#he can haggle like a professional

[karmicpunishment]

imagine tachihara having a bunch of random ass skills that he picked up for undercover missions over the years

and i mean like the weirdest assortment of things

[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

[muiitoloko]

Daddy’s Little Shopper

Summary: Frank, the doting shopkeeper, learns the art of compromise as Emma turns her pretend purchases into a heartwarming family memory.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader & OC

Warnings: None

Also read on Ao3

The soft afternoon light filtered through the curtains as you leaned against the doorframe, watching your husband, Frank, play with your two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Emma. The sight warmed your heart. Frank, who always carried an air of authority and poise in his professional life, had transformed into a patient and doting father, fully immersed in their shared game of supermarket.

Seated cross-legged behind a tiny toy cash register, Frank adjusted his posture with exaggerated seriousness, his chubby frame looking almost comically out of place behind the miniature setup. His white hair glowed in the light, and his hazel eyes twinkled with amusement as he scanned an invisible barcode on a pretend can of beans.

“That’ll be £2.50, Miss Emma,” Frank said in his rich baritone voice, adopting a mock-professional tone.

Emma, clutching her little toy shopping basket filled with a mix of plush vegetables, plastic bottles, and random items from her toy box, tilted her head in consideration. “Two pounds fifty?” she repeated, her small brows furrowing as she processed the information.

“That’s correct,” Frank replied with a small smirk, watching her intense little face. “Quite the bargain, don’t you think?”

Emma shook her head decisively. “No, Daddy. That’s too expensive. I’m not buying it.”

Frank chuckled, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he leaned forward. “Ah, but you see, this is the best can of beans in all of the land,” he countered, holding the imaginary item up as though it were a precious artifact. “Imported directly from… erm… the magical fields of Bean-topia. Worth every penny.”

Emma pursed her lips, clearly unconvinced. “Still too ‘spensive,” she declared, putting the can back in her basket. “What about this?” She held up a stuffed carrot, its orange fabric faded from use.

“Ah, the carrot,” Frank mused, inspecting it with exaggerated gravity. “For you, my most loyal customer, it’s just 50p.”

Emma beamed. “Okay, I’ll buy it!” She reached into her tiny purse, pulling out a handful of imaginary coins, which she carefully placed in Frank’s outstretched palm.

Frank made a show of counting them, pretending to frown as he held one up to the light. “Hmm, this coin is a bit… suspicious,” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you paying me in chocolate coins again?”

Emma giggled, her laughter like music. “No, Daddy! It’s real money.”

“Ah, my mistake,” Frank said solemnly, handing her the carrot. “Here you go, madam. One premium carrot. Enjoy.”

Emma placed it delicately back into her basket and moved to her next purchase, this time a plastic carton of milk. “How much is this?” she asked, her voice full of curiosity.

Frank tapped the register with dramatic flair. “For you, the milk is on sale today. Only £1.”

Emma gasped as though it were a miracle. “Wow! That’s not ‘spensive. I’ll take it.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelling as you observed their playful banter. It was these moments—so ordinary, yet so precious—that reminded you of the deep love and connection within your little family.

Frank glanced up, catching you watching them, and his smirk softened into a warm smile. “We’ve got quite the savvy shopper here,” he said, his baritone voice full of pride. “She’s already haggling better than most adults.”

Emma turned to you, holding up her basket triumphantly. “Look, Mommy! I bought a carrot and milk.”

“You’re a very smart shopper, sweetheart,” you praised, stepping into the room to crouch beside her. “Daddy doesn’t stand a chance against your negotiating skills.”

Frank let out a low chuckle. “I’ll have you know I’m running a legitimate business here,” he said, pretending to look offended. “And I’ll not be outwitted by a two-year-old.”

Emma giggled, placing another item on the counter. “How much for this, Daddy?”

Frank looked at the toy apple and leaned forward conspiratorially. “For you, my darling Emma? It’s free.”

Emma squealed in delight, clapping her hands. “Yay! Thank you, Daddy!”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to Frank’s cheek. “Looks like the shopkeeper has a soft spot for his favorite customer.”

Frank turned to you, his hazel eyes sparkling. “Always,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your waist as Emma giggled and continued her shopping spree.

[dallasgallant]

Christmas headcanons-

I’m so behind, I was on time and early for the other holidays, and I’m technically still early now but when it comes to Christmas content usually you want it super early as everyone’s busy the week of. Anyways—

Time period 1. Time period 2

Two-bits house has its Christmas lights up year round, soon after their dad left they stopped taking them down. They also don’t really trust two on the roof not to hurt himself so it’s the safest bet

On years it’s not donated by Mr. Curtis’s work, the Curtis men set out to the tree lot, go to the back and start haggling for a decent enough cheap tree. They’re usually scrawny but affordable.

Dally hates when it ices on top of snow, he can aim a snowball well but if it’s frozen he turns into Bambi on ice - Two and Steve are relentless when this happens as he just keeps slipping and can’t catch them.

Johnny stays with two-bit the most around the holidays. He bounced between there and his own home, sometimes the Curtis house but mainly if they’re having everyone over.

The amount of chocolate just out for the taking in the Curtis home is unfathomable.

Soda has 100% eaten the foil before.

Pony used to play with the nativity like a farm set when he was really little, there’s a few photos of this.

Pony’s favorite Christmas songs are all the hymns and gospel songs, real old stuff. Guys call him boring for it but Johnny will sit and listen with him sometimes, even if he would take chuck berry over o’ holy night most of the time.

All of the gangs winter coats have about a million patches in them but still work well, Johnny’s has slightly less holes than his usual jacket.

All of the gang have tried to convince Pony that yellow snow was lemon flavored, unfortunately he’s a bit too observant to fall for it. - that being said they all have attempted to write their name before to varying success lol

Mrs. Curtis was the one to teach Darry and Dally how to mend/patch clothes (older headcanon of mine)

An annual professional photo around Christmas of her sons is Mrs. Curtis’s splurge of the season, the amount of awkward photos is unfathomable. The year she got a camera for herself was her favorite.

The guys will have some small stuff for the others but nothing major, most are reserved for getting something for family(if at all) most of two’s are swiped.

Think this was from a SE fic but Steve runs gifts for his ma, small stuff like fudge across the neighborhood. Then he started giving his services out to others— he and soda have a little enterprise going.

Like Thanksgiving, the curtis home is the preferred viewing space for Tv specials and Christmas episodes of shows because of their color television.

[oxymorayuri]

❞𝐍𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬❝

Part eight

storys masterlist. ♡♡♡

✦ Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader ✦ Warnings: none ✦ Spoiler: none

wordcount: 4187

tagging: @lazyninjatheorist - @sassyyassi - @cottoncandyloverrrr - @littleleelee

! ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ !

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

Near the harbor where you arrived on the first day, you sit at a small café. The streets are busy as ever and at the market next door, the stall owners are haggling hard with tourists.

The typical tricks of the street merchants are being pulled… Everyone claims to have the 'finest' goods and if someone is stupid enough to approach the seller, they are lulled into compliments or promises being made.

Those earrings which match her ~beautiful~ eyes... The cure that makes their hair grow... The usual nonsense.

The remarkable thing is their charm. Maybe you see a parallel here, or catch yourself learning something, but their talent is noteworthy. If anyone knows how to sell something, it's the street merchants.

They immediately recognize their potential customers, simply by watching people walk through the streets. They speak to people in a systematic way, have prepared phrases for various types and are in most cases successful.

Sipping your coffee, you observe a rather interesting scene. Near you is a jewelry stall with probably fake goods, you just can't imagine that this sleazy guy who sells the goods is legitimate. You doubt it but you listen intently as he tries to sell the 'latest' fashions to a young couple.

However, the young woman who is his prime target doesn't seem to be very sure herself. But she seems rather shy and admits that she can't afford something so fancy.

The grin on the salesman's lips is visibly nasty, which would set off all your alarm bells, but the man plays it off by reaching for the lady's hands in a friendly manner and announcing that he would give her a discount. You can literally feel that he almost has her.

He puts the necklace on her, complimented her and when he realized that she still wasn't budging, he turned to her boyfriend. “Don't you think she looks beautiful wearing that?” He mentioned more, forcing him to agree, and eventually the poor guy caved in and bought the necklace from him; for an exorbitant price.

You shake your head. Those damn tricksters, but you can't help grinning as you bring your coffee to your mouth. You are the same, no, worse but you see more class in yourself. Besides, there's a big difference between you and the mediocre street hustlers.

While you, as a trickster, recognize that he is a scammer, he would never in a million years realize that you are also a trickster. You're a fucking professional.

You can only survive in this world if you are like this world. A criminal.

Thoughtfully and without realizing it, you stare at Ace, who is devouring his slice of cake without a care in the world. He notices that you are absently staring at him and tries to convince you to try a spoon.

His grin is wide as he holds the spoon out to you. His refreshing manner is exactly what has caught your attention since day one. He is always very playful. You literally admire him for his carefree spirit, while inside your head there's never silence.

You open your mouth while your chin rests in one hand and Ace puts the spoon in your mouth.

Ace looks satisfied while you savour the sweetness on your tongue. Are you really letting Ace feed you right now? You smirk to yourself. Who cares. You're bored because you've been watching a certain building for a while now...

The building in question doesn't exactly look like a apartment building or like it's abandoned, but it still looks like it's not accessible to everyone...

It looks like an upscale place. The facade is neat, plant pots to the left and right of the polished glass door, but it's all dark and you can't see anything through the black windows.

It looks like a store but it's closed, yet it's late in the afternoon. You've been here since morning and you're on your fifth cup of coffee and not once has it been open. There are no displayed opening hours, no proper advertising, no outside signs, nothing. It's just a well kept building? You don't think so.

Ace follows your blank stare and looks at the building. He has to turn a little because the building is behind him and continues to chomp on his dessert.

With his mouth full, he turns to you and speaks without shame.

“Do you think it's that house?” Over the last few days you've walked every street, looking for the brothel the gangsters on the ship were talking about.

The Moulin Rouge. In bars and other public places, nobody knew the name. It seemed a bit strange to you, as some people seemed to want to change the subject, or were quick to recommend other places. However, it would be foolish to push for answers. So you apologized kindly and said you must have mixed things up.

Jackpot, you thought immediately.

So, the Moulin Rouge is one of the places Doflamingo wants to hide. You know that it exists and you are pretty sure that the brothel you are looking for is behind the walls of this building.

But why does no one go in and out there? That's the only entrance in front of you. You've already walked around the house a couple of times. There's no cellar door, no back entrance, nothing.

“What do you think?” You are audibly bored, judging by your voice. This building is your only clue to the brothel. He shrugs his shoulders.

“I don't know, I just wonder how this is supposed to help us get to the palace.” You briefly consider how to explain your thoughts to him. His mind doesn't seem to be as entangled as yours, but that's exactly why Whitebeard sends you on missions like this. Like a profiler or master detective, you understand your targets and get information without anyone getting suspicious.

“You know Ace, to figure out what the bad guys are doing, you have to think like a bad guy.” - “Aren't we classified as evil and dangerous? I mean, we're pirates.” He looks a little thoughtful. You are wanted and shunned people after all.

You even made him wear a shirt all the time, so no one would see his jolly roger tattoo. You've disguised yourselves, and Ace isn't even wearing his hat. After all, people might recognize you otherwise. Well, they'd probably recognize Ace, because Ace is known as a pirate, while your face remains unknown.

When you're out in the streets as a Whitebeard pirate, you cover your head with a scarf to hide your face, leaving only your eyes exposed. You frown briefly. Sometimes you're a bit stupid yourself and you laugh a little, which causes confusion for Ace.

“Sure, we're pirates. But we're only a threat to those who feel threatened, not because we do evil…”

You are also the bad guys. Well, according to the World Government… But in your eyes, you're not. Anyone who messes with you usually deserves to fall, and that's not meant to sound arrogant. You don't really know... you never wanted to follow Whitebeard because you were offered wealth, power or possessions. You follow him because you trust and admire him as a human being.

He gave you personal freedom. From an early age, you have witnessed the darker side of humanity and can confirm that there is shadow on every side.

He snorts at your smug remark and sways his drink with a toothy grin. He leans back and looks at the strolling passersby. His grin remained for the moment while he was lost in thought, but you watch it fade.

His typical facial expression now looked rather serious? Very unusual and you suddenly find yourself wanting to know more. More about the Ace, who is usually so easygoing.

You watch him attentively as his pupils follow someone until that person disappears behind his back and reappears in your field of vision.

Now your eyes are following a pretty big man walking in the direction of the building. He's casually dressed in dark, but fine looking clothes, and his stride gives off a confident air, yet he looks like danger. His hair is slicked back and you can almost smell his perfume. Compared to the building, he matches the picture perfectly.

“Ohoho Ace, now it's getting interesting.” You can tell that he wants to turn around, but you grab his hand and shake your head. You pay attention to the man as he reaches into his trouser pocket to take out a key. He unlocks the door and before he steps inside, two young and attractively dressed ladies call out to him.

He greets the ladies with a naughty grin and has a quick chat with them. You have to concentrate a bit to make out their words, but luckily they are not far away.

“Hey girls, ready for your first shift?” They chuckle and while he puts an arm around each of their shoulders, he disappears into the building with them.

With your eyes still on the closed glass door, you forget that you are still holding Ace's hand. He clears his throat, bringing you out of your thoughts and you tilt your head questioningly as you look him in the face.

His face cracks into a smirk. You seem to have no idea what he's hinting at which he finds really cute. Only after he gives your hand a little squeeze you finally realize that you're still holding hands. You automatically want to pull your hand away, but he refuses to let go and his grip tightens.

Even with red cheeks, you try to maintain a calm posture in front of him. Let him eye you with his mischievous smile and hold your hand… You don't mind, you tell yourself.

Ace can tell that your mind is wandering around. He looks longingly into your eyes as he rests his chin on his hand.

His warm fingers stroke the palm of your hand, skillfully and barely touching your skin, and yet your heart is racing like crazy. You feel goose bumps spreading and the gentle touch makes you want to scratch your hand, but you just stare at him, a little disturbed.

It tickles but it's still pleasant...

For a moment, you completely forget your surroundings. You are careless, as you will later curse yourself. You have no time to get involved with Ace, now that something is moving in the house, but why is it so hard to look away?

It's almost impossible to maintain control when Ace is touching you like this. You'd have to scratch your eyes out, if you didn't want to see his freckled kissed face.

He's just flirting with you. He doesn't even talk to you, he just looks at you with those intense, amorous eyes.

Damn that's annoying. You grit your teeth. You already knew Ace wasn't going to back down, but who knew you'd react like this?

Why do your knees go weak when he looks you in the eyes? Why does everything fall silent while you run your eyes over his lips? How come, he has you under his spell?

You don't understand... you don't understand yourself.

Looking irritated, you stand up and Ace lets easily go of your hand. He seems somewhat unimpressed as he looks up at you, as if he knows about your conflicting thoughts.

“I'll get us something new to drink…” You make a short and curt excuse and disappear into the café.

After some time of waiting, the man who unlocked the door came out again and guarded the entrance as a bouncer.

You didn't want to waste any more time and went straight there with Ace, throwing a bag of money on the table as you went. The waitress almost fainted when she saw the amount.

That money was more than enough to cover your expenses. That's a whole month's salary for all the staff at the cafe! You're an eternal heroine in the waitress's heart, but you'll never know it...

But before you could speak to the bouncer, he raised his huge hand in front of your faces and you stopped in your tracks. You and Ace look at each other in surprise, but your confusion is quickly cleared up after the man explains himself.

“This is no place for lovers and certainly not for women.” Not a place for women? You're surprised, but you quickly put on your mask. You sigh a little sadly and play dumb.

“Aww, I thought this was a classy restaurant…” - “A restaurant? Do you see a menu around here? It's a burlesque, the Moulin Rouge! If you want your man to get horny over our girls, then go ahead, get in.” Visibly annoyed, he made it clear that you should leave.

You and Ace make an offended and appalled face, but a triumphant sound rings in your head. Bingo!

“You big meanie, we're leaving already.” You don't waste time arguing and turn around, tossing your hair over your shoulder. If women aren't wanted in there, you'd probably attract a lot of attention, so you'll have to make plans again… Maybe keep an eye on what kind of people come in and visit…?

Just as you walk into the luxurious hotel lobby, a familiar figure appears in the corner of your eye. You reach for Ace and quickly sit down on a sofa in front of the reception desk.

You reach for a huge newspaper and hide behind it. Caught by surprise, Ace looks at you and he understands from your attentive gaze that you are actively watching someone. He looks around like an idiot and can't quite make out who exactly you're watching.

You roll your eyes and wave him towards you, indicating that he should come behind your newspaper.

“See that guy in the back?” Your and Ace's eyes peer cautiously over the edge of the newspaper. A few meters away from you, a group of expensively dressed gentlemen are sitting in a small lounge in front of the casino.

Ace's eyes move to yours and you form a hook with your hand, like a pirate's hook. Ace's eyebrows go up a little.

“Do you mean Crocodile?” he whispers to you.

“Exactly.” You look over again. Another man joined the group and after a short while they made their way into the casino.

You think about it.

What is Sir Crocodile doing here?

You think back to your time in Alabasta. You know he was doing business with Doflamingo. But it was mostly about trading weapons and prostitutes…

“Maybe he's a guest?” Ace's words startle you. You pull down the newspaper, now that Crocodile is gone you don't have to hide.

“Ace, you're a genius!” You don't quite want to admit it, but with that idea he's given you the missing piece of the puzzle. You grab him excitedly by one shoulder and give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Huh a genius…?"

His face is slightly flushed and there is a greasy grin on his lips, which makes you want to smack him on the back of the head, but you pull him up because you have to get after Crocodile quickly.

You get the feeling that he's your golden ticket. But you're not quite sure how to go about it. After all, he knows you and unfortunately you two parted quite dramatically…

He shouldn't see you for now... who knows why he's here. You decide that you shouldn't get involved with him unnecessarily.

You lead Ace to the bar with quick steps when you saw where Crocodile is seated. Once again he has settled down with his group in a small seating area and a lovely lady is now at his side.

At the bar you are turned with your back to the people, from this small distance he would immediately recognize you, thus you keep your back to him.

“Why Crocodile?” Ace asks you, turning his head slightly towards you. Your eyes go up to him. You wonder how much you should tell him about yourself and Crocodile. He should know that you used to work under him, shouldn't he? Who knows, maybe he's forgotten.

But you're sure he'll still have questions about why Crocodile shouldn't see you. But that's a problem if it comes to that, so you spare him a few details.

“He did business with Doflamingo and who knows, maybe he's not just a hotel guest but a guest at Doflamingo's party, right?” Your lips form into a small, confident smile and Ace smirks, glancing down.

Your eyes linger on Ace's side profile and you wonder what's going on in that pretty little head of his. His gaze meets your eyes again and without realizing it you grin at him. Ace shakes his head at you, but the smile doesn't leave his face for a second.

How can you be so cute? In his eyes, you're probably the most interesting woman he's ever met. His life has always been an adventure, but being with you makes him feel like he's in a classic movie. The sparkle in your eyes as you look at him so confidently is another picture he has saved in his mind.

“Oh sweet y/n, you're so pretty when you're all confident.” You gasp unexpectedly, startled by the sound that came from your lips. Excuse me, what the hell did he say?!

He needs to stop catching you off guard like that, damn Ace.

You are still unable to form proper words in your head and this only makes Ace laugh more. A little angry, you kick him in the side with your elbow.

“You better make yourself useful and tell me if that woman is still sitting next to Sir Crocodile.” He salutes you and turns his upper body sideways into the room to get an view.

“Yup, she's still sitting next to him and it looks like they're having a lovely time…” - “Hmmm I see… I think I have a funny idea!"

Ace puts his head questioningly to one side and you make a beckoning movement with your index finger. He comes closer to you and you whisper something quietly to him.

As you make some space between you again, you nod approvingly to each other. Now is the time to shine!

You suddenly burst into tears and whimper a few words while Ace comforts you. He strokes your back and encourages you with his words.

"I know this doesn't look good... Although I hate to hold it against you... but I told you so.” Ace's well spoken words unfortunately and intentionally cause you to burst into more tears.

Your crying attracts attention at the bar and a bartender arrives with a worried expression and interferes in your conversation.

“Hey, are you all right?” she spoke directly to you, but with whimpering lips you pretended you could hardly speak a word… that's how 'upset' you are…

“Not really, unfortunately.” Ace looks around briefly and then leans over to the bartender.

“My sister and I are here to catch her cheating husband…” The lady looks shocked and puts on a sympathetic face. Nodding, you wipe the tears from your cheeks with a handkerchief. Your puffy puppy eyes look up at the woman and Ace strokes your back to encourage you while you try not to burst out crying again.

“Could you perhaps do me a favor?” The woman nods hastily. Man or woman, you quickly have them in your hands.

“Of course I'll help, we women have to stick together!” she grabs your hand and looks determined.

Easy peasy. You hide your mischievous smile behind your handkerchief. It's always so easy…

you sniffle again in a whiny voice before you speak.

“You know, my husband is sitting over there with a young woman, they seem very familiar and I've been afraid for a long time that he might be cheating on me, but I honestly couldn't face it…” - “Oh no, that man over there? Sir Crocodile?” you gulp and nod.

"Yes, exactly. He seems to be well known here? Does he often come with a female companion?” Your fake tears well up in your eyes again.

“Hey sis, please calm down…” Ace plays the worried brother perfectly. The woman bites her lip and looks to the side, a little troubled.

“Sir Crocodile is a valued guest in this casino… and the lady at his side is one of his employees.” - “Oh my God an employee?!” You bury your face in your hands and start to cry ugly. Ace puts an arm around your shoulder and smoothly takes over the conversation.

"My sister used to be his employee, just like this woman. He promised her the world and asked her to marry him…" - “Oh no you poor woman… let me pour you a drink, it's on the house.”

She turns for a moment to fetch two glasses from the shelf. At that moment, you and Ace share a coy grin. Oh yeah, now you get a free drink! Awesome!

She pushed the drinks towards you and propped her arms on the counter to lean towards you.

"Okay girl, what do you want to know. There's a lot of information going around here in the casino and maybe I can help you." - “Thank you so much, really!” You feign joy and gratitude. Although it's not quite an act. You're really grateful to her, for buying your act.

“Back home, Crocodile told me that he had to travel to Dressrosa for some business. Normally I don't ask questions, but I became a bit suspicious.” You blush a little and pretend to be a silly girl.

“I was reading the newspaper that the King Donquixote Doflamingo was throwing a fancy gala party and I immediately knew that's why Croco was here.” Your bleary eyes glance briefly at Ace, who has to pull himself together not to blow his cover, because he is so impressed by your acting.

You look a little sheepishly at the woman.

“I wonder if he didn't tell me on purpose, because he might be going there with that woman; or if he's really just here for work…” The woman taps her chin thoughtfully.

“Luckily, I know the woman at his side. She used to work here in the casino before she started working for him. I could ask her, but he's definitely invited to the gala. After all, Donquixote Doflamingo is a VIP at the Moulin Rouge…" Ace's eyebrows go up by reflex at the mention of the burlesque.

You step lightly on his foot, telling him to control his face, but luckily she hasn't noticed.

“Would it be possible for you to let me know?” You write a number on a small piece of paper and pass it to her.

"That's my room number. If you could tell me if she's his plus one, it would help me a lot.” - “Sure!”

You talk to the woman for a bit, while you enjoy your free drink and before you say goodbye, you pull her aside.

"You know, I think it would be better if you didn't tell her about me. Croco is an influential man, I don't want her to get into trouble. If she's his date, I'll part with him quietly while he's still here.” She nods her head attentively as if she's soaking up every word for this mission.

“Just ask her out of pure interest, since you were able to watch her with Croco today, you know...” - “Understood!" she's eager.

You give her a little friendly kiss on the cheek, making her blush, and you say goodbye to each other.

On the way to your room, when no one sees you on the corridor, you burst out laughing.

“Ace you were amazing!” - “Me and amazing?! Excuse me, but you're the real champ here!”

You banter pleasantly with each other about your success. You have discovered a lot of useful things and one thing is certain…

“Ace, now you just have to make friends with Sir Crocodile” Ace promptly stops and looks at you in horror.

"Huh? ME?!" With big no signs in his eyes, he waves his hands in front of him in dismay.

Masterlist

If you liked it, let me know hehe ♡

➽ Next chapter

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Between Light and Shadow Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: T Status: Complete (7/7) Main Characters: Knight-Commander Maebrys Tallflower, Greybor Ships: Maebrys/Greybor Additional Notes: Friends with Benefits, Opposites Attract, Aromantic Character Word Count: 8.4k Summary: She has her light, and he has his shadows, and rarely do their two perspectives align. But there’s safety to be found in the space between.

read first chapter below or here on ao3

It’s in spite of herself that Maebrys actually kind of likes Greybor.

‘Cause she’s got plenty reason not to. The man’s an assassin, for starters. No loyalty or faith in the Crusades to be found with that one, just contracts and coin. If the demons paid more, he’d just as likely be on their side right now. She can’t deny that fact sticks in her head like a burr she can’t pick out.

But- he’s not on the demon’s side. Fate has placed him on hers. And Maebrys has seen him throw himself at a monstrous creature with nothing but a dagger and a misplaced trust in the type of person who’d hire an assassin in the first place. She can’t help but admire the guts it takes to pull off something like that.

There’s also something about the way he accepts- expects, even!- that she’s got guts, too. When Maebrys first got to the city, half her time around “real” Crusaders was spent convincing them that a backwater halfling could stick her sword in a demon just as well as any knight-trained tall folk. It feels downright odd now, having those same Crusaders under her command, and sometimes she can’t help but wonder what they think of Iomedae’s decision to bless her with these powers.

But Greybor? Greybor doesn’t even blink before inviting her to ambush a whole dang dragon. And maybe that shouldn’t exhilarate her as much as it does, but there’s a thrill when they bring the beast down- and another when she shoots Greybor a smile and he responds with his own grin of satisfaction.

‘Cause he’s handsome, too, in a gruff, weathered sort of way. That also doesn’t hurt.

All together, Maebrys figures it’s no surprise when she asks him to stick around. She makes it official and everything: the contract, the bonus, the whole deal. His eyebrows raise at the payment Maebrys proposes, and he takes a moment to study her, as if expecting some trick.

“You don’t waste time haggling,” he finally says after a long puff off his pipe. “I appreciate that. It’s rare these days to find a client who knows high quality work when they see it. I’d be glad to take you on.”

“Not much point in haggling when the price is worth it,” Maebrys says, and ignores Woljif’s skeptical scoff from behind. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.”

And maybe it’s impulsive of her, but what’s done is done, and Greybor comes back to Drezen with the rest of the party. Seelah doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t argue much- just gives Maebrys a warning look whenever she catches the halfling watching Greybor for a little too long.

Maebrys appreciates the concern- well, kind of- but Seelah has nothing to worry about. Greybor’s a professional, if nothing else, and Maebrys is his client. What’s more, Maebrys is the newly illustrious Knight-Commander, and Greybor is the practitioner of a rather dark trade.

So it doesn’t really matter that they have a pretty decent time whenever she joins him in the tavern for an the evening of drinking and swapping stories of past battles. It doesn’t matter that she likes the sound of his low voice and the way he looks in the tavern’s flickering firelight. It certainly doesn’t matter that more than once, she catches him looking back.

Maebrys knows a bad idea when she sees one, and she’s too responsible to chase it down.

…But that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy view.

[howlingday]

Okay, how about another funny/sad one-shot? (Blame VOL. 9 for my muse swings)

One where Jaune’s semblance isn’t about healing/amping people with aura, but that he can only numb and take away their pain?

Of course it starts off all silly with Nora “pimping” Jaune out as a walking Icy-Hot Patch and raking in cash, but then things slowly get serious.

Students haggling/bribing Jaune for a quick & easy fix to deal with their depression, despite how uncomfortable it makes him. Professional hunters looking for Jaune after their missions go wrong because he can keep their friends stabilized.

And worst of all...the children’s hospitals.

Because Jaune KNOWS why the staff – why so many parents – NEED him there…

And so he does.

Because children, especially DYING children, shouldn’t have to suffer if Jaune can help it…

And when things get too hard, too REAL, for Jaune to continue?

Teams JNPR & RWBY are waiting right there willing to pick up the pieces that Jaune’s too weak to carry.

FEELS SO NUMB

"Jaune's home~!"

Jaune trudged into his room after a long day at his part-time job. Nora excitedly skipped next to him as he put his backpack down. She smiled at him. He couldn't muster the strength to smile back. He made his way into the bathroom, not even saying hello to his team.

"So... how much money do you think he made?"

"Nora." Ren chided.

"What? I'm just curious how my plan turned out."

"You mean how you were selling Jaune off as a local anesthetic to the highest bidder?" Pyrrha said, glaring from her desk.

"Hey, it's not my fault his semblance is literally a painkiller!" She put a finger to her chin. "Kinda surprised we didn't notice sooner, since he was always getting back up from Cardin's beating after he unlocked it."

"Well, I'm more surprised how you found him work outside the school." Ren said. "And with the approval of Professor Ozpin too."

"Well, I'm a bit of a businesswoman, Renny," she winked, "you knew that~!"

A knock came at the door. Ren opened it to find Ruby standing with a scowl on her face. "Is Jaune here?"

"He's in the bathroom." Ren answered. "Is there something we can help you with?"

"Yang and Weiss are fighting, and we were hoping he could-"

"It doesn't work that way, and you know it." Pyrrha said in a near snarl.

"S-Sorry, but Blake and I don't know what to do!" She rubbed her arm. "It's like ever since Jaune's been... uh, helping out, everyone at school has been acting really, really angry. It's like unless Jaune uses his semblance, people can't act normally around here anymore."

"Well, he's busy cleaning off from his super important job today!" Nora said with a beaming smile. "And they paid a mint, too!"

"Really?" Ruby asked. "Was it Uncle Qrow again?"

"Nah, he already came by yesterday. Today he was working at Vale General!"

"The hospital?" Ren asked. "What would they need him for?"

"Something about feet or another." Nora shrugged. "Like, something about pedal tricks."

The room was dead silent, save for the sounds of the shower in the bathroom. There was a soft thumping inside, too, but that subsided to silence once more after a few seconds. Suddenly, the room seemed to bend and wave and creak. Pyrrha stood from her desk.

"Pediatrics?" She asked.

"Yeah, that's it!" Nora shouted. "It was kinda weird sounding, but after they said it was for kids and cars in jeans, I kinda just went with it. Must have been mental hospital, righ-"

"JAUNE! JAUNE, OPEN THIS DOOR!" Pyrrha screamed as she smashed her fist against the door, Ruby running up to join her. The smaller of the two tried jiggle the door handle to open.

"Nora..." Ren gulped. "Do you know what carcinogenesis means?"

"...No, but that sounds like what the hospital people wanted Jaune for."

Ren took a deep breath, then told her. Pyrrha and Ruby were shoved out of the way, and the bathroom door came crashing down. Jaune was curled under the running water, softly sobbing. On the shower wall, a red smear stained the tiles. They pulled him out of the water, wrapping him in a towel, but he didn't respond to any of it. He just continued to sob and rub himself in a sort of self-hug.

"They'll be okay. They'll be okay. They'll be okay."

[undiscovered-horizon]

Returning customer - Morpheus x Witch!Reader

Continuation to [Welcome to Moon Siren Horticulture!]

SUMMARY: That strange, brooding customer is back and, just as you wished, no children or curses are involved. Your new neighbours make themselves known.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.4k

“Sir, unless you provide me with proper documents, I can’t sell you a Liverstone. That’s the law,” you explain slowly. There is hardly a simpler way to get your point across. Nevertheless, the man seems to miss it entirely. In turn, his lack of understanding makes you miss the bright ringing of the doorbell as someone has just walked into the store.

“Come on, lady.” Here comes another pitiful shot at haggling. “Do I look like a maniac? I’m not going to do anything stupid or illegal with it.” Interesting that he would suggest such a course of events when you haven’t even pointed to a suspicion of this kind. People often say that it is the thief who is most afraid of being robbed. Perhaps folk wisdom isn’t always wrong.

“It’s not a matter of belief, sir,” you answer sternly. Somewhere behind him, you can see a head of black, dishevelled hair but the enigmatic visitor seems to exist only when you’re directly paying attention to him. The moment you look back at the discoloured face and bloodshot eyes belonging to the cultist, the existence of the yet unknown client immediately disappears from your thoughts. “Until I receive a signed confirmation from your High Priestess, I’m lawfully prohibited from selling you this.”

The man puts his clasped, shaking hands on the counter in front of you as if he’s about to say something off-record. It’s hard to say whether the trembling is brought by nervousness or withdrawals. “Look, Lady Helena is swamped lately. She asked me to get a Liverstone, while she’s busy preparing for the festival. You know Lady Helena, she’s going to be very upset if she hears you pawned me off.” The cultist gives you a meaningful look, although all of its reasonability or seriousness is long forgotten because of the clearly deranged gloss covering his eyes. Some part of you doubts Lady Helena even knows he’s here. Does she have any idea how far gone his addiction is?

“And Lady Helena knows me.” You’re not giving up, both for his and your own’s sake. “I’m sure she’ll understand that I can’t sell it without proper documentation.”

For some reason, it is at this moment that the other customer decides to step in. In the black dishevelled hair and a heavy coat, you recognize the mysterious man that had visited your shop a while ago. He puts his hand on the red-eyed man’s shoulder. The cultist furrows his eyebrows and slowly turns around. His eyes mindlessly search the other man’s face as though it’s taking him a significant amount of time to recognize him as a human or at least a humanoid.

When the excruciatingly slow process comes to an end, the cultist opens his eyes wide. Clearly, the enigmatic man in a coat is not unfamiliar to him. Suddenly rejuvenated, the addict takes off his top hat.

“My good lord Morpheus!” he exclaims in disbelief.

‘Morpheus?’ you repeat in your head. ‘Could it be…?’

The cultist reaches for the man’s other hand, shaking it vigorously in an overly-excited show of politeness. Although Morpheus appears to be reluctant about the gesture, he doesn’t withdraw his arm.

“As I live and breath!” the man says as he continues his obnoxious pleasantries. “This is such an honour! I will be much obliged to tell my fellow professionals about it.”

“You really shouldn’t, Theodore Hearson,” Morpheus speaks patiently in a low voice. “Go home, soon you’ll feel better.”

The cultist immediately drops his vigorous hand-shaking. He ponders for a moment, staring blankly into space. “Yes… yes, I should go. Good day to you.” Then, he puts his hat back on, tips it to Morpheus and leaves the store, Liverstone long forgotten. You have befriended either an exceptional diplomat or a top-notch sorcerer, it seems.

Not wanting to seem shaken up with the miraculous persuasion, you welcome Morpheus as you would a regular client: “Welcome back. How can I help you?”

“I’m in need of your help once more. My friend is looking for a plant that might have killed someone.” As his low voice makes the marrow in your bones vibrate, he pulls out a folded note from his pocket and hands it to you.

Before you can even take in the information hastily scribbled on the torn piece of paper, you notice the striking familiarity of the style in which the letters are written - you’ve seen it countless times before. “Hey, I know this handwriting. It’s Johanna Constantine’s.”

His eyebrows raise unnoticeably. “You know her?”

“She does regular ‘pest control’ for me.”

“What interest could demons have in a plant shop?”

“It’s not really interest per se,” you explain. “The soil of more delicate plants should be fertilised with crushed soul stones and although they’re shards, demons still can reside in them. Selling a haunted flower gets the license revoked, so I’m not risking it.”

You’re about to look down on the note again, this time focused on putting together the information Johanna could give you, when a booming thud resounded above your head. Again. The sound is followed by heavy footsteps and something like a muffled growl.

“Speaking of risk…” you say under your breath. As though you could see through the walls, you look at the ceiling expectantly.

“Something’s troubling you?”

“Hard to say, really.” You look at Morpheus again. “There’s a new store opening up there, The Blind Gorgon. They sell cryptids mainly. Arcane Weekly wrote about them some time ago. People and cattle were getting strangled in some village in Russia and when the Emissaries of Ilharin went to investigate, it turned out that the owner of the store had a wild bukavac in the cellar. Before the Russian bureau of Emissaries could pin the guy as a suspect, he closed the shop and disappeared. Go figure.” You give him a dismissive shrug but a creature of his sort is far too smart to be deceived by something like that.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips. You shake your head but it’s more of a way to shake off the sudden disturbance rather than a show of your dissatisfaction with new neighbours.

“Anyway.” You look at the note properly this time. “Red flower, pine aroma, growing out of a corpse?” you read. Although the amount of information is scarce, it’s enough for you to immediately know the answer to the charades. “It’s Devil’s Nightcap. Nasty way to go. The thing is, the victim had to ingest the seed for the plant to grow and kill them but you can’t buy them. Whoever did this, owns a Devil’s Nightcap, which, no surprise, is a heavily restricted plant. A warlock, a sorcerer, an alchemist, maybe a healer,” you count all the possibilities. “Or a horticulturist, of course.” In a vague motion, you point to yourself.

Morpheus takes the note back from you. Deliberately or not, his fingers linger on yours for a strangely long period of time.  “In what currency does Johanna usually pay you?” He wastes no time getting straight to the point.

“We barter,” you answer flustered. Nervously, you rub your hands against your gardening apron. Maybe you’re reading a bit too much into his gesture? “I do favours for her pro bono and she gives me a discount for her service. Besides, it’s bad luck to take money from exorcists.”

He loiters for a moment as though he’s considering saying or doing something more. Whatever calculation he made in his head, Morpheus apparently decided against continuing the tense interaction. He’s about to turn around, leave your store, when you stop him:

“I wanted to thank you again for getting rid of the nightmares brought by Widow’s Woe. The day you came here I had my first restful sleep in years.”

Morpheus’s face lights up. A faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What did you dream of?”

“It was quite strange, actually.” You scrunch your nose remembering the vision. “I found myself in a meadow where flowers I’d never seen before grew. I think there was also a black cat.”

“That’s a nice dream,” he says in an uncharacteristic, soft voice.

 You’re not sure what it is about his sudden tenderness that makes you blush. “Yes, I think so, too.”

Morpheus leaves the store and the quietness of the plants is unbearable for the first time in decades.

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

Infection control

A Cody Burns gets abducted by aliens fic.

Cody wasn't even aware anything was happening. One moment, he was camping with Frankie and Boulder, painting the night sky and splattering paint on each other. The next, he woke up in a filthy cage surrounded by all kinds of familiar and alien animals.

There was a bot, at least. A yellow and purple one, talking in what Cody recognized as cybex to a computer terminal. It took some effort, but Cody eventually switched on the translator on his comm link.

It was worse than he thought. The bot seemed to be haggling a price out of the unknown caller. He was getting angrier and angrier, finally ending the call with a huff and stomping over to Cody's cage.

"You," he said, practically vibrating with anger. "Are going to get this whole operation shut down. Of course, out of all the places I go to get a test sample of a potential product, it had to be Autobot central. Not only that, you're apparently the offspring of one of the prime's pets. Now, I am way too far away to just shove you in an escape pod and hurl you back into that cursed marble's atmosphere, and, on top of all that, you're a juvenile, which means that everything I do right now is way more illegal then I can get comfortable with." The bot grabbed a sack of some sort of kibble out of a cabinet. "And if you think you're getting any of this, you are sorely mistaken!" He shouted, riling up the animals. The bot portioned out the kibble to each animal, occasionally swapping it with different meats and vegetation.

Cody decided it was best to play dumb for the time being, sitting on the floor of the wire cage. The cage had a mesh bottom, with holes to the sides. After watching the bot use a hose to clear away droppings from the bottom of a similar cage, Cody got a better idea of what he was sitting in. Good thing he was wearing his ratty painting clothes.

He shivered, and he wished he had his warm, heavy jacket. It was being washed, having been dropped off at a dry cleaner specializing in old textiles.

The jacket had been passed down from when his grandpa had been his age, and they literally didn't make them like they used to. It was all real leather, wool, and cotton, and was almost indestructible. What little wear and tear that showed up was almost always fixed with some leather shoe polish or a trip to the dry cleaners or tailor. He knew that his siblings were saving up to get him a new one made by a professional historical tailor when he stopped growing. It would quite possibly cost more than a month of any one of his siblings' salary, but he had proven time and time again growing up that he had a knack for ruining clothes. His signature green t-shirts were bought in bulk from the same uniform company that produced the rescue team's uniforms.

He looked the bot in the eye as he made a big show of skipping his cage.

Too much time passed by before the bot, Swindle, he found out, finally gave him some of that kibble stuff and murky, gritty water. But, it was water, cold, like everything in this place, and he drank every drop he was given, making a face as the grit made a slime on his tongue.

A few of the animals had been sold to various buyers, a few touring the room they were in. One or two seemed interested in him, and Swindle would take him out of the cage and rattle off the same list of attributes associated with humans and, occasionally, make a big show of showing them his feet and hands, particularly his nails, which he had been growing so Frankie could paint his nails.

They had a running gag that Frankie was going to take him to the nail salon in town and get hot pink acrylic nails together. Usually, Frankie just gave him dark green or a color that matched his skin tone so well that the bots thought he had shed them. That was a hilarious conversation to have.

But, no one bought him. Swindle was starting to get frustrated, and when he got in that mood, water was scarce, and food was even scarcer.

Cody was starting to lose hope that he would ever be fed when a loud boom echoed through the ship. He could only stay awake long enough to hear the sound of bolt cutters sniping through the first few wires of the cage before he couldn't stand anymore, and the disgusting cage floor rose up to meet him.

Cody first woke up in too bright room, the sounds of beeping and indecipherable voices in languages he couldn't understand rushing to his ears. He tried to cover them but found that he couldn't do much more than squirm, a soft fabric, half damp against his wet skin, trapped him in a fetal position. He was on his back on a hard surface, a bright light in his eyes as blurry shapes darted around him. A too big hand with - three fingers? Put a gloved hand over his face, giving him relief from the light. He could feel the fabric his arms and legs trapped loosen, and something metal and cold gently pulled his arm out of the fabric wrapping. He felt the pinch of a needle in the crook of his arm and felt the thumb of the gloved hand over his eyes stroke his cheek, wiping away a few tears.

Cody woke up again in a pile of soft blankets, his head pounding. The first thing he felt after the headache started to subside was that he was wearing different clothes. He looked down to see he was dressed in a clean, two-piece garment that seemed to be closed by overlapping panels of stretchy, soft fabric. His nails had little neon rubber caps over them, the surface ridged so he could still pick things up easily.

The lights in the room were dimmed, the walls white. Cody looked down again to see that he had two disconnected IVs still in the back of his left hand and crook of that elbow. He stretched and could feel a few bandages on his shoulders and upper back. He jumped when a panel in his room turned out to be a screen.

Other than a pleasant blue background and a pair of white outlined boxes, the screen was blank. Cody got up from the pile of blankets and wobbled slowly into view of the screen.

As soon as Cody settled into frame, the screen started playing prerecorded audio, with translated captions scrolling slowly off to the side.

"Hello there, Cody. I know you might not be feeling well, so I will keep this brief. If you are here, you were taken by a pet trafficking ring or were exposed to a disease originating from a world known for its pet trade. Of course, you are sentient and will be treated as such. Unfortunately, protocol dictates that you have to serve a mandated equivalent of two earth week quarantine before being returned to Earth. The faction known as the Autobots will be receiving you after the quarantine. Now that the fancy legal stuff is over, I can talk a bit nicer. My name is Dr. Rav'ac. I will be attending quarantine with you along with my two medical students and three nurses. We appear as depicted onscreen."

Cody examen the photo realistic models of each of the aliens. As he suspected, Dr Rav'ac had three fingers on each hand. He was a dusty oranage color and had four legs configured like a spider's underneath him. The medical students were both from his race, while the two nurses, a shorter, many armed blue insectoid and a tall and lanky pale green being that reminded Cody of a giraffe.

"All medications will be dispensed below the screen." Rav'ac continued, pausing to let Cody be distracted by the screen. "and you will be required to take all of them. If something isn't agreeing with you, tell us immediately. We are required by law to take blood and other samples for lab testing. On those days, there will also be a small cup of blue gel. I will tell you now that it is meant to make you feel drowsy, and it includes some very mild painkillers to remove any discomfort. You will still be conscious and should be capable of answering simple questions, but I feel like it is better to know beforehand. You were put under anesthesia when we brought you in due to the fragile state you were in. After passing a basic health exam, we cleaned off the waste that was eating at your skin and got you into a nice climate controlled room to help keep up your body temperature. There is a seated waste disposal directly across from your bedding, and a clean water dispenser right next to it for washing your hands and drinking water. If you want food, just tap the screen and ask, and we will get some for you. Again, if any medicine you take, food you eat, or anything you come in contact with causes a reaction or pain, please notify us immediately through the screen. Do you understand everything i have told you today?"

"Yeah, I think so." Cody said, digesting all that information slowly.

"A transcript of this conversation will be available to you for review on the home screen. I will let you rest for a few days before the first round of mandated tests. For your sake, I hope this is all a waste of time." Rav'ac said solemnly, ending the call.

Cody used the toilet, then curled up in the tangle of bedding. The lights dimmed even lower, and he drifted off to sleep.

Rav'ac had bad news the next morning. An animal that had died on the ship had its autopsy results come back, and it was positive for a bacteria well known for jumping from species to species. A short quarantine had now become a two month enforced stay, with near daily checkups and enough blood and tissue samples to leave Cody constantly a little dizzy. Antibiotics became a constant, and Cody was thankful that the medical staff was more than happy to entertain every little request they could along the way. The gel became obsolete, as Cody was eager enough to get out of quarantine that he almost never put up a fight.

Well, except when they tried to take blood from his head after he blew a vein. He may have tried to bite someone. Who knows? It never made it to official reports.

Luckily, the bacteria never made an appearance, and after one last week of quarantine, Heatwave and Optimus picked him up. Cody wasn't even ashamed of curling up in Heatwave's backseat and crying himself to sleep on the way back to Griffin Rock. He was mobbed by his siblings and dad as soon as Heatwave opened the door. Charlie carried his son to the red couch quietly, tucking his head under his chin and rubbing his youngest's back as the rest of his children piled around him. The five of them fell asleep there, all curled up together. The photo, taken by Optimus before he left, was shared with all their phones the next morning.

Cody practically ripped off the hospital clothes he had been given and snuggled into one of Kade's old t-shirts he had stolen when he was little. He was kinda sad that it was now starting to fit him properly. Old pj shorts were a necessity, along with his jacket and a day off with his whole family, bots included. For once, the island let the family of heroes have their peace, not a single disaster in sight.

[iahmed197027]

Who Do You Choose?

For properties that are members of a homeowner's association, a couple additional documents will need to be filled out and submitted: a resale certificate, and an addendum transferring over the membership fees of the homeowner's association. In most states, failure to provide the buyer with association information can result in termination of the deal at the seller's expense. The job of a title company in a property sale is to schedule and prepare for the sale closing, and handle the transfer of funds. If a buyer or seller decides to hire a title service to oversee the sale, make sure the necessary documents are included in the deal. Deciding to put your property up for sale by owner, or buying a property from a seller without an agent, can be financially beneficial to both parties involved. However, it also means there is an increased risk of failing to complete the complicated legal procedure of transferring property. There is a glut of affordable residential real estate. The market is oversaturated. So you need to stand out in the crowd, and the best way to do that is a massive and effective advertising campaign. Good quality ads that appear in many different real estate booklets and an agent that knows how to spread the word will help speed up the process. It's also helpful to tell all of your friends, relatives, and anyone who will listen that you have a great piece of property for sale. Word of mouth is free and a useful advertising technique. 3. Don't expect to walk away with your initial asking price. Gone are the bubble days when you could expect a bidding war on your piece of property. Today, expect intense haggling and plenty of compromise. A residential real estate specialist can help guide you through the process to help you reach a reasonable deal. You should ask each agent you speak to for a marketing plan as to how they will sell your home and then compare their visions. You should also speak to financial advisers for their advice on how to sell real your particular property. It may be that you want to reinvest your money into another property and will need a loan. As such, you will need to speak to a lender about a home or commercial loan. You may want to seek an escrow facility until completion of the sale as well if your sale requires due diligence. Again, speaking to several financial advisers will give you an opportunity to compare them and see what they can do for you. Finally, you will need a professional to look over the property and advise you how to sell, or rather what improvements you should make before putting your home or commercial space on the market. Home staging is very important if you are looking to sell residential real estate because it helps potential buyers to picture themselves in the property. However, the professional you contact should be able to offer advice on more than how to stage a home. He or she should offer you structural improvement advice if required and give you an idea of how to increase the asking price without necessarily spending that much. Your agent may be able to do this as well if he or she has sufficient experience. The people outlined above are essential in the real estate selling process. Plus, your real estate lawyer is very important to ensure that paperwork is completed and submitted to the appropriate bodies. Take full advantage of their experience and you will find that the selling process is much smoother than you would otherwise anticipate. There is one simple reason that people sell real estate notes, and that is to raise cash quickly. To achieve the desired result, however, you must make sure you've done your research: that you are selling to a reputable buyer or group of real estate note buyers, and that the buyer of the property you are financing has a reputable credit history. A real estate note is the document created when financing the sale of a home or other (likely investment) property. Different categories of real estate notes include mortgage notes, land real estate contracts, and contracts-for-sale. Holding a real estate note means that payments are coming into you, but often, depending on the financing, those payments are small and trickle in, rather than providing a quick influx of cash. This is the reasoning behind selling to note buyers. There are a couple of options when selling real estate notes. In selling your property at Siesta Key real estate market, there are lots of options to increase the market value of your property and aside from increasing the market value, you need to think some strategies how to market your home. To have easier and faster sale in Siesta Key real estate, you have to prepare your home first. You have to do some improvements in order to make it appealing and attractive to buyers. In order for you to have top dollar for your home in Siesta Key real estate, it absolutely need and takes a bit of know-how. Definitely, you want to have the best value in selling your home, so you must read on, since this article will give you some things you should know in order to enhance the value of your home. Hiring a real estate agent can be a choice. The real estate agent can direct you in what you should do in preparing your home for sale. Attracting prospective buyers is an art. Personality plays a key role in enhancing credibility of a real estate broker. A winning and confident persona is extremely crucial to succeed in realty business. Find out how to develop the perfect temperament for selling real estate. To make a name for yourself, be passionate about the sector. Interact with industry professionals, read property journals and keep a track of the latest happenings in the sector. Enjoy your work. Put in extra hours and strengthen your network. Affluent real estate developers are always ready to work round the clock. Smart agents are always curious and eager to know more. They ask a lot of questions. This translates into lots of knowledge, which they use while conducting business deals. Therefore, develop curiosity within yourself and try to learn new things. Always stay positive and optimistic even in the worst scenarios. It's very easy to lose patience and develop a negative mindset, when things aren't going your way. Remember, clients always prefer brokers who are optimistic about their venture.

[quotesfrommyreading]

Today, much of the NCAA’s moral authority—indeed much of the justification for its existence—is vested in its claim to protect what it calls the “student-athlete.” The term is meant to conjure the nobility of amateurism, and the precedence of scholarship over athletic endeavor. But the origins of the “student-athlete” lie not in a disinterested ideal but in a sophistic formulation designed, as the sports economist Andrew Zimbalist has written, to help the NCAA in its “fight against workmen’s compensation insurance claims for injured football players.”

“We crafted the term student-athlete,” Walter Byers himself wrote, “and soon it was embedded in all NCAA rules and interpretations.” The term came into play in the 1950s, when the widow of Ray Dennison, who had died from a head injury received while playing football in Colorado for the Fort Lewis A&M Aggies, filed for workmen’s-compensation death benefits. Did his football scholarship make the fatal collision a “work-related” accident? Was he a school employee, like his peers who worked part-time as teaching assistants and bookstore cashiers? Or was he a fluke victim of extracurricular pursuits? Given the hundreds of incapacitating injuries to college athletes each year, the answers to these questions had enormous consequences. The Colorado Supreme Court ultimately agreed with the school’s contention that he was not eligible for benefits, since the college was “not in the football business.”

The term student-athlete was deliberately ambiguous. College players were not students at play (which might understate their athletic obligations), nor were they just athletes in college (which might imply they were professionals). That they were high-performance athletes meant they could be forgiven for not meeting the academic standards of their peers; that they were students meant they did not have to be compensated, ever, for anything more than the cost of their studies. Student-athlete became the NCAA’s signature term, repeated constantly in and out of courtrooms.

Using the “student-athlete” defense, colleges have compiled a string of victories in liability cases. On the afternoon of October 26, 1974, the Texas Christian University Horned Frogs were playing the Alabama Crimson Tide in Birmingham, Alabama. Kent Waldrep, a TCU running back, carried the ball on a “Red Right 28” sweep toward the Crimson Tide’s sideline, where he was met by a swarm of tacklers. When Waldrep regained consciousness, Bear Bryant, the storied Crimson Tide coach, was standing over his hospital bed. “It was like talking to God, if you’re a young football player,” Waldrep recalled.

Waldrep was paralyzed: he had lost all movement and feeling below his neck. After nine months of paying his medical bills, Texas Christian refused to pay any more, so the Waldrep family coped for years on dwindling charity.

Through the 1990s, from his wheelchair, Waldrep pressed a lawsuit for workers’ compensation. (He also, through heroic rehabilitation efforts, recovered feeling in his arms, and eventually learned to drive a specially rigged van. “I can brush my teeth,” he told me last year, “but I still need help to bathe and dress.”) His attorneys haggled with TCU and the state worker-compensation fund over what constituted employment. Clearly, TCU had provided football players with equipment for the job, as a typical employer would—but did the university pay wages, withhold income taxes on his financial aid, or control work conditions and performance? The appeals court finally rejected Waldrep’s claim in June of 2000, ruling that he was not an employee because he had not paid taxes on financial aid that he could have kept even if he quit football. (Waldrep told me school officials “said they recruited me as a student, not an athlete,” which he says was absurd.)

The long saga vindicated the power of the NCAA’s “student-athlete” formulation as a shield, and the organization continues to invoke it as both a legalistic defense and a noble ideal. Indeed, such is the term’s rhetorical power that it is increasingly used as a sort of reflexive mantra against charges of rabid hypocrisy.

  —  The Scandal of NCAA College Sports

[anthonybialy]

Tipped Over

New York City opposes tipping.  A different kind of rudeness will follow the latest monetary aggravation imposed by a government that thinks it’s helping you eat.  The pending massive pay spike for app delivery drivers will make them affluent unless potential customers order less or something.  The total grows between ordering and arriving.

An astounding hourly increase will certainly lead to riches.  You can’t decline delivery, right?  A jump to $17.96 from $7.09 means industry participants are going to be more than twice as rich once the mandate to order as frequently passes.

The unappetizing infringement warps the real rate, which is as much as drivers can get versus as little as people who want someone else to make fare will fork over.  Meeting somewhere in the middle to figure out how much bringing General Tso’s chicken to your coffee table is worth seems fair.  You may note that haggling over entrée facilitating doesn’t involve the opinion of politicians who decided it’s their right to control portions.

Liberals hate noticing performance.  The whole point of tipping is to reward measured by percentage.  Useless moochers who can’t swing it in the private sector expect a minimum.  Take professional freeloader Eric Adams, who expressed his urge for ordering everyone else around by demanding “People must live off of a base salary and I encourage everyone who’s listening to this: don’t forget to tip.” Meanwhile, he just made adding a bit as a thankful courtesy tougher.  Prospective eaters will struggle to afford gratuities now thanks to a mysterious escalation.  The financial interaction is none of his business, which of course won’t stop him from being bossy about it.  Nobody would give the mayor a buck for what he delivers.

Aspiring deliverers are going to beg for politicians to stop helping.  Gig work is about to become versatile in the past tense.  A flexible schedule on top of the appeal of earning extra for speedy smiling service isn’t enough for the protectors who just made finding work for anyone willing to lug a bag improbable.

The value of bringing sandwiches to your door is a negotiation.  At least, it should be.  Compensation is a private matter between those who have something to offer and those who want it.  The most simple of human transactions is seen on menus at the very restaurants in question.

How much will diners pay diners?  The answer doesn’t involve the city.  Determining what disco fries are worth is a perpetual dance craze.  Ingredients, labor, and appeal combine for tastiness.  A mandate spoils the flavor like pineapple on pizza.

There’s about to be even less money in personal budgets for transported takeout.  It’s an unsolvable riddle why the expense of existing is skyrocketing that surely has nothing to do with Democrats suddenly implementing their dreams.  Free money somehow isn’t worth as much.  Inflation is a disease that was cured until Joe Biden’s lab leak.

The only crime in New York City is standing up to criminals.  Leaders are focused on stealing money from residents who don’t feel like cooking.  Professional shoplifters follow their example.

Grub becomes prohibitively costly on July 12, so fill up now.  Culinary intermediaries are due to be rich unless hungry Gothamites stop ordering so much or at all because of prohibitive fees.  Next, government will try to figure out why steak sets one back more than ramen.

Adjusting to what ingredients are available applies to currency, too.  A limited menu leads to circumventing the forced shortage.  Outlaw cuisine distribution will become the mobile speakeasy.

Democrats create inventiveness,.  Of course, it’s not their own.  The inevitable reaction to rate acceleration will harm app businesses, which in turn will give the service crew a lot more free time.  Sitting around with nothing to do but have others bring meals sounds appealing until realizing those amazing salaries are suddenly not applicable.

The millionth invasive aggravation sums up the previous ones.  Progressives who create the opposite of progress smirk that the reverse cash delivery only costs a couple bucks.  But a maximized minimum wage constitutes a forced hike on its own that’s on top of innumerable previous maneuvers against your wallet.  The embodiment of telling people what to do is going to result in losing yet one more joy in this oh so advanced era of limitless prosperity.

It doesn’t take a psychic to predict things are about to suck.  Constantly surprised people who never notice patterns call consequences unforeseen.  But the shock only applies to smug faux saviors telling others what to do.  Anyone who’s noticed that irking Moe leads to him assaulting Larry knows dishing out more for dishes leads to fewer purchases.  The ruling party never thinks about what’s next or what negotiation is ever.

Dine and dashers conjure plans for prosperity that always involve multiplying by zero.  Handing out currency demotivates while devaluing.  The same careful plotters coincidentally act as if theft won’t lead to high tolls on honest people while making dry goods purveyors wonder if the blatant loss justifies closing up shop.  And forcing hapless citizens to use inferior energy sources is framed as a win for both Earth and bank balances, which makes the fact consumers won’t choose them on their own a curiosity.

Liberals decree that the secret to being richer is to pay more.  It only sounds like I made that up to mock them.  They do the work for me, which is the only time they’re productive.  Writing jokes for others makes their innate adoration of mooching understandable.  But as with their other scheming, the system is unsustainable.  We can’t afford to keep expecting others to toil harder.

Why do Democrats enjoy people suffering?  Professional sadists can’t possibly think an artificial pay boost brings natural riches.  Cruel rulers just put a treat of a meal out of the reach of residents who already pay enough rent for a broom closet to obtain a manor anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line, not including utilities.  Dropping your dinner on the doorstep is about to become obsolete for city dwellers who survive the subway ride home.  At least your favorite restaurant was just demolished for condos.

The next reaction will finally fix it.  To counteract for the ensuing plunge in ordering, Democrats should cap food prices.  A limit on tater tot charges will make ordering affordable by law.  Restaurateurs in opposition are just greedy about wanting to make a living.  That’s unless they’re charging as affordably as they can for patty melts until a pernicious mandate puts luxuries like bread out of reach.  Both buyers and sellers will go hungry.

[hakesbros]

Failed Gop Candidate Accused In Shootings At Democratic Officers' Homes Pleads Not Responsible

There have been 1801 homes offered in Albuquerque for May 2022 this year, up from 497 last year. Data by Redfin exhibits that the Albuquerque housing market isn't that competitive. Only a number of homes in Albuquerque receive multiple presents.

Peña is accused of organizing a quantity of shootings at the homes of Democratic lawmakers in Albuquerque. We'll find a service supplier from our impartial community to help you, and so they'll contact you directly to schedule an appointment. No extra looking the internet for a good repairman or haggling over the worth of repairs—with a house guarantee from ORHP, you'll get pleasure from reliable service, price range protection, and peace of mind. A home guarantee is a renewable service contract that protects home sellers and patrons new homes albuquerque towards the worth of unexpected repair or substitute of main home methods and home equipment that break down because of regular wear and use. Contract phrases might vary but sometimes last for 12 months. Peterson, the owner, says he wasn't trying to assault the police, just the insurance policies of the mayor and police chief.

The contents of any website or link not maintained by the City does not necessarily mirror the opinions, standards or insurance policies of the City of Albuquerque, its officers, brokers or workers. While utilizing this web site and the search tools homes for sale in albuquerque nm obtainable, you can navigate and seek for homes in these many areas and subdivisions at your leisure. This incredible property is positioned on a quite cul de sac within the desirable P...

We have 10 luxurious homes for sale in Albuquerque, and 1,084 homes in all of New Mexico. Homes listings embrace vacation homes, apartments, penthouses, luxury retreats, lake homes, ski chalets, villas, and heaps of extra way of life options. Each sale itemizing consists of detailed descriptions, pictures, facilities and neighborhood information for Albuquerque. By submitting this type, you comply with Windermere’s Privacy Policy & Terms of Use and to be contacted by us or affiliated third events homes for sale in albuquerque new mexico, including actual estate professionals, by phone, email, and/or textual content message. By offering your phone quantity, you give us your affirmative, express, written consent to deliver automated text messages to you on the phone quantity offered. Consent isn't a situation of purchase for property, goods, or companies.

High Desert has a median itemizing home value of $612K, making it the most expensive neighborhood in Albuquerque. Homes for sale in Albuquerque have a median listing homes for sale albuquerque price of $325,000. The average sale value per sq. foot in Albuquerque is $190, up 20.3% since last yr.

Metro Albuquerque is also listed as probably the greatest locations to purchase rental property for money move and appreciation. The area’s steady inhabitants and job growth, together with inexpensive real estate costs, offer just about new home builders in albuquerque everything a distant actual estate investor could ask for. Other essential lifestyle considerations might be lot dimension allowing extra out of doors residing, gardening, and the like.

Albuquerque is amongst the greatest places to build wealth due to the metro area’s low price of living and quality of life, in accordance with Albuquerque Economic Development. In reality, the Albuquerque metropolitan space ranks below the national index for key price of residing measurements together with groceries, utilities, transportation, and well being care. Since the final actual estate cycle market bottom in March 2012, home costs in Albuquerque have elevated by 55.3%. Since the last actual estate cycle market peak in May 2006, home costs in Albuquerque have increased by eleven.5%. Most affordable neighborhood in Albuquerque is Near North Valley with a median home itemizing price of $190,000.

[notmrkillwolf666]

An innocent man was falsely accused/framed for something he didn't do, was sent to an alien jail and everyone in there think he is a Hired Killer.

(I post it on here: https://www.reddit.com/r/humansarespaceorcs/comments/ulhio9/an_innocent_man_was_falsely_accusedframed_for/ and I want to re-repost it on here)

A man named Willie was framed for something he didn't do, as punishment, he was sent to an alien jail on the far side of the galaxy. when he got there, one of the aliens ask him how did he end up here?.

"I was a cleaner" a janitor "I am still trying to understand how this all happen?!." the alien thinks 'cleaner' is a nickname for a contract killer and the news of that share like crazy in there.

it didn't help for Willie that he was actually really good at his job and clean up messes like they didn't happen in the first place which add more fuel to the fire.

(someone can take this idea and go nuts with it.)

---

(the person who replay that post)

A1: a large spider-like alien asks So Human Willie, answer my questions and we might forgive this transgression. What has cursed me with your presence in my cell? What is your occupation? And who is your sponsor?

Willie: Well I don’t want any trouble. I got assigned as your cell mate, but what does my job matter?

A1: mandibles rattling in a laugh Human you are in my nest. Either you answer or I will use your skin as my bedding.

Willie: Oooookay then…. I was a cleaner. Worked many gigs on many worlds, a few space stations as well.

A1: A….a cleaner you say? And…. Who did you say your sponsor was?

Willie: Sponsor? I don’t have a sponsor, never needed one. Jobs always payed well enough, I just ran on my own power. Sometimes Ive had to…. Haggle…. with my customers but they always paid.

A1: I apologize, please forgive my hostility. A cleaner is an honored professional among T’carians. I offer you the choice of bunk as tribute for my insolence.

Willie: I…ummm thanks? I think id prefer the bottom bunk if thats okay?

A2: in walks a giant mantis What is this? A tasty snack has found its way into your web on its own?

A1: SILENCE!!! This is the a Cleaner you are speaking to! You will show him due respect or you may find yourself washed up.

A2: Oh….oh no… I am sorry please forgive me, I ment no offence. Please, I have some food rations I was saving but they are yours. I will retrieve them. Please don’t hurt me. runs away

Willie: What the fu-in walks/slimes a slug like being

A3: Hahahah why did Clix’tiab run out of here looking like he was going to void his bowels? He looked like he’s seen a-notices Willie oh no…… hey man Willie I got your money, I wasn’t trying to hide from you I just have been locked up is all. Don’t worry, Ill get right on having those credits sent to you right now. runs away

Willie: ….Well at least hes gonna pay me after that bullshit party he threw. Fuckin mess that was. Had eggs everywhere but was supposed to get paid extra to make sure the place was spotless after. You ever have to scrape burnt eggs from a cast iron pan?

A1: I….I have to go. It….I…think I heard my name called. I must go. flees

---

(something I made/add on to this idea)

ok, imagine this. one of the aliens in the jail got curious and ask him "what kind of place did you hate...'cleaning' at?" and Willie is immediately started to talk about one of the worst places that he had to clean up, a 4 out 5 star restaurant.

"OH! you want to know?!, let's talk about... 'that place' which I can't say because for an obvious reason." they pay him a lot of money to not say anything about it "but oh my fucking god, the money they give was not enough, I had to ask them to double my pay or I was going to throw them under the bus. because... have you cleaned up rotten meat before?... it's a nightmare, the smell, look, and hell, even when I had the gas mask on, I can still taste it in the back of my throat right now."

"it was so hard trying not to throw up and make more of a mess that was already going on in their place. and I hope you like putting trash bags inside of trash bags because that is what you need to do or you have that shit leaking through the bag."

"it was pure nightmare but one of the important things I learn and for some reason, if you need to clean up rotten meat. use lemon juice, lemon juice is going to be your best friend if you want to clean up and remove the smell off of you." that job took him 10 hours to get it done.

the alien who asks that is now very scared.

[dlthedescent]

some Descent headcanons

So thanks to @thatguyender​ for starting this, I made two lists: a skill tree list for Mad Jack, my OC kickboxer, and a skill tree list for Freakazoid. I’ve had these thoughts way at the start - since when I first started the fic, I also thought of it game-design-wise - but never really sat down and wrote them out.

Though I expect myself to put a balance patch cuz I might have overdone it for Freakazoid... Eh. shrugs

First off, Mad Jack, my DL OC, Crane’s wingmate/crazy partner and Descent deuteragonist. She’s in a manner of speaking, a jack of all trades but also a skilled brawler. I do see her having some abilities/skills like old human Crane’s (power, survival, agility) because she is still a human fighter thrown in the same situation as he was (and not an overpowered infected). She’s no mercenary, though but she makes up by being crafty like a con artist.

Power

- Professional kickboxing brawler for 9 years (give or take). As true to her name, Mad Jack the Wild Dog, she can be a real berserker in combat. And when need to be defensive, tai chi (a lil hobby she took up in recent years) so that she can divert attacks thrown at her. 

- She's ambidextrous. Able to use double weapons faster and effective than Crane would one handed weapon.

- She has a couple of power moves like Crane's. A suplex move, a roundhouse kick, maybe a dual wielding move etc. Can even put a man in a head choke

- She knows how to use guns. Had used them in the past. But she actually won't use guns right now (there's reason to my madness here, story purpose). If in game, her skill in using firearms would be the last thing unlockable down the tree. And if unlocked, added with her ambidexterity, she can be very deadly. She can use bows easily btw.

Agility

- Almost on par to old Crane's parkour skills (had learned them from her cous), relearning the ropes and such.

 - More agile in combat and escaping/dodging than on parkour, where she puts her energy into.

 - She has high tolerance to pain. Like a berserker, she can endure being inflicted when in a pinch.

- Taunts, bring the fight to her and not to other people.

- Thanks to tai chi, she can regenerate stamina faster (have a mental moment to get like a second wind) 

- Will bite. Helps her get out of a sticky situation

Survivor

- Not a pro survival expert unlike someone who puts corpse grime onto himself. But willing to learn if it means surviving (doesn't mean she likes it)

- She has an eye for detail and is very resourceful, something from her past job. Which means she has better chance in looting than human Crane.

- Good with her words, twice good at bartering/haggling with shops (except with the Ravs. They know her tricks)

- She pickpockets. In battle, out of battle. She literally pulled a flash grenade off a Demolisher's body while being chased by it

- (tw blood, was a little unsure about putting this down) With her blood perk (poisonous to anyone infected), she can coat a bit on her weapons just by running her bloodied thumb/finger on it. Preferably sharp weapons work best.

- Open to new ideas on devices and tools if they can help with her survival. Example, the ascenders from the Junction. Plus only way to keep up with Freakazoid.

- Uses methods and tools that’s meant to distract enemies or lure them to a location. Examples: loud devices, fire alarms, her taunting.

Next up, Freakazoid (aka Kyle Crane as Sentient Day Hunter/Volatile).

And oh boy this is a long list. I might have given Jack more work as his teammate than I anticipated... Oh well. I’ll nerf him later.

Also, I took some liberty to base his infected passive and active abilities on the Night Hunter. With inspiration on other games’ abilities cough.

Power

- He still has the standard moves, windmill, drop kick, etc. Plus some Hunter moves like Arial Ground Pound, leapfrog, etc. In a way, he fights like his old self with new tricks as an Sentient infected. A super soldier 

- Pick claws or fists anywhere, anytime. Claws swipe faster, dealing damage faster than punches but of course, punches hit harder.

- Has tendrils like a Hunter so can grapple an enemy (anything weaker than a volatile) to bring them right to him so that he can smash their head to the ground. Can also pull himself to an enemy (anything stronger than a Viral/Biter/Common) and literally kick them.

- He has a blade bone on his right and now a bone-spike gun on his left. That doesn't mean they're more effective than normal weapons or that he can't use weapons - they just serve as being convenient. He can use weapons but they break faster than normal human Crane would (which means future craftsmen gotta make him weapons suitable for his strength. Note to self, make that for side quests)

- With his infected side, can get a defense and power boost like Jack's second wind ability

- Charge into a large group like a bulldozer, stunning his enemies (edited)

Agility

- Also has the same agility moves as his old self, but with some new tricks as well. 

- Can wall run, wall latch, wall climb far better than Aiden. Talons sharp enough to latch on a wall longer than Aiden can stay in the air.

- With tendril locomotion, can dart around fast but still hindered with turns/rotations like the Night Hunter. Escape is also more convenient by tendril. He can yeet himself out of combat.

- Faster health regen than his old self at night, slower in day. All thanks to his infected side.

- Instantly leaps onto an opponent like a Night Hunter but rather than sinking teeth down, he snaps the neck

Survivor

- He has some of his old skills, minus his haggle/talk for the time being. Jack helps him with that until he finds people not too freaked out by him. You know, because of his new body situation?

- Still can do throwing stars - because why wouldn't you want an infected throwing shuriken like Genji?

- Has the infrared eyesight of an infected where he can see human enemies behind walls. This can be switched on and off game-mechanic-wise and isn't effective in daylight.

- Not just with camouflage, can land critical stealth skills after being cloaked or in darkness.

 - UV resistance/block duration increase down his skill tree.

Infected - this is a new branch on Crane’s skill tree I made as a category, special thanks to Ender for the idea. Since there are some things like mutations, his telepathic way of communication, and skills/abilities that don’t fit with the other three categories entirely (even though the above, it’s a harmonic mixture between his old and new self)

- Pretty much higher defense (iron skin), higher attack (claws), faster regen, better scenes (can track infected/human easy like a bloodhound)

- Howls, can inflict fear into humans and staggers enemies. Good with clearing space against groups

 - With his mutations, he can be undying in combat (final passive skill in the tree). This gets reset back to normal until the next fight. He can also give this to his infected allies, namely Jack (concept in the works btw, may not be included), a sorta telepathic link to them to prevent them from dying.

- Tempted to give passive ability that he can feast on infected to regain back some health, considering the kind of person in the past to eat anything he grabs in the middle of an outbreak. Jack will most likely stop him on that. Or not. She can't completely control this beast.

-- Below are skills not lockable on the tree but gained after defeating a rare type of enemy; Sentient Volatiles.

- Invisibility - his first infected skill he starts with. Can go invisible as long as he has stamina to burn. Helps with his crit stealth kills. Uninfected human enemies can still see him however.

- Rage - Lets out the beast from within, as long as he has stamina to burn.

- Doppelganger - second infected skill, gained after defeating another sentient Volatile like him. Creates a shadow to distract enemies off him (similar to Mother's fight with her clones)

- Other newer skills he'll obtain after defeating three other Sentient Volatiles, in the works currently. 

and a sidenote from story; he has this territory bubble where his presence makes infected not want to come to him. So his presence helps safezones be warded off from troubling infected. Didn't know if should have been under infected branch

And that’s it.

God this post is so long...

[laequiem]

bottled up - a Kanej oneshot

This was written for @wornpagelibrary's year end event! Happy holidays, Arianna (@arimo93)! I hope you enjoy this little Kanej fluff <3

Fandom: Six of Crows / Grishaverse

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Inej Ghafa

Rating: general -> Post-canon, spoiler-free for the Nikolai duology

Word count: 1265

While greed bows to Kaz Brekker, envy is a constant companion. It’s an old friend, one who has seen his cards and understands why Kaz keeps them close to his chest. It walks alongside him as he hobbles his way down the street, a few paces behind where Jesper and Inej skip along happily.

masterlist

read on ao3

While greed bows to Kaz Brekker, envy is a constant companion. It’s an old friend, one who has seen his cards and understands why Kaz keeps them close to his chest. It walks alongside him as he hobbles his way down the street, a few paces behind where Jesper and Inej skip along happily. He does not usually let himself be seen in public near them anymore, lest his reputation tarnish theirs; Jesper, the merchant’s husband, and Inej, the slave-freeing pirate. Both fairly reputable people, compared to the crime boss that he is. Fortunately, the citizens of Ketterdam turn a blind eye to him, as though they see the blood tainting the three-legged tracks he leaves in the snow and dare not acknowledge his presence.

Kaz wishes so deeply that he could be in Jesper’s place right now, a thought he has had very few times since meeting the sharpshooter. Window shopping is definitely not his thing, but seeing Inej light up at the bright displays would be worth the tediousness of it all. More than that, he wishes he could be the one walking arm-in-arm with Inej, huddling close to keep her warm amidst the snowfall.

Their relationship is in a better place than it has ever been, but distance makes healing slow. Thankfully, the heart is a muscle, and Kaz has trained his not to get in the way of his professional goals.

“We don’t celebrate Saints’ days,” Jesper says as they stop in front of a store, “but I want to get Wylan something.”

“To bribe him for putting up with you?” Inej replies.

Jesper laughs. “Pretty much.”

As the pair lingers in front of the illuminated window, Kaz catches up to them. It’s the shop of a local artisan, a metalworker by the look of things. Copper cogs and exposed clockwork machinery, necklaces and other accessories made of twisted metal. Kaz has no idea what Wylan could possibly want from here. Yet Jesper goes in, dragging Inej along with him.

Kaz loiters outside, watching the snow fall gently and settle into cracks in the road. For Kaz, winter is a hurdle he has to overcome every year. Soon enough, the snow will melt and freeze again into a thin sheet of ice, making it much harder for him to walk around with his cane. In Inej’s religion, winter brings about the Feast of Sankt Nikolai, a holiday where people feast on large amounts of food. For Inej, winter means anchoring her boat in Ketterdam to buy food to redistribute to those in need. She slows down on busting slave rings during the colder months. Instead, she stops in each nation and donates food to their homeless and poor populations, starting here in Ketterdam. Soon after, she raises anchor to sail west to Novyi Zem and the southern colonies before sailing east again to Shu Han, Fjerda and Ravka.

This leaves Kaz and Inej with very little time to spend together while she is in Ketterdam, but they make the best out of it. Inej slips into his quarters at night so they can catch up on each other’s lives and maybe, maybe, continue to work on healing.

Kaz turns to face the shop. Inside, Jesper is haggling with the vendor, wildly gesticulating. Even when browsing the wares of a shop, Inej melts into the shadows. It’s as if she can’t help it, like stealth is the very essence of her being. But Kaz sees her, he always has. He sees her fingering the long chain of a necklace, admiring the craftsmanship of the bobble hanging from it. She smiles to herself as she turns the necklace between her fingers and Kaz feels it seeping into his chest, warming him up from the inside.

Kaz’s eyes stay locked on Inej’s hands, waiting for her to use Jesper’s distraction to make the necklace disappear. Even when Jesper puts an arm around her, done with his purchase, Kaz is still staring. He watches as her nimble fingers let go of the necklace, the chain swinging on its hook.

Sneaking into slave owners’ homes to steal ownership papers, forge ledgers or, when all else fails, threaten them until they free their slaves–Inej has not left her life of crime behind, but stealing from an artisan trying to make a living violates her code.

And of course Inej doesn’t buy anything for herself, she saves her money for charitable endeavors.

Kaz sighs to himself, looking up towards the gray sky. Perhaps he, too, should pay this artisan a visit.

——

When she slips through the window atop the Crow Club on her last night in Ketterdam, Inej finds Kaz pacing his room. His limp is prominent, as it usually is at night after a long day of threatening merchants and gangsters alike. Before she even makes herself known, he stops in his tracks.

“Wraith,” Kaz says, acknowledging her presence.

Inej hops down from the windowsill, into a sliver of moonlight.

“We’ll be leaving in the morning,” Inej says. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

Keeping his back to her, Kaz gives her a barely visible nod. She notices the way his fist clenches, but he remains silent. He does not invite her to stay. Despite herself, Inej sighs.

“Inej, wait.”

She freezes. Kaz turns to her then, avoiding her eyes but facing her nonetheless. His lips thin.

“I have something for you,” he says.

Inej stares in disbelief as Kaz staggers to his large desk. His keys jangle as he picks out the one that unlocks the largest drawer. He takes out a bundle the size of a newborn, wrapped in sturdy paper.

Their eyes meet as he thrusts the bundle towards her. In Kaz’s dark eyes, Inej reads something she rarely sees in him—doubt. Not quite fear, but close.

He’s afraid I won’t like it, she realizes.

She takes it from him. She unwraps the bundle gently—it’s heavier than she expected, and wrapped in quite a few layers of paper. The paper falls off to uncover a large glass bottle and—

“Kaz,” Inej gasps, “this is amazing,”

Inside the bottle is a replica of The Wraith, her ship. It’s assembled out of thin sheets of metal, every plank of the deck carved with precision. At its bow, a small figure with black hair gazes forward. Inej is too captivated by the gift to notice the slight upward tilt of Kaz’s lips, or the way his cheeks redden slightly as he watches her.

When she finally looks up and smiles at him, Kaz cannot help but smile back.

“Thank you,” she says.

Instinctively, her hand reaches out to him, but she stops herself. If it were Nina, or Jesper, or even Wylan, she would have gone for a hug. But it’s Kaz, and so she holds back. To her surprise, though, Kaz lifts his own hand, offering it to her.

His hand is bare of everything but calluses and a few small scars.

She reaches for it, brushing her fingers softly over his. Kaz shudders, but he does not pull away. He actually reaches for her, too, his thumb stroking over her fingers.

“Come back soon,” he murmurs.

“As soon as I am able,” she replies.

Kaz gives her hand a brief squeeze before letting go. Inej hops back on the windowsill, looking out towards the city beyond. She looks back to Kaz and their eyes meet. They give each other a small nod.

As she disappears into the night, Inej hears Kaz’s parting words, whispered to the empty room.

“See you soon, my Wraith.”

Tag list: @figonas @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @lizziebxnnet @hazelsheartsworn @peachcollective @nnazyalensky