#i ran out of brain words at the end. i may expand upon that later

[transfemzedaph]

What do you think the dynamic would be with zed and xisuma if wormman became evil? Do you think they’d fight against him or would they try and get EX on their side? :D

🪱

well depending on the situation - wether evil wm happens when ex gets banned or not then it depends on who goes to who obvi if ex is banned they have to go to ex

but i think ex would maybe (reluctantly) go to zed and xisuma for help bc it knows why this all happened and its kinda vaugely related to the both of them and also to evil x who definately feels like its partly its fault

i do think that they maybe wouldnt really know abt wm being evil very quickly bc i feel like ewm would be very plan heavey to be able to fuck up shit the most - after evil x managed to calm him down enough to not just go on a destructive rampage

cause like evil x knows thats still its friend and like uaaaagh. words.

[sweetest-honeybee]

Down to Dust

Chapter 4

Fic Summary: Grian will have to keep the dragon egg secure for the Watchers. But, they’re not the only ones who want it. On a completely unrelated note, Mumbo will have to deal with a version of himself thats only amplified by his No Killing mindset.

Chapter Sumamry: Mumbo was surprised to find that Grian was right when he said the egg was magical.

TW: Slight electrocution I suppose, and descriptions of lightning

Word Count: 2415

Notes: Again, the two farms are in the overworld, not in the Nether or End for the sake of the fic

Enjoy! And this one deserves a Read More because it’s long lol

——————

By the end of the next day, Mumbo had finished his first farm and half of his second farm. Much to his surprise, the egg didn’t bear any harm. It was strangely quiet recently but it didn’t bother him any. At the moment, it was in his inventory should anyone come by and see that he had it. It’d ruin his plans and he didn’t want to give up the egg just yet. Really, he could probably keep it forever. It had been completely safe and comfortable- or, as comfortable as an egg can be- since he stole it. Mumbo called that pretty responsible.

Who was he kidding, Grian would kill him eventually if he never found it himself.

He laid down the last of the comparators for the third row, focused more on finishing his farm than overthinking the egg situation. If all went well so far, they should be able to work on their own if he flipped a lever. The redstoner pulled the egg from his inventory and held it up to his face.

“I think everything looks about right so far, yeah?” He turned the egg as if there was a face to show his work. The egg quite obviously never spoke but it helped to explain the redstone and find the flaws in his contraptions.

Nothing seemed out of place. The first row’s test went swimmingly and by replicating that a few more times, all should go as planned when he tested them together. With his luck it may not happen but he could stand to be a little optimistic at least. Mumbo went on to build the last of the uniform rows and easily finished another quarter of the farm. All was down to just encasing said farm in a wall of glass to avoid the items spilling over the sides.

He stood back once more with his hands on his hips, the egg now by his feet. The redstoner was proud to say the least. He looked down at the egg which only sat stock still. Leaving the egg, he turned to dig in his chest for more materials.

Unbeknownst to him, however, the egg wouldn’t stay still for much longer.

“Glass, glass, where on Earth did I put the glass?” He mumbled to himself. He continued to rummage. Eventually, he pulled away from the chest with an internal cheer. “Of course it was next to the pistons.”

He swirled back around when he began to hear small pops from behind him. As he did, Mumbo’s eyes widened. Small purple sparks crackled every so often at the base of the egg and quickly began to grow in size. The egg itself launched into a fit of rapid vibrating.

“Oh! Uh-oh!” He dropped the glass next to him, shattering upon impact, and hurriedly jogged to the now terrifyingly lively egg. “Please tell me you're supposed to do that!”

The redstoner hesitated, going to touch it, then pulling away with a worried whimper. Mumbo didn’t want to touch it but he panicked as he was at a loss of what to do. The egg was calm for weeks before now. Even Grian would’ve said something if the egg had done something like this before Mumbo stole it.

Ah…Grian did tell him it was a magical egg.

Mumbo only thought Grian was joking to keep him from taking it. He’s never seen a dragon egg do that! It was just from the update, he suggested to himself. Eggs were just suddenly powerful and might destroy his days of work. He laughed nervously and pulled at his tie. It didn’t matter what he thought, the small sparks were now large bolts that shot their way into the ground. It singed the grass around it, turning it to a coal black. He had to back away from the egg’s ever expanding radius of energy.

“Oh what do I do- what do I do?!” Then, the obvious idea appeared and he palmed his forehead. “Grian!”

The redstoner fumbled to get his communicator from his pocket, almost dropping it several times. He miss-clicked several icons with petrified fingers and growled in frustration. Only when he finally opened the chat, the egg ceased its episode with an immediate halt. He looked up from the screen with caution and took another step away from the egg.

The area fell silent. Not a bird’s chirp or leave’s rustle broke the blanket of stillness that suddenly washed over everything. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, though.

He inched forward with small steps, clutching his communicator. Seconds passed, then a minute.

“H…Hello?” He said tentatively. He stuck a leg out, poking at it with the tip of his shoe then retracting his leg once more. A sigh escaped his lips. “Good, I guess that’s over with then.”

But it wasn’t. The egg was hardly finished as the bolts started again, much much larger than their already massive size they reached before it stopped the first time. Mumbo shrieked and attempted to retreat back to his chest. It took no longer than five seconds before a wave of the purple energy resonated through the ground and absorbed into the two farms. It knocked Mumbo from his feet and onto the grass, sending an electric shiver through his body.

He shielded his neck with his arms and waited. He only turned over when the sounds of roaring pistons caught his attention. But, that was hardly what he worried about as he watched in awe- good or bad, he wasn’t sure yet- at the effects of the egg’s sudden show of magic.

Both farms were activated and running faster than any farm he’d ever seen. Items upon items flowed down water streams and into stacks of chests. Some items avoided their intended route and simply floated in all directions above the farms. It was loud, incredibly loud. Mumbo nearly had to cover his ears as he initially cowered from the noise. However, he soon pulled himself to his feet and slowly approached the over-efficient farms.

A violet haze emitted from the redstone, replacing its originally reddish color, and from the cracks between each set of stone bricks. Each block crackled and hissed with energy, and it almost felt as if he were gaining some of that energy himself. Small bolts fizzled out over his suit. He lifted his left hand and turned it over, watching as sparks flew over and down his fingers to their tips.

To put it simply, it was a beautiful and supernatural sight. He wasn't sure how to react. His own heart was still racing- from the energy around him or his nerves, he also didn’t know.

While in the middle of the two farms, he glanced back at the egg which no longer twisted and turned, but sat with slowly flowing violet streams of energy penetrating the ground. Much like the hum of a conduit sounded from it. Now, it seemed very calm in contrast to its earlier fit. Mumbo assumed- for obvious reasons, really- that the egg powered the farms despite the contraptions having been able to power themselves via redstone. It was captivating and he couldn’t help but to become curious about what was inside the egg that would’ve given it so much power. That or had it already been created with it. Either way, he yearned to learn more about it. It could be revolutionary and improve efficiency immensely.

Although, the event was short lived as the egg’s energy flow sputtered and dissipated, leading to the farms shutting down with it. Mumbo looked up as items began to rain over his shoulders when they fell. But, he was hardly bothered. At this moment he realized a few things.

His farms worked, thankfully; The egg held an amount of power that could power several farms; Mumbo wanted to keep the egg for even longer to experiment.

Of course, he still wanted to eventually return it but as someone who couldn’t kill anything, the egg could help him for the time being...He already had many ideas popping into his head by the second. It only made him giddy for what was to come. He ran over and scooped up the egg with an ear-to-ear grin, holding it up to his face.

“You, my friend, are one wicked egg,” he complimented. Then, he put it in his inventory and prepared to fly home. He’d clean up the mess later.

As he rocketed off to his base, he noticed his red sweatered friend sitting alone on the roof of his house. Even when Mumbo flew by, Grian didn’t wave or nod up to him or really even look at him. Piquing his curiosity, though he should just go home and avoid confrontation, he landed behind Grian and carefully stepped down the slope of the roof.

“Hey! Haven’t heard from you much today,” he greeted. Mumbo was only met with silence. “Are you okay?”

After a second, Grian twitched when he realized that someone was talking to him. He turned his head to where Mumbo crouched down next to him.

“Oh! Sorry, I was just thinking. This is my thinking roof.”

The redstoner hummed. “Ah, don’t wear yourself out then,” he laughed.

“You should try it sometime with that empty head of yours.” The avian chuckled dryly and looked back to the setting sun, the small smile falling from his face.

“Thanks,” Mumbo replied, initially with a smile himself but found himself meeting Grian’s frown. He waited a few seconds before speaking again. Then, he tapped his fingers on the deepslate. “So...what’re you thinking about?”

“A lot, honestly. It's still the beginning of the season, I’m sure everyone is.” He waved a hand dismissively then looked at Mumbo. “What about you? Have you been thinking about anything?”

Mumbo snorted, attempting to lighten the mood. “Thinking isn’t good for me. I overthink when I do and it hurts my brain.” He paused. “But, if you’d really like to know, I’ve been thinking about the egg.”

This made Grian perk up. “What about it? Do you know where it is?”

The redstoner hesitated. Not yet, he can’t give it up just yet. “What? No, not at all. But, I had a question.”

Grian deflated, then looked away with his chin on his arms, legs tucked to his chest. “Alright, shoot.”

Mumbo’s stomach twisted. “I uh- maybe now isn’t the best time actually. You know, while it’s missing and all.” He cracked a half smile.

“Yeah, while it’s missing,” the builder scoffed. “Just ask me, I’m sure I can answer.”

“Ah- um, sure. Why...why is the egg so special to you? I understand sentimentality, but it just seemed more…” He sighed. “I don’t know. I wondered maybe- maybe it uh… did something, you know? You said it was a magical egg. Maybe you could tell me about it?”

He heard a low chuckle from Grian. “It’s just some stupid egg, it’s not magical.”

“I- oh.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that was disappointing for you, wasn’t it,” Grian sneered. The two stopped. Grian pulled his head up and Mumbo furrowed his brows. “Nevermind, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry. Just stressed.”

Mumbo stood and tightened his jaw, ignoring the builder’s excuse. “You know, you’ve been real onto me about that egg. Why don’t you tell me about that instead or go bother Scar. Every conversation I have with you now is just accusing me of taking it.”

Grian thought back to what Aisling said, then his last thought before he came to the roof. “Because maybe I saw you sneak into my house and steal the egg. And maybe, I don’t know, it’s my stuff.” He stood and faced Mumbo with a finger to the redstoner’s chest. “And maybe it’s because you are an insanely terrible liar.”

The other was at a loss for words, opening his mouth then clamping it shut repeatedly. The tips of his ears reddened in embarrassment. Of course Grian probably saw him take it, anyone could’ve. But why didn’t he say anything before? Satisfaction? Did he want Mumbo to just admit to it?

It didn’t matter now, the jig was up and all of his plans for the egg were now down the drain.

“I- I’m sorry,” was all he could muster. “I didn’t think it was such a problem.” He looked down at his shoes. “You…have been acting differently since it was gone, I didn’t think I made you mad.”

The avian sighed in relief and put a hand on Mumbo’s shoulder. “I’m not- look at me,” Mumbo lifted his head, “I’m not mad. Really, I’m not. A little annoyed, maybe, but not mad.”

“But you just scolded me like a toddler!” The redstoner whined.

Grian laughed. “Because you have to do that when a toddler lies to you. But, I’m not angry at you, at Scar, or anyone else. I want to tell you why that egg is important, I do, but it’s not the time for that, yet.” He patted his friend’s shoulder. It was clear Mumbo had more questions but decided to avoid them. “So, where is it?”

“Ah- well, I should warn you first about something.” Grian’s eyes widened. “No, no! Nothing happened to it! But um- well, it’s not ‘just some stupid egg’, it’s one seriously powerful egg, dude. What kind of dragon did you fight?!”

“...Excuse me?”

“Yeah! It powered two of my farms at once, did this huge explosion thing with a bunch of lightning, and it was awesome, but the egg-”

Grian took a hold of Mumbo’s shoulders roughly. “Mumbo, did it do anything to you.” The builder was suddenly very serious, as if Mumbo would die if he said yes.

So, of course he lied. “No? I was well away from it.” Grian let go and crossed his arms with a raised brow. “I was! I ran away because I obviously didn’t want to die.”

The other sighed. “Good, I need it now, then.”

Mumbo pulled it from his inventory, hesitating to give it back. Then, he put it in Grian’s outstretched palm. With nothing more to say, he waved goodbye and glided back to his van. Grian watched as he did and once the van’s door slid shut, he looked down at the egg. While he inspected the egg, he noticed a new detail to its shell that made his stomach sink.

A cursive two letter initial, MJ.

[countessofbiscuit]

all this devotion

Shaak Ti/Rancor Squad, Mature, 2600 words, 1/2 chapters . . .

Three things are certain in life: death, the Force, and the insistence of a togruta’s heat. Stationed on Kamino, Shaak Ti can now add rain and the dedication of ARC troopers to that list. 

View all tags/warnings and read on Ao3 or find chapter 1 below the cut.

“Are you alright, General?”

The map on the viewscreen expanded. Shaak Ti stared at the dispersal of the Second Army, pointedly, more bothered than she cared to admit by how closely Blitz had chosen to stand. “Yes, Commander, quite,” she lied.

Blitz was one of the more solicitous Alphas, all of whom married intuition with professional pride in a way that said they wouldn’t want the Force even were it offered. He did not accept this untruth. “Lama Su called you mistress three times. You didn’t correct him.”

“There are battles enough, some days,” Shaak Ti said. Tackling the Prime Minister’s insistence on outdated titles was not one for today.

“And you never shy from any.” Blitz hadn’t moved, but somehow his presence grew with his confidence in being right. “You’re very hot.”

The bottom of Shaak Ti’s stomach puddled into her groin. Her stripes flushed. It was the worst thing he could have said. “Excuse me?” she demanded, finally turning to face him.

“Infrared doesn’t lie, sir.”

Shaak Ti felt incredibly exposed. Unfairly observed. She swallowed the impulse to tell him not to flag her with his senors, just as Commander Colt had firmly requested her not to flag them with the Force. Blitz was trying to be helpful. Kamino was their home, their area of responsibility. And although she was trying to be helpful, too, she was an interloper, a stranger whose character and peculiarities needed to be roundly understood in order for them to do their jobs.

And her body was candid.

It was determined to make an honest togruta out of Shaak Ti. She was more than warm. The burn was beginning. The kindling was there, dry and licked into flame by pheromones. The best air-scrubbers in the galaxy couldn’t hide some things from a predatory plains species. She’d smelt the lust on them for weeks, here in this bleached city where sterility was an art form, where nature was scoured clean. But where virility could not be controlled. Her arrival had caused a flurry of activity among the clone staff that had nothing to do with the presence of a Jedi or an outsider in their midst. It was in the unreserved awe of their deep eyes. In the damp patches on their training blacks. In the lingering ache in their wrists. Shaak Ti’s many senses had discerned it all.

Her heat was upon her, and it was inflamed. And she wasn’t in the Temple, anymore.

“Alright. I will own it.” She lowered her voice. “I’m not well, and I'll be even worse for the next day or two.”

Blitz’s helmet canted slightly to the left. He stepped even closer. “What’s wrong?”

How much I want to bite you. “That’s personal, Commander.”

“With respect, sir, we’re in a heightened state of readiness, and anything that may compromise your health — ”

“Command devolves the same.”

“If you expect to be incapacitated in any way, Commander Colt should be informed.”

Oh, please don’t name him, too. An idea was germinating in Shaak Ti’s mind, rooted in biology and matriarchal instincts — and in the kindness the command cadre had shown her when she’d stepped off that shuttle, Geonosian dust still clinging to her robes. Commanders Colt, Blitz, and Havoc had removed their helmets unbidden, in unison. They were the first fresh clone faces she’d seen, not bloodied or twisted in agony. And they were very handsome.

On Shili, she would’ve had a harem to protect and cherish and serve. And who would have served her in turn —

She banished the thought before she flared whiter in Blitz’s HUD.

The Council had sent her here that she might grow confident in her ability to teach and nurture success once again. To oversee a programme she feared rife with ethical abuse. To counsel the Kaminoans on sapient integrity and encourage them to regard the clones as something more than product. She was not here to satisfy herself with her subordinates, singly or otherwise.

She was a Jedi Master. If she couldn’t master herself in this, after all these years, how could she claim mastery of the Force that flowed through her? A Jedi had to rise above base needs — and be humble enough to admit problems and devise solutions with peers. Historically, the solution to this issue involved much meditation and a temporary relocation to a sealed chamber at the distant end of the itinerants’ hall.

Shaak Ti returned her attention to the commander still lingering with unnerving focus. “Fine. I will inform him.”

“Fine,” clipped Blitz. “Thank you, Mistress Ti.” He turned heel and left her gaping at his nerve.

And at the sway of his patterned kama below his belt. And the subtle smell of rain-damp wood he left behind him.

Later, when the ache between her legs gnawed at her brain, Shaak Ti hurried to the medbay to beg soporifics from a droid. A familiar lightness had set into her limbs, as her inguinal organs sponged up blood. Her awareness tunnelled. It became harder to hold onto the serenity of the Force — it was sensitive and slippery like that, like trying to grip a current of water. Existing in the moment, too, demanded great effort. She had to concentrate on exchanging a cold nod with Hina Me, on acknowledging the waist-high salutes of a cadet company, their backs straight against the bowed walls.

Shaak Ti finally reached her room. Tipoca City wasn’t warm, and still she blasted the air cooler in the colorless, compact space, made larger by the transparisteel wall that overlooked the ocean; a meditation stool, Fe’s beads, some cacti from the Temple Gardens — a reminder of rain’s blessing, not its ubiquity — formed the sum of its personal effects. She began to strip with trembling hands.

Maturation brought much relief. Her biannual cycles weren’t as long, nor dangerous; she’d been in the habit of meditating her way through them, though she always crashed afterwards, bandwidth of mind and body maxed out. When that failed, downers, a device, and some do-not-disturb instructions could set her right after a day or three. That would be her method here, where the Force flowed thinly and the air was thick with androgens.

Commander Colt was not told. Not explicitly. As her tool warmed in the nanowave, Shaak Ti fired off a simple message to him: she was seriously unwell, and he was to consider himself in temporary command of the Grand Army stationed on Kamino, along with its reserves and training facilities. She was on comms for emergencies, but was not to be physically disturbed for love or credits.

Alphas were headstrong. They were never satisfied when they’d found the end of a problem; they had to pull it up by the roots with both hands and ask the grass why it grew. She had come to appreciate this about them. Her respect had been earned three, four, five times over by their blistering competence that ran circles around her own sluggish climb up the learning curve.

But when they knocked on her door just as the nanowave dinged, Shaak Ti wished she’d never met them at all.

There were two of them. They had moved in step down the quiet hall, but her montrals weren’t fooled, picking up the mass of their footfalls. The Force practically shouted their signatures. Blitz she knew best: cool and supple, yet columnar, like the limb of some great, unseen god; and Havoc, gritty and shifting, the scree slope of a mountain. Shaak Ti had the disconcerting feeling that they could smell her — not in any conscious way, like she could smell them. Just enough that it reinforced a need to roam in pairs, which they never did. It was Havoc’s shift now. But it wasn’t her place to question their duty rostering, just as it wasn’t his place to come here as shift commander and order her from her quarters. Only the Prime Minister could do that.

“Sir, Commander Colt insists we escort you to the medbay.” Blitz’s voice was full and clear, without the canniness of a helmet.

Shaak Ti frowned. “My compliments to the Commander, but that’s not necessary,” she said, affecting an authority she didn’t feel. She felt drunk. It was a heavy intoxication that sagged in her lekku, not the giddiness that bubbled in her tips after one too many passes at the punchbowl.

The silence was mighty. If they were discussing next steps, it was in handsign.

“We know,” Blitz finally replied. “We’re here to help.”

Shaak Ti stood stunned, keeping her distance from the door. She would not open it. But she called her shimmersilk robe to hand, all the same.

Jango Fett, the Clone Template, their progenitor, had ordered the Alphas to obey and serve the Jedi. That was their prime directive. Shaak Ti wasn’t even sure what oath they’d taken, if any. But she was bound by many things; she’d spent nights committing the Republic Code of Military Justice to memory. Ill-treatment of subordinates and misapplication of service property came presently to mind. If she accepted their help, they would ask all manner of questions and seek her direction and would be bound to comply. It would not be right.

She gathered herself against the want clamoring in her body. “I’ve made myself clear, gentlemen. No assistance is needed. Medical or otherwise. Goodnight.”

Blitz spoke up again. “With respect, sir, we know about your condition — ”

“We may be Alpha planks, sir,” Havoc cut in, “but we can read. And you’re a textbook example of a togruta in estrus.”

Shaak Ti stifled a mewl in her fist. She hadn’t made a noise like that since her feral teenage years. She sagged against the wall. How did they ... ? It wasn’t a secret phenomenon, true — as mundane as any bodily function, really. But they had conspired! They had bored a peephole into her life. For the second time that day, she felt rudely observed.

It was, however, rather rich to be affronted by that, when she’d come here to oversee, monitor, inspect and otherwise snoop.

“Let us help you, sir. Isn’t it better that way?” Blitz offered.

So much better: gorged on pleasure, in throbbing harmony with all life, magnified by her own gifts. She’d done it once, with a clan on Shili during her maturation rites. It’d been almost enough to sway her from a different kind of service, as she’d lain there, an open vessel for every feeling, carnal and uncomplicated.

These men were under no duress, not in this moment. They were consenting, volunteering freely. Outside of Shili, no one had done that for her before, not even fellow knights; certainly no masters, even when she’d reached their ranks. Was it not a honor to the Force, to offer a kindness unbidden to someone in need? It would be over sooner, too: just a standard day, if they kept up the pace. She was well-matured and no longer in the prime of reproductive life. And there was more of them, in every sense ...

Shaak Ti’s hand had slithered between her legs, fingering into her wetness. She didn’t have to imagine how big they’d be. With the height of scientific pride and the depths of indelicacy, Hina Me had paraded four naked clones before her, one of each patented Fett type, bemoaning that she had no sample from their first test batch, for though deranged, the viable half had been remarkable specimens of human physicality. Their statures differed subtly, but Shaak Ti couldn’t help noticing that they were uniformly well-endowed. All eyes front, but only the Alpha clone had met hers, deliberate and defiant. Asking his name seemed inappropriate, and her embarrassment had only compounded with time, to still not know which officer had been made to endure that humiliation.

Had it been one of hers who thickened before her, until he hung heavy in her peripheral — ?

Shaak Ti squeezed her eyes shut. She skirted around her bed to the far corner of her room, under the cooling air duct, and stared out at the roiling deep. The silk glued to her, dampening with her heat. It would be fouled. So much the better, perhaps: it was a strange and shameful gift from Halle Burtoni.

“You cannot help,” she said, more to her reflection than to the men in the hall. What would her peers say? The opinion of the Kaminoans didn’t concern her, but they would surely go red in the fin and sniff at her. “I am responsible for you. As a — ” She didn’t want to say Jedi. It seemed unfair. A brevetship of chance, when they were more capable in many respects. “A representative of the Republic.”

“An administrative detail,” Blitz countered. “We were no one’s responsibility until you came along.”

Heat surged down her lekku. The primal excitement of a threat. “You question my authority?” Her white brow scowled back at her in the pane. Fett might have ordered them to obey, but had clearly said nothing about holding their tongues; they took grumbling and constructive criticism as an act of religion.

“No, sir. We respect it,” said Blitz. “Just as we respect your ability to act responsibly towards us when this is all over. Do you think we can’t do the same?”

Surely this constituted some form of entrapment. But Shaak Ti couldn’t find the logic to argue. Not when she felt like a besh with a body attached. “I cannot ask this of you,” she said. When the silence stretched, she realized she’d whispered it to the waves. She repeated herself, louder. “I cannot ask this of you.”

“You aren’t,” Blitz clarified for the record. “We’re offering.”

Havoc spoke up. “Honestly, sir, you’d be doing Blitz a favor. He’s been rutting into his cod ever since you got here.”

Shaak Ti wheeled round, lekku spinning, feeling the pressure wave of something imminent.

Then came the thunderclap of armor against the door. A scuffling ensued. They were fighting. Something absolutely unheard of in togruta males, and it was not attractive. At the same time, it was also potentially embarrassing for everyone involved in this bizarre negotiation.

If only her door had been locked from without, too. It was altogether too easy for Shaak Ti to slide it open with a flick of her wrist, allowing two clone officers to stumble into her room and out of sight.

Blitz and Havoc clipped halfway to attention in their confusion, shuffling their helmets under their arms. Their pauldrons kissing, their eyes not diverted. They looked surprised — youthful, like two Padawans whose Force antics had granted them access to the larder.

Or maybe that was her.

The room was suddenly so much smaller. Suffused with their scent, too: musky, undisguised, and mouthwatering.

Shaak Ti's loneliness burst its buried dam. She worked in separation, she lived in isolation. Nala Se was courteous, as welcoming as any Kaminoan could be, but she was not a fellow master. There was no community here that she might join. There were the troops and there were the natives with their rigid caste system. She understood a cadre of off-world trainers had lived here alongside the Prime Clone, but his death and the outbreak of the war apparently ended their contracts; a handful remained in the Special Operations wing, but they were Mandalorians — they made the Kaminoans look friendly.

These persistent men had changed everything. They’d just shifted the center of gravity. Shaak Ti’s every thought rolled down into her besh, hungrily. She needed to consume and be consumed.

She let her robe slip, giving in, only if for a night.

[rhabakoli]

Your writing is just- WOW. May I please request a one shot of Geralt getting jealous, confessed feelings and some rough possessive sexy times?

HI!  I did not forget. I didn’t I swear. I just rly struggled with this, and I’ve decided it’s not gonna get better, so here it is. 

@dreamwritesimagines @alwaysadreamingoptimist

ENJOY! 

Geralt had been trailing behind Jaskier all day, made sure he wasn’t alone and unprotected. Never let him out of his sight. 

Okay, maybe he was a bit overprotective, but could you blame him? Jaskier was rather unobservant and oblivious on a good day, he rarely caught danger until it hit him in the face. But that’s what Geralt was here for. And alas, as he stopped watching Jaskier to inspect some leather-bound books and fine quills, someone promptly saw their chance. Big, burly, face like a potato that fell onto the floor one too many times, no sense for personal space and social boundaries. Geralt growled and his brain completely shut off when the stranger took Jaskier by the arm and attempted to pull him away. He was by his side immediately, face terrifying to look at and posture clearly tense and ready to pounce. Jask was struggling against the man’s hold on his arm and didn’t notice Geralt until he talked. “You better take your hand off my man, or I’ll do it for you.” Jask would deny his squawk until the day he died, but he was glad for Geralt’s appearance still. The stranger sneered and ran his eyes over Geralt, before looking back at Jaskier. “That guy with you?” Before he could answer, Geralt pulled him close, pressed a kiss to his temple and growled: “Got a problem?” Jaskier’s heart fluttered at the possessive display and he curled his hand tighter into his bag to stop himself from clinging to Geralt. He’d surely not appreciate the bard taking advantage when he just wanted to help. So he forced himself to relax and put a smile on his face – when all he wanted to do was to turn in Geralt’s embrace and tuck his face against his neck and never let go. Why did he always have to fall for the wrong ones? The unapproachable ones? Potatoface let go of Jaskier’s arm and murmured something that made Geralt growl even fiercer, louder. “Leave right now and I’ll let you live.” 

He didn’t really want to let him live, not after he frightened and hurt his bard. The monster inside him fought for control, but Geralt knew if he let loose, the result would not be pretty and for now he needed to get Jaskier out of this place. “If you’re fast enough, I won’t even hunt you down.” Jaskier’s eyes got all big and round, the shock obvious. “Geralt!” The Witcher hushed him softly, his arm tightening around him. “It’s okay, shh.”   Potatoface seemed to smarten up and decide to keep his life, because he scoffed and stomped away. Geralt stared after him, trying to make him fall to the floor in a heap of dead flesh, but he – fortunately – did not have that kind of power. Jaskier blinked, trying to progress the Witcher’s hands still on him. He also didn’t seem to be in a hurry to let the bard go, which – weird? “Uh, Geralt-“ His head whipped around, golden eyes focused on Jaskier. “Are you okay?” Taken aback, Jaskier nodded. What the fuck was even going on?   “Good.” He turned, arm still around the bard and stalked off into the opposite direction. “Wait, what the fuck did he say? Geralt!” He completely ignored Jaskier’s protests and just hauled him away, through the side streets until he stopped at a little tavern. He opened the door, shoved the bard through. “Wait, Geralt, what-“ “For fucks sake, please shut up for just a moment.” Geralt nodded at the bartender as they walked by, towards the stairs. Did he have a room here? They only just arrived this morning, how did he already have a room? “Geralt-“ The Witcher growled, whirled him around and grabbed his jaw. “Jaskier. Shut. Up.” His eyes were dark and a testament to his self-control because they looked absolutely wild. Jaskier came to realized just how tense Geralt was. He snapped his mouth shut and nodded. Or tried to. Geralt’s big hand restricted him somewhat and Jaskier tried so hard to keep his brain and body under control. He’d dreamed of Geralt holding him like this, but in a wholly different context. “Upstairs.” Geralt jerked his head, telling Jaskier to go up, to fucking move. His hand let him go and instead touched his lower back, guiding him. It felt weirdly intimate and warm, and Jaskier was confused.

Geralt was seething inside. Seeing that brute, that sleazy fucker touch Jaskier, his bard – he could be glad Geralt didn’t cut him down right there. And then he felt the other relax against him, let himself be taken care of- fuck, his insides did somersaults. If he would just do what he was told without talking back one fucking time. Just fucking once. Once in his room, he locked the door and braced his hands against it, just breathing for a moment. He needed to calm down. Otherwise he’d do something stupid, he knew. Something like kiss Jaskier. Or hoist him up and fuck him against the door. A hand touched his back, right between his shoulders. “Geralt?” Jaskier sounded concerned, cautious. Geralt tried to relax, unclench his jaw and let down his shoulders from where they were pulled up to his ears. How would he ever live if anything happened to his bard? If he ever took interest in someone, real interest? Jealousy reared its head again, ugly creature like it was. It sharpened its claws, whet them on his ribs and it hurt. “Hey, nothing happened.” Jaskier’s voice was soft, comforting, as if he were shushing a wild animal; he was, in a way. He wasn’t sure what was going on inside the Witcher’s head, but he did relax under his hands, just slightly. It was a start. Geralt mumbled something under his breath, barely audible and it frustrated Jaskier to no end. “Could you please speak up, I wasn’t gifted with superior hearing, my friend.” Oh. Oh shit. Geralt tensed all over again, his back hunched and his hands on the door curled to fists. Shit, what did he say? Before Jaskier could backtrack in any way, Geralt had whirled around, grabbed him and pushed him against the door. The bard was caged in by this big, thick man, and It probably should not make him feel this safe. Still, Jaskier hoped Geralt would chalk his erratic breath up to the sudden change of position and proximity. The hand on his hip burned through the material of his clothes, the other had found it’s way to his jaw once more, Geralt’s thumb right over his pulse point. “I am not your friend.” Jaskier froze, both at the words and the sound of his voice. He sounded raw, hurt, pained. He didn’t think he’d ever heard him like that before. “What?” Geralt refused to meet Jaskier’s eyes and focused on his eyebrows instead, then his nose, his lips. “I can’t be your friend, Jaskier.” A humorless chuckle left his lips. “I can’t watch you, day in day out and pretend to be your friend. I can’t pretend to not want you any longer, I’m sorry.” Geralt pushed away, back to the bard and rubbed his hands over his face. “Fuck, the things you make me say.” Jaskier needed a couple of seconds to process whatever Geralt had just told him. Has it been… a confession? Did Geralt feel more than just annoyed fondness for him? Did he – Did he like him??? “Geralt-“ He had to clear his throat before continuing. “Geralt, what do you want?” He watched the Witcher’s ribcage expand with every breath he took, watched him turn his head. The tension was palpable, made it hard to breathe. Jaskier was sure he would pass out any second, if Geralt decided to stall. He didn’t need to worry. The Witcher let out a deep sigh and sunk down on the bed, elbows on his knees. “I want you.” When he looked up, his face was so open, so earnest, Jaskier knees almost gave out. “I want to be close to you at all times, I want to be on your mind at all times.” Geralt watched the bard come closer. “I want to kiss and touch you.” Jaskier chose to ignore the way his man’s voice had cracked in the middle there; instead, he made a place for himself between Geralt’s knees and forced him to sit up straight, lean back a bit even. “Geralt.” Jaskier cupped his face, brushed his thumbs along his cheekbones. The motion was so tender and loving and strange to Geralt, it send a shiver down his spine. “You are the most amazing idiot on this whole wide world, I swear.” Geralt watched his lips move, watched him smile so bright it could take out a vampire; he was mesmerized. “Geralt, you can touch me. You can also kiss me.” The words got stuck in his ear canal somewhere, because it took a second for Geralt to react. But then his hands lifted from his thighs to wrap around the back of Jaskier’s thighs, mapping the territory. “I can?” “Yes, love.” Bad choice of words. Jaskier squealed as Geralt hoisted him up and over his shoulder so he’d land on the bed with a hefty oof and a bounce. Geralt was upon him not much later, straddling him and holding his face in his hands. “Are you sure?” Jaskier scoffed and mirrored Geralt. The stubble on his cheeks tickled his palms as he answered: “No, you’re delusional, my friend.” A child would have noticed the sarcasm in his words. Geralt growled and kissed Jaskier. Finally. He grinned, giddy happiness filling him. He couldn’t believe it. And neither could Jaskier.   Their kisses were hot and messy, sloppy even. Hair was pulled, lips were nipped, it was harsh and wild. “Grind down on me, Geralt, come on.” Jaskier ran a hand down Geralt’s back and cupped his asscheek, then squeezed.   “I know you want to.” Geralt didn’t wait for Jaskier to maybe change his mind. He moved his hips, rhythm fast and hard immediately. He’d been holding back for too long, he just wanted to feel and hear and taste and see. “Fuck.” Jaskier moaned at Geralt’s curse, his stomach somersaulting. “Geralt, you’re so fucking hot. So precious too, fuck” It felt delicious, the way Jaskier’s bulge rubbed along Geralt’s dick and balls, caught just behind his balls, if he moved just right. He groaned into Jaskier’s skin, right underneath his jaw, where he left red blotches, little marks that would hopefully bloom into pretty bruises. He needed to leave his claim in a way that was impossible to miss. He had to. He buried his hand in his bard’s hair, the brown locks spilling from between his fingers. “You smell so good, Jask.” His senses were filled with both their arousal, precum, desire, love. “I want to make you smell like me, Jask.” The bard laughed, a deep chuckle that was music to Geralt’s ears. “Oh, you possessive idiot.”   He lifted his lips just a bit to rut against the Witcher. His eyes were half-closed, his lips shiny with spit and swollen from their aggressive kissing.   He shifted under Geralt, lazy smile on his lips. “I want you to fuck me.” The witcher froze, just for a second, before he cursed and scrambled off the bard. His hands fumbled with his breeches’ laces while he commanded Jaskier to undress as well. He looked up, white strands hanging into his eyes, hair completely disheveled. “Please,” he added.

Fuck, if that wasn’t a sign for the heavens. Geralt, big badass monster hunter, terrifying Witcher, had asked nicely and looked almost chastised while doing so. The bard had to be careful not to blow his load right then. They didn’t take long to undress. Clothing was flung to the floor, boots kicked under the bed when Geralt got on and crawled back to Jaskier. The bard was a sight for sore eyes, one hand on his thigh, the other was slowly stroking his dick. Geralt had to stare for a bit; fuck did he want to taste. Maybe later. He let his hands trail up Jaskier’s thighs, until he could bring them back around to his ass and haul him in, bring him closer. “You’re driving me crazy, bard.” “Good.” Oh, how smug he sounded. Jaskier procured a vial of oil from somewhere, Geralt had no idea. But he didn’t particularly care, there was barely enough blood left in his brain to think straight. Or as straight as he was able to. He took the vial with a sweet kiss on Jaskier’s lips. As he pulled back, his eyes fell upon the bard’s neck, mottled with spots and bites. Yes. Carnal possessiveness flooded his veins, and his cock started throbbing even more, precum dribbling from his tip. “Oh, how handsome you are, Geralt.” The bard ogled Geralts cock, then wiggled his hips. “Don’t make me wait.” “Yes.” Geralt snapped out of it, opened the vial and coated his fingers in the liquid. He wrapped one hand around Jaskier’s on his hip, then circled the bard’s rim. He clenched in anticipation, his hips moving again in an effort to make Geralt hurry up. “Geralt. Now.” “Oh, yes.” He pressed one finger in, surprised to find no resistance at all. Still, he took it slow, took his time, until Jaskier urged him on once again. “You will add another finger or I will do it myself.” And so he did. And they went in so smoothly, he almost lost his mind. Why was he so loose? Why was there no resistance? He should have to stretch him, what was going on? And then It hit him. He was already stretched. He’d had someone’s dick up his ass and it hasn’t been long enough to tighten back up. It also hasn’t been Geralt’s cock. A deep, vicious growl erupted from his chest, his fingers crocking and suddenly fucking into Jaskier at a mad pace. “Did you sleep with someone?” He grunted at one of Jaskier’s whines and spread his fingers, scissoring his bard’s hole. “Did you let someone else fuck you? Were you lying?” His voice was just as dark as his growl, the both of them layering and making Jaskier shiver underneath him. He tried to speak, but Geralt’s assault on him felt too good. He got a small break when Geralt shifted closer, latched onto his shoulder and buried his teeth there, probably leaving a very prominent mark. “No, I- ah. I fingered myself to the thought of you!” Geralt froze. He felt like his brain had been blown out, his heart crushed. He… what? Jaskier startled when Geralt suddenly pulled back with that blank, wide-eyed look on his face. They stared at each other, the bard too startled too move and the Witcher too shellshocked. Only when Geralt let out a low and breathy whine, almost like a hurt animal, did Jaskier remember his ability to move. He sat up slightly, reached for Geralt; did not get far. Geralt wrapped his hands around Jaskier’s hand and wrist, his other hand clenching at the bard’s hip. “Julian.” The mood toppled, shifted, desire burning in their veins like dry wood in the kiln. The were upon each other, skin to skin, Geralt back to fingering his bard, get him ready; he couldn’t wait much longer. It was hot, it was sticky and slick and if Geralt wasn’t gonna fuck him soon, Jaskier thought he’d have to die. “Come on, Geralt. Please.” Oh, and could he ever resist when Jaskier begged. Never.   He hooked one of his legs over his arm and rubbed the head of his cock against Jaskiers hole. “Breathe.” And then he pushed in. Jaskier’s eyes rolled back, his mouth fell open and he let out a choked gasp. Fuck, it was so much better than imagined. He was half sure he was babbling, but Geralt didn’t seem to mind or even notice. He just kneeled there, his fingers pressed into Jaskier’s skin as if he needed something to anchor himself. His eyes were closed, his head tipped back and his chest heaving. He drew in air, shakily, and when he exhaled, Jaskier’s body twitched.   His name had never sounded better than when it spilled from Geralt’s lips like a prayer, like something precious. “Julian.” A dam broke. Or a wall. Didn’t matter, something broke. Something gave way and Jaskier loved it. Geralt fucked into him without mercy, without caring if he left bruises or marks. He even kissed any red spots he could reach, murmured his possessiveness into Jaskier’s skin. And while Jaskier was absolutely on board with all of that, he felt almost overwhelmed. He’d loved for so long, careful not to let Geralt see. And now he was tangled with Geralt, on the bed, the sheets sticky and a mess, and it was exhilarating. He raked his nails down Geralt’s arm and bucked against him, tried to find a rhythm, but Geralt simply fucked him into submission. “Just take me, Jaskier, take all of me. You’re mine.” Fuck. Geralt shifted, bent Jaskier into half and adjusted his thrusts. Harder. Faster. Better. Jaskier was leaking precum, his dick now trapped between them and the friction drove him crazy. Absolutely crazy. Geralt held his legs in place, his forehead pressed against his calf as he took him apart. “You’re perfect. You’re mine. I’ll make you remember that.” A deep, rough growl revibrated through Geralts chest and Jaskiers body. He keened, threw his head back, begged. He needed release, he needed to cum. He needed it. “Please, Geralt. Please.” “Mine.” “Please.” Geralt picked up the pace; it became even more inhuman, animalistic. No mortal would have been able to keep it up. Jaskier himself felt like dying, his whole body overwhelmed and coiled tight. Geralt suddenly pulled out, just when Jaskier was about to break, and he flipped him around, manhandled him into a preferred position. He was like a blanket of fire along Jaskier’s back, the heat he radiated making sure his lover wasn’t getting cold. A soft kiss was pressed to Jaskier’ temple before Geralt sat up. He was positioned on Jaskiers now stretched legs. His cock, fat and swollen and leaking was situated between the bards asscheeks; the view was too nice. Geralt ran his hands down Jaskier’s back. His unmarred, unmarked back. No. Mark him, mark him up. Geralt shifted forward, his hands in the bedsheets next to Jaskier and his lips latched to the top of his spine. He licked and bit and grinded his cock against his bards ass, all the while growling and whispering praise. Jaskier felt so empty, and the grinding cock on his ass was the worst of teasing. He whined, pressed back against his witcher and raised his hips. “Don’t be fucking mean, get back into me already.” Geralt chuckled and bit the skin stretching over his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. “Patience, Julian.” Jaskier pressed his face into the sheets and wriggled in frustration. “Fuck.” He raised his hips as much as possible and reached down to take himself in hand; did not go well. Geralt stopped him with a hand wrapped around his arm and pulled it from between the bed and Jask’s body. “So, that’s how needy we are, huh?” He raised both Jaskier’s arms over his head and held them there with one hand. The other caressed his ass, squeezing and stroking in cirlces, before he smacked the left cheek. “You’re so needy, can’t even wait?” Another smack, the sting making Jaskier drool a bit. “Well then.” Geralt’s voice was so unbelievably gravely and bassy, Jaskier could feel every word he said in his chest. “Fuck, you’re so impatient.” He chuckled. “Take me then.” He pressed in, his thick cock breaching Jaskier once again, but the angle was different. The bard couldn’t not, he started moaning and pushing back, eager to take him in, to be filled to the brim. He wanted to cum, he needed Geralt to fuck him. And he did. Straight up resumed in the pace he’d left off earlier, the friction fucking delicious. His arms were still held hostage, therefore Jaskier didn’t have much room to move, but fuck, if that wasn’t half the appeal. “You’re mine, Julian. Mine.” Geralt murmured right into the bards ear. “Cum for me, my pretty flower.”

[chosenkeepersworld]

Phase 1 (Part 2)

Original Work Word Count: 1856 words Date Posted: April 30, 2021 Author’s Note: Well, this did not go as planned. It was suppose to end here but my brain doesn't want that yet, I guess. Unbeta’d but I hope you guys still like it and as always I love hearing your thoughts about my work so comments are always appreciated.

PART 1

Andie groaned as she slowly became conscious again. She had a killer headache and immediately winced when she opened her eyes. She was in a brightly lit room and yet when she looked around all she could see was stone. She tried to move but when she pulled at her arm the jangle of chains caught her attention. Andie turned her head and just as she suspected there were indeed shackles chaining her to the wall.

The golden brown haired young woman groaned. She hated ending up in these types of situations, it was so inconvenient. Whoever held her had changed her clothes, therefore stripping her of any possible tool that could help her escape.

Andie could just yank the chain out but that would make too much noise and could alert her captors. These were the times when she wished she was more than just a human, there may be more that she could.

The Gatekeeper shook her head, this was not the time to think about her inadequacies, she could do that when this was all over. Right now she had to find a way out of the cell, find her partner and get out of where they were being held.

She ran her other hand through her hair in frustration when she felt a bobby pin she used to keep her hair in place. Andie made quick work of getting it out her hair, wincing when strands of her hair got caught as she pulled the pin out.

Andromeda picked at the lock of her shackles and it opened with a soft click. She caught the chain and gently lowered it to the ground. The Gatekeeper groaned when she remembered that she had no other way to defend herself.

Andie huffed but otherwise placed her hand against the stone and allowed her senses to expand. She gasped and backed away from the wall.

They were in a mountain. Andie could briefly see winding pathways leading in and out of the mountain, saw chambers that could very possibly house people. She would have time to marvel at that later, right now she needed to find Astrid and get out of here.

She was going to die here. It felt like hours since she escaped where she was confined. Oddly enough there were no guards when she left, but that only made her more suspicious of this place since they were confident enough to leave her alone.

She moved through the pathways as quietly as she could, hiding in little shadowed alcoves when she heard someone approaching. She continued following the path she was on until Andie finally found what seemed to be an exit.

She crept closer to the opening making, trying to survey the next room when something pushed her into the room. Andromeda stumbled but didn't fall, she righted herself and immediately saw who was in the room.

There were men and women in what looked like a wide hall. A man and women were at the end of the hall on a dias, some kind of banner behind them. It had two mountains, one taller than the other with a sun between the two peaks. There were what looked like little heads at the base of the sun, mouths open and fire coming out making up the sunrays.

Her eyes strayed to the bottom of the dias to see Astrid seated on a cushion. Her partner’s eyes widened and her mouth opened to say something but the sound of a gong reverberating through the chamber. As it did, Andie saw someone move forward and felt another person at her side.

A man came forward and started walking toward the dias, only looking back to give Andie a sly grin causing the young Gatekeeper to narrow her eyes at him. She then turned to the man at her side and blinked.

It was a man, tall, dark skinned and muscular, only wearing a pair of dark pants,golden embroidery stitched on the waistband. Andie gulped at the sight of the man's bare chest, white jagged scars were littered on his torso, she had crane her neck up a bit to get a good look at his face and couldn't help but stare. His face looked harsh, his brows deeply furrowed and his mouth turned down in a deep scowl. But what really grabbed the young woman’s attention was his eyes.

They were so dark that they reminded her of coal, so dark but for a brief moment Andromeda saw them change from coal to a bright and deep amber. The moment was over and his eyes were the color of coal once again. Andie felt heat creep up her face and turned away from him. He startled her when he put his hand on her back and gave a slight push.

She squeak but he murmured “Walk”

Andie was suddenly reminded of where they were, turning to face the people who were waiting for them. They moved forward and stopped before the dias. The two stopped, he placed his hand on Andie’s head and put a light pressure until Andie was bowing slightly, he bowed with her.

The gong sounded once again.

The man dropped his hand and they straightened again.

The man on the dias was wearing a red and gold robe, with designs and shapes Andromeda was unfamiliar with.

The information given to the Gatekeeper pair had told them only hinted at what might await them here, but Andromeda had severely underestimated those documents and had only assumed it was a tribe of sorts.

This was most definitely not a tribe.

The man spoke in a language Andie could not understand, she turned her head slightly hoping to catch her partner's eye. Astrid was still sitting on the cushion at the bottom of the dias, the red head was actively glaring at the couple on the dias, the couple who were clearly leaders of this clan.

Once the man finished speaking, the rest of the crowd bellowed something in their language, beating a fist once against their chests before leaving the chamber.

Andromeda and Astrid were now left alone with the clan's leader as well as multiple guards who held very sharp and jagged weapons in their hands. Astrid quickly made her way to her partner's side.

They all watched each other warily, the leader stepped closer to the two, his dark eyes focused on us but Andie could tell he wasn’t happy with them being here. The woman on the dias suddenly let out a frustrated sound then got up from where she was sitting to approach. The leader barked out a few words, causing the woman to place her hands on her hips and raise an eyebrow.

While the couple, it was obvious that they were, began arguing the man who smirked at Andie earlier approached them. He shared similar facial features with the man who guided Andie up to the bottom of the dias, the only difference was his brunet hair and hazel eyes.

"I apologize. The Chieftess is displeased with how you were treated and is making her displeasure known to our Chief."

"Oh it's all right. I know exactly how your Chieftess is feeling" Astrid flashed him her fakest smile

The man narrowed his eyes at her “We do apologize. I’m Carrigan, second son of the Apollo family, member of the Sol Spire Clan” he then nodded to the man at Andie’s side earlier who was now talking to the guards around the chamber. “That is my brother, Orion, the first son and General of the Chief’s army. “ he turned to look at the Chief and Chieftess again to see they disappeared and sighed “Well it looks we’ll be looking after you for now. Follow us and we’ll bring you somewhere you’ll be more comfortable”

The partner pair exchanged looks and Astrid swiftly moved to follow. Andie looked behind her one last time at the Orion before turning fully to follow their guide. Unbeknownst to her, the General glanced at her as left the chamber.

“We have many questions we would like answered” Astrid grumbled. That was quite obvious considering how they were...welcomed. Andie wanted those answers too. She didn’t understand how they could have hidden when she connected with the forest.

“Yes, I’m sure you do and we’ll get to that but for now I will be escorting you to your chambers. We have water for your baths ready and will send food afterwards.”

Andie couldn’t lie, baths and food sounded very good. And upon seeing her partner’s face she could tell Astrid liked the idea as well. Carrigan led them to their chambers, thankfully the chambers were right next to each other.

Andie’s chambers were large with a high domed ceiling. Lamps were mounted all around the walls. In the center of the room was a pit, a thick mattress seemed to fill the bottom of the pit. Pillows were scattered along the pit as well as a blanket folded at the center. There was other furniture in the chamber but it was the room that still held the Gatekeeper’s attention.

She found it strange that this chamber was this large. As if they made the chamber big enough to house something large. She would bring it up with Astrid later on. She began inspecting the room more, eventually finding the entrance to the bathroom. Andie sighed, a warm bath sounded lovely and deserved to be enjoyed but this place was strange and Andie couldn’t let her guard down, especially not now.

A quick rinse should be enough for now.

Andie was surprised to see a young woman, she looked like she was barely into adulthood, in the main chamber, setting down folded fabric on the bed. She squeaked upon catching sight of Andie wrapped in a towel, her hair still dripping at the ends.

She bowed “My lady! I wasn’t expecting you to be finished so fast” her accent as she said the words

“Yeah” Andie said with a nervous chuckle “I bathe fast. And please just call me Andromeda”

The woman straightened, tilted her head and moved closer. Andie tensed as she circled her and sniffed daintily.

Andie’s brows furrowed “Uh…”

“I apologize, please don’t mind me. I have brought you clothing and I will bring your meal while you dress, along with your companion.”

And before Andie could say anything else, she was left alone once again. The Gatekeeper made quick work to put on the clothes that were left for her. To her delight, they had given her a long sleeved shirt and a pair of comfy pants and slip on shoes.

Just as she finished dressing, Astrid came into the room, head turning back and forth then settling on Andromeda sitting at the edge of the pit. The red head sighed in relief and went to sit beside her, Astrid wrapped her arm around Andie’s and sighed once again.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” she said softly.

Andie reached up with her free hand and held on to Astrid’s arm and gently laid her head on top of her partner’s.

“Ahem”

The pair turned their heads to see the young woman from earlier standing behind them, her hands in front of her, folded on top of each other. They quickly stood, their bodies tensing.

Unfazed by their actions, she smiled at them and said “Your meal is ready.”

She then gestured to a low table where plates of hot, steaming food waited for them. The pair sat down, the woman bowed her head and left them to their meal.

The food didn’t look any different to what the Gatekeepers were used to, but still they were in a strange place, one could never be too careful about these things. Only an idiot would think of eating food from strangers without a second thought.

They stared down at the food in front of them, Andie debated on not eating anything until her stomach grumbled loudly for even thinking about it. And it looked like Astrid was on the same boat.

“So, how are we going to do this?” Astrid asked, a look of annoyance flashing briefly, poking her belly as her stomach growled again. “Quiet, you”

“Okay. How about I eat a bite out of each of these dishes and if any happens to me, well you know what to do.” Andie said, picking up a spoon.

“Andie…”

“Both of us can’t take the risk, one will need the oher if something does happen.” Andie swallowed nervously before taking in a bit of what looked like stew and eating it. When nothing happened, the brunette Gatekeeper continued tasting each of the dishes laid out and even taking a sip of the water they were given. There was no aftertaste or odd texture, no odd feeling after consuming the drink or food.

“Well, it looks like everything is safe to eat?” Astrid stared at her partner, her eyebrow raised.

“Looks like it is,” Andie agreed.

It took no time for the pair to start eating with gusto.

“I’m glad to see both of you enjoyed what the cooks have prepared,” Carrigan said to their guests when he approached the table.

Astrid was leaning back, rubbing her stomach, nodding at him. Andie opened her mouth to respond but her partner let out a loud burp surprising the others in the room. Astrid raised her fingers to her lips and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

She let out a nervous laugh “Excuse me”

Andie’s lips quirked up slightly before turning to give Carrigan a polite smile “The food was delicious. Please thank the cooks for us”

He approached the table and sat at the side between them, his expression turned serious “I’m sure you have questions you wish to ask me”

“Well after the way we were ‘welcomed’ how can we not have questions?” Andie huffed.

“I’ll answer what I can”

“Where are we exactly?” asked Astrid

“We are in a mountain. Centuries ago my ancestors were able to carve out pathways inside this mountain, they eventually built their homes in chambers like these, expanding to make more than just sleeping chambers.”

“Okay. How did you know what we were?”

“Your people have been here before. We have talked to them but the situation was not easy when they arrived. A strange creature attacked us and we had to defend ourselves. Everyone has been on edge since then, it’s been very easy to set us off.”

Andie leaned forward “Do you know where the creature is?”

Carrigan shook his head “It fled into the forest, it could be anywhere.”

The golden brown headed Gatekeeper frowned at that. But at least they knew where to look for it now.

“Wait a second. If you knew what we were then why did you lock us up?” Astrid asked, her eyes narrowing at him.

“We needed to ascertain if you were a threat to my people or not. You friend here” he gestured to Andie “did a bit of damage to the ones who brought her here.”

“I did?”

“You woke up for a moment and fought those holding you”

“Oh”

“Would you be more willing to tell us more about your culture” Andie asked, there were many things that Andie wanted to know particularly after she connected with the forest.

“Of course-”

The sound of footsteps quickly drew their attention, two soldiers came into the room and spoke in the local language. Carrigan’s eyes narrowed then replied back, he got up as did the pair.

He turned to them “I apologize. There is something that needs my attention. I’ll have someone come and assist you”

“That would be great. Thank you” Andie nodded.

He gave them a smile and left taking the soldiers with him.

“What do you think?” Andie asked

“There’s definitely something going on here. The energy around this place is high, as in not human high. It feels old, I’m suspecting long lived creatures. Not all of them though but definitely many.”

“Finding out what they are isn’t the main mission but knowing might help us in the long run” Andie sighed. Astrid reached out to hold her partner’s hand.

“We can do this.” Astrid reassured her.

Andie nodded, her expression settling into determination “We have a lot of work to do.”

[deerlyloved]

Talvak Lore

Below cut: A long bit of lore about my original alien species, the Talvak

They descended on our troops in an instant, there was no warning, no signs, and my men were screaming, shots firing all around me. We had heard tales of them, the ravagers in the Zarriah System. Silent and deadly, like the mist that surrounded so many of the lands on Yukk. I didn’t believe them, told my men it was superstition, whatever took over this star system wasn’t going to wait around in the mist and wait for us to show up.

God, why didn’t I listen? There’s been talks of them for decades, maybe even centuries. The Talvak, a war species that did nothing be plunder, pillage, invade.

They were so familiar, yet so distant from what I knew, claws like beast, tails like one too, bony crests painted for war as they tore through my battalion like paper. May the stars forgive me for leading those poor men into that slaughter.

-The translated message from Commander Izbe of HMS Nobel, now presumed dead.

The Talvaki people are an interesting case of nature vs nurture. Their very brains are leveled against them from birth, an overwhelming prey drive influencing them to seek out prey for food mixes with the brain consistently and easily triggering what we understand to be the amygdala. This means a Talvak will, from birth, be wired to hunt for survival, as well as consistently be enraged by small things. The final metaphorical nail in the metaphorical coffin for the Talvaki is simple: they are all born with similarly malformed brains that influence the initial triggering of the amygdala, as well as give them increasingly common intrusive thoughts.

With no way to effectively cope due to how their society was set up, the species as a whole became known as a war species as they began to enact violence on planets all across their star system, and now they are quite possibly one of the most notorious war species in the galaxy.

We stood no chance against them, I see that now. Even though they present as an army, it’s a trick, they present as an army to make you think they need one. In a blink of an eye, they took our unsuspecting fleet for all they had, half of them were destroyed before my commands were even put to motion ... Their leader took to my ship, and she walked through without a care, disposed of my people without a blink of her eyes. She stood high, a bony crest hiding her face, six unblinking eyes that I swear glowed a fiery orange … Tall and covered in a vaguely colored fur under the lights, and the truly eye drawing thing, even among the claws on all four hands and feet. A large, curled tail that stayed behind her, tipped with a long stinger that seemed to twitch the longer the silence stayed. What did the venom do?

-Excerpts from Commander Ki’s report on the Gold Rush System Incident

Soon, the reign of the Talvaki slowed to a halt as they carved out their own kingdom in the universe, occupying three star systems with the ever looming threat of expanding to more. Through the passage of time, with no where else to expand to without encroaching on Citadel territory, the Talvaki became known as a legend, a species on the far reaches of the universe who could destroy civilization if they saw fit… Who were forced into content with their area by the Citadel’s presence.

After decades, the horrors committed by the Talvaki were spread, and braver adventurers began to explore the area despite warnings, governments seeking to overthrow the Talvaki and claim the resource rich planets for themselves, and officials looking to negotiate for the lands.

None ever returned, and rumor states that they were either indoctrinated into Talvaki belief, or outright killed.

The Citadel stepped in after years of this, putting an outright ban on anyone, diplomat, mercenary, or scrapper alike, on entering the star systems under Talvaki rule. They set up a large patrol route around the areas and set to doing what the Citadel does best… Negotiate.

While the interactions between the Talvaki and the Citadel are largely unknown, it’s rumored that their leader at the time, a large and intimidating creature named Nkae (Nee-kay), was considered odd among his people, understood to be soft. Perhaps this supposed softness was what convinced him to allow the Citadel to tread in their territory.

What is known fully is that nearly a year later, the Citadel announced its latest accomplishment: they convinced the Talvaki to join the Citadel Reformation Program.

We are pleased to announce that Jaa’la Ke has reported that the Talvaki people are willing to join the Citadel Reformation Program, and we consider it a great victory for the Citadel and everyone united under it as well. Hopefully, others will join the program after seeing this, not just war species, but those who simply need a chance to be redeemed.

- A quote taken from Rix, the voice of the main branch of Citadel

As we know (or might not know), the Citadel Reformation Program, lovingly acronymed the CRP, is a program in which the Citadel ‘reforms’ former war species, quarantining them at their own consent to allow them to better interact with the world. Many leaders of former war species understand that it would lead to the end of their kind to continue on the path of destruction, and as such they volunteer.

The Talvaki have been in reformation for roughly two decades now, and just like all others in the CRP, there has been no updates or word on their progress. A species either opts out of the CRP, where they are declared an official threat to the Citadel and all under its banner, or they emerge decades to centuries later, relatively… reformed.

A reformed war species known as Humans are the most notable example of this, a species of small and relatively weak when compared to others. When the Citadel first extended its hand to the Humans home of Earth A27, it was not hard to see what they were. A planet in shambles, lands that had been sparring for centuries, never ending fights and constant toiling brought down on those deemed unworthy by a distinct class of people. Planets based on class systems rarely work, though some surprise is like in the case of the Scacles homeplanet of Imsst, and Citadel officials began studying Earth A27 closely.

The class system it ran itself off of, the wars, the begrudging violence, and nonstop toil all mixed together to quickly classify the soon to be known Earthlings as a war species. Though they fought for peace, a curiosity to all, there was no doubt that they needed to be in the CRP now. Now, after spending decades in the CRP, Humans are well known contributors to the Citadel, offering it’s aid to all they can.

So can we expect the same of the Talvaki people? Can a species known for violent acts, for invading, pillaging, and destroying anyone they find ever truly become reformed, even when their very brains fight against the peace trying to be imposed upon them?

Well, like stated before, the Talvak are an amazing example of nature vs nurture.

Their young are incredibly dangerous, more ravenous than even a fully grown Talvak as they have not yet learned moderation. Born with fully formed, incredibly sharp teeth, potent venom in their stinger-tipped tails, and claws used to rend flesh in defense of their very lives, baby Talvak (otherwise referred to as Talvaa) are not something to be taken lightly… Or without a set of armor.

But despite their ravenous nature and lack of moderation in their hunting, a Talvaa was gifted to human diplomats during one of the initial meetings to join the CRP. Though the identity of the man gifted the Talvaa was kept secret, the name of the Talvaa was reported to be Niani, and the Talvaki people made it clear that the reason they were handing over such a creature was for the betterment in the Citadel’s understanding of them.

And Niani certainly helped to better understanding of the Talvak. Through various, non-invasive testing on Niani, the biology of the Talvak was understood more and more, and soon enough Niani was considered a healthy child. She was reported to take to the teachings of moderation, compassion, and a gentle nature, though she did so slowly. Eventually, she was just like your average child, and the supposed inherent nature of her species was forgotten.

Nature vs nurture, while the Talvak have thoughts and urges that would make them biologically predisposed to being more easily violent, the introduction of proper coping, healthy bonds, and a support system can help them.

No one is truly born evil. We Humans have words for everything that the Talvaki go through, and we understand that just because they were born angry doesn’t mean they’re bad. With help from the Citadel, I have no doubt the Talvaki will become just like us one day. They just need someone to explain why they feel this way and how to deal with it, just like us.

-Quote from the unnamed scientist that adopted Niani

But what took the Citadel so long to understand the Talvak? The question was on the minds of all, and soon it came to be understood why so much time had to pass before answers were reached on exactly what brought the Talvak to so much victory over the centuries of their reign…

Legends of how the Talvaki blended into their environment, of how they overthrew nations with no one the wiser until the ships landed and it was announced to the people, all thought to be just that, legends. Tall tales fabricated to make the Talvak seem a bigger threat than what they were, somehow more capable of unnatural things than others. It may not all be as big of a legend as first assumed, however.

They took the chief first, but we didn’t know about it for a while. They destroyed us from the inside out, and when the first ships landed we thought we’d be protected. By Kah, we weren’t, we weren’t.

-Quote from Xers Quq’s interview on how the Talvak took over xir home planet.

The Talvaki people have a unique and interesting part of their biology that has been the main contributing factor to a theory on why their brains form the way they do. Rapid evolution from DNA structured to be nothing short of easily manipulated and highly malleable, the Talvak can adapt to the environments within days. For other species, including animals and plants on most (if not all) planets, adaptation is a form of evolution that occurs over hundreds of generations with even the quickest being within 50 to 100 generations, and yet the Talvak can adapt to an entirely different, completely unique set of environmental factors within days of first encountering it.

This adaptation is remarkable as is, a completely astounding part of their biology, but what brings us to understand how they expanded so far, controlled so much, is that the Talvak are capable of the unthinkable, something that can only be considered shape-shifting. 

Changing their very biological structure on a whim seems preposterous, something whimsical rather than at all based in reality, and yet here we are, with evidence in front of us. 

To the Talvaki people, the process of changing one’s skin is called lahia talh, or becoming another. The process varies in time, though the quicker it is rushed, the bigger the chance of what is referred to as kanii, or fading away.

Kanii is the process in which a Talvak loses themself turing lahia talh, where their mind cannot take the strain of changing their entire form and begins to corrode, leaving the Talvak in a near animalistic state.

Lahia talh isn’t greatly researched, at least not in a way publically released yet, but from what was told to us to explain the legends we can understand that it is painful and dangerous. Only the strongest of Talvaki are allowed to attempt, and even then there should be a few expected casualties. Even so, lahia talh isn’t a complete overhaul of their very being, each Talvak that goes through the process retains their memories, thoughts, feelings, and personality-- they even retain the color of their blood and unique biology structure. 

Overall the lahia talh is nothing more than an aesthetic change, as when testing the DNA of a Vahl-- the word for a Talvak that underwent lahia talh, meaning hidden-- it is instantly obvious that they are not of whatever species they are imitating. Everything remains the same, the color of their blood and the composition of it, their unique ability to adapt to their surroundings, their so called hot-headedness.

A Vahl is recognized as different because they are, which is why only trained, strong Talvak are allowed to attempt lahia talh. You must survive the process and remain yourself, but just as well you imitate who you are becoming very, very well.

It was fascinating, watching the lahia talh. Bones broke and mended, stretched and tore before stitching back together, so intricately done despite the inherent brutality of watching someone’s entire body shrink twice its original size. The Talvak undergoing lahia talh was obviously in pain, though they bore the weight of it all with surprising grace. Suddenly, as quickly as it started, it was over, and there stood a creature the likes of--of me. Me! Not me exactly, of course, but of my species, different markings and golden skin.

-Quote from Jaa’la Ke on what they learned of lahia talh

So there it is. Shapeshifters, creatures able to adapt quicker than anyone ever has, a species built to fight, and wired from birth to kill. The legends around them sound just a little less dramatic when you understand all the Talvak are capable of, doesn’t it?

But this all only brings more questions, doesn’t it? How does a species like this not die off early on if they’re all at each other's throats, violent and angry? How do they not take over the universe? Why did the Citadel deter them?

These questions are unanswered for now, sadly, left to be nothing but debate and moral theory among everyone else until the fateful day that the Talvaki are released from their quarantine in the CRP and thrown into the world as new beings… Hopefully they will have recorded their history for others to learn from, else they may stay what they have always been.

Tall tales.

[oddcoupler222]

I remember a while ago you had a prompt fill where Margaery ran a radio show and Sansa fell in love with her voice. Is it rude if I ask what happened to it? It was so good!

not rude! I took it down, to reshop it into a longer oneshot, perhaps, but i’m really preoccupied right now with editing TWW so… I’ll post it again! 

——

It wasn’t like Sansa was… in love with… a woman she’d never met - because that would be crazy. And if anything, Sansa was more than cautious when it came to her heart these days.

Maybe that was why crushing someone from a talk show was easy.

It might have also had something to do with the fact that Margaery was kind of perfect. Of course, Sansa didn’t know Margaery personally; she wasn’t crazy.

But Margaery always seemed to know what to say; she was hilarious, she was frank, she seemed to have all of the knowledge in the world and when she didn’t, she sure as hell still sounded confident.

She’d first stumbled upon her show when she’d moved to King’s Landing two years, blindly following her heart and her boyfriend Joffrey across the country. They’d had a big fight, one of their first actual fights that had scared Sansa, and when she’d been walking downtown to calm herself (because, in retrospect, living with Joffrey like that had been such a terrible idea) - feeling a bit lost and a lot lonely - she’d ended up sitting on a bench across from the King’s Landing Chronicles.

And fatefully, really, staring up at the billboard that had the picture of a woman’s smirk emblazoned with the words The Margaery Monologues.

She’d started listening later that night, and had been drawn right in.

There were Thursday night politics - where the show had begun four years ago, when it had begun as a political talk show of sorts. Until, that is, when Margaery had absolutely gone off on one of the candidates running for Prime Minister -

(“I’m sorry,” heaving sigh, “You know I pride myself on thoroughly discussing all of the issues from every angle. But are we all just going to fucking pretend he is even a viable candidate? My gods, I feel like I’m taking insanity pills every time I hear someone say his name as if it should be said anywhere other than a prison roll call.”)

- and instead of getting her fired, her twenty minute rant had been what had gotten her personality recognized and the show catapulted into it’s seedlings of prominence.

There were Margaery Morning segments - the once a week broadcast that Margaery did Monday mornings at 8, where she functioned mostly as an acerbic news anchor while simultaneously peppering in amusing stories and diatribes about morning commutes and coffee shops -

(“and I never want to hear a word against that little place on the corner of Fifth and Vine at the base of Aegon’s High Hill again. Their chai latte is amazing - also, sorry to the very cute girl who had to work behind the counter with the jackass this morning.”)

There were Guest Star Tuesdays, where Margaery featured a whole number of people in a mix of both conversational/interview tone. It could be politicians, it could be authors, it could be a handful of actors who had appeared, business owners. Sometimes it was members of Margaery’s own family or her friends. Whoever it was, it was always fun. It always felt like somehow, Sansa was a part of their conversation.

(she suspected that was just a quality Margaery had.)

There were Listener’s Choice segments on Wednesday, and those were her absolute favorites. The topics ranged all over the spectrum. From requesting personal stories about Margaery - which they always got, but even more so on Wednesdays - to relationship advice and anecdotes, to book/movie/show reviews… the sky was the limit.

(“So, everyone, after tonight’s terrifying discussion about the state of mostly hetero relationships, I’m going to leave you with this: if someone treats you poorly, you can always do better. Don’t stay with someone just because you’re worried about being alone.” a beat, lighter, joking tone, “And - this one for the ladies out there - if men are disappointing you, there’s always women,” quiet chuckling, “Okay, okay, before I keep going on, remember to send in questions, comments, and stories to be addressed on next Wednesday’s show. Until next time, darlings.”)

She didn’t know if it was pathetic to admit that some of Margaery’s commentary and advice about relationships were the things that had given her the courage to walk away from Joff when things had gotten really bad. Actually, truly, scarily bad.

(“I know it’s not always easy to walk away from a bad situation – and yes, if we all recall from my many tales, I’m not one who often indulges in relationships. But for Scared Without Support, you wrote here that you need that extra step to walk away: I’ll be that extra step. Don’t walk - run - from this asshole. With police protection, if necessary. I’d offer my own services there, too, but I’m afraid my virtues lay with beauty and brains rather than brawn.”)

It may be pathetic, but it was true.

… and okay, it might have also had something to do with the segment that aired at midnights on Fridays - Margaery After Dark - where she talked about all matters pertaining to sex.

That was a relatively new segment; it had been added only two months ago, and the when time she’d listened to the first segment, Sansa had realized after laying in bed with her earbuds in, listening to Margaery’s voice as she’d talked about sex - (sex toys, positions, funny stories, seductive stories. Tales about her own sexuality and experiences but most specifically, Margaery ending her show by expanding on what being with a woman was and how it felt and her favorite parts of being with women, her voice a notch lower than it usually was)

It wasn’t until it had ended that Sansa realized she’d laid shock still for an entire hour, that her heart was beating fast, her cheeks were flushed, and that between her legs… well, she was more than a little aroused.

She was doing better now than she had in years -

After leaving Joffrey six months ago, she’d stayed with Shae, the older but protective woman who’d worked with her at the library, who had offered to maim Joff several times. But she finally had her feet steadily under her.

And her own apartment, that she was able to pay for with her part-time work in the evenings at the library (that she would hopefully be able to quit soon) and the fact that some more prominent people had started hiring her for her side job - baking cakes, pies, tarts, cookies… all sorts of goods, from home - thanks in particular to Shae’s fiance who worked at the capitol building.

The only thing that was messing her up, really, was her gods damn neighbor. Her next door neighbor who seemed to operate at a completely different schedule than she did. And Sansa knew that waking up at 4 or 5 (it was usually perfectly timed for her to listen… or re-listen to Margaery’s show from the previous night) in the morning to get through her current baking orders was not typical, and she always did her best to keep her noise level down.

(there had been a few instances where she’d certain things or, the first time she’d flambe’d and hadn’t realized exactly how sensitive the smoke alarm was, so - well, that had been a process that she was sure her neighbor didn’t appreciate. but she tried)

Her neighbor had no such qualms - he/she/they, who knows, as Sansa hadn’t run into them even after over a month. But whomever they were often came in late. Late enough that Sansa was often in bed. Sometimes with what sounded like friends? Groups of people laughing and chatting. Music being played. Sometimes bringing decidedly loud female company (that was how she’d realized that their bedrooms shared a wall).

In fact, the only interaction they’d had was somewhat passive aggressive (Sansa had left a tray of cookies outside of her door her second week in, with a note, “Hi! I’m Sansa, your new neighbor in 12B. Sorry you weren’t around when I knocked, it would have been nice to meet you. So, I’m sorry this might sound rude/weird, but is there a chance you could possibly try to keep it down at night? I have early mornings for work. Enjoy the cookies!”) -

and in return she’d received an empty plate back, with a prettily scrawled note (decidedly feminine but she wasn’t making any assumptions), “Hello neighbor, the cookies were delicious. And I would personally appreciate it if your alarm clock didn’t go off so early and if there were no more fire alarms before dawn. I keep late nights (sometimes) for work. I’m sure we’ll cope. 12A.”

So. She’d done her best to keep quieter in the mornings, and she thought she heard a bit of a difference in her neighbor’s guests coming over less frequently, and the female company seemed to also be happening a bit less frequently (though there was a burst of laughter from the other side of the wall and a lot of shushing, the night after she’d left the note, which had somewhat made her feel mocked, but. Oh well).

She didn’t meet her neighbor until almost two months after moving in. Running late to do a consult for a client who wanted Sansa to potentially make a cake for a bachelorette party, and after that she would have to essentially run to her shift at the library, she’d left her apartment, clutching a batch of tester cupcakes in a carrier.

And slammed right into the woman leaving the adjacent door, the cupcakes falling to the ground, hearing her own, “No!” leave her before she could stop it.

She was already bemoaning her cupcakes, because she definitely did not have enough time to redo those! Before she turned to her neighbor, and she could only stare in horror at the way the cup of what seemed to be steaming hot black coffee streamed down the woman’s white blouse as her exclamation, “Gods damn it!” seemed to echo down the hall.

Her cheeks burned at the realization that she was just - staring at her chest, her very ample chest, as her shirt stuck to her like a second skin, and her stomach flipped, even as apologies started rolling off of her lips, “I’m - I’m so sorry. I’m so -”

Everything died on her lips, though, the moment her gaze climbed higher and higher and…

No, she wasn’t in love with a woman she’d never met, but she’d certainly looked at the icon for her podcast to recognize the quirk of soft looking lips (though in the icon they were smirking rather than decidedly scowling) -

It was as though she was having an out of body experience, really. Because she could hear the blood rushing through her ears, as she slowly tracked her eyes higher than that recognizable mouth…

And took in Margaery’s face for the first time. Margaery’s absolutely stunningly gorgeous face, and Sansa was just - frozen.

Until that voice snapped her out of it, “Of fucking course today of all days,” Margaery murmured, tugging at her shirt in agitation, voice just as smooth and alluring - even pissed - as it was over airwaves, before golden eyes snapped at her, “Hello? Are you okay?”

Her voice was short, now, clearly a snap, because Sansa had been standing there for almost a full minute not saying anything.

Her heart was in her throat though, her stomach dipping low and, “I - y-eah?” she barely managed to squeak out.

Margaery quirked an eyebrow at her like she was a moron (she knew she sounded like one, though) before she sighed, and checked her watch, before she rolled her eyes and shook her head, “I don’t have time for this. I have to go. Seven hells,” was muttered under her breath, before she took off down the hallway.

Margaery - Margaery - disappeared down the hall with a flourish of glossy, curled light brown hair and the linger of intoxicating perfume.

And Sansa was left standing there, with her cupcakes mushed down at her feet, also running late, her cheeks flushed, heart pounding and -

Well if she wasn’t positive that she’d had an actual crush on Margaery before, there was just no doubt about it now.

And if she really wasn’t sure about it then? She would have been later that night.

When, after returning home and changing into her pajamas, still somewhat reeling from her day, there was a knock on her door.

Where Margaery stood, with a bottle of wine and a small smile on her face, “Hello. I’m your neighbor, 12A, Margaery. It’s nice to meet you.”

That smile was almost dizzying to see in person - the voice was even more so.

“Uh, hi? Hi. Hello,” her eyes widened at herself, “I’m -”

“Sansa, yes - I remember the cookies,” her smile turns wry, “I wanted to apologize for earlier today,” she gestures to the wine, “If you’d like to have a glass  together.”

She clenched her hand around the doorknob, because her heart stopping and her mind screaming YES didn’t seem like the most conducive way to not scare her.

She had to clear her throat, “Um, I - you don’t owe me an apology,” is what came out. Really it was a loaded statement on her part - she owed a lot to Margaery, inadvertently. Not that the other woman knew it, but still, “I mean, I did ruin your shirt. And I’m sorry. Again.”

Margaery waved her hand, her eyes going warm in a way that Sansa - well she could have only imagined Margaery’s eyes looking like that for the last year, “Well, I also caused you to drop whatever creation you had in your carrier and I’m sure it was delicious. And unlike you, I didn’t have the good grace to apologize earlier because I was a bit of a bitch and in more than a bit of a hurry.” She quirked an eyebrow, “Besides, Thursday nights, I typically have my brother and best friend over for some drinks and a bit of catching up, but I was hoping you’d like to join me tonight?”

That was how Sansa found herself sitting with Margaery, on her own couch, pleasantly flushed from the wine, an hour later. They’d covered multiple topics from their original… issues (“I should also apologize while I’m here for my late nights. Though I stand by the fact that your early mornings can also be a killer,” she’d winked and Sansa was completely charmed, “But I think we’ve gotten a decent rhythm down in the last few weeks.” - and they had.),

to light conversation about how they’d found their respective apartments (and Margaery’s eyes were alight with sympathy when she’d tried to skate over the Joffrey topic), until they’d landed on jobs, and -

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re a baker; I truly ate all of your cookies myself within a few days,” Margaery sighed, almost dreamily. “I almost asked for more at one point when I was a bit stressed out, but I figured we didn’t have that rapport yet.”

“You can ask whenever you want,” slipped out, and she flushed, before she cleared her throat, “But I’m not a full time baker, yet. Just, a little home thing. One day, though.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she took another sip, before adding, “I host a little broadcast radio show of sorts, out of the Chronicle; I had a meeting with the executives earlier, which was why I was so - you know.”

This was where Sansa should have said, “Actually, sorry to be weird, but - I know. I listen to it,” or even, “Oh, that’s why you sound familiar, I’ve heard the show a couple of times.”

Instead, she blushed and gulped down her wine, before toying with the base of the glass, “Oh! Well, that’s, um, cool.”

Margaery gave her a smile and her stomach twisted so tightly she almost exploded.

Somehow, it became a thing.

Margaery started knocking on her door every Thursday - no longer ever really hosting her brother and friend, saying that they instituted a date night together - and she’d come in with a bottle of wine, and they’d talk. Way later than Sansa typically stayed awake, to be entirely honest. But it was like she couldn’t tear herself away.

… and sometimes she came over on Saturdays and sporadically throughout the week, too.

If she thought she’d liked Margaery just from hearing her on her show, her in person was so much more. Her smiles were bright and infectious, her laughter even more so. And it was so strange, because she was the same person she was in her podcast, but also - so much more.

She sometimes sat with her while she baked, or Sansa taught her how to make simple recipes, and Margaery looked incredibly adorable with a look of overt concentration as she got a bit of flour on her cheek.

Some nights, she would come over with her laptop and say she was doing “research” for work, and would murmur under her breath as she browsed the internet and made some notes for what Sansa could only presume was her next segment.

And they just… talked. About everything. Sansa told her about Joffrey for real and how she’d been in a terrible situation, stuck with him and terrified, and Margaery, with a fierce look in her eyes, wrapped her in a hug that Sansa could have melted into for probably her entire life. If anything, Sansa knows she’s truly, for real, in love with Margaery when Margaery’s next segment is an unplanned show on domestic abuse, complete with call-ins with a licensed therapist, and an impassioned, emotional speech.

Margaery told her about how close she’d been to her grandmother growing up and how she’d wanted to just make her proud, and that when she’d started her show it had been hard because it was really the first time she’d truly disappointed her -

(”I just don’t know if I want to fight to affect change if that means I’ll have to bite my tongue my entire life to do it,” she’d told her one night, voice softer than normal. And Sansa assured her probably too quickly, that her voice and opinions made her who she was and she desperately didn’t want her to change that).

The Margaery Monologues almost seemed like a double edged sword now. Because she felt guilty, almost, listening religiously - unable to stop herself - while Margaery had no idea.

(she felt very guilty, when, after a particularly in-depth and charged Margaery After Dark, she’d been unable to refrain to touching herself, listening to Margaery’s voice. She’d attempted to just sleep, but had tossed and turned, just hearing Margaery as she’d talked about what turned her on and - well, it had been a show based around female masturbation and Sansa ended up coming listening to Margaery talk about touching herself “Women are complicated, pleasing us takes practice. And most of that practice begins on ourselves.” And she’d paused after, heart pounding, when she’d realized that she was not quiet at all, and all she could do was hope that Margaery hadn’t yet gotten home and heard her)

But it was also almost better in a way, now that she knew Margaery as a person. Because Margaery as a person was so amazing and beautiful and even smarter, even funnier, even more witty, and charming and everything - that getting more of her through her show was just like an added bonus.

The worst part, really, worse than her guilt even was this -

“Yes, thank you for your nosy questions as we discuss relationship goals this Listener’s Choice Wednesday - I will end this segment by saying that I do indeed have my sights set on a very lovely woman.”

That comment came two months into their budding friendship. And it was almost like a punch in the stomach. The mentions of the mystery woman continued through the following weeks -

“She’s ridiculously gorgeous, like you would not even believe.”

“No, we aren’t together, but here I am like a pining fool. I’ve never been this kind of person before, and now - what the hell is wrong with me? Should I be asking you guys for advice now?” (that had actually lead to a great Listener’s Choice Wednesday in which Margaery had largely spoken to listeners comments and engaged with them through a life stream)

“For the first time in my life, I’m worried about making a move. Typically I would have no problem, even if she’s presumed straight. But there’s something about her that I just can’t stand the thought of scaring off.” (okay, and Margaery was just so - sweet? It hurt in good and bad ways).

Especially because Margaery never spoke about Dream Girl - the object of Margaery’s affection had developed a nickname last month - to her, to Sansa. She never brought home any women anymore, at least not that Sansa knew of. And she didn’t mention dates, but in fairness, Sansa didn’t really ask, either.

“For tonight’s After Dark segment, we’re going to discuss fantasies,” Margaery spoke smoothly, her voice sliding through Sansa even as her stomach seemed to tingle, and guilt guilt guilt but she couldn’t stop herself, especially when Margaery delved into aspects of her own fantasy -

“And when bringing up fantasies, personally? It’s impossible for me to not bring up voice. Ironically, I’ve actually never been something that overtly turned me on, but… Dream Girl,” a deep-throated sigh, “We all know she’s gorgeous - well I do, and you all know my thoughts - but it was her voice that just, pulled me in. A little deeper in tone, especially when she’s concentrating or being thoughtful, and it just clings to certain words in a way that can make me instantly wet.”

Desire and jealousy, and she couldn’t stop listening.

“Honestly, at this point, one of my fantasies is for her to tell me exactly what to do. I want to watch her and hear her tell me how to touch myself, for her to touch me and tell me exactly what she is thinking, feeling.”

Torture.

“And, gods, in such a twist of fate, I heard her while she was touching herself. It’s happened a few times. That voice, moaning and whimpering and - I guess that is the delicious torture of living next door and sharing a wall with the object of your affections.”

Everything stopped, her breathing was heavy, and - she could only stare at her ceiling. Hearing things, she must be -

“Truly, all I can say at this point is that my true fantasy is to go next door and make her make all of those sounds myself.”

Sansa yanked out her earbuds, breathing heavy. 

And she did the only thing she could think to do -

She found herself outside of where it all began: Margaery recorded inside of the Chronicle building. She was lucky Margaery had brought her by there a few weeks ago after they’d had lunch, because the security guard had remembered her and let her inside.

She was in her pajamas, with her hair looking rumpled as hell, she was sure, and she could only hear in her head all of the doubts (maybe somehow she’d dozed off and thought Margaery referred to her as Dream Girl? What if she’d misunderstood somehow?) but she was ignoring them because she couldn’t stop herself -

Especially when she tapped on the glass with her shaking fingers, and she saw Margaery cut herself off, surprise taking over her features, before she said something into her mic, before she opened the door -

“I listened to you,” she confessed, her head buzzing and she couldn’t let Margaery get a word out first, “Your show. For months. I - I’d just moved here, and I was so lonely and you made me feel not alone. And I liked you, I just - I liked you the whole time? But I couldn’t tell you that, when I realized we were neighbors because I didn’t want you to think I was some sort of crazy person?” Even though now she was showing up like a crazy person…

“And so I listened in secret and never told you every time we hung out, but I just I liked you so much. Then you - tonight - you said… what you said… about sharing a wall,” gods  she only just realized that meant Margaery had heard her touch herself - thinking about her, though she didn’t know that.

She didn’t know which one of them moaned when Margaery surged up, her hands sliding through Sansa’s hair to press their mouths together. All she knew was that it was the best she’d ever felt, and she didn’t know if her mouth would ever stop tingling like this.

Especially when Margaery pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips, “I’d say this ranks fairly high in the fantasy department, too.”

(when she listened to the show the next day, still dazed and amazed, and realized that Margaery hadn’t paused it when she’d appeared, she realized it was both of them who’d moaned)

[deadlifts-and-derrida]

Learning to Grow

There's a scene in the 90's animated Spider-Man where Eddie Brock, the human host of the Venom symbiote, is lifting weights in his run-down New York apartment. He's shirtless, bench pressing what looks like an impressive weight. The camera runs over his arms and torso as he recites, between grunts, a litany of wrongs, imagined and real, that Spider-Man has visited upon him. There are brief flashbacks with each item on the list, played out semi-opaque in front of his sweaty muscular torso. As each one fades and we see him clear, his muscles appear to pulse and swell. He's getting bigger and bigger as the scene goes on, muscles engorging with each repetition, each up and down of the loaded bar he's bench-pressing.

This scene captivated me as a child. Any time this episode came up in re-runs I'd be glued to the TV, would find some excuse to go into another room and sneakily turn on a separate television, away from my family, even if it meant watching it on a smaller, less modern set.

I knew I loved muscle before I saw this scene. I even doubt this was the first time I saw a depiction of where muscles came from. This first aired in 1994. I would have been 11. Surely I knew muscles came from working out before I saw this. But it felt like some previously unconnected parts of my brain were suddenly wired together.

If you want to have muscles you have to lift weights!

*

My mom had two blue dumbbells at home. I think she bought them to use at the Step Aerobics class she went to every Thursday night in the gymnasium of the local elementary school, the same school I attended. They were 5 lbs each. I'm sure they would look small to me now. They looked big to me then.

They came with a folded up paper diagram of exercises you could do with the dumbbells. It featured a line drawing of an absurdly muscular man (these are FIVE POUND DUMBBELLS and he looks like a professional bodybuilder!), shirtless, wearing a pair of short shorts. Of course I was attracted to this line drawing. But I remember taking these little blue dumbbells and trying to use them to get bigger and stronger. I tried to use the piano bench to do chest flies. I did lots of bicep curls. I don't think I ever did anything for my back and my legs - classic clueless young man, only exercising the muscles he can see, the ones that look good in a t-shirt.

I didn't go about this in any regimented fashion. They were sporadic attempts. I didn't yet realize how frequently you had to work out to see results. I didn't realize how to organize a weightlifting session at the gym, how to program it to achieve hypertrophy (or, in lay terms, bigger muscles). I thought of it like it was a role-playing game, like if you lifted weights you'd add a little EXP to your STR bar, and eventually it'd level up even if you weren't systematic about it.

So of course I don't think mom's two blue 5 lbs dumbbells did much for me.

*

There was no commercial or public gym in my hometown, nor one within a 100 km drive. There were some private gyms, in people's basements and such. My little hometown, which had about 5,000 people living in it when I was in my early teens, somehow produced four provincial bodybuilding champions to my knowledge, including Newfoundland's only internationally successful professional bodybuilder to date. Fewer than 1% of the province's population. We certainly over-performed in this aspect.

And then there was me. Absolutely nothing to look at. But burning with a desire that I felt ashamed of, felt like I should keep it hidden. Bodybuilding was all around me and I didn't say anything, didn't give any indication that it interested me. Two of those four provincial champions were my next-door neighbours, one of them a year older than me, one of them a year younger than me. It never occured to me to even try to train with them.

I was an awkward nerd. I knew I was gay. I hadn't told anyone. But bullies called me every word you can call a gay kid, because, well, they were bullies.

So I didn't connect with the budding bodybuilders around me. I never lifted in one of the basements where so many successful bodybuilding careers began.

I did pushups sporadically in my bedroom and hoped it would be enough.

Of course it wasn't. Forcing the body to build more metabolically expensive muscle tissue than it absolutely needs is one of the most difficult things to do. A few pushups in your bedroom and a protein-poor diet (I was vegetarian but I wasn't one of the "good kind" who research proper diet) won't cut it.

*

In my second term at University, the Field House opened. This was a new athletic facility. There was some controversy in student circles that we were all being levied a $40/semester fee to pay for the Field House - but in return, we all had access to the facility. We just had to show our student card.

Stress, bad eating, and a post-exam bout of mononucleosis had left me about 145 lbs at this point. I'm 6' tall. There was no muscle on me to speak of - though skinny, I had no abs, no definition in my arms and legs. My arms measured 10" around.

So, although all my leftist friends were angry about the Field House levy, I was secretly happy about it. Finally, I had access to a gym.

I didn't research what to do. I didn't ask for help in making a plan.

For weeks, I went in and ran on the treadmill.

I remember an article by another gay writer about body image, muscles, and exercise. He describes running on the treadmill while dreaming of himself as finally having that muscular body he's long wanted to have.

Now, I want to give the guy a shake and ask him what the hell he's doing on a treadmill if he wants muscles. That's like practicing piano and hoping it'll make you a better cook. But back then - I was that guy.

*

There was a little alcove in the Field House next to the cardio room that had some air-powered resistance machines. I started to use those. I doubt I used them well. No one taught me form. I didn't look it up. This was 2002 - YouTube, a great resource for this kind of thing, was years away.

But it was better than nothing. My diet, still appalling and low in protein, did get a little better as my palate expanded and I learned, on a semester in England in 2003, that I liked and could prepare chicken and fish.

My arms were 12" around. This is still small. It's nowhere near Eddie Brock. But it's better than 10".

*

I was like a timid deer slowly being tamed. Toward the end of my undergraduate degree, I began going to the Strength and Conditioning Centre, in the basement of the old Phys Ed building, where the actual lifters and bodybuilders on campus went.

But I was not yet either of those things.

I was still ashamed of my desires, couldn't bring myself to ask anyone for help, to acquire the practical knowledge I needed if I was ever going to achieve the kind of progress I wanted.

So even though there was a freeweight section full of huge burly men lifting impressive weights, I kept to the machines and the dumbbells. Lateral raises (probably done badly), cable flies (probably done badly), tricep pushdowns (probably done badly), dips and pullups (almost certainly done badly), lat pulldowns (I only ever felt these in my forearms). I never did a bench press. I never did a squat. I don't think I even knew what a deadlift was.

I ate like I was lifting big weights and having gruelling workouts, though. So, in other words, I got chubby and my muscles more or less stayed the same, after those newbie gains earned in the alcove of the Field House with the air-powered machines. I did not look like I lifted weights. I certainly didn't look like a bodybuilder.

*

My mid and late 20s were full of periods where I had no gym access. I ran during those times, every second day. I got fitter, my body firmed up, I felt better. I was also physically suited to middle distance running. But I was smaller, during those times, and I wanted to be bigger.

When I did have gym access I continued to lift poorly, without doing any compound movements (bench, squat, deadlift, overhead press, etc). And I ate to grow, but it was a lot of low quality food. So, during those times, my body got softer. I told myself I was bulking, but my muscles didn't get bigger. My arms were still about 12" or 13", depending on which of these two modes I was existing in.

I still lived in dread of someone discovering how much I wanted to be a huge muscular freak. How I fed my imagination on a steady diet of enormous bodybuilders, folders with thousands of jpgs saved from the internet, treasured memories of the rare times I'd seen a truly huge muscular man out in the wild, in person. Walking in the mall, lying on a blanket in the park, in the checkout line at the supermarket.

I would sometimes fantasize about finding some almost empty bottle of steroids in the locker room. Maybe just one or two pills left. At the time I erroneously thought all steroids were pills - I didn't know anything about steroids at all, at this point. I just knew they made guys big. In this fantasy, I would take the one or two pills I found, and it would make me slightly more muscular than I was. Perhaps 5% more. And that would be enough to make me happy without anyone realizing anything. Of course, it doesn't work that way.

*

I wasn't entirely clueless. In 2009, I started a PhD at the University of Toronto, and had access to its excellent gym facilities. By then I knew I had to do compound movements like bench press and squat. I started to learn how. I didn't seek out help, though, and I definitely should have. Also, a PhD is very demanding on your time. I was following a "split" (how you organize your workouts through the week) appropriate for someone lifting 4-5 times a week, but I was lucky if I got in 2 or 3 times (which, frankly, isn't enough to see much progress regardless of your "split"). 10 or 12 days would go by between chest workouts, between back workouts, between leg workouts.

I suppose I made some progress. Not much. I may have deluded myself into thinking it was more than it was, because I had been going to the gym, in some capacity, for 7 years, and I wanted to have something to show for it.

In early 2012, me and my then-boyfriend drove to his father's in South Carolina. I had just turned 29. I was planning on using the fact we were traveling to buy steroids online. I was paranoid that my IP address could be tracked if I did it at home and it would be safer to do it from some hotel room in Pennsylvania.

I realized, when in a hotel room in Pennsylvania trying to buy steroids online, that I didn't know enough about any of that to actually go through with it. I hadn't done my research. Looking back, my naivete is laughable. Now, if I encountered someone like the person I used to be trying to buy steroids, I would try my best to discourage them for a large number of reasons. One, you, past Michael, clearly don't know how to train and eat to grow; that being the case, all steroids will do is upset your endocrine system's natural balance and increase some health risks without actually giving you the benefits you want. Secondly, you don't know a thing about them. What kind are you going to buy? The answer better be testosterone enanthate or testosterone cypionate; test only for a beginner's cycle. Do you know proper injection technique? Don't even think about an oral-only cycle! Do you know what an AI is? It's an aromatase inhibitor, a drug that prevents most of the negative side effects people associate with steroid use, which ironically come from elevated estrogen, a side effect of elevated tesoterone - you did know that, didn't you? Do you know what PCT is? It's Post Cycle Therapy, drugs people take once they have finished their cycle of steroids to help restart their body's natural hormone production, which is disrupted by steroids. You knew steroids would shut down your natural testosterone production, right?

Luckily, I realized I wasn't ready, and didn't go through with my plan. I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, did I think I could just type "buy steroids" into google? OK, yes, you can actually do that, but it's not a good idea. There are plenty of people out there willing to make a quick buck selling snake oil to idiots like me, and even if they sold me legitimate gear, I wasn't ready for it and had no idea how to use it safely and responsibly, as outlined above.

*

In January of 2013, my parents, always solidly middle class, suddenly became very wealthy, and they passed some of this on to me. I had never made more than $25,000 in a year, and suddenly twice that was sitting in my bank account, with more to come.

One of the things I splurged on was a DEXA scan. It cost $125. You lay still on the bed of a device, and a mechanical arm slowly passes over your whole body twice. It takes about ten minutes. it is the most accurate body composition scan currently available.

I wanted to know how well my efforts in the gym had paid off.

Not at all, it turned out.

I was 184 lbs. This was in the "normal" BMI range for someone 6' tall. But I was 25.1% bodyfat. For a man, obesity is considered anything over 25%. I was the opposite of a bodybuilder. Bodybuilders have obese BMI but very low bodyfat percentages. I had normal BMI but an obese bodyfat percentage.

My lean body mass was only 138 lbs. If I was lean like a bodybuilder, I wouldn't even weigh 150 lbs. I had been going to the gym for 11 years and I had almost nothing to show for it - maybe 10 or 15 lbs of muscle gained from the underfed just-over-a-bout-of-mono 19 year old who first stepped into a gym in 2002.

This was a kick in the pants. Luckily it motivated me. I reformed my diet. No more pizza and burritos except as very occasional treats. Cut way way way back on the booze. Running in the morning every second day, lifting weights every day I didn't run.

I got married in June. I weighed 170 lbs and my bodyfat was down to 19%. I was losing fat without losing muscle, possibly because there was very little muscle to lose.

We went on an extended summer wedding tour, had wedding parties on both coasts. I relaxed a little but didn't give up fully.

And that September, enabled by having some money, emboldened by finally achieving a little success, spurred on by turning 30 and realizing that if I didn't start to do this right then my dream of being a bodybuilder would never come to pass, I hired a trainer.

And on our first meeting, I told him: I want to get as big as I possibly can.

And he said let's get to work.

[ginnyzero]

Ginny O’s Method of Character Development

There is a lot of advice out there on how to create and develop a good character. There are no doubt entire chapters in writing books and I know I’ve run across blog posts on every type of social media account imaginable. And of course, a lot of it is no doubt contradictory. The best thing about advice is you don’t have to use it all or any of it. It’s simply advice, not a set guideline of how things have to be done. Find what methods of writing and development work for you.

As long as you have a character or set of characters that can carry through the story as you want to tell it. Then that’s all you need. (The same can be said of world building, plots, whatever, as long as you have enough to get through the story you want to tell and it’s not self-contradictory, then really, you’re golden.)

I am a character driven writer. Not to say that some of my plots aren’t action focused, but I love writing interactions between varying personalities and putting those personalities in ridiculous situations just to see what they’d do. Thus, for me, one of the first things I do after I come up with a concept for a story is to try to come up with some characters that I can really sink my teeth into. Some characters are going to end up being more developed than others. And that’s okay! There are main characters. There are secondary characters. There are those characters that reveal themselves over time. And there are characters who blind side you by coming out of nowhere.

I’ll use Heaven’s Heathens as an example. My idea, that squeaky of DOOM, was to take the Expendables, expand on the motorcycle club concept by adding Sons of Anarchy and add the supernatural (Twilight). But remember, vampires are/were passé. And I’d had that love of werewolf bikers kicking around my brain for a while. Here was a chance to use it!

The great thing about this concept was I could make a list of character positions that I’d need to fill up both the motorcycle club and a mercenary unit. As an eagle:beaver:koala/dolphin:otter personality, I love lists (and I love having fun, go figure.) I needed the four officers of the Club. I needed the old lady character in charge of social events, the Gemma character. Did these officers have wives? I needed a mechanic, a demolitions specialist, a sniper, a hand to hand person, a small arms marksman, a supply/procurement person, a medic or doctor. Then I asked the question. Did some of these roles double with the officers?

At this point, no one had names. No one even had gender. The first two people to get gender were Savannah and Gideon. They were also two of the first characters to get names. This happened because of the first story I wanted to tell and the way I wanted to portray the relationship of the main couple in my series. (Because I like writing couple stories. I like a bit of romance.) I wanted to write an adult couple in an adult relationship with adult problems that are slightly amplified by the physics of the world building. (I still want to use that story line, so pardon me if I stay mum.) Coming up with this story allowed me to assign both of them some roles in the story. What were their occupations and place in the Club hierarchy?

So, in the context of building my world and story, I’d created a list of roles in the story. I decided on two characters I wanted to focus on (at that moment.) I’d given them gender, names and then assigned them a role or a part.

Sometimes, this is where I get distracted and start trying to decide what they look like. Maybe I’ll hunt down an actor or actress that I like who I think could play the part. Or I look up hair styles and think about the clothes they’ll wear. This can give me more ideas on the type of character I’m making. Or just be a major distraction that I’ll need to come back to later in the process.

The next questions I wanted to answer were, what were their relationships to the other roles in the story, why were they in those roles and thus, where did they come from, what was their history?

Creating the Heathens was a very organic process. A lot of the characters development depended on other characters development. Some of the characters on my list were little more than “Hand to hand specialist,” or “bodyguard to other character, likes steampunk,” or the cryptic “Sniper.” Sometimes it came down to “what types of characters do I want to see in stories?”

Frankie is a good example of this. I had Savannah, whose role was pretty defined. She was the Vice President and heir apparent to the Club. She had a man, Gideon, who was originally an outsider, not born to the Club and its ways. Savannah, of all people in this universe, needed a best friend. And I really, really wanted to see a non-crazy River type character who ended somehow being slammed into Pinkie Pie. (I honestly cannot remember for the life of me how that exactly happened.) So, Frankie became Savannah’s best friend, the hand to hand combat specialist. Who, for some reason, guarded the sniper on Savannah’s mercenary team. Why was she guarding this sniper? Oh, the sniper was her older sister and has a lot of kids. Frankie is protecting her family.

At the same time, I was thinking about the Secretary of the Club. I wanted someone who looked relatively stupid but used big words at unexpected times. And as Secretary he had the responsibility to not only keep the Club’s books but also collect on debts. I thought it’d be interesting to be the type of guy who can’t really control himself in a fight or when violence gets involved and ends up shooting the hostages or putting the delinquent in the back of a car and doing donuts until the delinquent or informant or whatever was ready to talk. And wouldn’t be funny if this person was the father of Frankie and the sniper?

Yes, a lot of the time, my character list and development of relationships ended up being “That’s hysterical, yes, must include.”

For a while, the President of the Club was labelled Matriarch/Patriarch in my documents. I was developing a lot of the world building and researching wolves at the same time I was building my characters. I knew that it didn’t really matter wolf wise what gender ran the Club. I knew it was more important Motorcycle Club wise, especially Outlaw Club types that they are a ‘men only’ club. But I was throwing this into the hypothetical post World War 3 future, so why stick with typical gender roles. Especially, when I was trying use more real wolf science of wolves in the wild versus how humans think and act.

So, Brand didn’t really become Brand until I answered the questions of WHY was Savannah, someone who was very young by werewolf terms Vice President of the Club and what happened to make her Vice President. In order to answer these questions, I had to ask myself who the President was, was this President a parent or a grandparent? If a grandparent, where were Savannah’s parents? Why was Savannah willingly taking this responsibility? Answering these questions revealed a lot about Savannah’s past and her motivations and her moral character. (Read the books/short stories to find out why, I’m not going to tell you! YEESH.)

Making Brand male was a tough decision for me. I really hemmed and hawed over it. I wanted to show that females could lead Club charters, but at the same time, it might have taken away from Savannah’s story and her character plot line. She might be less important if Brand was say, Brandy. The story despite being set in the future still needs to have roots in the issues of our times. Females as elected national leaders, especially given the last couple of election cycles, is a huge issue of our day. The judgement based on appearance rather than record. The sexist attitudes that still pervade the media about what type of national leaders women would be despite people like Queen Elizabeth II or Margaret Thatcher.

Thus, Brand became male and the Gemma type character became female. Savannah’s past and Brand’s past were intertwined being that they were related. So, that revealed more of Brand’s character.

Usually, around this point is when I start giving the characters or noticing the characters have one or two personality traits. For instance with Brand, I’d been calling him the Patriarch for quite some time. This really helped define his role and his personality. Brand is the congenial nepotistic dictator that you don’t want to disappoint. He may be your dad like figure. He may want what’s best for you. He’s also the one ultimately in charge of the house and don’t forget it. He will protect the House from all threats and do his best to support it. In return, he demands your loyalty, respect and that you follow the rules of his house.

One of the best questions I think that a writer can answer when developing a character is, “When push comes to shove, how does the character react?” A character’s response to a stressful situation, reveals a lot about that character and where they are at in their personal lives. This is about the time I ask this question. Because, it helps a lot with the next bit.

It’s only after I assign a role, a name, a gender and a few personality types that I personally start digging into personality archetypes. Personality archetypes cover a broad range of different systems from different cultures. The most well-known personality types are the Western and Eastern Zodiac, and the Myers Briggs test. Depending on how important the character is, the more of these systems I’ll use to try and nail down a person rather than a stereotype.

Whether we like it or not as writers, readers like archetypes. Readers enjoy the comfort of the familiar in their characters. There is a reason why Star Wars is such a huge franchise. The archetypes of Star Wars are painted in huge brush strokes on the big screen and the plot is based upon the Heroes Journey, something that is older than dirt as it can be found in Ancient Greek plots!

Just because readers like archetypes, doesn’t mean our characters have to be stereotypes of these archetypes. A lot of the time I’ve noticed, especially when zodiac signs are turned into stereotypes, that the negative of the stereotype is emphasized rather than the positive. A Libra doesn’t have to be an indecisive shallow twit obsessed with the latest fashion trends. Libras are also excellent diplomats and mediators who make good companions and use their heads when taking action. (My little Encyclopedia of the zodiac has 16 good Libra traits listed versus 7 bad traits and I swear, every petty villain or unsympathetic main character becomes all 7 bad Libra traits.)

Feel free to use several different archetypes at once. Browse TvTropes and cherry pick traits you’d like to see together in one character. Mix DnD or World of Darkness character building with character blood type personalities. Pick a birthday and use Bad Birthdays or the Zodiac Guide to Birthdays. (I’m a Darkside Zodiac fan, so I like bad birthdays better.) Use playing cards, the tarot, or find spirit animals. Use the Elements of Harmony personality types! (Savannah is Twilight Sparkle/Applejack, Frankie is Pinkie Pie/Rarity.)

The most important thing I think I learned while developing these characters is that once I’ve developed them enough to get the story up and off the ground, the characters will develop more as I write. They’ll change. They’ll grow. As I write the story, I’ll learn more about them and their abilities and facets that can take the story places that I couldn’t even imagine back when I made a list of roles.

So, let me sum up. When I have an idea for a story, a concept, I sit down and I create a list of parts. (Sometimes this is easier than others.) Parts could be anything from occupation to ‘next door neighbor.’ Usually, the story idea will give me an indication of which casted roles are the most important. I’ll give the character gender and usually a name. I may try to figure out what they look like and how they dress to give me more ideas about where I’m taking the character. Then I try to build relationships with other characters on the list. These relationships can help me develop a character’s past, their motivations and emotional behaviors. I can start giving them or noting down specific traits that characters have, like they’re easy going or very organized or upbeat and bubbly.

From there, I can start researching different archetype systems, fleshing them out with the zodiac, Myers-Briggs types and others. From there I can start assigning them hobbies or quirks or personal preferences and fears. But those may not come out until I’m writing, delving into the story and trying to get inside the character’s head and making them more than a list of traits in a word file.

My method is just my way of doing things. Sometimes it works out and I get a fully developed idea out of it. Other times, it doesn’t and that’s just what happens. Use what works best for you.

[pearwaldorf]

That modern Dorian post reminded me I actually did have a modern AU started. It’s never getting finished, but I think it could have gone in a cute direction.

Features: Cullen/Dorian, Dorian & Adaar friendship/snark, the Inquisition as an academic library, a dog I made Patho name because she wanted the story (sorry Patho)

Dorian was pondering how best to rearrange his wine glasses (by likelihood of use? height? a pleasing eclectic mix of both?) when he heard a somewhat frantic knock on his door. He opened it to find his neighbor from across the hall, holding a set of keys and a leash with a very large Mabari at the end of it. Dorian had seen the blond man and the dog out and about, but had never exchanged more than a polite greeting.

“Can I help you?” Dorian wasn’t sure exactly was going on here yet, but from their limited interaction, he didn’t seem like a serial killer. (It certainly didn’t hurt that he was extremely good-looking.)

“I was rather hoping you could.” His neighbor put his hand to the back of his neck, a ridiculous nervous affectation that Dorian found charming, even though he was sure he wasn’t supposed to. “I’m being called away on rather urgent business for work, and I don’t have anybody to look after my apartment or feed my dog.” Here he looked awkward and sheepish, like he couldn’t believe he’d found himself in a situation this ridiculous. “I’m new to the area, and anybody else I would trust to do so is also going to be traveling with me. I understand it’s a great deal to ask from a virtual stranger, but--”

“I’d be happy to. I'm Dorian, by the way.” Dorian smiled, and his neighbor nearly collapsed in relief.

"Dorian, you are a lifesaver. Feed Henry two cans of wet food along with two scoops of dry food twice a day. Make sure he has water at all times. He likes to walk twice a day before mealtimes, but any time you can get him out is fine.” His phone pinged and he handed over the keys and leash to Dorian. “Shit, that’s my cab. I owe you so much for this. Name your favor, and when I get back I swear it will be done.”

“But I don’t even know your name!” Dorian called to the retreating figure running down the hall.

“Cullen! Cullen Rutherford!” He--Cullen--shouted back. Henry whined quietly, looking the direction his master headed. Dorian let Henry sniff his hand and the dog licked it, politely if not affectionately. Dorian tugged on the leash, still a little unsure of how exactly he’d gotten himself into this situation.

“Come on Henry, let’s go for a walk.”

--

A couple days later, there was a knock on his door, and a courier handed him a slim envelope. It was addressed to “Dorian in Apt 302”, and he wondered once again at the ridiculous circumstances of his life. Opening it, he found a note and some money.

I just realized that I was low on dry food. If I could trouble you to pick some up I would be so grateful. There’s a pet store down the road that sells the special food Henry eats. Here’s my number if you need anything.

Continuing to be in your debt,

Cullen

Sticking the money and note into his pocket, he went to work. He was in the middle of trying to figure out how best to catalog an overblown address to the Magisterium when Adaar sidled up to him. She had a first name, but nobody besides the payroll person actually knew what it was. They’d collaborated on the Koslun project, which was of mutual interest to both of their areas of expertise, and he’d found her to be sharp and thoughtful, as well as one of the few people who had deigned to talk to the Vint about non-work matters when he’d first arrived.

“Sera tells me you got a note from your neighbor.”

“And where did Sera hear that?” Dorian asked as he slipped the transcript back into its protective case. Sera was a tech who somehow managed to have eyes and ears in the most mysterious places.

“Probably from Josie.” Josie was one of the directors, who made it a point to stop and chat with everybody. She cooed over the pictures Dorian took of Henry and seemed thrilled to to hear all about the strange and somehow delightful ridiculousness going on with his neighbor. Adaar smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Are you going to text him?”

“I admit the thought hadn’t occurred to me.” Dorian lied.

“You are so full of shit sometimes, Pavus. I bet you had to stop yourself from tapping one out as soon as you got that note.” It was still strange to him, this staying in one place long enough for people to see through his calculated feints and attempts to keep safe distances. It wasn’t as terrible as he thought.

“You’re wrong. I waited until I got on the bus.” It wasn’t quite a concession, but as much as he’d give. Adaar’s expression softened, something that still looked odd to him for a split second before his thinking brain kicked in. Qunari were painted as fanatical, fearsome beasts in Tevinter, and he’s spent enough time outside the Imperium that he knew a great deal of what he was told growing up is bullshit, but there was only so much one could do with initial conditioning.

“From what you say, he sounds sweet. I think you should do it.” She punched him on the shoulder gently. “You of all people deserve a chance to be happy.”

“But only if I text you about what happens first?”

She laughed, the gilding on her horns catching the light as she shook. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

--

He took a selfie with Henry and sent it to the number in the note. We’re getting along great! he tapped out. It was an acceptably neutral message, he hoped. He got a reply back almost immediately.

I'm glad to see that. Has he been behaving? We're not usually apart and I worry about him.

He's fine, helicopter dad. Dorian sent. He hesitated before tapping out Are *you* doing all right without him? There was a pause, longer than he thought should have been necessary to reply. Before Dorian could apologize, Cullen responded.

You’re very perceptive. Although given how much I fuss over Henry, it must seem obvious. Dorian chuckled. The phone pinged again.

Which is to say, my obviousness does not negate your perception. Just in case that wasn’t clear. Andraste’s knicker weasels, he shouldn’t have found it anywhere near as charming as he did.

So tell me about your day. He texted. Dorian got a steady string of observations about the Orlesian countryside, mostly long-suffering but wry enough to be amusing. Cullen talked a little about the work he did with the Inquisition: scouting, evaluating locations for a more permanent base of operations. Apparently it was looking to expand its presence in the more remote, underserved areas of Orlais, where its presence would be most welcomed.

And will you be staying away long? Henry will miss you.

Gods, no. Dorian heard back almost immediately. I'm too old for extended time in the field. I miss my bed already. Dorian, already in his, curled up tighter in his blanket in sympathy.

They chatted back and forth for longer than Dorian realized, until he found his eyes growing heavy and his vision blurring. He stifled a yawn.

I have to go to sleep now, or Cassandra will kill me. Dorian’s heart dropped for a moment, before another message popped up. She is a terribly fussy roommate, and always has been.

She sounds formidable. I would not wish to incur her wrath.

The next reply was a single word: Hah. It was then followed by You have no idea. Sleep well.

Pleasant dreams, if I may be so bold. For a moment, Dorian wondered if it was too much. It wasn’t as if they actually knew each other, although they were certainly more familiar than they were two days ago. One last message popped up on his screen. You may. Good night. :) How quaint; he still made his emoticons on the keyboard.

The next thing he knew, his phone was buzzing in his hand, the alarm demanding his wakefulness. He’d been holding it all night.

--

Upon reflection, Dorian realized it should have been obvious that bringing Henry to meet his cat was not perhaps the wisest idea. Henry was perfectly all right with the idea of sharing space, however temporarily, with another animal, but Livia was of the exact opposite disposition. She growled at them both and fled to the bedroom, where Dorian would have to no doubt spend a great deal of time coaxing her out from under the bed with dried fish flakes and apologies. But that was for later.

He unlocked the door to Cullen’s apartment and let Henry back into familiar surroundings, which he was pleased by, judging by the way he ran around and sniffed contentedly. He fed Henry the specified amount of food and marveled at how dainty a giant dog could be in eating. As he ate, Dorian looked around. The place was sparse, like its occupant was used to living with only essentials, thus making the personal items scattered about much more significant. There were some books, mostly Genitivi’s travelogues and popular nonfiction pertaining to the Chantry, but also a surprising number of mass-market fiction books by Tethras. Dorian noticed there were photographs: a family portrait, two boys, two girls, and parents; the eldest girl and Cullen in front of a chessboard; a picture of a young, serious Cullen in a Templar uniform, posing in front of a large stone tower. It was the most recent picture, and Dorian guessed it was at least ten years old.

--

Adaar came up to him silently; a not insignificant feat for someone of her size, and just waited until Dorian noticed her. He continued sorting some of the twenty linear feet of archives some windbag magister willed to the university without looking at her.

“We’ve been texting. It hasn’t gone beyond that.” He’d get sporadic updates during the day: a snapshot of a silly Orlesian dog (accompanied by commentary on the difference between them and Ferelden canines), a fancy dessert he grudgingly approved of, and once, a picture of a stern, fearsome-looking woman he assumed was Cassandra, fast asleep.

He did not need to look at her to register the disappointment emanating from her direction. It wasn’t like he could do anything while Cullen was away on business. Well, to be precise, there was video chat, but Dorian had a very strong feeling this was not the way to Cullen’s heart, or his pants. His lack of emoji use notwithstanding, there was something charmingly old-fashioned about him.

[w1737087]

Saturday 21st November

Awake at approximately: 18:38

I have had plenty to dream

something frightening

It’s a pretty long one now that I think if it

I was in dads car. Just before I had been at home hearing what mother was asking of me. She wanted menthol tobacco and two boxes of filters. I was transported into the car now which he had stopped in the middle of the road in an area I’ve never been in. My brain structured the architecture and place. There were cars parked on both sides of the road and maybe I saw in the corner of my eye cars waiting behind him to move along. I noticed a gap between those and dads car as it looked to me like seeing a frame around dads car from where I stood. The weather wasn’t the loveliest. But it hadn’t rained yet. Somehow his stopping in the middle there seemed no bother to anyone or anything. He just sat in his car as I ran the errand. When I got off I must have seen some post offices or what I thought in the dream those local places were. They had red framework I’m sure of it. Entering one through what may have been a door around the side instead and not the front from where the car would lead an easy straight path to. This was all weird now that I’m going back with a clear mind. How ever I entered wasn’t through a front door after existing the car. I came in seeing the front of the place in front of me but hadn’t looked out the window. You would usually enter a shop leaving the front behind you but I was heading toward it. In fact I couldn’t see the roads so my dad obviously wasn’t placed out front anymore. The coordination of this whole setting is just fucked up. You know how dreams are. Anyhoo there is a queue and I make it quickly to the mighty black dude behind the counter. It seems like a bank now because all around was plain and simple, just the counter, some wooden barrier between him and customers. It wasn’t a bank tho or a post office or a place I knew. He couldn’t give me what I asked for some reason. He blew me off and I didn’t fancy his attitude about it but I had to go since I wasn’t getting the stuff. He directed me elsewhere or said to come back later.

I went somewhere after that and not back to the car. I went past the car instead dreaming this part from the right seat of my dads vision in the car. I walk pass the sidewalk hoping he wouldn’t get in touch to see what’s up. (In the real world dad would often call to see where I’m going if he was sitting in his car outside and saw me leaving the house) He didn’t. I walked on and it was a relief he was just waiting patiently or this is what I was thinking in my head walking away. Now I’m quickly walking into busier places. My dad somehow appears to be in the conjestion of people I fall into and not in his car. I had come here in attempt to complete that errand of mine where I try to get to the front of an information glass window. Amongst the heap of people who were all dressed in trench coats and dull appropriate clothing I see dad and we briefly speak. We are stood there behind the commotion of much of the crowd. People swarmed the information corner and all around. We had a our space though. We were underneath something like a bricked bridge or tunnel. Looking up it wasn’t bulky but arc like. The weather seemed gloomy now and the dream was overall very monochrome like watching an old dispassionate movie. The sky had to have been just white and cloudy. We stood in between the crowd of people and many pedestrians going by non stop. In the dream I didn’t realise the offhand tones and impartial nature of the people. I now see how irrational everyone’s placing including mine was. Something about the place just felt weird and no doubt real too. I might have been sent to a backward era. Anyway Dads a few feet to the left of me standing on slight higher ground. I’m assuming there were a few steps beneath where we stood. To the right of my shoulder was the outlet behind me if I was to turn and see it. I rather knew it and felt it. In front of me the view was a constant sight of people going past and disappearing into further tunnel. Everybody walked in the same manner and speed like there was nothing unique to spot in anyone.

As I watched in my slight abstracted manner, my eyes fell upon a small gentleman walking past against the very far side of the tunnel wall. I remember vividly this moment go by. The wall which was about 6feet from me and curvy above. He headed forward in the direction of tunnel coming from behind me. I recognised this man in an instant from his whole back height and walk. He wore a long coat, like one of those trench coats I tended to see everyone wearing. The tone of it was dark; maybe an olive colour or grey. He had on what looked like a pork pie hat and this list of detail was what I noticed for only him. His hat distinguished from the rest of anyone else’s and I looked out for it later in the fuss of finding him as I ditched my father knowing he wouldn’t object to my manoeuvre but inside I’m hopeful he doesn’t ask me where I’m going. I may have said something on my departure but I don’t recall saying a word except acting immediately. My dad seemed more reserved in the dream the whole time he appeared. I let my feet off the stairs and began following the path of this man through a congested tunnel. I knew from the shade of grey hair below his hat, his walk, his visible proportioned hands below his cuffs that it was him. It was a man who measured my exact height and I worked very well with him. Gushing further into the tunnel I land into an intersection of people coming in and out of all directions and I stand looking left and right and all around but cannot see him to spot if it’s him. He had disappeared into all chaos of the swarm. My time fleeted by standing in the gathering loss conceding him gone. Losing all hope he was in my reach I chose yet a direction and wondered some more till I found myself outside on the opposite end of the tunnel to which I did not pursue. The white clouded sky was now above me, there was no monochrome tunnel and I was out in the open. I believe I wore a plaided shirt and my own attire up until I realised where I might have been and walked down about 15 feet to the front of what was going on here to realise I was again dressed anew in dark pigments like them. The dream made it clear it was imperative to fit in and look like them. My mind brings forward a memory, something sparked when I stood out here. It didn’t happen in the dream but right now the video across my pool of knowledge I saw of this place earlier evoked. I evoked the memory of something that never happened. There was someone here and over there beyond all the people around so little I couldn’t see to make out whom. Frankly this infamous person talking down there was someone on earth I didn’t know and below my concern. Beneath were I stood was made of beige stone. All across there was this wide platform I was standing out on. It was the only distinct colour the dream allowed. The tunnel had led from the left of this place, not the centre or far right from my vision.

About 25 feet from where I stood out here was the steps and many many people sitting upon them. There were enough to hide the sight of watching this person/ people out in front of them. Closer around me were people or should I say men in dark tone attire wearing hats like an old era. There was much commotion no matter where of the dream, especially here for the dull entertainment. It could have been entertainment or a beheading, either way people didn’t seem affected. Below this coldness people were more chuffed to be gathered for this if I may call an event. They all seemed comfortable and in wait for something to go down. So given my memory of seeing a video of some of this earlier I was somehow here now instead of seeing it behind a screen. This fact alone was what I remained hooked to. How could I evoke a video I saw earlier when it didn’t happen? False memories. I walked a little faster towards the steps of people and then noticed my dark attire given there and were at least a few cameras on me like I had seen through a screen earlier. I think why I came to notice my attire new modification is to blend in right now. Cameras to me meant nationwide broadcasting and I didn’t wanna be centre of attention. I didn’t want it. I turned back after seeing the hype and exposure to want out of the main area of where I’d be seen through camera. I got out and this was it for this place. I don’t know where I go from here.

Later I am standing in what seems to be a different post office literally folding up silver takeaway containers with food. My older sister was here too. It had already gotten dark. In this part of the dream I was both alone and accompanied by my sister. Other visions Albert here with us too. The nice women or people across the counter of this very small and tight space were cuting in some red coloured food into the container within my bag. I was a bit slow but I’m sure I had to be. When it came to closing the silver container a pair of hands of the woman across beat me to it and she did it quickly and with force that the silver folds expanded across the white lid. This didn’t bother me but I was taken by it. The dream portrayed her a friendly woman. Behind me the whole time were this black family. Mother daughter and son. The kids were little and standing sensibly. Nonetheless they were kids and on my way away from the counter the girl pokes me with whatever she held. I nudge her harder for it and in front of her mother. I explain briefly how she heavily poked me and I had known it was because I took a while but I sent a vibe to the lady there was no way I’m having your kid poke my body like that. In the other overlapping visions of this scene my sister had her own bag filled like mine of the food and Albert was standby on my left. There was more space when they appeared. Here again they were waiting for my food to be packed and done. When it was done we left together and going out it was raining now I think. At some point it rained a lot and I think it was now. I see my dads car from were I left earlier. It was just sitting there holding up all the traffic I couldn’t see in the middle of the road. The vision I couldn’t forget. It had been a long day and here I was back to were it all began. We hurry into the car. Sister on shotgun, me in the back behind her and Albert beside me. He didn’t get into his own car and on his own accord into ours. Dad said nothing and presumed he was a friend. In reality he would say something but my dad would still give him a ride home. In the dream he just did without saying. Though i spoke to dad sometime into the drive how the parked Audi was alberts which we left behind and Albert sat quiet like a mouse. I felt how he might feel awkward but it was his choice to jump in. He felt more awkward when I pointed out he would drive him all the way back and alone because this drive was to get his kids home and Albert would need his car back?? The drive was immensely long. It was were everything got frightening. We were native to this land and how terribly odd and daunting it was. No one was around and when there was a bus or a car or one pedestrian walking down it was like we were still all alone driving and driving. Dad made all these turns and throughout the car steamed up. He ordered us to put our windows down so we could get some air. Frankly it wasn’t cold out. It was very dark and the hours were severely late. At one point me and Albert whispered mich for a long time on something I can’t remember the topic of. The car door on my side opened by itself once. I reached to close it quickly. My sisters one remained open but soon I’m sure was closed. We concentrated on the locks of the doors at another separate point too. Now that both locks on my door were locked and I freely put my window all the way down I looked out just to calm the fear inside of me down. To take in the scariness and somehow believe it wasn’t as frightening. I didn’t feel much afraid as we were going past it all minute by minute getting closer out of this place. I even put my head out the window looking left then right then the middle of it. I recognised nothing and these streets held a scary howling; Creepy shadows and visions of what wasn’t there. We were all afraid and trying to keep our composure alight. I remember dad made one turn and in front was a bus coming.

He had to swerve very quickly into the right lane and halt immediately or we’d crash into the parked car on the side. Idk how dad couldn’t have done all this much smoother bc the bus was seen within a timed window to act accordingly. At another point I saw a big creature on top of a bricked wall and as we passed it turned and it it was just a black man in the dark with thick dreads. Another time i when I had been looking out the window much closer to the door I saw shadows, multiple shadows of the same one of a figure walking but there was no one there and this spooked me. As the car went on I poked my head behind to then see a hooded lad walking and slightly skipping into an open yard. I saw light shine on his hands and part showing his face. He didn’t seem so scary now. At the end of the dream I remember dad facing the back more and we were interacting, I saw his face and although his hair seemed different in the dream I thought to think in alberts head thinking this is my dad. You’re seeing him, this is the guy. And in a brief moment we had gotten to my own side of town and flowers were seen and shining streetlights and familiar roads and sidewalk I love. Simultaneously entering this scene a little green bird in the depth of a gap behind my dads seat, in the moment I notice it it splurges and flies out past me as if to attack me and out the open window. My instant thought was to close the window now but it instantly flies back in and behind me brushing against my back giving me this wobble feeling in my back as I wake. I felt much of the fear in the dream and I make the description so long only to remember it well when I read it back over. If I don’t reading would be no use as the images wouldn’t come back to me

I feel I’m forgetting some part of the dream

Background knowledge:

Albert- Co worker - 18years of age

Zed- Co worker - 43-45 years of age

Why had Albert been in my dreams lately? If I think of him it’s along with when the many faces of work flash through my head

I would say the scary part that had me bloody spooked as hell would get a rating of 1/10

And the whole monochrome part a 6/10.

The tunnel scenes were only in my favour of good rating. All else to do with the errand and post office and wrapping food? Thumbs down. The vibe wasn’t on. Terrible vibrations.

[cinnamon-sorceress]

Why does Leek love AMPL so much?

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Since it will be borrowed money, it'll be repaid for a while. It is difficult for me to hold a currency for a long period, I can only invest in projects that can be "quickly" listed. Most of the leeks in stocks are borrowed cash, which must be repaid for a while. It is impossible to hold the purchased stocks for a long period. Also if it is not borrowed money, even if it is indeed own money, Leek hopes to make money "quickly" rather than waiting 3, five yrs and ten years to create money. If you tell Leek, it will take ten years because of this investment to return. Leek will be scared to passing away. A decade later, I don't know easily am nevertheless there, I can't wait. From the psychological perspective, anyone who has no patience to hold back for a return on investment, his native family lacks comfort and security. He has no basic feeling of protection and rely upon the world. Just how he interacts with the world is like the employees who shift bricks on the design site. 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Because I've no benefit in cleverness or proficiency, therefore i changed to play a casino game of luck with you, and neither folks comes with an advantage. It's like, easily go to college, I cannot pass you, but if you come to buy lottery tickets, you and me will tie. Children who lack patience, the household that was raised in the catastrophic change, mom and dad are usually emotionally unstable, usually create conflict, tension, and destruction inside the family, causing the child to develop a fear, stress, and impatient character. The science fiction novel "Three-body" describes a terrible three-body civilization. As the three suns shift irregularly in the sky, the three-body civilization often enters the "chaotic era". Civilization didn't create for a few years, and it had been destroyed by natural disasters the moment it entered the farming culture. I believe that people surviving in this environment are afraid to build long-term worth, because your design will be ruined by the "heaven" anytime. It is better to think brief and shallow, long-term considerations often fail. I once spent a lot of time studying spiritual exercise. It could be said responsibly that most of the spiritual exercise is deceptive. But various spiritual schools help people set up a long-term value rather than short-sighted. For instance, Brahman (commonly misunderstood as Buddhism) advocates that people are reincarnated and multi-generational. There are various such thoughts in Chinese Ming Dynasty novels. Therefore the good and bad factors you do in this life will have consequences within the next life. Simply put, you don't only live an eternity, you have to live life many, many lifetimes, which means you have to construct long-term worth. The task that can't be completed in this living could be completed within the next life. In ancient periods, it had been called "cultivation for most generations." What I just talked about is the first feature of AMPL. It could provide immediate opinions and return rapidly. This is appetizing for leeks.

AMPL's second "advantage", Leek loves. Its theory is very simple. If I speak to Leek about how exactly MakerDAO works, most Leeks are scared away. EASILY talk about Uniswap's constant item formula, provided that I dare to create the method below, the reading level of this post will undoubtedly be reduced by 50%. Not forgetting discussing Balancer's power constant product method, leeks are usually scared to perform quicker than rabbits. Leek is most afraid of mathematics. There are a great number of formulas and charts in the AMPL white paper, but this is only a matter of light source. non-e of the mathematics in the white paper exceeds elementary school level. I am aware why the group has to create such a simple thing so challenging, because they're afraid that others will look down on the design, and they are afraid that everyone will state "that is it?" The person who writes the book either lifts the weight lightly or lifts light weight. As long as you cook leeks two times, it is possible to understand the theory of AMPL. If the price is higher than 1.06, the coin will be expanded, and if the cost is lower than 0.94, the coin will undoubtedly be reduced. Understand in one minute. (Despite having such a very simple principle, you may still find lots of leeks mistakenly thinking that this coin is a permanent "dividend") The third benefit of AMPL, it could be bought on the exchange, Kucoin and Bitfinex can be purchased. This kind of "internal disk" of NXM is very tough, and leek can't be bought. There are some coins, only Uniswap offers it, and Leek can't learn it. I often meet some close friends asking how to buy Hong Kong shares and how exactly to buy US stocks. We told them to download the Futu APP. However they all found it as well difficult. It really is too tough to open a bank-account in Hong Kong. Anyone who has used it once will find it easy. Nevertheless, you see many people are speculating in A shares, no one is speculating in Hong Kong stocks and shares and US shares. People who can purchase Tencent and Pinduoduo are rare, plus they are already high-end players in stocks. Any sport has fewer high-end players and several low-end players. Every time you increase a level, you drop 90% of the populace. Promotion: Becoming a member of the "Old Han and His Friends" Knowledge Earth, you can view Han Jiangxue's daily push for the next time. The very first thing you see will be Han Jiangxue's personal group, however the private group has been closed. Knowledge Planet ID: 14842945. 288 goals are billed. The planet includes a restricted lifespan. It expires on February 10, 2021, with 6 months staying. Choose whether to become listed on regarding to your personal situation.