Even she and Simon have a flatness. 

Is the show... she is the main character. She should not be.

Dot Rollins Addendum

I do not know where to put Dot. Her main connection is to Clary, and her interactions with Magnus early in Season 1 make it clear that it’s weird for a warlock to be emotionally attached to Shadowhunters. She accepts torture to protect Madzie and risks her life to help Jace and Clary escape... but so much of what we are supposed to feel about her is related to Clary... and from Clary’s side there is just no relationship. Dot was like a big sister! -- That Clary immediately forgot about and left to be torturned on her evil father’s experiment from hell ship.

[feynites]

I am curious, who did your Hawke(s) romance in Dragon Age 2? Also, I am REEAAALLLY curious to see what spirits Thenvunin and Kel merge with in the 'Everyones an Abom AU'.

For the first question: I romanced everyone in various playthroughs of DA2, but I never really developed a particular attachment to any of my Hawkes, so I’m not very picky about shipping with that crowd. If that makes sense. The Hawke who had the most dramatic playthrough was a M!Hawke who romanced Anders, so I tend to default to him, or else I go with my sister’s Hawke, Malcolm Jr, who was a bit of an ass and spent most of his game pining for Aveline. (90% of his character comes from my sister’s impression of him, and watching her play and basically be like ‘ahhh, my dove!’ any time Aveline came on screen. She can also sneer ‘Donnic’ in a faux-M!Hawke voice that is just full of undeserved vitriol - but Donnic was fine in her playthrough. Also a running gag was that Malcolm was completely oblivious to the fact that Fenris was rather long-sufferingly in love with him.)

For the second, I mean, I wasn’t actually planning on… but, I guess it is called… I…

…Well I guess let’s see what Uthvir was doing in the version of this ‘verse where they didn’t die!

(Warning for child endangerment and threats towards children and physical menace of children.)

The Templars have gone quiet.

That is, Uthvir thinks, a bad sign rather than a good one.Because their sources have been going silent, over the past four years.Snuffing out like candles, running up across dead-ends, meeting unexpectedwalls and blockages and it is not as if the movement is dwindling. It might diedown, every now and then, might legitimately come close to ending, but over thecenturies they have learned to see the signs. They know what to look for.Everything in them is telling them that is an upswing, not a down.

But all the places they know, and the faces they havelearned to watch, have stopped yielding information.

They do not know if the leaks are being discovered, or ifthe organizing is simply wise enough to cover its tracks better, or if time hasmade them so accustomed to looking in certain places that they have forgottenhow to seek out others. They do not know what has and has not been compromised,and Fear is running wild with the implications. With the best avenues ofresponse. Withdraw to one of the bunkers? They are more remote, harder to find,but if they are already being watched and tracked, then they could be followed.Then the remote location might work against them. Send out warnings? Butwarnings for what? The danger of discovery is well-known, and contacting theothers might simply alert anyone with eyes on Uthvir as to where the rest ofthe clan is. Stay put, try to lie low? But that could just be turningthemselves into a sitting duck, if the only location that the Templars knowabout is this one.

They cannot afford to take long to deliberate, either. Amoment. A moment is all that it takes, sometimes.

In the end they leave messages in the Fade, in the old dreamnetworks that have not been used for a century. The ripples should catch someattention, but possibly not enough for the others to actively check it. Still,it would be harder for the Templars to discover such things; even if they havemages on their side, or spirits, discovering the network would be difficult, andinfiltrating it well enough to actually glean the contents of the messages, near to impossible. Unless one of theclan has betrayed them.

Uthvir does not think so, but they cannot afford to discountthe possibility.

They tailor each warning very specifically, for all that the contents must be vague. ‘Templars upto something – change security, withdraw if needed, clan may be compromised’.

They mentally review what they know of everyone. Selene andFelasel are with Dirthamen and Cirimeni again, out on their not-quite-farm. Nota good location, Uthvir thinks; it’s too remote for the security or anonymityof a densely-populated area, but not remote enough to afford the protection ofwilderness. But then, Desire and Pride are not apt to listen to their ‘over-precautions’.Melarue and that other one, they’re in Antiva again, with Varawell. Followingup a potential lead on more family. Their security level is questionable; it’sbeen months since Uthvir heard from them. They might even be the source of thelink, if one or all of them have been compromised. Eda is on her reserve, withher dragons.

And Thenvunin, Irenan, and Kel are at home, in their ParVollen city apartment. Or they all will be in a few hours, anyway. School willbe letting out soon. Thenvunin should be home, he said he was going to goshopping but they doubt he would leave it so late that he would risk not beingthere everyone else got home.

Uthvir leaves the public terminal they had been using tolook into their last dying ember of a lead, and sets off down the street. They considertheir car, as they get back into it. A somewhat flashy SUV, too conspicuous fortheir tastes right now. There’s another they can use to leave the city by, in aparking garage not far from the highway. They’ll head for Eda’s. Weighingthreat versus security, they think, the bunker near to the giant nest full ofdragons will be safest. The kids will be thrilled, and they can gather up Eda,and then investigate what may be going on in Antiva. If they can get thingssecure enough, they’ll fly over themselves.

But they can’t leave Thenvunin and the children. Theycontemplate it, but only for a moment. There’s a chance that putting distancebetween them might be safer for them. But there is an equal chance that it willleave them vulnerable, and it would be jarring to just suddenly abandon them.They won’t do that.

They stop at the elementary school first. Kel is youngerthan Irenan this time, Uthvir had her themselves, and has spent the past eightyears marvelling over how little has changed about her in the process. Thebiggest difference is that she is a mage this time around. Irenan is thirteen,now, at the awkward stage of painful growth spurts, his horns hardening and hisindependent streak kicking in with a vengeance. Uthvir expects to find himwaiting outside the school for Kel; his own lets out a little earlier, and heusually waits for Uthvir to come get them here.

There are a lot of parents and kids milling about. But notIrenan’s distinctive outline.

They give it a minute. Their nerves are heightened due tothe situation, they know. They remind themselves that they do not really knowfor certain what is going on, or if they are a target; and even if they were,today, of all days, would not necessarily be the day that something happened.

The bell rings.

The classes empty out, children eagerly dashing away fromtheir classes to waiting cars and parents, older siblings and guardians. Uthvirsees the other children from Kel’s class, recognizes little Alistair and hisbrother, the redheaded Tabris girl, the pack of Rutherford children – anothergroup they have been keeping one eye on, at Varawell’s request. A few morechildren they can’t name, but can recollect from class activities, field tripsthey have helped with and parent-teacher conferences.

No Kel.

They park the car properly, and head into the school.

Kel’s teacher is friendly, if more sugary-sweet than Uthviris inclined to like, and prone to talking down to his students. He’s in theclassroom, organizing a few things at his desk, when they push past the lastfew stragglers and head in.

“Where is Kel?” they ask, disinclined to preamble.

The teacher blinks up at them.

“Oh! Ser Elvhen,” he greets. “I thought you would haveknown. Kel was called away from class at lunch time. There was a familyemergency? Your husband came and got her…”

Uthvir is already turning away, though, their hearthammering and their mind racing enough that the lights flicker, just a little.They pull out their phone, and quickly call Thenvunin. Heading for theprincipal’s office.

The call has gone to voice mail by the time they reach theirdestination.

Thenvunin is not apt to ignore their calls.

They have to remind themselves that it could actually be an emergency. The reminder feels thin, however. Mirenais in Orlais, visiting with friends. Something could have happened to her, butThenvunin would have called them first, in that case. They have no missedcalls. No texts. A check at the principal’s office has the vice principalconfirming that Thenvunin – or someone sufficiently like Thenvunin to keep Kelfrom kicking up a complaint – came and got their daughter at noon. They phoneagain, as they make their way back out to the parking lot. Fear is riding high,now, licking at the threads of connections it can find. But the school iscrowded, and rife with the anxieties of students, and teachers, and frettingparents.

Checking Irenan’s school reveals the same results. Someonecame and got him at noon, citing a ‘family emergency’, and nothing else.

Uthvir tries phoning Thenvunin again.

Voice mail, again.

Someone has takenthem.

Yes, obviously, butthey need to figure out where, and so they also need to figure out how.Thenvunin came and got the children. It could have been an imposter. It wouldtake a good one to fool Irenan and Kel, but a shapeshifter might be able tomanage it for the time it would take to get in and out of the school. Gettingthe voice right would be the trickier part. On the other hand, it could haveactually been Thenvunin himself. That seems… likelier, though if he thought thechildren might be put in danger, Uthvir cannot see him willingly going andgetting them. By all accounts, he had gone in alone…

What if they are hurt?

…But he could have been deceived. Made to think there was an emergency. He still would havecalled Uthvir, they think, but there are ways to interfere with calls…

What if they arekilled? What if we have lost them again?

…They need to go to the apartment. There is a component theyneed for their tracking spells to work, and a backup, and if not they will haveto head for the storage locker near the docks. If someone has taken them, ifthe Templars have taken them, then itwill be to get to Uthvir. There will be something. A message, a trap; even ifall else fails they will not have vanished into thin air.

Kel is a mage, now.They will hurt her. They will hurt them all. Condemnation by association;aiding and abetting an abomination.

The children are justlittle, and Thenvunin does not know much beyond basic self-defence…

The steering wheel creaks and Uthvir forces themselves totake a breath. Focus. They cannot get pulled over by a police officer, theywill eviscerate whichever unfortunate soul tries it and that will be conspicuous.

The roads seemed to have grown exponentially in the time ittakes for them to get to the apartment, however.

Gone since noon. Hoursoff, now. They could have boarded a plane. A boat. Could be in the back of atruck somewhere, driving away.

They could be dead.

Uthvir gets to the apartment in one piece.

The security measures are intact. Wards undisturbed.Frustrating. They hold out hope that this is just a misunderstanding, thatthey’ll get inside and Thenvunin and the children will be there, safe and soundif slightly perplexed at Uthvir’s state. But the apartment is quiet. Just asthey left it this morning, more or less. There are still a few dishes in thesink. Thenvunin’s favourite coat and his city shoes are gone. He was taken while he was out, then.

But there is one piece of news.

The cage by the terrace is shut tight, and it does not takelong for a frustrated racket to kick up. Screecher normally spends theafternoons flying off towards the park at the edges of the city, huntingsquirrels and menacing the occasional jogger. The apartment has a garden, aswell, and with some extra incentive, the building’s owners have agreed to givetheir exotic pet free reign. But not in the mornings. Thenvunin must have leftshortly after Uthvir went to work, and then not come back at his expected timeto let Screecher out.

Uthvir opens the cage, and is immediately treated toscolding cries. Fear cracks, andsomething in Screecher answers. The bird freezes, halting its reprimandstowards Uthvir, and cocking its head.

The best component for the strongest tracking charm thatthey have ever made is in this bird’s feathers.

There are others, of course. At any given time there is achance that Screecher will meet with an unfortunate accident. The bird’sprovenance has seen it through more lifetimes than Uthvir is certain of, butthey will not bank on it being indefinite. However, all things considered,Screecher has been more permanent than a lot of factors in their strangeexistence. And its nature makes it uncannily predisposed to such magic.

“We have to find Thenvunin and the children,” they informit.

Screecher doesn’t offer a protest to this.

Uthvir begins to cast the spell. It doesn’t take long, butit’s possible they overdo it a little. Two of the lightbulbs in the roomshatter, and the television screen cracks, and one of their weaker wards diesin a burst of overwrought magic. But Screecher does not move, not even when itbegins to glow, slightly. And then the air snaps and Uthvir’s lungs ache, and theyfeel their shadow grow big enough to swallow some of the daylight in the room.Something tugs behind their ribs. A direction.

There.

Screecher alights onto their shoulder, and they all but flyback out of the apartment again. Barrelling down the stairs, and out throughthe doors and into their car once more. Their teeth and sharp and their nailsare long, and their skin is itching, threatening to crack as they forcethemselves to breathe, to think, to keep their focus as they take back off downthe road. Barely aware even of Screecher as it settles onto the passenger seat,and cries angrily at anything that veers too close to their vehicle.

They have to find them.

Have to.

 ~

 Kel’s class is in the middle of watching a movie – a rareand much-appreciated event which most everyone has been looking forward to, eventhough the movie itself is kinda boring and old – when she gets called out ofclass. The school’s secretary whispers with the teacher for a moment, while theother kids are watching the movie; and then tells Kel to get her bag.

“Your Papae is here to get you,” she says. “Something hashappened, but he wants to tell you about it himself.”

Kel frowns, worried, but nods in understanding.

“Is my nanae alright?” she wonders.

“Yes, they’re alright,” the secretary tells her. They go tothe office, then, moving quietly through the halls so as not to disturb theother classes. It doesn’t take long, just a few minutes of sitting in one ofthe office chairs before her Papae comes.

Something’s wrong, though.

She goes up to him and he puts an arm around her shoulders,but it doesn’t… feel right. He’s all stiff and there’s just… something notright? She can’t put her finger on it, though. He doesn’t really seem upset.He’s polite to the school’s secretary and the vice principal, who comes andpops their head out to check on them before disappearing back into the office.His clothes are wrong, though, she realizes. She’s never seen her Papae wearthese ones before, and she thought she knew all of his clothes.

But… he was going shopping today, wasn’t he? He promised toget her new sunglasses, too, since her old ones broke.

“Papae?” she asks, when the grown-ups have finished talking.“What’s wrong?”

He pats the top of her head, awkwardly.

“It’s nothing too bad, sweetheart, but I’ll explain whenwe’re in the car,” he says.

“Are Nanae and Irenan okay?” she asks.

“Of course they are. Irenan is in the car too, waiting forus,” he tells her, and takes her by the hand. Holding just a little too tight,as he leads her out of the school, and the sense of something is wrong doesn’t go away. But Kel is thinking that itmust be that something has happened to make her Papae act strangely. Making hisvoice just a little too high, and his mannerisms a little too stiff, and it’snot until she sees the car they’re heading for and realizes that she doesn’trecognize it, either, that sheremembers Nanae’s warnings about shapeshifters. Shapeshifters other than them,who wear disguises, and sometimes even make themselves look like other,specific people.

“Papae, what’s the password?” she asks. She should haveasked that first! That’s what thepassword is for!

Papae looks down at her, and she knows. She just knows. It’swrong. It’s all wrong, his eyes are wrong, they’re the same colour but theyaren’t looking at her right, and that’s nother father!

But before she can open her mouth to scream, everything goesreally bright and then really dark. Painful and deep, aching and drowning atonce. Her head swims and the world dissolves into ribbons of bright colour, andher voice dies in her throat before it can even get past her lips. Her skinfeels too hot. Too, too hot, and it feels like someone just tried to punch allof her bones at once.

And then it goes dark, as Kel feels an awful lurch of terror.

Her dreams feel like they take a long time to come.

There’s something itchy about the darkness that takes her.Like scraped knees catching on rough fabric. Like the sense that she needs tobe doing something, needs to be not sleeping, but she can’t wake up, either.She drifts in that odd sense of urgency and inaction for a long time. A bag ofrocks, covered in ants. Itching, itching, until she feels something twitch, in the dark.

Something big moves beneath her.

Oh, says a voiceshe feels like she knows. It is you.

Everything starts to tip, then, like a chair fallingbackwards. In the moment when she expects the lurch, then, she opens her eyes.Scratchy, heavy eyelids, and bright lights, and there are arms around her. Armsshe knows, and a scent she knows, and she sighs before she remembers that’s not my father, and then she goesrigid with fear again.

“Kel?” her Papae says, though. And his voice is right. Hesounds upset, but he sounds the right kind of upset. “Da’vhenan? How do youfeel? Does anything hurt?”

Her vision clears, and she sees his face, then. There arebruises on it, and blood on his lip, and there’s Irenan, too. Sitting rightnext to them, with his hands behind his back for some reason, and his headalmost on Papae’s shoulder. He’s not bruised, not that she can see, but hisbrows are furrowed and he looks like he’s scared. But he’s trying not to showit, because he’s Irenan.

“Kel, are you hurt? Where does it hurt?” Papae asks her,with his eyes red around the rims and a purple bruise on his temple.

“She’ll just be a little sore,” someone else says, fromsomewhere she can’t see, with a voice she doesn’tknow. Papae glares in their direction, though. Hurt and scared and mad.

“She is a child,”he says. His arms move around her, but they’re moving weirdly, and he doesn’tbrush her forehead or cheek. Kel blinks a little more awake. She feels like shebruised both of her knees and her elbows, and her chest aches, like she justran really hard into a rock or something. She’s done that before. One time shefell down a hill and bruised her shin, and landed on a boulder. Her chin gotscraped up and Papae took her to the doctor, and he got really mad about thathill and made the school put a fence around it and dig out the boulder.

“What happened?” Kel asks.

Papae looks back at her, and bends down and presses a kissto her forehead.

“You got hurt, da’vhenan,” he says. “How do you feel? Isyour head okay?”

She thinks about it.

“My arms and legs hurt,” she tells him. “And my chest issore. Papae, your face is all bruised…”

“Shh,” he says. “Don’t mind that, I’m fine. What does yourchest feel like? Where does it hurt?”

Kel wriggles around, meaning to put a hand over her ribs.But then her fingers brush something, and she frowns. Sitting up a little bitmore, she realizes that there’s metal on her papae’s wrists. And there’s ropeon her brother, too, and some bruises on his arms. She swallows, and then looksaround. She doesn’t know the room they’re in. It looks a little bit like theschool basement, but there’s no heater or little box windows. Just grey walls,yellow light,  and a man she doesn’t knowhandcuffed to a pipe.

The air feels heavy, too. Stuffy, but not, and she can’tfeel her magic very well.

She doesn’t like this.

“Where are we?” she asks again. “Where’s Nanae?”

“Shhh,” Papae tells her. His bottom lip is trembling alittle, like he might cry, and Kel gets that sinking feeling she always haswhen he’s upset.

“It’s okay,” Irenan tells her, shifting his legs around. “Wejust need to… to wait. Help’s coming. These guys think they’re gonna trick ourNanae, but they’re wrong. Nanae’s gonna get here and they’re going to be somad, they’ll tear this whole place apart, and we’ll be back home before dinnertime. We’ll have pizza to celebrate.”

Kel glances over at the stranger handcuffed to a pipe.

“What guys?” she wonders.

“The guys who hit Papae,” Irenan tells her, and Papae sucksin a breath and then makes a quelling motion at him. But Kel was pretty sure hegot hit, anyway, because he looks like he did. “They made that other guy, overthere, pretend to look like him so they could kidnap us. He’s a shapeshifter.”

Oh.

“I figured that out!” she says, pleased about one thing, atleast.

Papae’s eyes water a bit.

“I know you did. My smart girl,” he tells her.

She asked for the password, she remembers, and then… he musthave cast a spell on her.

That really hurt.

She sits up, and Papae keeps his arms around her, eventhough his hands are cuffed together. They’re real handcuffs, too, not like the toy ones she found under his bedone time. There are no soft fuzzy bits, and they look like they hurt. Kel leansagainst her father’s chest as she examines his wrists, and he asks her morequestions about where she hurts and whether or not her heart is beating reallyfast. If she feels dizzy, and things like that; but she’s starting to feelbetter.

After a while, she feels good enough to get up and lookaround. Papae tells her not to go near the stranger, but after a minute he letsgo of her so she can look and see if she can find anything that might help themescape. She looks for wards, like the kind Nanae makes, but she can’t find anysigns of them. There are no sigils or runes or anything, and she even goes intoa corner with cobwebs trying to look, and checks the undersides of some of thepipes.

Maybe, she thinks, it’s on the inside of the pipes. Nanae did that, one time, under the sink. Keldoesn’t have a wrench, though, and the pipes won’t twist in her hands.

The stranger clears his throat.

“Little girl,” he says.

“Don’t talk to her,” Papae snaps, furious.

The stranger doesn’t even look at him. He’s human, althoughhe’s not as big as some, and it looks like it’s been a long time since he had ashower.

“Little girl,” he says, again, clearing his throat. “I thinkyou might be able to get this pipe. If you can untwist it-“

“Kel, come here,” Papae tells her, in his no-nonsense voice.

She hesitates, just for a minute. Just until she remembershow bad it hurt, and how scary it waswhen the stranger was pretending to be him. And then she goes back over, whileIrenan squirms around. It’s hard to be comfortable with his hands behind hisback, and his horns are probably itching again. She reaches up a hand andscritches the bases for him, and he lets out a relieved sigh.

The stranger swallows, and then lets out a big sigh of hisown.

“Look,” he says. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t have a choice-”

“Shut your mouth,” Papae hisses. “No choice? You could havescreamed your head off the minute you set foot in Irenan’s school building. Youcould have called for the police, could have run, could have hit the firealarm. You could have tried any of that before you even attempted to deceive me, but instead you hurt my children!”

“You don’t understand!” the stranger shouts back. “You don’tknow what they’re like. Call thepolice? They own this whole town! They’re everywhere! You can’t escape them,they’ll always find you and when they do, they’ll do things to you… they’llwatch you and follow you, never let you sleep, never let you be… alwayswatching…”

He sobs.

“Save it,” Papae says, and Kel’s never seen him be so mad atsomeone who was crying before.

The stranger’s face twists.

“Oh, sure, blame me,” he snarls. “Blame me, when you’re theone who fucked one of those things.Fucking an abomination! And it’s myfault that they come for you, come to clean up the mess, when it’s creatureslike that ‘nanae’ of yours and fuckers like youwho ruin it for the rest of us! Make them think we’re all twisted monsters,while you go around happily making demon babies and perverting ox brats-“

“Children, cover your ears!” Papae insists, and he looks soupset that Kel actually does it, for a moment.

Irenan doesn’t, though.

He just glares at the stranger, and when Kel sneaks herfingers apart so she can hear better again, he starts shouting, too.

“You used blood magic on my little sister, you sick fuck!”he says.

“Irenan!” Papae scolds, because Irenan said the ‘F’ word.

Irenan’s eyes are shiny now, though.

“Well if he’s gonna say it then I’m gonna say it, I’m notletting him call us names…”

Papae makes a sound, and then leans in towards him. It takessome doing, and Irenan seems like he’s going to be standoffish about it, butthen he shuffles closer and presses his face against Papae’s shoulder. Huffinga little as a few tears slip down his face, and Kel feels her own eyes itchbecause there’s so much shouting and crying and bruises and trouble, and shejust wants to go home. She wants Nanae to come and say that everything’s okaynow.

Irenan’s still crying when they heard a loud groaning sound.Like a big door opening.

Papae stiffens, and then he shifts forward, and makes Keland Irenan go behind him as much as they can.

Some part of her expects to see her Nanae came rushing in,then. Or maybe just really hopes to. So it feels like someone’s dropped anentire bag of ice cubes in her stomach when three strangers come into the room.Two men and a woman, all with hard faces, and upside-down swords on theirshirts. They’re human. Wearing clunky boots and heavy gloves, and one of themhas a gun.

Kel’s never seen a gun in real life before. Not one thatwasn’t a toy, anyway. It’s shiny, and it takes her a moment to even realizewhat it is; for half a second she thinks it’s a knife, but it’s the wrongshape.

The strangers stare at them.

“Girl’s a mage?” the woman asks.

“No,” Papae says.

“That’s what’s on the record,” the shapeshifter tells them.

“It’s a mistake. She’s not a mage. None of us are,” Papaeinsists. “If you let us go, we won’t say anything. We won’t tell a soul, we’llpretend that none of this happened…”

The lady gives Papae a hard look.

Then she gestures towards Kel.

“Grab her,” she says, to one of the men at her side. The onewho isn’t holding a gun.

“No,” Papae says. “No, don’t you touch her! She’s just agirl, she’s not a mage, leave her alone, she’s a baby, you can’t touch her-“

“Hands off, leave her alone!” Irenan says, too, and Kel endsup wedged between him and Papae but the human is a big guy. Bigger than the onechained to the pipe, with eyes like ice, and he just backhands Irenan out ofthe way.

“Don’t you touch my son!” Papae shouts. “Get your hands offof my children, get your hands off of my children!”

He’s shouting as loud as Kel has ever heard him, and she’sterrified when the man finally grabs her and drags her across the room. Shekicks at him but misses, and his grip on her arms is hard enough to bruise. Thelady doesn’t even blink. She doesn’t even really seem to look at Kel, justright through her, as the man who isn’t holding her levels is gun at Papae andIrenan, while they both fight against their handcuffs.

Kel freezes.

There’s a gun pointed at her father, at her brother.

And she can’t feel her magic. She wants to do something, she has to something, she’s the one who has magic here but she can’t feel it, and they’re gonna hurt herfamily, they’re gonna hurt her family andwhere’s Nanae-

She doesn’t even realize how hard she’s crying until the manholding her shakes her, and it’s like all the breath gets rattled right out ofher lungs.

There’s a moment of silence with her gasp. She looks atPapae, and Papae looks at her. His face all flushed and bruised, and mad andscared, and he’s still trying to keep Irenan behind him, and he’s trying toreach her, and this is the worst dream Kel has ever had.

She wants to wake up now.

“Please,” Papaesays. “She’s just a baby. My baby. Please.”

“Nothing has to happen to her,” the lady says. Her voice iscold.

They’re all so cold, these people. Monsters. Ice in theirveins.

The lady keeps talking.

“We’re just going to ask you a few questions,” she says.“And you’re going to answer them. If we like your answers, the girl will befine. If we don’t, well… my associate here has yet to practice his skills on areal abomination. The girl presents a good opportunity for him.”

Papae looks like he wants to scream.

He bites his lip instead, as Kel looks up at the man holdingher again. What skills? What’s he supposed to practice?

It sounds… bad.

“What do you want to know?” Papae asks.

The woman settles her hands in front of herself.

“How many of you are there?” she asks.

Papae blinks, and swallows.

“How many…? You… you have my whole family here. Except formy spouse. And my mother…”

The woman snaps, and the man holding her loosens his gripjust enough to pull a knife from his belt. The metal gleams, just like the gun.Papae’s eyes go wide.

“No!” he says. “I don’t know what you’re asking! What areyou asking? I’ll answer, how many what, howmany what?”

The woman makes a gesture, and the man settles the knifeagainst Kel’s shoulder. Near her neck. The blade is warm, from where it’s beenpressed against his skin. Her eyes drift towards it. Nanae told her want to do,if someone had a knife like this. Stomp on their instep, and then hit theirgroin as hard as she can, and then their elbow to make them drop it. Theyshowed her how. But she’s supposed to run away, then, and there’s nowhere torun away to.

And the other man still has a gun.

Kel looks at her brother.

Irenan shakes his head, just a little, and she stays still.

“How many abominations are there?” the lady asks. “We knowthere’s a nest. More than just your spouse and daughter. An entire infestation;so tell me, how many are there?”

Papae looks like he’s going to cry.

“I don’t know,” he says.

The lady moves and the man grabs up her hand, and Kelstruggles but he’s really, really strong, and he makes her put one of herfingers out straight and presses the knife up to it-

“FIFTEEN!” Papae shouts. “There are fifteen!”

Kel’s heart is pounding, and her eyes can’t move away fromthe sharp metal pressed close to her finger. She’s shaking. She doesn’t want toget one of her fingers cut off, she doesn’t want to, she’s so scared and theman is almost smiling now, smiling ashe holds the knife to her and stares at it, too. The lady gestures for him tostop, though, and he does. He stops again, crushing her but not cutting her.

“Nanae!” Kel cries, as hot tears spill down her cheeks.Maybe if she calls, they’ll come. They come when she calls. When she’s scared,when Papae’s hurt and her brother’s sick, they always come. “I want Nanae!”

“Quiet!” the man snaps at her.

She swallows, her vision blurring.

“You’re lying to me,” the lady says. “So I see we need toestablish the consequences of that. If you give me an answer I don’t like, I’llhurt one of your children. But if you lie…I’ll kill them. After all, you do have two, don’t you? And in the end, I’m justgoing to get everything out of your spouse as well. So I want you to tell methe truth. Even when it hurts. Honesty is cleansing, they say – and Makerknows, your ‘family’ needs a good fire.”

“No-“ Papae says.

“Let’s see if Round Two goes any better. Kill the girl,” thewoman tells the man.

He shifts his grip on the knife.

“Do it, Kel!” Irenan shouts.

All three grown-ups whip around to look at her, and thenPapae makes a sound she’s never heard him make before, and surges forward. His handcuffs clink and the pipe he’s chained to snaps, and so does his shoulder,cracking like a chicken bone as water spills out across the floor. Everythinghappens so fast, then. The lights flicker and the gun fires, and Papae tacklesthem, and Kel watches, wide-eyed and up close, as the knife sinks into hischest while they all land in a heap. The air charges up like a storm. Like theblanket that has been thrown over everything has just caught fire. She can hearIrenan wrenching himself away from the pipe, too, sliding in the spilled waterand the lady shouts something and… and…

Papae glows.

 ~

 Screecher has loved Husband for a very long time.

Since before Small Red came. Since before the cycles came.Since before the hatchlings came, and the round-ears came, and the big hornscame. Sometimes, Screecher is not sure of what is true in the world. If theyare a bird, or a spirit, or a memory. Sometimes they are not sure of ground, orthe sky, or the sea, or the places where dreams live, or the places whereclouds drift. These things could all be lies. The world is full of them. Sometimesgood lies, sometimes strange lies, sometimes nice lies, and sometimes cruellies. Tricky lies and lies that are still true, somehow, and twist themselvesup in all the things that are and all the things that are not.

But Screecher loves Husband.

This is true. This is what makes Screecher… Screecher.

And Husband loves Screecher back. Has loved Screecher backsince the Beginning of Screecher. If he did not, then this truth would not beso true. It would not be so strong. It would not be so easy for Screecher tofind Husband, when they know to look. The magic that Small Red put in theirfeathers would not shine like a beacon in the place of dreams, and Screecherwould not hear Husband so well when he is calling.

When he is screaming.

When he needs them.

It is not an easy thing to fly through the space-between-spaces,and it is not an easy thing to fly through fast-moving traps of metal androaring. The car-beast that Small Red is using to speed towards Husband, but itis not fast enough. Small Red is good for moving in the shadows. Not in thebright daylight, of roaring things, and heat, and stone.

But Screecher is Love, and Love, old and long love, made ofmany tethers which cannot break – that is something that flies, when it must.

Husband is screaming for help, in the ways of the deep, deepneeds.

So Screecher flies.

Through the car-beast and through the Other Place, throughmetal and magic and skies made of both. Screecher’s wings tear and feathersbreak, and light spills through the places where its blood flows. But there isnot time to care about such things. Love flies through the roads it made,through Bestest Nest and dirt and sky, to where Husband’s heart is beating andvoice is screaming. Through walls of stone and will, that break like glasswindows when Love barrels through them, and sends their makers staggering.

Husband is screaming.

Hurting.

Loving.

Youcan’thurthemyoucan’tmybabiesmychildrennoIwon’tletyouIwon’tletyounohelpnomybabies…

Love does not stop flying until it reaches Husband’s heart.

It has never flown so close. In all the years Screecher hasbeen trying to make a place for Husband, they have been trying to repay him, insome ways. Because Husband’s heart was Screecher’s first roost, even if theyhave never truly been there before. It is warm, and bright, and like the neststhey have tried to build, it is always too cruelly confined by things aroundit. Sometimes things which Husband has done himself. Sometimes wicked gardenerswho have come and torn out branches. Ripped out nesting, and lit fire to the edges.Taught Husband to make his heart smaller.

But when Love reaches it, Husband’s heart bursts like asong.

Like a star bursting to life in the dark place where peoplehave hurt the ones he loves.

They love.

Screecher has loved Husband for a very long time.

Thenvunin… Thenvunin never knew how much, before thatmoment. Never could have comprehended that any living thing would love him –him! – with an affection that defied eternity. Even knowing Uthvir’s love hasspanned centuries, part of him has never quite believed in it. Not that he has disbelieved it, either, but some part ofhim, he knows now, had always wondered if it were truly possible. To be soloved. To be so…

But he feels it.

He feels a love for his own self that he has never known,beating in his own heart, now.

For a moment it stills him. Like a dream, it’s a moment thatseems to take forever, and is over in the blink of an eye. And then he draws ina breath, and his chest aches. The knife in it burns like the light spillingover his skin; like the weighted things at his back. Wings. He has wings! The thought flits through him in mingled aweand perfunctory understanding. Of course he does. Of course he has wings, howelse would he fly?

But there is more to worry about than wings.

Thenvunin scoops up his daughter, as the Templars stagger. Kel. Kel, hatchli… baby. Daughter. Hisdaughter, and that man still has onehand on her, still too close. Thenvunin snatches his child away from the fiend,and then gathers up his son, too, the angles of his body still awkward but heis used to that. Awkward body. Too many limbs, and his chest with too muchache, and his arm hurting but these are things he knows. Things that matterless than his children, and getting them away from danger.

Stay away from my children!

The Templars are blown back again, but they are quicker torecover, this time, chasing after them as Thenvunin struggles up the stairs.Battering at the heavy door, with wings and arms and the air is turning again,now, drowning him as the rush of light and energy starts to sink, like theheavy weights of his children in his arms. Irenan and Kel try to kick at thedoor, as a rush of sinking, sucking energy hits Thenvunin from the Templarsbelow. The Templars, gaining. He puts his children at the door and turns toface them, using his wings to block them, making himself seem bigger andscarier. He will rend them apart!

The last lightbulb in the room dies.

The heavy door flies open; torn back off of its hinges, aspitch darkness floods down the stairwell.

“Nanae!” Kel cries, running right into it.

Irenan is not far behind her.

“Go, go,” Thenvunin murmurs, as something strikes him again.Curses and prayers. His shoulder twists and the knife wound stretches, andbleeds. Red droplets spattering against brown and white feathers. He careenssideways, but something catches him. A long, dark tendril, that curls aroundhim as whispers thicken in the air.

“The other one! Shit, the other one’s here!” one of theTemplars cries.

“Yes. I am,” Uthvir whispers, with an unspoken promise ofviolence somehow carrying through the words.

“Maker-“

The words do not get further than that before they arechoked off in a scream. Thenvunin staggers, supported by things unseen as hefinally makes his way into the darkened room. He cannot see much, but eventhough the air itself is blacker than night, he can see his children. Andflashes, here and there; of sharp things moving downwards, cracking where theyrace over the stairs behind him, and rush through the air over his head. Hehears the mage who took his children cry out, once, and then go silent; hedoesn’t spare much feeling for him.

He makes it back to his children, to a far corner of theroom, and the sense of a familiar hand settling on the shoulder that doesn’thurt.

“Thenvunin…” Uthvir whispers.

He almost falls over, again. Heavy. Too heavy. His chesthurts; his heart hurts, too much, ohhis love, his children, he needs… he can’t… it hurts…

“Help,” he manages.

Hush, the darksays. We have you.

He gathers Irenan and Kel to him, and falls into dizzyingdarkness of a different kind.

 ~

Irenan loves his family.

He knows it’s not really the ‘done thing’ for mostthirteen-year-olds to be all mushy about it, and he’s not a really bigexception on that front, but he’d never deny it. In fact he’d probably clockanyone who suggested otherwise – and some people have. Being adopted’s notalways easy, for a lot of reasons, and being adopted by parents who look sodifferent has its own issues.

But Irenan loves his family. He loves his nanae, who scoopedhim up out of a public orphanage when he was too little to remember anythingmore than some bright colours, and the plastic tray of his highchair, and theway their leather jacket felt underneath his cheek. His loves his papae, whodotes and fusses and is always worrying if his horns are itching, if his hairis alright, if he’s hungry or cold or lonely. He loves his Gramma, who made himhis favourite pink flamingo costume when he was four, and who always calls himher ‘tiny grandson’, even though he’s nearly as tall as Nanae now and everyone knows he’s probably going to be big. Heloves his little sister, who’s always quiet and shy until she decides to beanything but. He loves his big sister, who lives out in the wilds and raises dragons and used to let Irenan ride onher shoulders until he got too big for it.

He loves his family. He trusts them to be his anchor in thestorms. So even though his nanae can get dark and creepy and weird, he’s neverafraid of them. And when his papae suddenly starts glowing and sprouting wings,he’s still more worried about the knife in his chest than what he might havedone.

There’s… a lot of blood.

And his hands are still cuffed. He’s got them slung around Kel,anyway, but he can’t exactly pull out the knife and he probably shouldn’t because then his father might bleed to death, but there’s so muchmagic going around he doesn’t know if having the knife in there is keeping himfrom healing or what. He doesn’t know exactly what his papae’s done, or if it’sall his nanae – his papae’s not a mage,he’s not supposed to be able to do anything – and he’s almost crying, becausethe place their in is dark and full of whispers. But they’re his nanae’swhispers.

His nanae came. He was right after all.

And they’ll know what to do, but they’re also busy fightingoff the Templars, so they can’t do it right now. His papae crumbles in a heapof blood and light and wings. Kel wriggles her way out of his grip, but Irenandoesn’t fight her, just makes his way over and helps roll their father onto hisback. So the knife doesn’t get pushed further in. He’s sweating, and his handsare shaking. His ears keep ringing with the sound of the shot that had goneoff, in the basement. The one that had nearly hit him. And the guy holding theknife to his sister; the knife in his father. The one that had nearly killedher, while all Irenan could do was watch.

He can hear them screaming, now.

He wonders if it’s messed up that he likes it. That everyshout they make, makes something in him answer with a vindictive snarl ofsatisfaction. He hopes his nanae is tearing them apart.

But then he remembers. He’s a big brother. He reaches overand covers Kel’s ears, because Papae can’t exactly do it, now can he?

She squirms.

“Irenan-”

“No, don’t listen,” he says. “Papae wouldn’t want you to.”

Kel gives him a mulish look, even though her face is alltear-streaked and messy, and she’s shaking, too. But then she reaches up anddeterminedly clamps her hands over his own ears, and Irenan kind of laughs.Bubbling and hysterical.

He hopes Nanae knows which one held the knife to her. Hehopes they rip off all of his fingers.

It takes a while for the screaming to stop, so he thinksthere’s a decent chance of it. He’s not sure where exactly their nanae is, in the dark. They can change shape a lot,and Irenan’s kinda thinking that they might actually be everywhere. But not long after the screaming stops, some lightstarts to filter in through the windows. The door downstairs swings shut with asolid clunk. Irenan starts to makeout more things about their surroundings. Dusty walls, and a table, and whatlooks like the front room of a house that hasn’t seen a lot of kind use. There’ssome bird crap on the walls, and cracks on the floor. Plants growing throughthe windowsills here and there. Outside he sees trees and bushes, rather thanother buildings or sidewalk.

Nanae walks over. Not really seeming to come from anywherein particular, but not exactly stepping out of nowhere, either. Papae’s stoppedglowing, although he’s still bleeding. Irenan has to resist the urge to rushover to his other parent as they check his father’s knife wound, but he doesn’thave to resist it for long. A blink, and his nanae’s fiddling with the lock onhis handcuffs, and then pulling them off.

Kel clings to their nanae’s side, latching on, and Irenantips forward and their arms come around them both. However small his nanae is,they never seem to have a problem holding everyone.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ve got you, now,” they say. “Nanae’sgot you.”

Kel starts bawling, then, and Irenan… doesn’t do muchbetter.

He’s not really sure how Nanae gets them all out of thederelict old farm house and into the car. He thinks they grow an extra pair ofarms, maybe, but he’s not really paying a whole lot of attention. Outside it’sa clear and sunny day, just as it had been a few hours ago. Nanae makes him andKel get in the car, but doesn’t stop them from watching as they heal Papae. Theair tingles with the spells they start casting, as they pull out the knife, andthen straighten the wrong angle of his arm.

Irenan watches their fingers carefully brush the hair out ofPapae’s face, and something in him eases, just a little. Something he didn’trealize was still tight and hard, that eases even more when he sees the steadyrise and fall of his father’s chest.

From the car window, he can see his papae’s wings betternow, too. Big and mottled, and there’s something kinda familiar about them, butnot in a way that he can place. There are feathers on other parts of him, too,Irenan realizes. And his fingernails are black, and clawed like Nanae’s areright now. Long and sharp as talons. His shape doesn’t change back, even as helies there.

“Is Papae okay?” Kel asks. She’s holding Irenan’s shirt sotight it feels like it might rip.

Nanae looks up.

“He’ll be fine,” they say. “He’s just very, very tired now.Magic’s not easy, especially when you’ve never done it before.”

“How’d Papae do magic?” Kel asks.

Nanae looks up at them, and is quiet for a long moment.

“He made a deal with a spirit,” they finally say. “It’sharder for non-mages to do that, but it is possible. He was… it was very braveof him.”

They brush a hand over Papae’s cheek. Irenan almost thinkshe sees it shake, a little.

“We have to go,” Nanae says, finally. “There are things totalk about – I need to check you both, first, and make sure you’re okay – but wecan’t stay here. And we can’t go back to the apartment. I’m sorry. We’ll haveto go someplace else, and it will take some driving to get there. So I need youtwo to just hold on, until we’re safe. Can you do that?”

Kel nods, straight away. Irenan hesitates a little longer.He has a lot of questions, but… he understands.

He does.

So he nods, too. Nanae smiles at them, and then he has themcome out of the car – first Kel, then Irenan – and checks them over. Healingtheir bumps and scrapes and bruises. Irenan hadn’t even realized how bad hiswrists were hurting until they stop. Kel gets double-checked when Irenanmentions that the shapeshifting stranger used magic on her, and their nanae isquiet like they’re being very deliberatelyquiet; like they don’t want to do anything that might seem frightening. Buttheir hands are gentle and careful as ever as they cast their last healingspell.

Then they have to fit Papae into the car.

Wings and all.

In the end Irenan helps fold him into the backseat, whichleaves just enough room for Kel to squeeze in with his head on her lap. Then hegets into the front seat, while Nanae drives.

He thinks he sees their hands shaking on the wheel.

His own have stopped, but only just barely.

“Are you okay, Nanae?” he asks, quietly.

They look at him.

And then they reach over, and brush a hand across his head.Between his horns. For a few seconds, their eyes slide shut. Like they’retrying to feel the whole car, and everyone in it; and know they’re alright.

Irenan gets it.

“We’ll all beokay,” they promise.

It’s not the easy answer. But Nanae doesn’t give easyanswers, they give true ones, and right now, he thinks that works better than aplatitude would. Because it wasn’t okay. None of that was okay, and now thatthey’re not in danger, he thinks he might be angry. He thinks he might be hurt,and furious, and frustrated, and a little broken by it all. But it will be okay. It will be okay again,because his nanae said so and because they wouldn’t tell him that if it was impossible.

He lets out a breath. They put their hand back on the wheel,and then start the car again. The engine rumbling quietly as they pull off downan unfamiliar dirt road, overgrown and dusty.

There’s nothing on the radio, and nobody seems inclined tolook. After a while the crunch of the road beneath the tires starts to lullthrough him, and exhaustion takes over everything else. They’re safe. Nanae’sgot them. Irenan shuts his eyes and leans his head against the window, andwants to be home so badly it burns. He’s too big to go crawl into his parents’bed anymore, but that’s exactly wants he want to do. He wants to wake up in it,five years old again, with Nanae chasing away the last of his bad dream, and Papaesnoring gently beside him, and his baby sister snug against his chest andprobably drooling on him.

He doesn’t know if that’s a real memory, or just a bunch ofimpressions fitted together. But it works, and so he imagines it, as the carrolls along and the scent of rotten basement lingers like a bad aftertaste.

Eventually, the dirt road turns off onto a bigger dirt road.And then onto the highway, just like it’s a weekend trip to visit Eda. Nanaekeeps driving until it’s after dark, before turning off and up another dusty,winding Fereldan road, and into the parking square for a motel that they’venever stayed at before. Kel’s asleep by then, slumped against the seat withPapae’s head still in her lap, but both of them are breathing and neither ofthem are bleeding. Irenan thinks he should pick up his sister, help out withthe heavy lifting; but Nanae tells him to go open the door to their room, andhe does, too tired to really manage much else.

Not that Nanae looks much better. They carry Kel in first,and then Papae, though. Settling them both onto the same bed, before they closethe door, and start laying down wards.

By the time they finish, they’re staggering.

Irenan moves reluctantly over to the unoccupied bed.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Nanae says, catching him by the shoulder. “Ionly warded one bed. You’ll have to cram in together.”

Irenan feels a rush of relief. He nods in acknowledgement,not even inclined to complain as he strips to his shorts, and escapes more ofthe lingering scent of that basement. He wants a bath and a shower and maybe asteam clean, some salve for his horns and oil for his scalp, for he barelymanages to get himself and Kel under the covers. Nanae tucks in Papae, then pullssome blankets off of the second bed, and settles down onto the floor besidehim, with Papae’s wings dipping off of the mattress. Really close to a lampthat’s probably going to meet a tragic fate in the morning.

Whatever, he thinks.

They’ll deal with it when everyone wakes up. Just like allthe questions they haven’t gotten around to yet.

[tialovestelevision]

The Initiative

Hey! It’s time for the season to actually get a plot, instead of only rumors of one! Yay! 1. Spike getting tased will never get old. Stuck-up bastard. Entertaining stuck-up bastard, but stuck-up bastard. 2. Well, we start with a huge batch of objectification. I like your friends already, Riley! 3. “The girl’s so hot, she’s Buffy.” 4. Forrest made a Star Trek reference in the midst of his objectification train. 5. Buffy’s Slayer-strength broke the ice cream machine. 6. “There’s a sign of good taste.” Oh, Riley, all the very few points you’ve earned so far… going… going… 7. Well, Spike’s not looking too good. How long’s he been without blood? 8. Now he’s behind glass. Electrified… glass? With scientists? Are they scientifically studying vampires? That’s AWESOME. 9. “The latest in fall Fascism.” Huh. Good Xander line. 10. Ah, Giles’s “Xander…” face. My favorite Giles face. 11. They just dropped a blood packet into Spike’s cell. It’s drugged. 12. Spike cares who it is. But now he thinks Buffy turned him into the science prison. 13. Professor Walsh is mean. Like, actively mean. “It’s not my job to coddle my students.” “You’re right. A human being in pain has nothing to do with your job.” 14. Xander has military equipment. 15. Xander’s mom made fruit punch for him and Giles. 16. Riley just punched Parker. He earned it. 17. Wait. Forrest has said grosser things than Parker’s toilet seat bit of horribleness and Riley is still his friend. What is WRONG with these people? 18. Yep. He didn’t punch Parker for saying something terrible about women. He punched Parker for saying something terrible about a woman he wants to fuck. 19. Oh, you stupid, stupid science people. He’s playing possum. And now he’s going to kill you very dead. 20. Well, Spike just got one scientist to tranq another scientist. And has set another vampire free. Then threw that vampire at the commando guys. 21. Riley is in Buffy’s room. He wants to talk to Buffy, but only Willow is home. 22. Willow is hiding Buffy’s weapons. Riley helped her. 23. Willow is not happy at all after Oz left. Riley handled that with grace. 24. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like Buffy before.” Got that right. 25. “I’ve seen honest faces before. They usually come attached to liars.” Wow. Kidney punch, Will. 26. Buffy likes cheese. That’s a start. 27. Oh, it’s Harmony. Spike found her. She slapped him. Wow, he’s a manipulative bastard. 28. Spike wants to kill Buffy. Harmony wants to slap Spike around. 29. Giles and Xander are on patrol. Sorry, Giles. 30. Willow is helping Riley. And threatening him. With a shovel. 31. Wow, he is bad at this. But he remembered the cheese. 32. I also like cheese. Just saying. 33. Now Xander and Harmony are threatening each other. And fighting. Badly. This is hilariously embarrassing. Like, wow. This is wonderful. 34. Xander did get important intel from Harmony. That Spike is back, and trying to kill Buffy. 35. Riley is talking about how badly he did at hitting on Buffy with Willow. 36. They’re playing a Dingoes song. Willow is really extra sad. Riley had them kill the song. Willow is going home and sending Riley to tell Buffy that. 37. Xander found Buffy and killed Riley’s attempts at hitting on Buffy. Forrest thinks Buffy and Xander are off to have sex. They have a retinal scanner. 38. Now they’re in the vampire science lab elevator. They’re the commandos. The commandos are the Initiative. They have quite the base. 39. And Professor Walsh is in charge. Spike is Hostile 17. 40. Hostile 17 escaped before 3 PM. It’s into the night now. Why are they just starting a recovery effort? 41. Xander’s back to his usual. He took a moment to insult Buffy’s interest in Riley. 42. Buffy is out on campus looking for Spike, or hoping Spike is looking for her. But Spike just found where Buffy’s room is. And the Initiative found Buffy. 43. Now Buffy and Riley are trying to get rid of each other so they can hunt Spike. 44. And there’s Spike at Buffy’s room. Where Willow is. Alone. 45. Well, this is uncomfortable. Very rapey. But now Spike is sitting on the end of the bed. He couldn’t bite Willow. 46. So he’s getting splitting headaches when he tries to bite Willow. He’s very angry about that. 47. Okay, this scene is really funny. Like, REALLY funny. It would be funnier if they hadn’t made his first attempt at biting her so rapey, but it’s really funny. 48. “You know, this doesn’t make you any less terrifying.” “Don’t patronize me.” 49. Finding vampires with an infrared camera? Awesome. Using it to look through walls? Pretty sure it just doesn’t work that way… the brick would all be one temperature. 50. And now the Initiative has locked Willow in with Spike. And shut off all the lights. And stormed the dorm. 51. Willow threw herself at the Initiative, which giave Spike a chance to run. But he can’t bite the Initiative either, and they’ve now bagged his head. And he’s broken loose while they were arguing about whether to capture Willow. Buffy showed up and is now attacking the Initiative with a flare gun and fighting them. This gives Spike time to get away. 52. Forrest is after Spike, who just dove out of the building. Buffy’s hand-to-hand with Riley. Riley recognized her and ended the mission, and now the lights are back on. 53. So now we know what happened to Spike. He has an implant that keeps him from hurting living creatures without intense pain. 54. Now Riley is talking to Buffy. He knows she fought him, but she doesn’t know he fought her. 55. Riley is, in fact, peculiar. Overall: They really want me to care about the Initiative and Riley, don’t they? But I don’t. The Initiative is a terrible military group (seriously, writers, do research - you can’t dress characters in camo and have them throw some military jargon around to make me believe they’re an elite commando team) and Riley’s just… bland. I think I’m supposed to see him as… chivalrous?... when he punches Parker, but instead his conversation with Forrest takes all the moral weight from that act and makes it a guy slugging another guy for dissing his girl, when he hasn’t even asked the girl if she’d ever want to self-identify as “his.” They did two very effective scenes with Willow and Spike back-to-back, but each one makes the other not work nearly as well as it does on its own. Spike’s initial attempt to bite Willow is violent and power-gamey and brutally unpleasant to watch, which works given what vampires do, and their conversation afterward linking his inability to bite her to impotence is immensely funny, but putting them together makes it harder to either laugh at the conversation or be scared of the attack. None of this is to say I didn’t enjoy the episode. I did! It was just enjoyable in spite of itself.

[ecotone99]

[RF] Arriving at Empty

Arriving at Empty

Sometimes clarity comes into your life abruptly and inconveniently. As for Erica Sharp, she’d spent two years of her life waiting for that moment of divine intervention. A recent college graduate from the University of Chicago, she worked hard to get everything in life she ever desired. At 22 years old she’d double majored in Biology and Chemistry, earning Suma Cum Laude Honors as one of the top students in her graduating class.

Both the student, and socialite Erica garnered a reputation as the total package. Spending her time wisely between her sorority, pre-med clubs, track, and a family who lived only a few hours away in Elgin. Standing at 5”6 , she ran the 300 meter hurdles as a preferred walk on. The boys around campus would gaze at her gazelle like legs as she moved around campus, the muscles in her legs protruding finely in her short shorts.

“I’m going to take this year off Mom.” Erica announced as they pulled into the driveway of their midsize home.

“All right sweetheart, whatever you want” Erica’s Mom replied reassuringly.

Unpacking the car quickly, they carried everything in within 10 minutes. In the weeks leading up to graduation Erica either donated or sold the things she wouldn’t need in the next phase of her life. Like the matching dresser, nightstand, and matching bed frame from Ikea. Passing them down to a sorority sister. Or the two foot bong that she had purchased during her last semester in school. Now in the hands of friend of a friend who offered her $20 bucks. Part of her wished she would have kept some piece of college with her, though mostly all that remained were clothes, and a collection of books in the sciences.

Laying on her bed, Erica dove into instagram scrolling through pictures of the last few months in college. Clicking into the profiles of friends, many of whom were moving to towns out of state or starting a new career. She felt grateful to not be in their boats. The original plan of taking the MCAT and going to medical school, was now far removed.

Receiving a message from her best friend Samantha Gilcrest, she opened up to see a picture of a thick finance book. Samantha was studying for her CFA, new corporate job. The two were best friends for most of college. During their sophomore year Erica and Samantha lived the most promiscuous semester together. Running around fraternities, it was during the off season for track, when Erica for the first time in her life let down all of her boundaries. Waking up in Jake Lylar’s bed after a homecoming party, was till that point in her life, the slooziest thing she’d ever done.

Seeing that Samantha was active online, Erica took a selfie attempting to block out the floral sheets on her bedspread. The same ones she’d had since high school.

“I miss you!”

Seconds later Samantha responded.

“Trip to AZ in the near future? :D”

“Yes, soon!”

(2 years go by.)

Erica woke up to the sound of her alarm, the same one she’d been hearing since college. It reminded her of the sirens from that old “Pearl Harbor” movie with Ben Affleck and Josh Hartnet. Pressing snooze, she knew she had at least 2 more alarms until she really needed to get out of bed.

Her flight to Arizona didn’t take off until 2:05pm.

By the time Erica had gotten out of the shower, she realized she was running late, again. Time seemed to move quicker than expected these days. In an hour and a half they would start boarding her plane. Elgin was already a 45 minute drive from the airport.

“Mom! Are you ready to leave in 15 minutes?” she yelled out across their family home.

Her Mom did not answer her, she was busy on the phone with Erica’s Dad.

“I’m just worried. She hasn’t even begun studying or preparing for medical school. Her test is in 3 months and now she’s running away to Arizona with her girlfriends.”

“Its all right sweetheart, Erica has a good head on her shoulders. I wouldn’t bring this up before her trip out.”

“She’s not a little girl anymore, she’s 25 now Bill.”

“Be patient, everything will be all right.”

“I hope so.”

Erica made it to the kitchen with her towel wrapped around her like a burrito, grabbing a piece of toast and cup of coffee. She left wet footprints on the floor which her mother noticed and began cleaning up with a paper towel.

“We’ve got to hit the road Erica, we don’t want you to miss your flight!”

“Coming Mom!”

Erica escalated down the stairs causing a earthquake like experience for everyone in the house. Entering the kitchen her hair still wet, she was dressed in jogger pants, an adidas t-shirt, and sneakers. Studying her momentarily, her Mom thought how she hardly looked the part of a Pre-Med student. Attached to her roller suitcase was the teddy bear her mother had gifted her on graduation.

“Still with that teddy bear huh?”

“You got it for me. Whats your problem?”

“Oh just poking a little fun, thats all”

“Ugh. Can we go already.”

The drive to the airport ended up being much quicker than they anticipated. Part of that was Erica’s mothers speeding, caused by the tension in the car. Erica asked her mother for a little extra cash which seemed odd, considering Erica worked three jobs.

Erica’s mother wondered what it was Erica did with all her money? Handing Erica a hundred dollar bill, she remembered what her husband had said about waiting till after the weekend.

In truth, Erica didn’t do anything beguiling with her funds. Her years of smoking weed had stopped as soon as she entered the real world. A few experiences of low level panic attacks helped alleviate the urge to revisit that habit. Instead she enjoyed spending her money shopping for material items such as clothes, jewelry, make up, hair and skin products at the most popular stores online, which just happen to be the most expensive.

As Erica pulled into the departures terminal, she hugged and kissed her mom good bye before strutting through the airport to the priority security check. Her parents had assisted with her ticket too, an expense paid with the expectation of reimbursement one day. Waiting momentarily in line behind a handicap woman with her dog, Erica opened up her instagram and scrolled through pictures of her best friend Samantha and the life she had created for herself in Arizona.

Samantha now worked in a leadership position, and had a very flashy lifestyle. Elaborate dinners, weekends spent in the mountains, nights out at the clubs in Scottsdale, she really seemed to have everything going on. Even her new boyfriend, a few years older than her was attractive. She looked happy.

“So excited to see you!” Erica messaged in.

Turning her camera phone towards her like a mirror, Erica checked her makeup again. Pursing her lips, she looked good, the best she ever had in her opinion.

Erica spent a majority of her flight going through pictures, mostly other people she knew or sort of knew. Her first class ticket got her free wifi, food and drink. Ordering a bottle of white wine with a cheese board she lounged and enjoyed herself.

Posting pictures of herself on instagram, Erica had built a strong following since graduating. Over 10,000+ people followed her, since she began posting bikini pictures with her friends who didn’t nearly have as much time on their hands to expand their audience.Erica worked three part times jobs, each allowing her enough freedom during her shifts. Posting Instagram stories were apart of her everyday rituals, and she was good at it.

Only two years removed from rigorous track, she still had amazing legs though she hadn’t put on her running shoes since walking in the St. Judes Turkey Trot. An event she typically raced and won over the years.

Truthfully told she maybe communicated with 30 people. Those individuals stemmed from her close friends, family, and some coworkers who she kept relations rather short with.

In her mind, Erica knew she wouldn’t remain close with that group forever. The group consisted of about 6 people who worked with her at either the athletic club, the physical therapists office, or the ICU in the small town hospital in Elgin.

Telling herself that she would one day become a Doctor, Erica held herself to a higher standard than that of her coworkers and practically anyone she met. She decided early on that most of the people she worked with lacked direction or capabilities to succeed. When she did communicate with them on social media, it was never more than a like on a picture or a comment.

By the time she landed in Arizona, Erica had posted four stories, commented on 10 photo’s, liked 50 pictures, and unfollowed 5 people. None of the photos she liked were of her coworkers, most were of models or old friends. As much as she’d hate to admit it, Erica’s life fuel came from social media engagement.

Erica rolled off the airplane with over 20 message notifications on her phone which she knew she would not answer for at least another hour. The awareness that people were thinking of her was plenty to get her through seeing her good friend Samantha whose life she hadn’t been apart of outside of communicating over the phone.

Seeing a text message from Samantha, Erica opened her phone while walking through the terminal to see a picture of “Chad,” the Roomate of Samantha’s boyfriend.

“He’s single” she sent over with a winky face.

Focusing in on the photo, Erica examined the attractive brown haired and blue eyed twenty something year old. Grabbing his instagram handle, she looked and found that he, like her had over 10,000 followers. On a few of his pictures he posted advertisements for body lotion and mens hair care.

(Later on that night.)

“Erica, this is John and Chad”

Shaking both their hands, Erica found that Chad wasn’t as attractive in person. He seemed to have a bit more age to his face than his pictures gave him credit for.

Taking tequila shots, the four of them sat around the couch playing card games. Eventually the game turned to “never have I ever.” Attempts by the guys to uncover what they could about the girls, now that they were warmed up with booze.

“Never have I ever fooled around in the car.” John started.

Chad and Erica both put their fingers down. Everyone laughed, Erica blushed.

“You would Erica, you totally would.” Samantha joked.

The guys looked at each other and Erica continued to laugh along, though she knew that only once in her life did she do anything in a car. It was in high school with her boyfriend after prom. In college Erica almost never put herself in compromising situations. She’d only slept with 4 guys in her life, two of them being her boyfriends.

“Your turn Chad” Samantha blurted out tipsily, pouring another round of shots.

“Okay, okay, Never have I ever had a threesome.”

Samantha and John both put their fingers down.

“It was one time!” Samantha signaled with her middle finger at John who’s eyebrows were raised. The group began to laugh. John took a drink of his beer.

“Wow, okay you two definitely keep it interesting over there.” Chad began clapping audaciously.

“No, not with each other. No, no. Haha who did you do it with Samantha?” John asked his girlfriend curiously.

Erica knew the story very well. It happened right after college graduation when they met two Law School students from the University of Chicago. Erica had made out with one of the guys earlier in the evening, but turned decided to go home instead of sleep with the guy. Samantha on the other hand went back with both and the rest was history.

“It was with my boyfriend in college and a girlfriend” Samantha lied.

“Hmph right!” Erica blurted out accidentally.

Samantha’s face turned white, and Erica kew she had messed up though the response was rather unconscious and partially reactive to Samantha’s earlier comments.

“Hmph, then what happened?” John asked rather amused.

“Two guys Chad interjected?”

Samantha and Erica looked at each other and knew the gig was up.

“Okay, it was one time, and I was really really drunk” Samantha pleaded.

The guys stood up and high fives each other on the couch, while Samantha’s head fell into her hands. Everyone laughed and took another shot.

“All right, my turn.”

Samantha looked at Erica and knew exactly what was coming.

“Never have I ever fucked my professor.”

Samantha smiled and locked eyes with Erica who wore a candid look that didn’t fully show the pain and heartbreak she felt. It was her senior year, Anatomy and Physiology both semesters with Mr. Ramstrak. Newly married with a baby on the way, Erica slept with him once first semester and then began a romantic relationship for 4 months before he left her.

“Put it down Erica” Samantha continued.

“You hooked up with you professor? Did you get an A?” John joked.

“Erica always got straight A’s.” Samantha interjected feeling a little bad by the comment.

“Yeah, it was stupid.” Erica answered rather tight.

The group played a few more rounds, though Erica never really got out of her funk. The guys brought out a marijuanna blunt, and began to watch animal planet. Seeing the lions and tigers fight to catch their prey, Erica felt her nerves and anxiety heightened. She opted to sleep on the coach when Chad invited her back to his room.

Sobbing to herself, Erica wondered how she had gotten to this point in her life. *

(The following night.)

Erica and Samantha got ready to go to dinner with the guys. They had not discussed the details of the drinking game. When Samantha asked Erica if she had been crying, she lied saying it was from laughing. Samantha accepted this, and so the girls carried on.

“I think it was a smart move leaving Chad alone like that last night.” Samantha began, while pouring the two of them a glass of wine. They were both in sweats in Samantha’s kitchen, a hour or so before dinner.

“Hey, I don’t know if I’m going to drink tonight. I’m not feeling my best.” Erica answered, her hands on her hips.

“Come on Erica, we never see each other. You always say how shitty your friends are at work. Let's enjoy this time while we have it.”

“Okay.”

Pouring two heavy glasses of pino noir, the girls drank and talked about the guys. John supposedly was really good in bed, and always kept her pleased. Erica felt the wine loosening her up, and began to feel better again.

The four of them went to dinner, and again ordered shots. When the bill came, everyone threw in their card except Erica. She put in the $100 bill and said that was her contribution.

“Oh big spender huh?” Chad asked.

Samantha thought to respond but decided maybe to watch what she’d say.

“I’ll have to get you back somehow for that” Chad continued placing his hand on her thigh.

The group made it back to Johns house shortly after, and after a few drinks the four of them split into two’s. Samantha and John in their room, Chad and Erica in the other.

Kissing each other Erica was turned on by Chad’s sensual touch. Confident and respectful, he never put his hands where they weren’t needed. A little bit older than her, and incredibly handsome she felt a rush of emotions as they laid on his bed. Stroking her hair with one hand, Chad unbuttoned her jeans with the other which she halted.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Thats okay.”

Smiling into her lips the two continued to hold each other close until Erica pulled away. She hadn’t had sex in over a year. Once out of desperation, after Remy Ramstrack left her.

(The next day)

“This was so much fun Erica, so happy you came out.”

Hugging her old best friend Erica and Samantha embraced each other. Erica wore joggers, a nike t shirt, and the same sneakers she started the weekend in. Her teddy bear still strapped around her role backpack. Walking over to security, she checked in and saw her parents booked the flight home in business class. The line moved quickly at the Arizona terminal, so really there wasn’t much of a difference in time.

Getting on her phone, she checked and saw that she had received 40 comments in the last 2 days. The picture she posted of the group already had over 300 likes, which compared to 10,000 followers wasn’t very much. Sitting at her terminal, she scrolled through pictures for a little bit only to find that she had lost some interest in it.

With about an hour to go until her flight, she decided she would grab a coffee, give her Mom a call. When her Mom didn’t answer, Erica sat in Starbucks and went back to social media scrolling. Clicking into facebook she received a notification.

“Today is Remy Ramstrack’s birthday.”

November 9th, of course it was. The deceptive scorpio as she had told herself for the last two years now. Against her best judgement she clicked into her ex lovers profile and found all the evidence she needed that they were officially over.

Remy looked thicker, he had a beard and looked tired. His wife Candice had put on weight from the two babies. Their son Colton, now two years old, and another baby girl Carlyle. Clicking into their shared photo’s she found the only one of them together.

Graduation day, she wore he tight white dress and mothers pearl earrings. Mr. Ramstrack had his doctorate gown on and did not smile in the picture, instead looking a bit uncomfortable. Two years had flown by since he broke up with her, hence her pulling out of medical school applications. Time really had flown by, and in a few short months she would be taking her exams again.

Would she ever move on? She hoped so. Still that nagging voice kept running her around and around in circles. She should have never slept with him in the first place. How could she be so stupid to trust him. How could she ever trust anyone again?

Getting onto the plane Erica felt anxious. There wasn’t a thing she could do that didn’t feel tormenting. It was as if the whole world was conspiring against her. The plane took off to a bumpy start which made matters worse and as she flipped through photo’s on her phone of the weekend, a spike of anxiety hit as she thought again

When the plane leveled out, the service attendant announced that wifi would cost $15 for the full flight. Erica paid without thinking twice, though her wallet was empty.

Posting a picture of herself dressed before dinner the following night, Erica felt content. She knew she looked good and was sure this would be a good one.

“Excuse me, would you like anything to drink?” Asked the flight attendant.

“How much for a glass of wine?”

Raising her eye, the older yet attractive attendant smiled.

“Not letting go of the weekend huh?” She asked with the maturity of someone who had taken this path a fair share of times in her day.

Erica purchased the $9 bottle which ended up being more than $10 with tax.

The touch of the Chablis hitting her lips, felt cool and soon the toxins reached her bloodstream causing all to relax. Her hangover dissipated with each sip and before the attendant reached the back of the plane, her mini bottle was empty.

Clicking the button atop of her she waited for the attendant to return. Wiling to pay whatever cost at this point to get through the flight. As if on cue, she came with a credit card chip scanner and mini bottle of Chablis.

“Thank you so much.”

“First one always goes down the easiest.”

Three hours later Erica arrived home in an uber. Her Mom had to work and Father away on business. Getting out of the Toyota Prius her buzz had all but wore off. Walking up the porch to her home, she began to open the door.

“Excuse me Erica” it was a females voice.

Turning around, Erica saw the stern face of Mrs. Ramstrack.

“Oh hello, Hi you’re Mrs. Ramstrack right? I think we met at…”

Watching her steps, Mrs. Ramstrack approached Erica, ignoring her words until she stood directly underneath her at the front porch.

“Erica, did you sleep with Remy?”

“Did I sleep with Mr. Ramstrack. No, of course not he’s my teacher.” Erica defended herself earnestly.

“Okay.”

Turning around, Erica began her decent back towards the minivan parked down the street, Erica could see the pain in her eyes. The pain of someone who needed answers, Erica knew that pain because she had felt it everyday for the last two years.

“Wait, Candice!”

Erica now in a light jog over found herself now within arms reach. She’d only met Candice once during the awkward photo they’d taken at graduation. Erica did not know it but Candice had been suspicious of Remy. During her last 4 months of her pregnancy, Remy had only one class to teach, so that the could spend more time with Candice.

On his longer days, he often times said he would spend time with students prepping for medical school. A feat, he himself never completed, though he did get his doctorate.

“Is there something you want to tell me Erica? Were you screwing Remy too?”

“We did sleep together yes.” Erica found herself say.

Shaking her head, Candice laughed a bit. A kind of crazy laugh, an unhealthy but necessary one. Biting her lip, she looked like she could have hit Erica right there.

“Do you know how much I could fuck you up for this? What do you think your school would have to say about this?”

Candice asked brokenly.

“I don’t know.”

“You’d get kicked out of medical school today.”

“Erica?”

Erica didn’t want to answer the question. How could she tell Candice that she hadn’t ever enrolled in medical school? What good would come from it, she didn’t know. There wasn’t anything good that could come from this situation. She needed time, time to get away, to escape this drama. She needed reassurance, some kind maybe from her instagram. Nothing could be right in this moment, and she cursed herself for leaving the porch to pursue this conversation.

“He’s cheating on me again” she continued. “The girls pregnant, can you believe that?”

“Oh my god. I don’t know what to say”

“Oh my god is right. Fucking ass hole.” Candice rolled her eyes, showing some acceptance in her current circumstances.

“I’m sorry” Erica responded.

“No don’t be sorry. Be grateful that you don’t have to deal with what I do now. If it weren’t for this other girl, I’d be bringing you into court to testify. I’m taking full custody of the kids and letting you off the hook. This is just for me, so that I know I’m not the crazy one.”

Candice began to break down a bit, and walked away. Getting in her red mini van, she drove west toward the freeway, back into the city. She was about two blocks down the street when Erica felt the urge to break after her.

First in a slow jog, and then in an all out effort Erica began to chase down Mrs. Ramstrack. Missing every crack and divot on the side walk she knew the road well, and was making headway on the red minivan about half a block away. Moving in full form she was restrained from the sneakers, joggers, and t-shirt which were all made ironically from sports company’s.

The Adidas were loose and came off on the sidewalk, leaving her feet bare. Her joggers weren’t flexible and so by nature, ripped in the back. As for her nike shirt, it was already a crop top and rose high above her ribcages, exposing the pink sports brah underneath.

A group of boys on the other side of the street watched on their bicycles as the “hot neighbor” ran full speed out of her clothes. Erica didn’t even notice or care, she was past caring about other peoples opinions. The red minivan, now half a block ahead of her was making a turn that subsequently led to the freeway, back towards the city.

Passing each house in only a few steps, Erika was losing speed. Fatigue setting in, she knew she needed to break through this barrier for herself, for the person she once was. No more than 50 meters away, she locked in on the red minivan making a right turn to get onto the freeway. All that stood between her was a 4 foot bush, which was half a foot higher than a hurdle and more length to clear. As she crossed over into a neighbors front yard, she had one shot to meet Candice. Throwing her cell phone to the grass she used all her strength, hurdling herself into the air.

Landing gracefully on the other side of the pavement, Erica ran into the side of the van, startling Candice. Rolling down the window, Candice looked shocked and scared to see Erica who looked a mess.

“You’re not the only one he hurt here. What can I do to help?”

submitted by /u/Shortfunnystories [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2NYRmkf

[barbosaasouza]

Hearthstone: The Boomsday Project Card Analysis Lab (Part 1)

Card reveals have begun for Hearthstone's next big expansion. The Boomsday Project will dive deep into science and technology, as part of the next set for the Year of the Raven.

This expansion features the new keyword Magnetic, new Omega Projects, and Legendary Spells. And as is the case with each new Hearthstone expansion, Shacknews is stepping into the lab to analyze each of the Boomsday Project's new cards. So here we go!

(7) Dr. Boom, Mad Genius Type: Hero Class: Warrior Rarity: Legendary Battlecry: For the rest of the game, your Mechs have Rush. Source: The Boomsday Project Card Reveal Livestream

(2) Big Red Button Type: Activate this turn's Mech Suit power!

Did you miss our analysis of Dr. Boom, Mad Genius? Shacknews dove head-first into this all-new Hero Card on Monday, so be sure to catch up with that before moving forward.

(3) Spider Bomb (2/2) Type: Minion - Mech Class: Hunter Rarity: Rare Magnetic. Deathrattle: Destroy a random enemy minion. Source: The Boomsday Project Announcement Trailer

Analysis: This seems to point to an interesting direction for Hunter, because it's never been a particularly Mech-heavy class. More than that, the class has often focused more on outright aggression than control. Spider Bomb is definitely more of a control tool. On its own, it has below average 2/2 stats and probably won't be overly useful.

So then what can this magnetize to in order to make it more effective? So far, there haven't been any eye-opening Hunter Mechs and even Wild Hunters don't have too many useful Mechs that they could latch this onto. Maybe one of the Shredders would work here. Either way, the jury's out on this guy and it's not looking good.

Don't expect to see this particular scenario often, but at least be aware that Deathstalker Rexxar can technically latch Spider Bomb onto any Zombeast that's part-Nightmare Amalgam, since the Amalgam is "everything."

(4) Omega Defender (2/6) Type: Minion Class: Neutral Rarity: Epic Taunt. Battlecry: If you have 10 Mana Crystals, gain +10 Attack. Source: The Boomsday Project Announcement Trailer

Analysis: The Omega Defender is the first of the Omega Projects and it's a big one. On its own, it's a decent 2/6 Taunt that can be played on Turn 4. That's not too bad. But in the late game, it becomes a 12/6 with Taunt. As shown in the video, that's enough to solidly counter any Deathwing play.

Don't expect to see Omega Defender much in constructed, because Silence effects and removal spells can wreck this guy quickly. But this could be devastating in Arena, especially as both players' hands start to run low and direct counterplays become fewer and father between.

(1) Biology Project Type: Spell Class: Druid Rarity: Common Each player gains 2 Mana Crystals. Source: The Boomsday Project Announcement Trailer

Analysis: The idea behind this spell isn't bad on paper. For the Druid player, it's allows them to ramp up faster than using Wild Growth and is a much cheaper Nourish. Notice this card's text doesn't say empty Mana Crystals, which means some of these spells can even be combined.

The Druid player will ultimately have to decide whether their deck is good enough to handle the drawback of giving their opponent two extra Mana Crystals. Is it worth helping them ramp up? This could easily backfire in a Druid mirror, against an Ever Warlock, or against a Shudderwock Shaman. But if the Druid has Ultimate Infestation ready to get rolling in Standard or a handful of Jades ready to go in Wild, the trade-off just might be worthwhile.

(3) Electra Stormsurge (3/3) Type: Minion - Elemental Class: Shaman Rarity: Legendary Battlecry: Your next spell this turn casts twice. Source: The Boomsday Project Announcement Trailer

Analysis: Electra Stormsurge can be a lifesaver, especially in a deck running Hagatha the Witch. Shudderwock Shamans should be able to find a good home for this minion. If the board starts to get out of hand or if the Shaman player is on the verge of death, run a double Volcano or a double Healing Rain to get right back in the game.

Wild Shamans will definitely want to run this in their Burst Shaman deck, so that they can finish with double Lava Burst or double Crackle. Pyroblast-level damage for just 5-6 Mana? That's disgusting!

(5) Myra's Unstable Element Type: Spell Class: Rogue Rarity: Legendary Draw the rest of your deck. Source: The Boomsday Project Announcement Trailer

Analysis: It's hard to imagine what to make of the first of these Legendary spells. Would a game get so out of hand that the Rogue player would willfully put themselves in fatigue? It's possible, but ultimately feels unnecessary.

After all, the Miracle Rogue archetype makes it so that card draw is plentiful. Gadgetzan Auctioneer is practically an unstable element all on his own. Rogues should have no trouble digging into their deck, so why spend 5 Mana on this? There may be a minion or spell coming later in this expansion that will help answer this, but until that comes, this is getting a thumbs down for now. Or at the very least, an "Incomplete" grade.

(3) Stargazer Luna (2/4) Type: Minion Class: Mage Rarity: Legendary After you play the right-most card in your hand, draw a card. Source: Hearthstone: The Boomsday Project - Enter Boom Labs (Episode 1)

Analysis: I had to wrap my head around this one, but the more I read about Stargazer Luna, the more I like this card. This opens the door to a parade of Mage spells, especially if they have one or two Sorcerer's Apprentices at the ready. There's a certain element where the luck of the draw needs to be just right, but I like this as a potential alternative to Aluneth.

Stargazer Luna also gets more interesting when random cards are generated, like something off a Discover spell. Is that new card worth playing just for the card draw or is there something that will fit the current situation better? There's a certain amount of thinking that the Stargazer Luna needs to incorporate to maximize her potential. I'm not sure how useful she'll be at the end of the day, but in terms of concept, she's already proving to be one of my favorite cards of this set.

(2) Menacing Nimbus (2/2) Type: Minion - Elemental Class: Shaman Rarity: Common Battlecry: Add a random Elemental to your hand. Source: The Boomsday Project: Lab Logs Part 1

Analysis: There's very little downside to adding Menacing Nimbus to an Elemental Shaman deck. But it's going to work even better in an Even Shaman deck that could always use more resources. The Menacing Nimbus' 2/2 stats make it a solid Turn 2 play and can play well alongside Flametongue Totem. It'll help keep the Even Shaman's numbers up for later in the game and should prove useful... most of the time.

The trouble is, there are a lot of Elementals, even in Standard. For every Mountain Giant or Frozen Crusher the Menacing Nimbus generates, it could just as easily pop out a dud like Ice Walker or Dust Devil. It'll be good for what it is, but don't play Menacing Nimbus solely for its effect, because the result may be disappointing.

(5) Wargear (5/5) Type: Minion - Mech Class: Neutral Rarity: Common Magnetic Source: Hearthstide Chat: Magnetic

Analysis: This is a standard mid-level 5/5 body. It's one that'll play nicely with Mechs, but it'll take more than a Magnetic keyword to get into constructed decks. I can't see this guy getting much player there.

As an Arena choice, he's solid. He'll stand out just fine on his own with his 5/5 stats, with the ability to bolster other Mechs a pleasant bonus. He's a good backup choice behind Corrosive Sludge, which has become an Arena favorite over time.

(2) Upgradeable Framebot (1/5) Type: Minion - Mech Class: Neutral Rarity: Common Source: Hearthstide Chat: Magnetic

Anaylsis: The Hearthside Chat indicated that the Upgradeable Framebot can be used to upgrade the Wargear and vice-versa to craft together a 6/10 machine. That sounds nice on the surface, but I can't see anyone in constructed taking up two precious deck slots to make this happen.

Upgradeable Framebot is going to be more of a common find in Discover effects, such as Dr. Boom's Big Red Button. A 1/5 body won't do much and it's definitely on the lower-end of Discover cards, but there's a good chance it'll pop up later in the game.

(7) Beryllium Nullifier (3/8) Type: Minion - Mech Class: Warrior Rarity: Epic Magnetic: Can't be targeted by spells or Hero Powers. Source: Hearthstide Chat: Magnetic

Analysis: Speaking of Dr. Boom, imagine finding this giant rust bucket off his Big Red Button? This Warrior-exclusive Mech is going to be a nightmare whenever it gets bolstered with Taunt. And that's where its Magnetic effect will most often be used, attached to pesky Taunt minions. Imagine this guy going on Unpowered Steambot to create a 17-Health Taunt that can't be removed with spells.

Beryllium Nullifier's strength in Standard will ultimately be determined by what else is ahead for Boomsday Project card reveals. Meanwhile, Wild players are already getting excited about the potential of pairing this guy with Shredders, which typically have high Attack value and a lower Health number. Or maybe both Standard and Wild players can pair it up with...

(5) Zilliax (3/2) Type: Minion - Mech Class: Neutral Rarity: Legendary Magnetic, Divine Shield, Taunt, Lifesteal, Rush Source: Hearthstide Chat: Magnetic

Analysis: What a sickeningly amazing Legendary! Even on its own, a 3/2 Divine Shield minion with Lifesteal and Rush is almost a guaranteed Health recovery, even if it is modest. Now imagine pairing it up with a larger Mech for higher damage and a higher Health recovery total. Also, its Divine Shield ensures that it sticks around for at least a few seconds.

If anyone is running any kind of Mech deck going forward, Zilliax is almost assuredly going into it. There's almost no downside in playing it, unless the opposide side is filled with enemy minions. And considering that Chillblade Champion carries the same 3/2 line with less abilities for just one Mana less, Zilliax feels like the perfect cost, even as a solo play.

(4) Annoy-o-Module (2/4) Type: Minion - Mech Class: Paladin Rarity: Rare Magnetic. Divine Shield. Taunt. Source: Hearthstone: The Boomsday Project - Enter Boom Labs (Episode 2)

Analysis: This is Annoy-o-Tron's big brother, with literally double the stats for double the cost. The difference, other than Annoy-o-Module being a Paladin minion, is that it's Magnetic.

On its own, it's a decent play, but not exactly one that Paladin players will flock to. Arena players, in particular, are going to stick to Lone Champion. But the Magnetic keyword has the potential to give this guy legs.

Standard players will patiently wait on better Mechs to come along, but the Wild player is going to love pairing Annoy-o-Module with Shielded Minibot. Simply pop its Divine Shield and then magnetize it with Annoy-o-Module to give it a fresh Divine Shield and Taunt. And again, there are those pesky Shredders, like Piloted Shredder that will love the extra 2/4 Divine Shield bump.

That's all for now! Keep an eye on Shacknews over the next few weeks for more card breakdowns for The Boomsday Project, leading all the way up to the expansion's release on August 7.

Hearthstone: The Boomsday Project Card Analysis Lab (Part 1) published first on https://superworldrom.tumblr.com/