#i was hoping that they could preserve the double for an eventual next round but alas

[dracimexidae]

I'm in pain 🫠

[slashbitch2]

Wavelength

slight nsfw warning ;)

Eve had always felt that she stood out from those around her. That in every situation, in every group and at every point in her life, she was walking round on an entirely different wavelength. Although, living this way wasn't as direly lonely as it sounded, rather she learnt to appreciate the few and far apart moments with company. When someone would, for just a split second, understand her.

The first person to ever make her feel this way, and regrettably the only for a very long time, was Ted. He'd swept her off her feet and into a less isolated world, a concept so unfamiliar at the time that she'd allowed herself be dragged out to sea. Then there was Brandon, who she was told would change her whole world. And he did, for a while.

Brandon was her life preserver until his priorities changed; until Mother's day cards became Valentines day cards, movie nights were exchanged for house parties and homework for alcohol. But Eve wasn't the kind of mom to act as though this behaviour was unwarranted and abhorrent, so she let him wedge the door shut and clear his search history. She could cope with a little more distance.

Then along came Ted's affair, their crumbling marriage and eventual divorce. Before she knew it, she was drowning.

The all too familiar feeling of solitude reappeared, completely devastating for her when Brandon left for college. However, this time she swore that she wouldn't let it overwhelm her, and did everything possible to prevent herself from sinking. Which initially started with a class at a community college, and ended with her lying in the arms of both her colleague Amanda, and classmate Julian. And yet, after they'd hurriedly packed up their things and left, she felt no better.

Brandon was sitting on the porch when she found him later. His back was turned to her, but the hunched up posture and awkward shuffling said more than enough. In that moment, Eve reverted back to her old way of thinking. She came to the conclusion that she'd failed as a mother, that her mistake was unforgivable despite the years of morose behaviour and selfish demeanour Brandon had subjected her to.

For retribution, she removed Julian's number from her contacts, predicting that he wouldn't be able cope with remaining friends. He too immature, still in that irrational sulky stage of adolescence. Next, she specified to Amanda that what happened was a one time thing, though she was already way ahead of Eve, chatting casually like nothing had taken place that weekend. Her easy-going reaction was a nice break from the prevailing tension with Brandon, which she then mentioned to her friend.

She tried to casually bring the subject up in the same manner that she imagined Amanda would if the roles were reversed, acting like the issue was nothing to do with her.

"As much as I hate to use such an outdated phrase," Her friend said. "boys will be boys. "

Eve chuckled, though the general concern weighing down on her shoulders meant it came out as more of a scoff. "You can say that again."

There's a brief lull in conversation as Eve disinterestedly taps away at her phone while Amanda sips thoughtfully at her coffee. The silence is only invoked by an awareness of social standards, since there's much Eve wants to talk to her friend about, but feels would be inappropriate in public.

Eventually, Amanda's the one to break the silence. "Are you still looking for someone to fill in for Sarah?"

Eve's attention flickered back to the woman sitting opposite. "I am." She replied hesitantly, knowing that she ought to have posted the job advertisement weeks ago, but had forgotten.

"I know someone who'd be good." Amanda was sliding her phone across the table before Eve got the chance to respond.

The screen displayed what she could only assume was a job application, though the font was too small to actually read. Squinting, she picked up the device to try and glean some information about the potential applicant.

Amanda continued as Eve scrolled. "She hasn't worked with seniors before, but has managerial experience."

"Are you sure she'd want this job?" Eve asked apprehensively as she set the phone down. "Seems a little over-qualified to me."

"Yeah, she's serious about it." Amanda's expression grew more determined. "Y/N just moved here. Mentioned she was looking for a more lowkey kind of job."

Eve remained doubtful.

"She's travelled a lot. Had a lot of different jobs." Amanda took another sip of her drink. "But she said she wants to settle down somewhere. Get a job that'll take her to retirement- which was an exaggeration, but you get the gist."

"Well." Eve sighed. "You can't get much closer to retirement than working at a nursing home."

"Exactly. So can I pass on her contact details then?"

"Sure." She shrugged. Assuming that her friend's recommendation was genuinely helpful, then she would be saved from suffering through the tedious interview process, which was worth taking a risk for.

---

As Eve sat at her desk, the world around her faded into obscurity. Without Sarah as the assistant manager, she'd been suffocating under piles of neglected paperwork, only now forcing her way through it. The main thought motivating her was that you were due to arrive any minute, for what she'd described as a first informal interview. The idea of conducting anything more formal this late into the evening was unappealing. So, based on the unusual circumstance by which you'd applied, and the strange time slot reserved, the interview would be more casual.

Finding that her eyes were starting to strain, she granted herself a quick break to look round the office. Eventually she settled on looking out the window, content watching the world pass by. The day had been unexpectedly hot, and some of that humidity still lingered, but judging by the gentle breeze filtering in through a crack in the window, the evening must've started to cool. A soft pink colour filled the sky, darkening to orange where the sun had just set over the horizon. From the other direction, a deep blue had begun to filter into view, the only indication that night was approaching.

When her gaze drifted back to the room, she realised that the pink light was cast around the room, bathing every surface in a delicate glow. How the simple beauty of the evening had previously escaped her attention was a mystery. One that prompted Eve to take a break to admire it.

The break was short-lived, however, as a sharp knock at the door quickly stole her attention away.

"Come in." She called out but found her voice hoarse from disuse. She frantically cleared her throat as the guest entered.

Eve looked up at you and smiled politely, then down at her desk, then did a double take. Although she hadn't given enough thought to form any preconceived image of what you might look like, she certainly hadn't expected someone quite so attractive.

As soon as the label crossed her mind, she was already berating herself for it. You'd barely entered the room and were here for business, she couldn't let herself think of you in that way. It was wrong. Both professionally and morally.

"Evening." Your voice was deep, smooth and with an accent she couldn't distinguish.

Eve tried her best to smile amiably, though she was sure the emotion wasn't reflected in her eyes. Instead she scanned your body from top to bottom, lingering on your neck, and then your hands. The action was automatic. An unintentional response to her attraction- and there it was again. She'd allowed herself to get distracted barely ten seconds later.

"Hi." Eve was too quiet, her tone lacking the necessary command. She swallowed. "Please, take a seat." And smiled, this time more genuinely.

"Thank you."

She watched you stiffly slide into the seat, effortlessly demanding the attention of the entire room. Although Eve had known you for less than a minute, she'd already decided that there was something hypnotic about the way you moved. From the slight twitch in the corner of your lips, to the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Every movement, regardless of it being barely perceptible, had her mesmerized, however she was mostly fixated on your hands. How they couldn't quite settle in your lap, rather were wrung about anxiously until abruptly stilling.

Your hands falling limp dragged Eve back into reality as it dawned on her that she'd been staring for a little longer than appropriate. She literally had to shake herself out of the senseless state and clear her throat once more before she was ready to continue.

"It's nice to meet you." Jolted into reality, she outstretched her hand, which you eagerly met. Your grip was firm, matched with a confident yet humble smile that looked well practiced.

"And you."

Eve already understood how you'd succeeded at accumulating such an impressive employment history, as every second of the interview so far, you'd acted perfectly. Like you'd written the book on 'How to Handle Job Interviews.'

"Just call me Eve." Separating from the handshake, she dismissively waved her hand, unable to hold the eye contact for any longer. There was an inquisitive manner to the way you were watching her, as though you were trying to ascertain the most information possible from appearance alone. Being exposed to your scrutinising glare caused Eve to shift in her seat, though not from discomfort or uneasiness, rather from inadmissible lust.

As the interview progressed, her eyes continued to occasionally stray toward your hands. Despite how hard she was trying to stay focused, she kept catching herself unintentionally imagining how they'd look gripping her waist, pushing apart her thighs. And if she blocked out this particular fantasy, then her attention would shift to your neck, and how she'd love to bite down on the supple skin presented to her.

She'd hoped that her fling with Amanda and Julian would've suppressed her incorrigible longing for pleasure, yet still found her thighs pressing together as her imagination overpowered reason. All the scandalous scenarios flashing through her mind only grew more vivid, more frequent. An incessant stream of borderline pornographic images, which worsened her guilt as she struggled to focus on what you were saying.

The cool breeze from earlier seemed to have vanished, replaced by unbearable humidity. She could feel herself sweating bucket loads, and only flushed more upon realising that she must've looked a mess; with stray hairs framing her face, an inability to sit still and a layer of perspiration covering her entire body. You'd probably noticed by now.

"God it's been hot recently." You commented, playing with the neckline of your shirt.

Had Eve not been observing you so closely, she would've guessed this was general small-talk. But judging on how you'd acted so far, this was a strategically placed act of mercy, a way of excusing her, no doubt, dishevelled appearance.

"Yeah." Eve chuckled, twirling a strand of hair round her finger. "We could move outside." She suggested, then quickly added. "If you wanted to, that is." Her desperation to please you came as a surprise. The roles should've been reversed. You should've been trying to impress her.

Eve had undeniably lost all authority in the situation, which simply excited her further.

---

When Eve laughed, she scrunched up her face and closed her eyes, which was inconvenient even at the best of times. Right now, however, she'd never despised the quirk quite so much.

As inconsequential as the current circumstances would look to any passer-by, she wanted to commit every detail to memory. From the lingering pink hue of dusk, to the way you threw your head back as you laughed. In fact, she wanted to memorise everything about you. Since leaving behind her stuffy office, conversation had flown easily between the two of you, the matter of employment seemingly dropped in place of getting to know one another. You'd indisputably gotten the job. Eve knew it. You knew it. So both were happy to indulge in a lighter tone of conversation.

The topic had turned to worst first date experiences, so she had very few to share with you, though that didn't stop her from enjoying listening to your little anecdotes.

"What about you?" Taking a calming breath after an outburst of laughter, you paused to ask her the dreaded question.

In comparison to your story, her worst date was relatively tame. "Well." She scratched at the corner of her eye, considering whether she could exaggerate in some way. "I went on a date recently that I had to walk out of."

"Really?" You folded your arms, leaning back against the brick wall. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I guess it just didn't feel right." She shook her head, hoping to deter any more questioning.

"Fair enough. Sometimes you just know- right?"

Eve drew her eyes away from being locked on the ground, finally summoning the resolve to look directly back at you. She bit her lip, compelling herself to nod.

There was something about you that was pure ecstasy to her. While looking at you, she could feel herself falling deeper into the hypnotic state she'd been in earlier, unable to tear her eyes away and unwilling to try. In spite of the normality of the situation, it felt meaningful. Eve didn't feel so alone, so out of place. Which made no sense to her as she'd known you for barely over an hour.

"What did you do after?" Your voice was somehow deeper, eyes lidded and posture relaxed. "After the date." You clarified.

The inquiry was personal, even without context that could be inferred. Eve hummed, delaying her response long enough to consider how much she was willing to divulge. "I-" She laughed nervously, suddenly embarrassed to confess. "I went swimming."

"Swimming?" Your eyebrows shot up, amused by the many connotations of her vagueness. "Where?"

Eve scuffed the heel of her shoe against the concrete ground, shamefully incapable of returning the eye contact. "Here." She admitted quietly, grinning as if in disbelief that she'd actually done it.

"Wow. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting that." You took a deep breath, rendered speechless for a second. "So, you have access to the pool?"

Eve shifted restlessly, hesitant to pursue the topic any further. She knew where this was going, and that she shouldn't endorse this type of behaviour. But the heat wasn't helping, and neither was her overactive imagination. She was supposed to be responsible, but then again, so were you.

Inevitably the possibilities of what could be overpowered her better judgement. "Yes." She reached into her pocket, producing the coveted key ring and hanging it on her pointer finger.

Upon glancing up, she discovered you were watching her intently, indisputable lust reflected in your eyes. Eve found herself in one of those rare moments where she felt understood, on the same wavelength as someone else. The logical part of her brain argued that you were basically a stranger. That if she followed through on your shared idea, then your hiring and subsequent job experience would be forever tainted. But the possibilities were too tempting to ignore.

So when you asked. "Want to go swimming?"

She couldn't refuse.

---

You'd held her hand as she'd lead, the reasoning being that most the facility was shrouded in darkness. Though Eve liked the weight of your hand in hers, so she didn't bother to turn the lights on until reaching the pool. Only then did you separate, crouching down to check the temperature. You beamed with childlike joy as you waved your hand around in the water, skimming the surface then diving deeper down.

Eve grinned. Your pure happiness was infectious, the effect it had on her similar to being drunk. She was intoxicated from exhilaration. She would've been content watching you relish in the feeling of water running through your fingers for eternity, though to her dismay, you soon grew bored. And then to her surprise, you unabashedly began to strip. Her eyes were glued to the expanse of your back as you pulled your shirt over your head, and to the revealed skin as you tugged your trousers down.

She had to stop herself from stumbling back as the strange reality of the situation suddenly dawned on her. Instead, she reacted by comically clutching at her heart, clawing the fabric of her own shirt.

You turned to the side, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. "You coming?"

She chewed on her lip, pondering the two words in greater detail. This was you asking for consent, giving a final warning. You were both aware that this was an incredibly outlandish idea, an extremely irresponsible one that should've discouraged Eve. Yet it had the opposite effect.

Before she could overthink the consequences, her shaking hands were clumsily unbuttoning her blouse. At the unspoken confirmation, you smirked back at her, then without warning, threw yourself into the pool. The splash echoed round the room, proceeded by carefree laughter as you resurfaced and began leisurely swimming away from her. While you were busy, Eve took the chance to continue undressing without interference.

Her insecurities didn't emerge until it was too late, resolved moments later as she dove into the pool. The water was colder than she'd anticipated, but her burning desire dulled the intensity. Breaking through the water's surface, she inhaled deeply, grateful for the supply of oxygen. However, her breath was soon stolen from her as she noticed you were treading water directly in front.

Somehow, you looked even more beautiful now. With the wave's reflections dancing across your skin, your hair drenched and dripping. She wanted to chase after the droplets with her tongue, despite knowing she'd likely be met with the bitter taste of chlorine. But what really flustered Eve was the way you were staring at her; the hunger in your eyes that hinted at your intentions.

Your stillness was teasing her, the water practically stagnant around you both. Eve was becoming increasingly irritated, the heat between her legs only growing. So it didn't take long for her to snap. She lunged forward in an attempt to grab hold of you, though her hands couldn't quite clutch onto your slippery skin. She stumbled to the left, floundering around until you grabbed hold of her.

Upon securing her grip, she froze, due to both the sensation of your body pressed up against hers, and her embarrassment. She couldn't bare to look up, to face her awkward failure. After a beat of silence, she heard you laugh lightly. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant or mocking, but she insisted on keeping her eyes locked on the wall. That was, until your lips gently brushed against her ear.

"Were you trying to kiss me or drown me?"

She snorted, the tension leaving her body, then turned to rest her forehead on your shoulder. "The former. Definitely."

You laughed again. This time Eve joined in, happy to ignore what'd just occurred.

"Want to try that again, then?" You kissed just behind her ear, causing a shiver to suffuse across Eve's body. She waited a minute, expecting more before realising you intended for her to make the next move.

She glanced up at your face, fixating on your lips. You were so close. All she had to do was lean forward ever so slightly. One final glance to your lidded eyes confirmed you wanted the same- all she had to do was close the distance.

Taking a shaky breath, Eve shifted a hand up to cup your cheek, her thumb softly stroking your skin. There was no rush; you both wanted the same thing and were eager to revel in the experience. So, when her lips finally grazed against yours, there was no deep sigh or sudden change in pace, rather a blooming warmth in her chest. She was floating, both literally and metaphorically in a sea affection.

She kissed you again, this time with more conviction. Then fell backwards, her feet now comfortably resting on the bottom of the pool, her back hitting the wall as your grip on her waist tightened. You dragged a hand across her chest, causing her to gasp. Your touch was scolding compared to the cool water. A perfect balance between lustful heat and a mind-numbing, all-encompassing chill.

She raised her arms, flinging them around you and exhaling as her impatience reappeared. Though thankfully, you didn't make her wait long. Soon enough, your mouth had latched onto her neck, leaving messy kisses from behind her ear, to down by her shoulders. The feeling was pure bliss, encouraging her to lean into you and press your bodies closer together.

She didn't need to say anything. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. Like you had her body memorised: every caress was perfectly placed, each touch just what she needed. It didn't take long for Eve to reach her pleasure, although she did spend a while in a dazed state of satisfaction, simply drifting in your arms. Eventually, she regained awareness to feel you tenderly nibbling on her lower lip, and eagerly reciprocated the kiss.

Motivated by the sudden fervour, she switched the positions, pushing you up to the wall.

"Get on the ledge." Eve murmured against your lips. She looped her arms under your thighs, ready to lift once you'd agreed.

Surprised by her abrupt confidence, you quirked an eyebrow, but obeyed nonetheless.

With you sat before her, she knew the evening was only just beginning, and judging by your breathless expression you felt exactly the same. This was one of those rare moments where Eve felt completely understood.

[superhusbands4ever]

The Chain - Chapter 3/15

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Full Work | AO3 Link

Fandom: The Bad Batch (Star Wars)

Characters: Crosshair, Hunter, Howzer, Rex, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, Omega, Various Clones

Relationships: Crosshair & Howzer, Crosshair & Rex, Crosshair & The Bad Batch, Crosshair & Omega, Hunter & Rex, Hunter & Omega

Additional Tags: Redemption, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Found Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: One year after the events of The Bad Batch, Crosshair struggles to reconcile his choice with the harsh truth of the world around him. He finds enlightenment in the most unlikely of places and realizes he may have made the wrong decision. But is it too late to do something about it?

Two years after the events of The Bad Batch, Rex reluctantly agrees to allow Hunter and his squad to help him rescue a man who's been captured by the Empire, an Imperial double agent who's cover has been blown. What Hunter thought to be a simple extraction ends up having far greater consequences for their squad than he could have ever anticipated.

Chapter Warnings: violence/torture, electrocution, anti-clone prejudice, the Empire being the Empire

Most people are drowning in their delusional ignorance without knowing that their suffering was created by themselves.

Jakusho Kwong Roshi

The disk exploded in the air as the blaster bolt hit it, shattering into tiny pieces that clattered onto the floor to join the fragmented remains of the other disks before it.

Crosshair adjusted his grip on his rifle and signaled to the droid at the end of the range to volley another round of disks. The kickback on his rifle against his shoulder was comforting and familiar, the same as it had been since he was old enough to hold the firepuncher up in his arms for the first time.

Shooting the disks was ridiculously easy, no matter how quickly the training droid launched them, but Crosshair wasn’t looking for a challenge. He came to the range to keep his mind busy, a distraction, a mindless task that would give him time to think away from everyone around him.

It had been three months since the destruction of Tipoca City, and three months since Crosshair had made the choice to leave his brothers and return to the Empire.

Those three months had been… interesting, to say the least.

It took the Imperial scouts two days to find Crosshair on that platform. Of course those two days were the two days Kamino decided not to be the stormy landscape it was infamous for. By the time the scouts picked him up he was half delirious from heat exhaustion, dehydration, and his head was covered in burns from the blistering sun.

He woke up again a few days later as they pulled him out of a bacta tank. He’d barely had time to process what was happening before he was being dragged to an interrogation room by a couple of commandos to be questioned by Rampart.

That hadn’t been pleasant.

It was another month before he was sent on missions on his own, before that ordered only to follow Rampart around like he was his personal bodyguard. He knew it was so Rampart could keep an eye on his every move, so he could make sure Crosshair could still be trusted.

Fair, he supposed. Even he could admit his story was shaky at best.

He’d spun some story or another about the girl setting off the training droids in the training room in Tipoca City, his squad being overrun by the droids before the bombardment started. When explaining how he’d escaped alive, Crosshair figured the best lies were the ones that were buried at least partially in the truth.

He told Rampart that he’d been knocked out by his former squad members in the chaos. That they picked him up and dragged him out of the city as they tried to escape. He wasn’t sure why.  He didn't need to lie about that.

He told Rampart about the girl rescuing him, about his squad’s escape through the tunnels to Nala Se’s old lab. He told him about their plan to use the pods to escape to the surface, using that AZI unit as their guide.

And then. And then.

“You were working with them?”

“No,” Crosshair said, staring up at Rampart from the ground. “I was using them. Pretending to work with them until we reached the surface platform.”

“Yes,” Rampart said slowly, “the platform with no ship. How did they get onto Kamino, then?”

“They had help. Communications were down underwater so they needed to reach the surface to call their extraction. They’d just broken CC-5576 out of Daro base, I assume they were working with him.”

Rampart hummed, blank face giving nothing away.

“When we removed your inhibitor chip, Commander, you assured me that your loyalty to the Empire would not be in question. Was that a lie?”

Crosshair shifted in the trooper’s grip in an attempt to get the pressure off of his undoubtedly broken ribs.

“No, sir,” he gasped, biting back a grunt when the commando tightened his grip, forcing Crosshair to arch his back.

Something snapped. Definitely broken then.

“Good,” Rampart said softly. He gestured to the commando and Crosshair was dropped unceremoniously to the ground. He groaned as the muscles in his shoulders finally relaxed. “I would hate to have to replace such a… valuable asset as yourself.”

“They won’t be a problem anymore.”

“So you’ve said. It is unfortunate they won’t be an asset in the pocket of the Empire, but if they were going to be a thorn in our side then I suppose it’s for the best that they’re dead. And you are… sure they are dead, aren’t you?”

Crosshair turned to spit a mouthful of blood at the ground before turning to look at the vice-admiral. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look the man in the eye, instead looking at a spot just below on his cheekbone.

“Their pods were crushed when the lab flooded,” Crosshair said, swallowing hard. “I saw it. To the best of my knowledge, no one could have survived that.”

Rampart stared dispassionately down at Crosshair for a long moment.

“I certainly hope so, Commander. For your sake.”

There was a small part of Crosshair that wondered why he bothered lying, why he was still protecting those traitors. Maybe part of it was self preservation - if he told Rampart that he let the Bad Batch survive and escape, it would undoubtedly end badly for him. The Vice-Admiral had already made that abundantly clear.

He knew it was deeper than that, though, loath as he was to admit it.

He could have done it. He could have killed them. They’d refused to join him, refused to join the Empire, so it was the logical next step in his orders. It would have been so easy, too, distracted as they were by the kid drowning beneath the water. Hunter had brought his rifle and his pack with him into the tube. No one was paying attention to him. If he’d moved quickly enough, he could have grabbed the rifle, shot Hunter and the others, and left the kid to drown. All that would have been left to do was swim to the platform, steal the ship, and fly back to the Daro base to contact Rampart.

He’d been so close. He’d lifted the rifle and had it pointed between Hunter’s eyes before he’d even realized what he was doing.

But something had stayed his hand.

He’d stared down into Hunter’s tired eyes, finger on the trigger and ready to pull, but no matter how much he tried he couldn’t do it. Instead, he did something he’d never done before.

He froze.

Maybe it was a misplaced sense of loyalty. An old holdout feeling, a remnant from the days they were a team, a family. When Crosshair would have been the first to shoot anyone pointing a blaster in Hunter’s face the way he’d been. Maybe it was him returning the favor, remembering that Hunter had saved him, had still grabbed his body and taken him to safety despite everything the two of them had done to each other that day. Maybe it was him remembering the fervor with which Omega had ordered AZI to help rescue him from under the debris so he wouldn’t drown in the cold ocean water.

Maybe it was the memory of Hunter’s voice breaking with desperation when he asked Crosshair how long he’d been without the inhibitor chip. When he’d realized that all of Crosshair’s decisions that led them to that point were entirely his own.

This is who I am.

Or maybe it was the way those familiar brown eyes, eyes that had once looked at him with love and warmth, had looked at him not with surprise or anger, but with resignation . Hunter hadn’t looked at him and felt betrayed or shocked - instead he’d looked at Crosshair with empty acceptance, like he knew this was what Crosshair was planning to do all along and knew he couldn’t fight it. It was like Hunter had finally given up - given up on him .

I wanted to believe it was the inhibitor chip that made you like this, but I was wrong.

Maybe it was the way those same brown eyes had looked at him with that same tired acceptance in Nala Se’s lab, this time on a smaller feminine frame beneath pale, blonde hair.

Before he could even really process what he was doing he’d pulled the rifle away from Hunter and pointed it into the murky waters below. Hunter couldn’t see into the water, but Crosshair could - he could see through the grime and the darkness and the debris to the slowly sinking blur of the girl clinging to the droid. Looking through the scope he realized he was likely the only one of the group who had the ability to save her and survive while doing it. He’d fired the grapple without second thought.

It was after, when he looked back at the others and saw Tech, Echo, and Wrecker shamelessly pointing their own blasters at him, that he realized his plan was never going to work anyway. There was no way his old squad was going to follow him, to come back and join him in the Empire. Whatever bond had existed between them all those years together had broken and he wasn’t sure there was a way for them to get it back. His brothers didn’t trust him anymore and they likely never would.

Once the girl was safely pulled into the pod it was with that knowledge that he tossed his firepuncher back to Wrecker. He sat down in the pod and avoided eye contact with Hunter, not wanting to see the cold blankness in his eyes again. He’d desperately tried to ignore the gnawing in his chest, the emptiness he felt at the thought of his brothers leaving without him again like he knew they were going to.

He couldn’t even watch as Marauder flew away from him for a fourth time, fearful that they’d see the extra shine lingering on his eyes in Kamino’s rare sunlight.

He still tried to ignore the gnawing in his chest that he felt even now, three months later. His temple throbbed and he shook his head to try and clear it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a chime at the door, a warning to whoever was down range that someone was about to enter. The door slid open with a quiet whoosh and ES-02 walked in.

“Commander,” she said with a nod, standing at attention just inside the doorway.

“What do you want?” He said, shooting down the range again when the droid threw the next disk. The shot hit just as the disk was reaching the peak of it’s arch through the air.

“Admiral Rampart has requested you meet him in interrogation room 4-8C,” she said, and he lowered his rifle with a sigh. “He has asked that I escort you.”

“I don’t need a minder,” he said with a roll of his eyes. Still, he stepped back from the range and disengaged his rifle, pulling the nozzle attachment off and slipping it into his pack.

“Vice Admiral’s orders, sir,” she said with a shrug.

Crosshair nodded, slipping his pack onto his back before reaching down beside him to pick up his helmet. He slipped it on, sliding his firepuncher over his shoulder until he heard and felt the metallic clink of it as the magnetic hold in his pack activated.

“Let’s go, then,” he said, gesturing toward the open door behind her.

ES-02 nodded and turned, gesturing for Crosshair to step out in front of her.

They set off down the hallway, ES-02 following a half step behind him to the right. They made their way quickly through the facility until they got to the lift. Once inside, Crosshair swiped his access card to activate the lift and it started lowering itself to the fourth floor.

After a few moments of ES-02’s shuffling and sneaking glances, Crosshair rolled his eyes.

“What?”

She twitched slightly, looking over at Crosshair with what he could only assume were raised eyebrows under her helmet.

“Sir?”

“You have something to say,” he said slowly, as if talking to a small child. “What is it?”

She said nothing, staring at him for a long moment before shaking her head and turning back to the front.

“Nothing, sir.”

He had to fight to not roll his eyes again. These conscripted soldiers were a real pain, and for once in his life Crosshair actually found himself missing the regs. If for no other reason than for their ability to act like actual soldiers and not just gossipy children who thought they were good at lying.

The lift came to a stop and Crosshair stepped out as the door opened, not pausing to wait and see if ES-02 followed him.

He quickly came upon room 4-8C and turned back to the other trooper before he went inside.

“I think I can handle myself from here,” he said dryly. “You’re dismissed.”

She hesitated and her movements shuttered slightly before she jerked her arm up in a salute, nodding as she turned to walk away. He kept his eyes on her back until she turned the corner out of sight.

With a sigh, Crosshair inserted his code into the pad by the door and stepped cautiously into the interrogation room, still unsure what exactly he was walking into.

“Ah, Commander,” Rampart called out. “Thank you for joining us.”

Rampart was standing in the middle of the room next to a blue containment field. In the field’s ray was a man, a clone based on the blacks and the build, head hung low to his chest.

Crosshair slowly crossed the room, stopping at attention behind Rampart.

“The good captain and I were just about to have a long overdue discussion, Commander, and I thought you might like to assist,” Rampart said with a smirk. “You two have a history after all.”

The clone in the containment field finally lifted his head, and Crosshair’s eyes widened slightly behind his helmet as he took in the scarred face beneath scraggly facial hair.

Crosshair hadn’t seen Captain Howzer since he was arrested on Ryloth. Not long after he was arrested Crosshair had been sent back to Kamino to help oversee the decommissioning of Tipoca City. He never knew what became of Howzer, assumed the man had been decommed or reconditioned - if the Empire still bothered with that sort of thing - and he hadn’t spared the other clone a second thought. A few weeks later and the call informing him of Hunter’s capture came in, completely removing the reg from Crosshair’s sphere of concern.

Now here he was, and he certainly didn’t look like the headstrong Captain he remembered on Ryloth. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones stood out sharper than any clone’s should, and his hair was longer, lanky and flopping over his eyes. His face didn’t look any better, skin mottled with black, green, and yellow bruising. He hadn’t shaved in quite some time, and the black facial hair was growing in patches around the scar tissue on his cheek and chin.

The biggest change was in his eyes - whereas the last time Crosshair had seen him his eyes had burned bright with passionate self-righteousness as he rallied the other regs against the Empire, now his eyes were dull. They lacked the intensity, the heat they’d once held within. Before him now were the eyes of a broken man, tired and so beat down he could barely hide it, leaving him a shell of the man Crosshair briefly knew. Crosshair wasn’t sure what the Empire had done to the clone captain, but whatever it was, it wasn’t pretty.

Something about the image tweaked some long forgotten, deeply buried part of his mind. There was something about seeing another clone, strung up like a puppet and beaten down, that left a sour taste on the back of his tongue, but he pushed it down. This man was a traitor to the Empire. This is what he deserved.

“I just have a few questions to ask you, CT-7569,” Rampart was saying as he walked around the containment field, staring up without feeling at the clone held within. “As long as you answer my questions honestly and without issue, no one has to get hurt.”

Rampart stopped when he reached Crosshair.

“Commander, if you would be so kind as to make sure he answers my questions honestly, and without issue,” Rampart said.

He held something out in his hands and Crosshair looked down to see an electro-baton in his palm.

Reaching forward slowly, he wrapped his hand around the hilt of the baton. Before he could pull it from the Vice Admiral’s palm, the other man closed his hand around the opposite end.

“Consider this a reminder of what happens to those who conspire against the Empire,” Rampart said softly, staring directly into Crosshair’s visor. Crosshair narrowed his eyes at the other man from behind his helmet, cognizant of the fact that the words were said quietly enough there was no way Howzer had heard them.

He wasn’t meant to. They weren’t meant for him .

Crosshair pulled the baton out of the nat-born’s hands and walked to the other side of the containment field. He pressed the button on the end of the baton and the tip crackled with electricity as it powered up.

“CT-7569, I have to say, I am very disappointed,” Rampart said, continuing his stroll around the containment field. Howzer followed him with lazy eyes. “Your service record during the war was quite impressive. The way you were able to maintain hold of the capital even after that Jedi scum was killed was quite the feat.”

Howzer shifted slightly, eyes glowering down at the nat-born, but he said nothing. Crosshair tightened his grip in the baton.

“You could have done great things for the Empire,” Rampart was saying. “But you threw it all away. And for what? A little girl? One man and his wife?”

Howzer growled low in his throat, but didn’t move.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

The reg continued to glare.

“Commander,” Rampart called, not taking his eyes off of the captain. “If you would.”

Crosshair clenched the end of the baton and lifted it, pressing it into the small of Howzer’s back.

Crosshair had to admit, he admired the way the other clone didn’t scream or yell. Howzer arched his back, breathing frantically through his nose as the pain built, his arms and legs trembling where they were held in place by the energy shackles.

Crosshair pulled the baton back and Howzer collapsed as much as he could while in the field's ray, his back and shoulders slumping as his head dropped listlessly to his chest. His shaky breathing cut sharply through the quiet stillness of the room.

“Well?” Rampart said, eyebrows quirked.

Howzer whined low in his throat, lifting his head just enough to look out at Rampart through hooded eyes.

“Howzer,” he croaked, voice hoarse. “Captain. Grand Army of the Republic. Designation CT-7569.”

Rampart said nothing, just continued to stare blankly at the clone captain. Eventually he turned to look at Crosshair and nodded.

Crosshair lifted the baton again, pressing it harder into Howzer’s back. This time Howzer couldn’t quite hold back his scream before he cut himself off, and Crosshair pretended not to notice the way his own hand twitched as the sound cut through the buzz of electricity.

“What can you tell me about the resistance on Ryloth?” Rampart asked once Crosshair pulled the baton back again. Howzer hung panting heavily within the containment field’s ray.

“I know Cham and Eleni were planning something,” Rampart continued as he walked around Howzer’s hanging form. “Those fighters they had at their disposal, the ones who attacked our transport--”

“You kidnapped their daughter ,” Howzer hissed, “what did you expect them to do?”

“Don’t play coy with me, clone ,” Rampart snapped, “you and I both know they were planning something before that. Arresting their brat just moved up the timeline.”

“Go to hell!” Howzer snapped back.

Rampart stepped back. “Commander, if you would.”

Crosshair’s hand twitched around the baton handle.

“9904!”

Crosshair’s hand jerked up, pressing the baton harshly into Howzer’s back once again. This time the clone captain couldn’t hold back the screams as the muscles in his back contorted violently again. Crosshair closed his eyes as the pain in his head rose in pitch with the man’s cries.

Finally, Crosshair pulled the baton back and Howzer slumped inward on himself with a whine, his head lolling forward against his chest. His breathing was shallow but slow, the muscles in his arms and shoulders twitching seemingly involuntarily.

“You tried to recruit other clones in your little insurrection,” Rampart said, leaning forward close to Howzer’s face. “I know how close you were to them. Who else is involved? What were they planning? Where are Cham and Eleni Syndulla?”

Surprisingly, the clone laughed. It was a dark and brittle thing that sounded ugly and wrong coming from the once amiable man.

“Save your breath,” Howzer said, glaring down at Rampart with a smug smile. “I’m not telling you anything. You may as well just go ahead and kill me.”

“No,” Rampart smiled back, and even Crosshair felt a modicum of apprehension at the wolfish look. “I won’t be letting you off that easily.”

Rampart took a step back, pulling a comm out of his pocket and pressing a button to activate it. The door slid open behind him and two TK troopers walked in.

“Commander,” he said, turning to Crosshair who was still standing behind Howzer with the now de-powered baton in his hand. “If you could escort CT-7569 back to his cell. It looks like we’ll just have to try this again later.”

Crosshair nodded and attached the baton to a hook on his utility belt. Rampart quickly left the room and Crosshair walked back around to the front of the containment field as the two TK troopers worked on removing Howzer from the ray.

The ray abruptly turned off and Crosshair watched as Howzer collapsed to the ground in a pile of limbs. He didn’t even try to fight as one TK trooper pulled him upright again by the arms, roughly shoving his arms behind his back and slapping a pair of binders onto his wrists. He groaned quietly as the manhandling no doubt pulled on his abused and aching body, but otherwise made no protest.

Once they were finished the two troopers stood back and looked up at Crosshair for instruction. Crosshair paused, staring down at the other clone.

Finally, Howzer lifted his head and stared up at Crosshair with wide, tired eyes. Somehow he managed to meet Crosshair’s eyes through the visor and Crosshair froze.

For a second Crosshair wasn’t staring down into the eyes of a broken clone captain turned traitor. For a second he looked at Howzer and saw another pale, gaunt, and tortured reg. Only instead of tired defeat he saw bright, beholden eyes, staring up at him with gratitude from the floor of the Marauder as they thanked him for helping to rescue him from Skako Minor.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat he jerked his gaze away and gestured to the two troopers still standing at attention in front of him.

“Let’s go,” he said, turning toward the exit. Howzer grunted behind him as he was yanked to his feet and Crosshair closed his eyes against the pain in his temples that throbbed in time with his racing heart.

~

After he’d left Howzer chained up in his cell, he started the trek back to his quarters. The pain in his head had abated somewhat, but the day had left him exhausted and he was ready to lay down and attempt some sleep for the night.

The headaches had been getting worse lately, but the medics in the infirmary assured him time and time again that there was nothing wrong with him. Stress, maybe, they said. Psychosomatic. Most days were better than others but occasionally when the pain got too bad, when he couldn’t ignore the bright spots in his vision or the way his hands would tremble, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something they weren’t telling him.

The chip was gone, he knew that for a fact. Had seen the thing, fried and burnt looking, when they’d pulled it from his head after it was damaged on Bracca. Why some of the side effects seemed to linger, he didn’t know, and he didn’t have the energy to ask. He didn’t think he’d get an honest answer anyway.

It was just a little pain. He was used to pain, he could handle it.

The lift opened finally and he had to put conscious effort into not groaning out loud when he saw ES-02 standing inside.

They both stared at each other for a second before she stepped to the side so Crosshair could enter.

One he was inside and the lift began moving, 02 shuffled her feet before turning her head toward him.

“What did Rampart want?”

“Questioning that insurrectionist we arrested on Ryloth,” Crosshair said, leaning back against the transparasteel wall with his arms crossed. “See what he knows about the resistance on the planet.”

02 hummed. “Anything?”

“He still won’t talk,” Crosshair said. “But Rampart wants to break him.”

“Do you think he will?”

The lift began to slow to a stop.

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug as he pushed off the walk. “The Kaminoans trained us to withstand most interrogation and torture techniques. It might end up working against the Empire’s favor, ironically.”

“I don’t know why he’s bothering,” she said with a shake of her head. “It’s been nearly five months since that clone was arrested and he hasn’t said anything yet. If it were up to me I’d just get rid of him and be done with it.”

“I suppose he should be grateful it isn’t up to you, then,” Crosshair said dryly as they stepped off the lift towards his quarters.

“Honestly, he’s just a clone. Rampart should just put him down and move on.”

Crosshair abruptly stopped in the middle of the hallway and ES-02 nearly stumbled into him before she caught herself.

“‘ Just a clone?’ ”

ES-02 shrugged. “Well… yeah. I mean, there’s thousands of them. What’s one less?”

Crosshair hummed as he stared down the other woman, not sure if he should be insulted or impressed by her audacity. Not that it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard from nat-borns before, even with the Republic. Or, admittedly, nothing he hadn’t thought for himself once or twice in his darker, more embittered moments. But for her to say it to his face, as her superior officer, was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

He took off down the hallway again, fighting the urge to groan out loud as she continued to follow him. He was nearly to his quarters now, where hopefully he could get some peace and quiet to deal with his headache. If she tried to follow him inside, he might just shoot her and be done with it.

“I’m surprised Rampart is letting you near him, actually,” she was saying as they neared his door. “Considering how royally you screwed up dealing with those clones last time.”

This time when Crosshair stopped suddenly she did run into him. He watched with the smallest ping of satisfaction as she stumbled and had to catch herself on the wall.

“ What did you just say?”

She stared at him for a long moment. Her armor clanked loudly in the hallway as she shifted, apparently internally debating how far she wanted to take this.

“You heard me,” she said finally. “I think the Vice Admiral may be putting a little too much faith in you, is all.”

Crosshair’s eyes narrowed behind his visor and he rested his hand on the holster of the DC-17 on his hip. ES-02’s eyes followed the movement, but she didn’t stand down. In a moment of sudden clarity, every slightly off comment, every insubordinate slip, every “misheard” order and twitchy glance over the last three months flashed to the forefront of his memory.

“If you have something to say to me, then say it,” He growled, stepping forward.

ES-02 shifted slightly, hands fidgeting on their rifle, before stepping forward into Crosshair’s space in a way that was likely meant to be intimidating.

“I don’t trust you,” she said quietly, her visor boring into his. “I don’t know how you got off of Kamino alive, but I know you didn’t do it alone. You may have Rampart fooled, but I was there. I know what I saw.”

Crosshair tilted his head. “And what is it you think you saw?”

“I saw our squads’ bodies on the ground. I saw you fighting side by side with those clones.”

“The girl activated the battle droids,” he reminded her. “The girl you were supposed to capture. Are you really so incompetent you let a child and her droid get the best of you?”

ES-02 had the grace to flinch back a little at that, but she held her ground.

“You really expect me to believe our squad was taken out by simulation droids? ”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Maybe if they all weren’t so inept they would still be alive.”

ES-02 bristled and pushed further into his space until their helmets were nearly touching. He held his ground, arms at rest behind his back and he stared back at her dispassionately.

“Or maybe the droids were just a convenient excuse,” she said. “Maybe that was your plan all along. Get your old squad back to Kamino, overrun and kill us so you could get your little friends back.”

She let out a humorless chuckle, head tilted to the side as she regarded him.

“Though I guess they didn’t want you, either.”

“Careful, trooper,” he hissed, finally pushing back into her space. “I could have you court martialed.”

She shook her head, taking a step back.

“You think you’re so important, don’t you?” Her voice dripped with condescension. “You mean nothing . You’re an obsolete meat droid created to die in a war that doesn’t exist anymore. You’ve outlived your purpose. It’s only a matter of time before Rampart realizes that, and when he does? I’ll make sure they dump your body at the bottom of the Kaminoan ocean where it belongs.”

All you’ll ever be to them is a number.

“Get out of my sight,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, sir,” she said, giving him a sloppy ‘ kark you’ salute, disdain clear in her tone, “ Commander.”

He watched the woman retreat down the hall until she was out of sight before turning and punching in the code to his quarters.

As the door slid shut behind him, he reached up and pulled his helmet off, throwing it across the room with a strangled yell. His head suddenly felt like it was on fire and he reached up to press his fingers to his aching temple.

If it were up to me I’d just get rid of him and be done with it.

I certainly hope so, Commander… for your sake.

We still would've taken you.

You’re my brother, too.

With a groan he collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his hands as voices played over each other in his mind, desperately trying to ignore the cold that had settled in the pit of his stomach.

[achubbydumpling]

(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66

Rating: Mature Words: 1901 Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Public stuffing, Roadtrip, Chubby Stiles

Summary: Stiles and Derek enjoy their first vacation together. Stiles suggests they take on various food challenges to save money while on the road. However, Derek's werewolf metabolism deals with the excess food a lot better than Siles' strictly human one.

(I tried a bit of a different approach to a stuffing, a bit more focused on the way it makes Stiles feel. Hope you enjoy it!)

“It winds from Chicago to LA More than two thousand miles all the way”

“Oh, my God. This is such a good idea! We’ll save so much money.” Stiles was waving the menu around while he talked and almost knocked over his glass of water.

“Right, Derek?”

“Right. Awesome,” was his clipped answer. Derek looked like his usual grumpy self, but with his hand on Stiles’ thigh and with how close he was sitting, Stiles didn’t worry about the slightly pained expression on his face. He’d soften up once the breakfast crowd died down a bit and there weren’t this many people around.

Read on AO3

“We just have to finish those three pancakes and then the food is free! Even if we can’t finish it’s 15 dollars to try and we can take the leftovers on the road.”

Stiles didn’t want to throw in the towel before the challenge had even begun, but it was probably for the best to not go into this completely blind. While waiting for their server to return Stiles looked up eating competitions online.

They did have 90 minutes in total to finish all the food, but Stiles hypothesized that eating as quickly as possible would be the best strategy. Derek argued that they should take advantage of all the time they were given. Now that Derek could focus on something else than his surroundings his hunched over posture slowly relaxed.

The banter eventually escalated into a bet that whoever finished first got to choose a punishment for the loser. Stiles was almost certain he would lose out against the werewolf metabolism, but he didn’t think Derek would go for a particularly harsh punishment. He would have never agreed to this with Scott because he always chose the most embarrassing punishments.

This was his and Derek’s very first vacation on their own after finally sorting out their mutual pining. The road trip had been planned for close to year. However, the exact date had always been pushed back by another monster of the week ruining their plans. Instead of making a round trip they had flown up to Chicago and rented a car instead of taking the Jeep like Stiles had initially planned. The old girl probably wouldn’t have made it anyway.

Another consequence of pushing their vacation back was the weather. Instead of driving in late spring or early summer, when the heat would have still been bearable, it was August—the hottest month of the year.

The AC could barely keep up and all the people that had just eaten breakfast here had heated the small diner up even more. Stiles poured himself another glass of ice water.

He was looking forward to when they would get far enough south to where diners started serving real sweet tea. Boyd had shared a few stories with the pack about the summers he had spent on his uncle’s farm in Georgia. How the only thing that could chase the sweltering heat away for a moment was the ice-cold sweet tea his auntie always kept in the fridge.

When their food finally arrived at the table the server could barely fit both plates on the small table for two. Each pancake was twelve inches in diameter, the stack was piled high with maple syrup, banana, and whipped cream.

“Wow, these are huge!” Derek stifled a laugh.

“There was a picture in the menu.” The server cleared his throat to get their attention before they could dig in.

“When this,” he held a tomato shaped kitchen timer up, “goes off and you have not finished the challenge you will be—” he sighed and made an unenthusiastic buzzer noise “—disqualified.”

“Thanks, pal.” Stiles grinned back. The server glared at him for a second before he wound up the timer and left the table.

“Man, that guy is in a bad mood.” Stiles tried joking around with Derek before they got serious about this challenge.

“You haven’t worked in hospitality before.”

“And you have?” He took another sip of water and waved the glass around threatening to spill all over.

“Summer job.” Derek shrugged and finally picked up his fork.

“Wait, you can’t just drop something like that and not tell me more details.”

“If you don’t want to pay for this mountain of food you better dig in.”

Stiles whined Derek’s name annoyed, but also picked up his fork.

“On three,” Stiles said, but Derek was already chewing the first bite.

“Cheater,” Stiles mumbled around a mouthful of pancake.

These were a lot flatter than the standard-sized pancakes. Probably deflated by their own weight, but the mixture of flour, sugar and oil tasted great all the same. Stiles hadn’t had banana pancakes before, but he welcomed the fruity sweetness in contrast with the straight up sugar of the rest of the meal.

Stiles surprised himself when he managed to keep up with Derek all through the first pancake. When he got started on that second one, he even pulled ahead for a bit, but he hit a wall as soon as half of it was gone. It felt like his stomach had suddenly closed down shop and he felt almost nauseous when he thought of eating even more sugar.

However, when Derek pulled ahead and finished off his second pancake without any trouble Stiles doubled down. He knew it was a loosing battle, but he wasn’t about to give up this easily. Yet, as willing as his mind was, his body failed him. With about three quarters of the last pancake left his determination flagged.

The food weighed heavily in his stomach. The vague nausea from eating way too much sugar curled up into his throat and had him sipping water to try and wash it down, which only made him feel even fuller.

Stiles could picture exactly what he looked like right now. He’d done this in front of his bedroom mirror. His stomach rounding out, like half a beach ball taped to his front. The curve of a belly looking out of place on his thin frame.

He had always loved to eat, not only for the sake of taste, but also because of how it made him feel. Sated. Heavy. Tethered down and not constantly in danger of floating away in his own mind. That moment when his thoughts finally ground to a halt and all he could do was to be overwhelmed by that feeling—almost on the wrong side of too much to handle.

However, he wasn’t at that point yet. This was more of a mental block. Unlike Derek, he didn't really have a sweet tooth. Stiles preferred salty, greasy substantial meals over dessert any day.

Stiles had been sat staring at his plate before Derek leaned against him to whisper, “You ok?”

Stiles groaned but picked up his fork again. Derek didn’t seem affected by the amount of food at all. Then again, the wolves always had to eat a lot just to keep their mass up. They leaned out quickly without enough food, preserving energy.

“Just taking a break.” Stiles could see Derek shifting in his seat, the wolf always craving closeness. They’d talked about this, whatever it was, after Derek had accidentally seen Stiles once afterwards. Stiles had tried his best to explain while still caught in that blissed out state. He didn’t know how but Derek had somehow understood.

Derek finally put that last bite in his mouth and then moved closer to Stiles. The entire side of his body was pressed up against Stiles. He was carefully draped over Stiles shoulders offering support, but not crowding him in. Stiles was still steeling himself for the next bite when Derek’s hand slipped under his shirt. Knuckles dragging against bare skin.

Stiles yelped and grabbed at Derek’s wrist. “What are you doing?” he whispered urgently.

“Helping,” Derek answered and furrowed his brows. Like always. Except they were in the middle of a restaurant and not locked in Stiles’ bedroom.

“Stop. Someone is going to see you,” he paused to search for the right word but then just flicked his eyes to where he was still holding Derek’s wrist.

“We’re not coming back here. You wanted to do the challenge.” Stiles wanted to whine and complain at Derek, but he was right. Stiles had suggested doing the food challenge. He’d honestly just thought about getting free food, only when they had already ordered, did he even think of this possibility.

“Plus,” Derek almost purred into Stiles’ ear, “winner gets to choose a punishment, right?”

Stiles’ “not really a punishment” died in his throat when Derek pulled him almost into his lap and his knuckles started digging into the roundest part of his stomach. They probably just looked like an overly affectionate couple, but that didn’t keep that searing hot shame from bubbling up. Stiles wanted to hide his burning face against Derek’s shoulder. He wanted to push Derek away. Stiles wanted to cram the rest of the pancake into his mouth to keep himself from thanking Derek out loud for getting his hands on his stuffed belly.

Derek hadn’t seemed interested in participating in Stiles’ peculiar activities but every time they had somehow ended up in that situation again, he had gotten more and more affectionate towards Stiles and his bloated middle.

“You’re gonna finish that, aren’t you?” Stiles shook his head, but he stabbed his fork into the pancake, nonetheless.

“Are you?” Derek asked again, a teasing edge to it. Stiles didn’t trust his voice and just nodded.

“Yes, look at yourself. The first chance you get to stuff yourself full of some food and you run headfirst into it.” Derek cupped his bloated stomach and lifted it up a bit.

“Look at that. All the food you stuffed in there making a nice little belly. Do you want to eat like this every day?” Stiles pushed another bite past his lips almost all whipped cream.

“Do you?” Derek prompted him. A whine caught in Stile’s throat, and he pushed it down with another forkful of food. He nodded and hummed agreeably.

“You’re just so greedy to be stuffed full.” Stiles was burning up but instead of reaching for his glass of water he gathered the last bits and pieces on his plate.

“You know what’s gonna happen if I let you eat like this every day?” Stiles was fast approaching the simple state of mind he was craving. He couldn’t decide whether to nod or shake his head. The motion of Derek’s hand on his stomach softened. Rubbing large circles into the stretched skin.

“You’re gonna get fat if you eat like this every day.” With that last mouthful Stiles had finished the challenge, but all he could think about was what Derek had just said.

“Feels so good,” Stiles said. Words slurred and a dopey smile on his face while he turned further into Derek’s body.

“Feels too good to stop, huh? Never had all that food just for free. That’s why you dragged me out here, off the highway. Not because you cared about what you’d eat, but because of how much. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Stiles whispered. “Every day.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’ve got four weeks on the road and me to take care of you.”

“Won't you get hip to this timely tip When you make that California trip Get your kicks on Route 66”

[twiistedgalaxies]

Cuck for One Uses Tinder

"All for One, infamous boogeyman of the underworld, felt his non-existent eye twitch as one of his minions slid a stack of forums onto his desk. They were divorce papers. In a matter of moments, said minion became a red smear on the office wall. He had broken out of Tartarus for this nonsense? Seriously??"

A/N:  I'm sorry, I don't have any excuse for this. I woke up in the middle of the night with the plot idea for this fic and thus this monstrosity was born. Bone Apple Teeth.

        All for One, infamous boogeyman of the underworld, felt his non-existent eye twitch as one of his minions slid a stack of forums onto his desk. They were divorce papers. In a matter of moments, said minion became a red smear on the office wall. He had broken out of Tartarus for this nonsense? Seriously?? Made even worse was the fact that, with the aid of search, he found that All Might, kami damn him, and his now ex-wife were constantly spending time together. He had half a mind to head to the apartment complex that he owned and paid for and reclaim what was his.

        “Sensei?” A familiar, raspy voice spoke up behind him and he felt the onset of a stress induced headache. The brat was meant to be his successor and potential replacement body. Unfortunately, those damn heroes had broken into the hospital before he could be fully developed, and All for One had to fish the young man out of a decayed crater the size of several city blocks before he could be thrown in Tartarus in a cell next to him. He wanted eventual retirement, and has had his plans foiled at every turn.

        “Yes Shigaraki?” he replied, standing up from his chair.

        “What happened? I underwent the operation one minute and the next thing I knew-”

        “Ah, that. You were awakened several months before you were meant to. That’s why I called this doctor here to-” He glanced at the red stain, realizing that the man in question had been eviscerated in his divorce-papers induced rage, “-No matter, I’ll do it myself, come.”

        All for One led Shigaraki down a series of winding hallways and stairs into a room filled with large test tubes and the few Noumu that remained after the raid on Dr. Garaki’s hospital. He stood before one that was open, not yet filled with the preservation fluid that left the Noumu in suspended animation. “Everything should be calibrated properly, if you’ll just step inside, the process will resume.”

        Shigaraki scowled, “I’m not doing this for you,” he clarified, scratching the back of his neck, “This dream is my own, this is just the means to an end.”

        If All for One had eyes, he would have rolled them with disdain, instead he said, “Sure, just step into the machine Tomura, or would you like to remain in your half-finished state?”  

        The young man let out a huff and begrudgingly complied. All for One injected him with enough anaesthetic to subdue a horse and closed the convex glass door. He fiddled with the controls for a moment - he hated being, for all intents and purposes, blind - and soon the tube was filling with preservation fluid as Shigaraki’s upgrades resumed. It was only then, in the greenish glow of the underground laboratory, that All for One realized with some dread that he had months of unfilled time on his hands.

-@~*^*~@-

        All for One’s first course of action was to break into the bedroom of a young girl on the UA campus. He had, through his various underground contacts, heard of the Overhaul incident. How a man so incompetent had managed to go so far in his plans baffled him. Truly, the state of the hero industry has fallen since his prime. It was not the man’s fanaticism nor his sadism that fascinated him, but rather the child he’d had in his possession that was now under UA’s care. Her quirk, Rewind, was rather interesting with infinite and overpowered applications. He’d be tempted to take it for himself permanently had she not emotionally latched herself to a certain, green haired teen that proved time and time again to be a thorn in his side. It was simple enough to slip through UA’s security in the dead of night, to disable all nearby cameras with a mere flick of his hand. It was a wonder what a technopathy quirk could accomplish. 

        She was asleep, small face peaceful. He could feel contentment radiating from her. Likely having a good dream, he mused. Gently, All for One placed one of his large hands on her forehead. He borrowed her quirk, and felt his body rewind several years, before his fateful battle with All Might. He couldn’t help the satisfied smile that crept across his face as he opened his eyes for the first time in nearly a decade. Quickly, he returned Rewind to her and used a warp quirk (the same one he used in Kamino) to leave the premises. There was no need to alert the heroes to his restored state. Yet.

        At least he’d be able to show up to his divorce hearing in person, though it would take every ounce of willpower he had to not level the courthouse.

-@~*^*~@-

        All for One was lounging on his couch in his makeshift home and using his phone in an attempt to understand The Youth (which to him, was anyone who wasn’t in a nursing home). On a whim, he installed Tinder, it had been decades since he really got into the dating world. His lover has been villainy, generally being an asshole, and terrorizing aspiring heroes. Having to wait for his plans to unfold was making him restless. Anyways, he was planning to get into politics now that he had his face back, as a way to enact social change without having to deal with a slew of moronic underlings. It didn’t hurt to build the foundations for his retirement, and having at least some people in his life could make him more relatable to the public and help his long term goals. He was planning to use his ex-wife and estranged son for this, but the divorce threw that plan out the window. People don’t tend to trust those who spring into existence seemingly from nowhere. (To be honest, he was just lonely, not that he’d admit it to anyone, especially not himself.)

        Where was he? Ah yes, Tinder. As it stood right now, he was swiping through the incredibly vain and shallow app, no one had truly caught his eye. No one that is, until his gaze (and didn’t that feel good to say?) landed on a disheveled man with long dark hair, stubble, and dark undereye circles that stood out against his pale skin. Aizawa Shota, 31. Eraserhead. He was tempted to swipe left on impulse when he paused. Getting close to heroes could be convenient to his political goals. There was no better or more ironic way to take out the hero commission than from within after all, plus it would give him information his underground contacts lacked. Yes, this would do nicely. (And if he found the man’s sleep deprivation and dry sense of humor charming as they spoke through text that night, well, that was just a side benefit.)

        They had decided to meet at a nearby cat café that evening, and All for One showed up in his best suit. It was a dark, wine red and chosen to match his eyes. Belatedly he realized he was overdressed when Aizawa showed up in a simple t-shirt and dark jeans. Whoops.

        He extended his hand for the other to shake, “Hisashi Kamiya, a pleasure to meet you.” It was absolutely not a pleasure to meet the erasure hero, but Aizawa didn’t need to know that. He couldn’t help but quirk his lips at his own last name. He had chosen it after the divorce, Shigaraki most certainly wasn’t going to fly, especially since his protégé had gained some degree of infamy.

        Aizawa nodded, eyes narrowing, as he shook his head, “Aizawa Shota.”

        The cat café was a small, square building lined with blue wooden panels. The windows glowed with a warm orange light, and the smell of java floated through the air. The interior was just as quaint, Hisashi noted as he opened the door for the other, among the table and chairs were various cat towers and potted plants. Despite its humble appearance, the café was rather busy this evening, stuffed to the brim with overworked college students and romantic hopefuls. They ordered their drinks (Aizawa ordered a black coffee and Hisashi ordered an espresso with extra foam) and made their way to a small round table in the back corner. 

        “I just want you to know that I’m married and don’t want to pursue any sort of relationship,” Aizawa began, petting a small orange tabby that somehow already made its way onto his lap.

        Hisashi balked at that, but quickly composed himself, “So why are you on Tinder? I assume you don’t take random strangers on dates for the joy of it.”

        “I’m here because my students are villain catnip, and I want to make sure they don’t get maimed while they're out and about. Especially that one,” Aizawa gestured to a table across the room from them, “Problem child seems to attract the League of Villains everywhere he goes.”

        Hisashi followed Aizawa’s gaze to the table in question and felt himself pale when he saw a familiar mop of curly green hair, his son. He swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that his estranged kid was sitting only fifty feet away. “I can understand that, but why a cat café?” he asked.

        Aizawa shrugged, “They’re on a date, plus I like cats.”

        He had to do a double take, Izuku was with a boy that had dual toned hair. A date? Seriously? He hardly approved of his son doing such a thing at his young age. Part of him wanted to walk over and drag the teen from his table and out of the café. Instead of making his internal screams external, he smiled saccharinely, “It’s rather thoughtful of you to take time out of your busy schedule for your students, I’m sure it must be hard to juggle hero work and teaching.” And rather creepy. Who pestered and surveilled teenagers in their free time? Other than Hisashi of course, but he was the exception.

        Before Aizawa could give him a response, their drinks were set in front of them. The foam on Hisashi’s espresso had been poured in the shape of a smiling cat. He had the sudden, inexplicable urge to launch it at his date and run. Instead, he took a sip, grimacing slightly. Too much sweetener. They sat in an awkward silence, Aizawa didn’t seem like one to make conversation. Somehow the man had attracted more cats to his side.

        “So you said you were married?” Hisashi asked, probing for information.

        “Mhm, my husband’s name is Hizashi. He’s kind, if a bit much sometimes.” That was an understatement, Present Mic was one of the most obnoxious heroes in the public eye, right after All Might in Hisashi’s books. More awkward silence, and then:

        “So Hisashi, what is it exactly that you do for a living?”

        He blinked, “Oh, I’m a quirk analyst,” a lie, though quirk analysis was a pivotal part of his job, it had to be with his quirk, “I’ve just always found them interesting. It’s like how inventors feel about electronics, I just can’t help but want to pull them apart and see how they work.” Hisashi’s grin turned almost predatory at that, and Aizawa tensed. “The first quirk I ever analyzed was a neon quirk, the holder’s sweat glowed in the dark, they were like a walking, talking glow stick.”

        Hisashi rambled about quirks for a while (this was the first he’d spoken so much in a long time and the words seemed to gush out of him, like he had to pay some sort of deficit), and Aizawa eventually cut him off, amusement dancing in his dark eyes, “You know, you remind me of one of my students, he’s just as obsessed with quirks as you are.”

        He visibly perked up at that, “Really? It’s rare to find someone who shares my interest, most find it creepy.”

        The underground hero nodded, then glanced at the clock, “I should probably get going, my students have already left and I’m expected at the police precinct soon.”

        Hisashi nodded, reaching to take a sip of his espresso but finding it already drained, “This was fun, even if it didn’t go anywhere,” perhaps this night could be salvaged and still give him some sort of in, “Would you like to catch a drink again some time?”

        “No.”

-@~*^*~@-

        His next date was considerably more disastrous than the first. He had matched with a young woman named Iwata Setsuko. His date in question had admittedly plain features, was a single mother with three children, and looked chronically stressed. She had taken time off from her crammed schedule to have dinner with him at a small Italian restaurant. The restaurant was small, quiet, and made to resemble a courtyard in an Italian villa. At the moment, she sat across from him in the cramped restaurant, honey eyes nervously peering at him from a veil of straight mousy brown hair. Iwata worked as a nurse practitioner in a nearby hospital, and seemed impressed by his extensive medical knowledge. She presumed him to be a doctor of some sort, and while inaccurate he could become one easily with a few forged documents if this proved fruitful.

        Throughout the meal, she hardly spoke, leaving him to fill the silence with spun tales and falsehoods. He was telling her a particularly interesting anecdote about South Korea when she abruptly cut him off, “You’ve been lying to me all night.” Fuck.

        Hisashi tried to laugh it off, “Now what reason would I have to lie to you?”

        “My quirk allows me to read the vital signs of anyone close to me, I don’t know why you’d lie but I can tell you’re full of it.”

        His eyes widened, “That’s a rather interesting quirk you have, it’s certainly perfect for your field-”

        “Oh shove it, I know you’re deflecting,” She dismissed, a fire lit in her eyes that was previously absent.

        He felt something flutter in his chest, he liked a woman with spark, it’s why he’d married Inko after all, and he couldn’t help but think of all the possibilities and applications her quirk had, and how helpful it could be for his goals. So caught up in his fantasies of world domination, was he, that he ignored whatever was coming out of her mouth. It probably was as helpful as white noise, as most mundane people’s words were, “You’re one of the only ones whose ever seen right through me,” he said with a widening grin.

        “What?” She replied, confused.

        “You know, with you at my side, we could have everything you can dream of! Think of the possibilities as the world crumbles at our feet-!”

        He was cut off by Iwata, who was shoving breadsticks into her purse, “Look, it’s been fun but I have to go, my kids are waiting for me at home.”

        “Think about my offer, you have my number!” he shouted to her as she rushed out the door, he glanced down at her plate, “She didn’t even finish her meal either.”

        Iwata never got back to him, and All for One, dark lord of the criminal underground, was ghosted.

-@~*^*~@-

        After another series of failed dates, Hisashi was slumped over a bar as Kurogiri, the noumu he had broken out of Tartarus for this sole purpose, awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. “Uh there, there?” he said.

        Clearly, this online dating thing was not working, “I don’t even know why I try!” All for One proclaimed dejectedly, “Clearly the public cannot handle their awe of me.”

        If Kurogiri had a face beyond a pair of glowing yellow eyes, he would have winced, “Right, well, sir, if it’s my place to give you advice I’d like to do so.”

        Hisashi gestured vaguely with his hands, indicating that the sentient black mist should continue.

        “Why don’t you go back to what you had before, you were married were you not?” Kurogiri suggested, “Surely it can’t be that hard.”

        The supervillain lifted his head from the table, looking as if Kurogiri had just handed him the world, “You know what, you’re right, why don’t I re-enter their lives? They’re mine after all.” All for One stood up, a little drunk, “Kurogiri, if you had a mouth, I could kiss you.”

        “Please don’t, sir.”

        A few hours later, at some ungodly time in the night, Hisashi was standing outside of the Midoriya apartment, boom box perched on his shoulder, blasting romance music like he was in a shitty 90s romcom. He was oblivious to the lights that began to turn on in windows up and down the street. Using a quirk to artificially project his voice, he shouted, “Inko baby, take me back, I’ll be better I promise!”

        Soon he saw an uncharacteristically glaring, plump face in the window. Inko popped it open, slipper in hand, “Hisashi, I swear to god, if you don’t leave right now I’m calling the police, do you know what time it is?!”

        “Time doesn’t matter in the face of love,” he replied, “Inko I-” Hisashi was cut off as a slipper hit him square in the face.

A/N:  I hope this at least got you all to laugh, feel free to leave a comment! Happy holidays everyone, I should have the next chapter of Genesis posted on Monday.

AO3

[whereisten]

Gentle Monsters

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 Intro | Part 6 (End)

Summary: After a night of running from a wild animal, you meet Johnny, the owner of the conservatory greenhouse you accidentally broke into. Johnny is kind and sweet—a little too sweet.

Genre and Warnings: angst, fluff, a little horror, like two curse words.

Word count: 3.4K

[2:36 A.M]

You ran fast, brushing past the empty and dark stores beside you. You hoped you could find someone, anyone that would be out here on these lonely streets at this time. Anyone that could confirm what you saw was real. The cold night air sent sharp pains through your lungs as you breathed heavily. You tried to focus on what was in front of you, not what was chasing you.

The full moon shined brightly above you, nearly drowning out the street lamps that dimly lit the sidewalks.

Everything happened so fast. One moment you were walking home from the bar you worked at, the next second you felt the strange presence of something—otherworldly. You couldn’t explain it. It’s figure was huge, steps heavy, stench foul. It was by itself, but it growled multiple voices.

You were speed-walking as it followed every turn you took; trying not to freak yourself out because surely, there was a reasonable explanation. You wanted to turn and head back to the bar where your coworkers were still cleaning things up, but you couldn’t.

You swore you could feel it’s hot breath on the back of your neck before you bolted. You glanced back to see an extremely tall figure, maybe 8-feet tall, fully covered in dark hair with glowing red eyes and sharp teeth. It looked like a wolf, but stooped on its hind legs.

A werewolf? Impossible, this isn’t fucking Twilight, they don’t exist.

You thought to yourself, and yet, there it was, increasing its speed as it followed you.

You knew you were tired, but even your sleep deprived brain couldn’t have conjured up a visual so realistic.

You don’t know how long you ran for, but you were finally able to distance yourself from it. You still felt you had to keep going. You silently thanked your father for forcing you to join the track-and-field team in high school.

The city streets ended and soon you were running in a large field of grass. You didn’t hear it following you anymore. You turned around and saw nothing but the bleak streetlights that were so far away now. You slowed your pace and resumed walking speed. You started to cry. “What the fuck” you whispered to yourself, doubling over to catch your breath.

You didn’t know what to do, you couldn’t head back in the direction of your apartment. What if it would follow you home? Your mind ran wild with thoughts of what to do. There was no one to turn to, no one would be in these fields at this time, and there were no houses in sight.

You stopped walking. “Where’s my phone?” You fumbled around in your bag and patted all your pockets, no phone. It must have fell out of your back pocket when you were running. “Shit.”

You looked up and put your hands on the back of your head. You were so tired, you just wanted to go home and sleep, but tonight wasn’t like any other night and now you had no phone. There was no one to help you. You were alone.

That’s when you saw it. The shiny glasshouse in front you glistened in the moonlight, it was stunning, you had never seen anything like it before. You walked towards it, hoping that it would be open, maybe you could crash there for the night. The “thing” wouldn’t be able to see your body amongst all the plants and trees within the greenhouse.

Johnny’s Conservatory Greenhouse

A sign read out from above in large cursive writing.

“Johnny..I’m sorry but I’m gonna need this for tonight.” You whispered to yourself as you tried to pull the door open. The lock was flimsy and broke once you pulled with little force. Perhaps it was only there to deter people.

You closed the door behind you and quietly walked in. You looked around. It was beautiful, even in the dark. The plants and vines were green and lively, a great contrast to the dark and polluted streets you lived and worked in. You never made your way to the outskirts where some nature was still being preserved. The owner clearly took care of it.

It was quiet, only the sound of your own breathing and a small waterfall in the distance filled the air.

You continued to walk and eventually found a bench in the center, only a few feet away from the waterfall. You plopped yourself down and sighed. “Finally.”

You placed your bag down beside you and laid down.

I’ll just stay here for a few hours, it’ll be safer to go home during the day.

You thought to yourself, in hopes that you’d find your phone in the daytime.

Your mind still ran wild, you were trying to find an explanation for what happened, an explanation for what that thing could possibly be. It didn’t make sense and you were shaking, unable to calm yourself. You turned over on your side and felt a tear run down, you were so confused and scared.

You rested your head on your folded arms and slowly drifted off into sleep, comforted by the sounds of the waterfall.

You were too deep in sleep to feel a soft blanket cover you. It was 5:30 A.M now, the full moon was gone and the sun started to rise. He watched you as you slept quietly, your hair and skin looked so soft, your lips were in a cute, pouty shape, the long lashes that sprung out from your eyes grazed your round cheeks. But your face was drained. You were like a scared child, unable to find comfort in their surroundings. He wanted to hug you and make you feel like you were safe, that you would be okay now in his conservatory.

The glare from the sun and glass above you woke you up. It shined down on you, allowing heat to finally touch your skin. You could barely open your eyes, everything was so bright. You sat up and rubbed your eyes. You looked around you and felt all the memories come back once you felt the cold metal of the bench you were on.

Your heart started to race as you remembered being chased by that animal. You panted, looking around you to find a soft brown blanket that had covered your body. With a confused expression, you lifted the blanket off of your body.

“Where did you come from?” You quietly asked.

Then, a voice startled you.

“I thought you might be cold in here” a male voice from behind you cut in.

You sprung up from the bench and turned to see a tall man in a brown sweater and black jeans. His brown hair covered his forehead and his face was soft. He gave you a small smile. He held two coffee mugs in his large hands.

“I-I’m so sorry—“ you started and turned to gather your things.

“No, no worries. This place..loves to see new people” he gave a light chuckle before walking over and handing you one of the mugs he held.

You looked up at him, he was so welcoming and warm. “Are you J-?” You started.

“Johnny? Yes, since 1995” he laughed. “Here, it looks like you’ve had a rough night.”

He stood right across from you now.

You looked up at him and smiled.

“I’m-I shouldn’t have crashed here..it’s just..there was something—actually, never mind. I’m sorry” you gave an awkward smile and took the mug, looking into it and hesitantly raising it to your nose.

The black liquid gave off the familiar smell of coffee.

“it’s just medium roast coffee” he laughed.

“Oh, thank you” you smiled and raised it to your lips. You shouldn’t have taken a drink from a stranger, but he was so warm and nice, it was just coffee and nothing more. And he wasn’t upset with you for crashing his amazing conservatory and staying there like it was a motel.

“What time is it?” You asked as you rubbed your temple.

“It’s 7 o’ clock” he answered quietly.

“Would you like to sit with me? I’d love to know how someone like you ended up here in the middle of the night” He asked, motioning towards the back of the conservatory where tables and chairs were set.

“I don’t open this place to the public until 8, so we have time to sit—and talk if you want to.” His voice was soft and sweet, it lured you in.

How could anyone say no to this soft giant. His brown eyes watched you carefully, glancing from your furrowed eyebrows to the same lips he watched earlier.

You wanted to leave and head back to your place. You wanted to find your phone, but you couldn’t be rude to this man. He wasn’t even upset with you.

The least you could do is explain why you were in his place.

You nodded and watched as he turned to head back to the cafe area.

“This place..your place, it’s beautiful” you said as you sat down on the cushioned chair. He sat down across from you at a small, round table with a colored mosaic of glass on top.

Everything in the conservatory was detailed exquisitely. You wondered how a young man like him could’ve thought of the intricacies of beauty in this place.

“Thank you” he smiled, his eyes squinted and his smiled widened. He was so bright, you were truly surprised by how gorgeous he was as well. His skin was fair and clear, no pores in sight. You hoped you would get the chance to ask about his skincare routine.

“It was my grandmother’s. She took care of it while she raised me. I would run around, knocking into vases and falling into the water as a child. I used to make her so mad” he laughed as he looked at the waterfall behind you.

“She passed away when I turned 20 and I decided to take care of it, and open it to the public.” His eyes drifted down to the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss” you said. “She raised you well, it’s really amazing..we need more beauty like this in this city” you smiled as you looked up at the green vines that hung above you.

He turned to you, watching as your eyes glanced over the marvelous glass walls of his conservatory. The sunlight brought out the alluring color of your eyes, and the rainbow-colored reflection from the glass shined down on your delicate skin.

You looked at him and caught him staring. You quickly looked down to the coffee to avoid his eyes. A moment of silence rested between you two and you realized you couldn’t avoid the topic much longer.

“I work—at a bar in the city” you started, taking a large gulp.

Johnny leaned forward slightly and nodded when you glanced up at him with worried eyes.

“I was heading home—and someone—some thing started following me” You whispered, trying to hold back tears as the fear you felt just hours ago crept back in.

“It was..big..and fast, it growled and had large fangs..it was like..some kind of monst—” you managed to mutter out with watery eyes as you looked into your coffee cup.

You looked up at Johnny who watched you with concerned eyes.

“I-I’m sorry, forget it, I don’t know what I saw” you shook your head. “I sound ridiculous, I’m sure..I was just seeing things in the dark” you shrugged your shoulders and gave a quiet laugh to cover your panic.

“No need to apologize, I believe you..” Johnny reached out and placed his hand on your trembling one. You looked down at it, appreciating the warmth of his touch.

You gave a small smile and nodded. He believed you, this stranger believed you.

“Thank you.” You nodded.

He drew back and smiled. “Weird things happen here. I have no doubt that you saw something last night” Johnny took a sip and placed his cup down. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“But—there are many..irresponsible and—bored kids out there, maybe they were trying out a new Halloween costume?” He leaned back in his chair and said as he pursed his lips and tilted his head, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

You shuddered a bit, feeling the small hope you gained disappear.

“It wasn’t..like that at all. These kids aren’t 8, 9 feet tall” you motioned with your hands. “I—I can’t explain it.” You looked up at him.

He was silent, observing you. His eyes calmed you down, it was as if he was silently telling you to doubt what you saw. And it was working.

“But maybe you’re right. Just some annoying ass kids” you laughed and shook your head again. Johnny smiled again, and you felt your heart weaken. There was something so kind and tender about him. He was as luminescent and welcoming as his conservatory. He was built and strong, his arms flexed when he put them over his chest, but his touch was gentle.

You laughed. “I’m sure I sound crazy to you.” You panicked as you second guessed yourself, your chest started to rise and fall rapidly, you feared you may have a panic attack at any moment.

Johnny furrowed his brows and shook his head. “No, no it’s understandable. You were tired and it was dark out, who knows what kind of wild things people do in this city.” He stood up and reached out for your hand.

“Come on, lets take a walk, you need some air” he gave a small smile.

You looked up and reached out to take his hand.

You walked around the greenhouse and marveled at the unique kinds of flowers, herbs and mosses you had no idea existed.

“This is called Nepenthes attenboroughii.” Johnny said as he pointed to a deep red plant shaped like a pitcher with a smooth edge. You reached out to touch it while his hand still held your other hand softly.

He tapped your hand gently with his long index finger.

“Don’t.” He quietly commanded. You looked up at him.

“It’s one of the few carnivorous plants left on Earth” he said as he looked down at the beautiful plant. “It eats the rats that slip out from the city and into the fields so they don’t destroy the herbs.”

“Really?” Your eyes widened, shocked that such a dangerous but rare plant would be in these walls.

Johnny nodded.

“It’s gentle and soft on the outside, it appears to be harmless, but it’s really a monster” Johnny shifted his gaze from the plant to you as his tone lowered. Something about the way he looked at you after he said that statement sent shivers down your spine.

He flashed you a quick smile as if he sensed that you were frightened by the plant.

“Come on, there’s more.”

He led you through the rest of the large greenhouse, never letting go of your hand. You didn’t want him too. You felt safe and content around him. He was caring and paid attention to so much detail. He excitedly explained everything to you and even memorized the Latin names of his plants.

“You’re probably like ‘this guy is so weird, what the hell’ and you’re right” he laughed as he looked at the floor. “These flowers and shrubs..they’re my babies” he gave you a bright smile again, his eyes crinkling as he laughed out.

You smiled. “I don’t think you’re weird at all. I like this, you actually care about something.” You wouldn’t tell him but you secretly loved the way the Latin effortlessly flowed from his mouth in a seductive tone.

You looked to your right to find the plant that looked like big red lips. You’d never seen them in real life before, only through cartoons. “The lip flower!” You said excitedly.

“Ah yes, everyone loves this one, the psychotria elata. It looks like this.” Johnny turned to you and pursed his full lips to mimic the plant. You both bursted out in laughter.

An hour went by quickly as the two of you walked about the glasshouse and bonded over memories. Johnny told you that he rarely went into the city, he hated how gloomy it was. He felt humanity was becoming more superficial and mean, and that the nursery kept him kind and human.

You felt his eyes on you as you reached out to feel the bright, colorful flowers above you.

His eyes watched your mouth as is parted slightly. He knew you were infatuated with the beauty of his flowers.

His eyes drifted down to your exposed neck and collar bone. He had smelled countless flowers before, but none smelled as good as you did. He wanted to touch you, to touch your warm skin, to feel it against his.

Johnny looked at the watch on his wrist. “Oh..it’s almost time.” He said sadly. You guessed that it was almost time for him to open the conservatory to others.

“Does it get pretty busy here?” You asked him.

He nodded and looked down at you with a sad expression. “Busy enough for two workers to always be here. We have to keep the place clean and the plants hydrated. It’s a difficult job, but I love it.”

You nodded and exhaled.

“I just wish—I could show you the rest, there are many more species to see” he gave a small smile, his eyes softened as they looked into yours.

“I want to see the rest also, I’ll be back and I promise not to break in next time.” You both laughed.

“But I should go. My roommates are probably wondering what happened to me last night” you laughed. You finally let go of his hand to pull your bag onto your shoulder. He slowly put his hand to his side, obviously saddened that you let go.

“Well, I have to admit..I’m kinda happy you found—or well, broke into my place..it’s been a while since I’ve seen such a pretty face around here. It’s selfish of me to feel this way, but it’s true, I’m sorry” Johnny laughed, running a hand through his thick hair.

You blushed. “Thank you, I really didn’t think it through..I was so scared”

“I know..and I’m sorry you felt that way” Johnny took a step forward.

His skin glowed under the clear sunlight that poured in through the glass. You would love to have someone like him in your life. He was calming and nice, unlike the city people you dealt with. The way he spoke was attractive to you. He really knew what he was talking about and he touched you gently, unlike any other man.

“I’d love to visit again, maybe we can have lunch or s-something” you stumbled over your words, a bit flustered by his deep brown eyes again.

“I’d love that” he smiled wide coming closer to you and leaning down. He held your chin in his hand, and looked into your eyes carefully. He was intoxicating and his touch sent sparks through your skin.

He was a stranger, but you felt like you’d known him for years. You nodded as he stared at your lips and placed a hand on your waist to pull you you closer to his body. He moved his face downward to yours, but stopped once his soft, plump lips were within centimeters of your own.

He then placed a bright pink flower behind your ear. His thumb softly caressed your ear as he looked into your eyes, not letting them go for a second.

“It was nice to meet you, y/n.” He stopped and let your chin go. His bright smile returned as he pulled away. You exhaled, not realizing that you had been holding your breath.

You wanted to feel his smooth lips on yours so badly, but it was too soon. You smiled and nodded as you gathered your things. “I should get going, I have to find my phone too.”

“That reminds me.” Johnny walked to the back of the conservatory as you waited at the door.

You watched him as he quickly walked up to you, his long legs allowing him to reach you within seconds.

“You dropped this last night” Johnny smirked as he held out a black, rectangular object for you to take.

Your eyes widened when you realized what it was.

You looked up at him with a confused expression.

It was then that you realized that you never did tell him your name.

Your eyes fluttered back down to his outstretched hand as you took your phone from him.

“Wh-“ You started but he interrupted you.

“Stay safe, y/n, I’ll see you again soon” Johnny winked as he opened the door of the conservatory to let you out.

You quickly walked out, daring not to glance behind you as you walked away.

————————————————

a/n: the next full moon occurs on June 17th..be careful out there :)

[deepdisireslonging]

Family Found Part 21: Your Catastrophe

It’s the first week as an official co-manager of Raw with Baron Corbin. That would be fine… if he wasn’t rewriting everything the Reader had planned for the show.

Warnings/Promises: wrestling violence, Baron being a jerk

Word Count: 1864

Note: Again, super rushed, sorry. This week has been hard, but I’m hoping to get back into the swing of things over the next couple of days. And I am super excited for what I’ve got in store for TLC. If WWE doesn’t put it out there first. Which is seriously my biggest fear right now since what I’ve been writing (and planned months ago; i.e. Drew’s test of loyalties last week) has been so close to what has been actually happening on the show. Keep your fingers crossed that I can keep giving you guys unique content. Happy reading! Any and all feedback super appreciated!

Part 1: Welcome to the Team

Part 20: Handling It

Monday Night Raw – October 1, 2018 – Seattle, WA

No Way Jose’s peppy music started the night. He danced out with his conga line in tow, ready for his chance at participating in the TLC Intercontinental Championship fatal-four-way. He made his way around the ring and then danced in the center of it. Just as he finished, there was a record scratch followed by a bit of silence. Jose grinned as the stage lit up with Dolph Ziggler’s pink and star-studded entrance. Dolph came out, flanked by Drew McIntyre. They gave each other a fist bump before the Scottish Psychopath left, rushing to leave before the conga line could catch up with him.

The match was fast paced. Dolph’s speed and Jose’s sense of rhythm made for some interesting combinations of attacks and reversals. The longer it went on, the more Dolph became agitated. So much so, that he eventually went for a steel chair.

He swung it wildly while the referee stayed between him and Jose. The ref bounced off the canvas as Dolph shoved him to one side. As the chair descended onto Jose’s shoulders and back, the bell rang for the disqualification. He continued the assault until Jose stopped moving, whether from true injury or the illusion of one to end the fight. Dolph dropped the chair in one corner and froze. With a growl, he realized what he had just thrown away.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Baron Corbin walked out onto the stage. “Considering the circumstances, this match is still not finished.” Jose’s head wearily popped up. “It is going to start with a no disqualification stipulation. Ref, if you would.” He waited for the signal and the bell, then smiled.

Jose wobbled to his feet. Dolph picked the chair up again and swung. The first one was easily avoided, the second one not so much as Jose was too slow in seeing the chair approaching his stomach. He bent forward, then arched to stretch out the pain. Dolph used the stretch to use a Zig-Zag, winning the match.

***

Baron walked backstage and nearly ran into you. “What was that?” you demanded. “There was no call for that. Dolph cheated and that should have been it.”

He moved to push by you, but you stood in the way. He sighed. “You need to leave your personal vendetta against Dolph out of this. It’s up to us to make fair decisions and to reopen opportunities when they’ve been cut short.”

“Fair? It what you did had been fair, all of the matches would be no DQ.”

“That’s a great idea.” He heavily dropped his hand onto your shoulder, ignoring how you immediately pushed it away. “I’m glad you thought of it. I’ll make sure those rules are in place for Seth Rollin’s match against Jinder Mahal next week.” He turned with a short laugh.

“What? No, Corbin!” You had to fight not to stomp your foot like a child. No matter how much his retreating form irritated you.

***

There was another round planned for a spot in the women’s number one contender’s match at TLC. Natalya had left it up to you to make sure the right people made it to the match. It wasn’t hard considering Ruby Riott had already been planned to fight Nia Jax. What seemed to always be out of your reach was the Riott Squad’s ability to slip past security and make it to ringside.

Nia wasn’t worried. She wanted her title back and she was going to get it, no matter how many women she had to cut through. In no time at all, she had the upper hand and Ruby had retreated to a corner to whisper with her friends. Nia grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back into the center of the ring. Out of sight, Liv Morgan and Sarah Logan circled the ring. The ref was too busy making sure Nia let go of Ruby’s hair to notice as they crept onto the apron.

With a series of kicks, Ruby was able to get away and cry foul enough to hoard the ref’s attention. The Squad attacked. Once Nia was incapacitated enough, Ruby’s injured magically healed and she as able to surge back into the fray. A three-count later, Ruby Riott was officially another member of the TLC fatal-four-way. Only two more matches to go.

***

Backstage, You followed the sound of their cackling and blocked their path before they could flip the clipboard of a techie. “That was low, even for you.” You ignored Baron’s heavy footsteps coming to a stop behind you. “And I didn’t think you would want an outcome like this. You’re a great wrestler Ruby, but we can’t see your full potential if you keep letting your Squad intervene.”

Ruby shared a look with her girls and smiled with a shrug. “What’s done is done. Unless tonight is going to be a night of do-overs. Even then, I’d still win.” She cocked her head. “And my potential is just fine, for those who know where to look. It’s a simple preservation of energy. Squad or no squad, tonight proves I could have beaten Nia for the title.”

Baron sniggered, “I have to agree.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, glancing over your shoulder.

He mocked motioned that he was hurt. “That’s no way to talk to your co-manager.”

“If my co-manager keeps acting like this,” you said, gritting your teeth, “he’s going to mysteriously go missing.” The Riott Squad gasped and huddled together as if watching a drama, minus the popcorn.

“Are you threat-“

“Ruby,” you said, turning your back on Baron, “I am going to let you stay in the fatal-four-way. Not because I think you earned it, but because I know that your actions are going to come full circle, with or without my interceding. Congratulations on your win tonight.”

The Riott Squad left in a chorus of giggles, obviously not perturbed by what you said.

***

Later that night, Dean and Roman had a tag match against the Ascension. All four of them were focused on their opposing forces. Roman was constantly cheering Dean on, and Dean was bouncing around the ring in a moody way. While his moves were just a powerful as normal, they were sloppy. Like he had something else on his mind. Roman didn’t seem to care, if he noticed at all. Dean was back and they had a match, and he was going to watch his back.

Viktor was suited to fight Dean. His lithe form made sure the movements were quick and surprising. Konnor was more suited to fight Roman. While they were not the same height, nor did they have the same strength, Konnor kept Roman on his toes. Both teams were made of battle brothers, willing to do anything for each other. Apparently, for the Ascension, that meant involving outside help. The sudden appearance of Jinder Mahal and Sunil Singh at ringside told the Universe that the Ascension was not going to be another squash match for the two Shield brothers.

Seth ran down to the ring, preventing Jinder from getting involved and catching Dean as Viktor threw him out of the ring. They had untangled themselves just in time to see the Ascension double-team Roman and win the pin.

The Shield took over the ring, but the damage had been done.

***

During the commercial break, Baron had made a match for the Superstar Show-Down. The battle lines drawn during the match were going to stand, including what you considered to be a strange an unnecessary alliance between Jinder and the Ascension.

This time, you were the one following Baron. And you weren’t going to mince words. “A good GM would make it a rematch just between Dean, Roman, and the Ascension. And leaving Jinder out of it.”

Baron didn’t look up from his notes. “Well, that shows how much of a terrible GM you’re going to be. That’s not how things are done around here. Especially now that I’m going to be making the majority of the matches.” He handed you the stack of papers and tapped them as if you were a secretary being given another task. Then he was gone. Again. And you were angry. Again.

You almost punched the person who tapped your shoulder. At the last second, you realized it was Mojo Rawley. “Mr. Rawley,” you puffed, relaxing yourself, “what can I do for you?”

He shuffled on his feet a little before answering. “I want a rematch with Finn Balor. It doesn’t have to be for the Universal tonight, but if I win I want to be declared the number one contender, and then get to face him in Australia.”

“I don’t know, Mojo-“

“I’ve already challenged him and he accepts as long as you clear the match.”

Compared with the rest of the night, this was probably going to be the only thing that went to plan. “Okay. You’ve got your match. Head towards Gorilla and I’ll tell Finn. Have fun.”

***

Mojo got his rematch. Well, most of it.

Kevin Owens had decided that he was not finished with Finn either. He too appeared at ringside and attempted to distract the Universal Champion. But his plan did not go as well as others had that night. Instead of giving Mojo and opening to win his contender spot, Mojo was too busy yelling at Kevin to go away. He turned around when Kevin shifted his gaze to behind him and rushed head-first into a harsh slingblade that wiped him out. Kevin watched with his hands on his head as Finn climbed to the top of the turnbuckles, then crashed down with a coup de grace.

It was a win. But not one that Finn considered wholly honorable. He helped Mojo to his feet and whispered, “you’ll get yar real re-match. Jus’ let me deal with ‘im first, yeah?” They shared a look, then slowly turned their attention to Kevin.

He nervously looked between them. To save face he began muttering about mind games. “You’re not going to always see me coming, Balor. I can promise you that.”

Finn grinned. “If ya say so. But I’ll see ya in Australia.”

Kevin made a hasty retreat while you set the match backstage.

***

He found you texting in the office and plopped down on the only chair in the room. “I think tonight went well.”

You grumbled, “I can’t say that I agree.” When Baron shrugged his shoulders, you let a tiny wave of anger rule you. “There was interference in every single match!”

“Not the first one-“

“You interfered in that one.”

“Oh, come on.” He stood. “You’re not still mad about-“

“Yes. Yes, I am.” You stepped away from him. “You know, the show would run a whole lot smoother if you would just stay out of my way.”

“You didn’t even want this job!”

“And yet here I am, cleaning up your catastrophe.” You were half a second away from finding a chair to stand on so you could glare at him properly when your phone rang.

Baron grinned as he saw who it was from. “Have fun explaining your catastrophe to Stephanie.” He continued to chuckle as you left the room.

  Part 22: A Turn of Events

Series Masterlist 

Masterlist 

Forever Tags: @blondekel77 @hallemichelles @laochbaineann @lavitabella87 @ramblingsofabourbondrinker @savmontreal @southsidebucky @tinyelfperson @zuni21798

WWE/Series Tags: @a-home-for-stray-stories @amballins-priestess @top-1-percent @mother-forker @neversatisfiedgirl @racheo91 @roman-reigns-princess @secretagentfangirl @thetherianthropydaily @wwe-smutfics @scuzmunkie @likeisaidwhatever @cait-kae @ramsaypants @sony-undead18 @brianaraydean @st4yingstrong @dopeybubbles @crystallizeme @jessica91073 @denise8691 @stalelight @kenyadakblalock @1dluver13xx @lauren-novak @lunatic-desert-child

[alliebruns-blog]

The Namibia/Panama Crossings Part Two. The Desert, Day 5

DAY 5 Conception - The wreck of the Eduard Bohlen - 9 miles (AKA Look Mum, I Crossed A Desert!)

I wake up with a HANGOVER because I am not used to drinking wine anymore. Just a baby hangover, but a baby one when you have a desert to finish crossing is still a pain in the arse. Coffee and salt tabs for breakfast plus a bit of granola - and we are off. Darren is fresh as anything, so he whizzes ahead to try and catch Dani and Jim. I realise that I am going to be alone for a lot of today. Not sure if that’s a good thing. I don't feel mentally strong, but there you go. It is what it is.  That’s life. 

It’s a grey morning and I struggle to find the footprints that Dani and Jim have left for us. The dunes have more of less flattened out now - they are more undulating than mega frustrating, and it’s cold, because we are heading to the coast - I have 2 layers on. It feels like a different life to the one we were living yesterday. I trek away on my own, with my own weird thoughts. They are thoughts of pride, mixed with the inability to accept what I have done. Feelings of ‘who the fuck cares’ and feelings that I should try and keep myself together. I want to sit and cry. 

The irony of runnable terrain when you are totally exhausted...

I trot over a small dune, and suddenly I can see and smell the sea. It’s almost too much for me to take in. It’s almost over. The smell ignites my childhood memories of holidays, and the mist is rolling in across the flat sand. It’s beautiful and bleak. 

I keep trotting on - not wanting it to end, but willing it to end at the same time. What will I do when I get to wreck? Will I cry? No, I can’t cry. I just want to cry at the moment. I am all out of snacks and everyone is ahead of me. I am last. Always last. 

Old German mining railway left to rot on the skeleton coasts salt plains

The sea is not getting any nearer, but I come over a dune towards some plains. The salt plains. They are wet and cold and salty. Do what they say on the tin. The sand drops away under my feet and it’s more like an estuary than a desert. In front of me, is what looks like water, but I have learnt not to trust the desert. Turns out that this time it IS water. My feet are very wet and my shoes are full of grit.  

Seem fine to walk on right? 

NOPE. 

The water gets deep quickly and is running fast. It has dead fish in it. It’s about calf deep now, and my radio comes into action. It’s Jim. He has already crossed it. He says it will take me 45 mins at least. I look at it, and, being mental and not being able to judge distance, think “nah, that’s ten mins”. It takes me 90 minutes to cross the fast flowing estuary and get to the support vehicle. I have no pictures or video of it, as my hands and phone were too wet and frankly, I was too exhausted to film it. 

One of the things I remember vividly about this trip is those 90 mins. It was so hard. Lifting your tired legs and feet out of wet, deep mud.  Feeling like you are going backwards, and having nobody to talk to. The support vehicle seemed like it was getting further and further away. It was horrible - really horrible. It’s something that in times of stress I will always recall. Relentless forward progress. You will get there. I stood and shouted the word ‘FUCK’ many, many times at the water. I hated it. 

Back on firmer land with unidentifiable dead shit. 

Eventually, I made it to firmer sand and got to the vehicle. I said very little to Danny and David. I wanted to change my socks - I had 3 miles to go, so really no need. I felt mental, and probably looked and talked like I was. My shoes were filled with grit and water and I did my best to dust them off. Danny and David told me it was only 5km to the end. I put my head down and started marching. And then I started to cry. 

I didn’t want to cry at the end. I wanted people to think I was cool and casual, not overwhelmed by what we had done. I don’t want people to think I am ‘girly’ or ‘weak’. So I cried on my own. the irony of this is that crying doesnt make you weak - it helps you remain strong. I know this now - I couldn’t compute it at the time.  

Vertebrae from a whales spine, the skeleton coast. 

I kept on marching, I wanted to see the things I had come to see. The whale bones that litter the skeleton coast. Old wine bottles, washed up from ships that met their fate here. I saw a lot of it. Jackals coming out of their holes to chase down baby seals. Pieces of wood and metal from vessels long gone. It was bleak, astonishing and humbling. A world lost in sand and time. 

Wine bottles in the sand 

Then, in the distance, I see it. The wreck of the Eduard Bohlen. He has sat there since 1909 when he was wrecked in thick fog. The Bohlen completely symbolises the loneliness of the Skeleton Coast. It’s remains lie rusting in the sand, partially buried. A home for jackals, bones of their prey scattered around the hull.  A symbol of the possible future of mankind. Once full of wonder and promise - now a wreck forgotten and alone. It’s a lot for me to think about. I think about how transient everything is. 

Whale bones hidden in sand

Whale bones covered in sand. Wreck of the Bohlen in the background.

I try and run, but my brain tells me no. I am done. Exhausted. I take in what is going on around me and march it in. Nothing here but the remnants of a once promising and golden future, that the people of the 1900’s would have been proud of. Old glass bottles against dead whale bones. All preserved, but meaning nothing now to the people they once meant the world to. 

But I’ve done it. I have fucking done it. I have become the first woman to cross the Namib Desert on this course from east to west. I hold it together, but the team form an arch with their hands, and I run through it. It’s over. They know I have been crying, they just don't say it. 

An emotional little Bailoid tries to hold it together...

The finish line

I am given a beer, and I take a minute to calm myself down. The feelings that I have are not really for writing here, mainly because I don't know how to write them. I am both proud and empty, I have forgotten the hard bits. 127 miles through one of the most hostile environments on earth. I am tired, so tired.  Race to the Wreck. I have done it. 

Knackered

Ghost ship.

Time is running out to leave - we have a 7 hour drive out of here. I don't have much time to get myself together. I eat lunch, have a quick run around the wreck and wish I could stay here for a week investigating it all.  We get in the fun bus. We’re all very, very quiet. The drive back is one of the scariest thing about this trip. The fun bus going up and down dunes at what feels like vertical angles is terrifying. We pass a dead humpback whale on the shoreline, more wrecks, dead seals and hopeful jackals. It takes seven hours of driving across those dunes, but then, suddenly, we hit tarmac and we are back in the human world. 

Thats what a dead humpback whale looks like then...

More wrecks on the way out

Some casual driving on the way back..... FFS

We have one night in a hotel before we fly to Cape Town the following day. This journey is not over. One days travel and then its Man vs Table Mountain (or the Cape Town Three Peaks Challenge of Death as I have snappily renamed it). And that’s before we travel to Panama to attempt the double traverse in a journey that fundamentally changes everything for me.

So thanks for reading the first instalment of this ridiculous trip. If you want more info on the race it’s on sale now and I am happy to talk to  anyone about it - just get me on the website or social media. 

Next up on the blog: Man Vs Table Mountain

THANK YOU….. 

RAT RACE CREW

Massive thanks to Jim and Rob and the whole team at Rat Race for once again trusting me to trial one of their ridiculous ideas. This is a hard event, a really hard event, but totally achievable and I am honoured to have been part of the Test Pilot team and hope I have done you proud. I would recommend this to anyone who has ever sought to do more than just a desert multi-day. This is the real deal - an immersion in culture and a world first. And it’s on sale now, kids! Click here for details.

Thanks to Dani Brodie for representing the female side of endurance challenges with me - this was her first ever multi-day event - no pressure then, throw yourself in at the deep end why not? She handled it with style and enthusiasm, and in the end totally nailed the whole route. A total pleasure to be with, she provided some much needed female company on those nights round the brai, and I am so glad I got to spend this time with her. 

Handsome Pete Rees for making me laugh with his fear of pretty much everything, his health and safety lectures (NO IBUPROFEN BEFORE FOOD!) and providing us with top notch pictures and video that makes us look a lot more epic than we actually are. 

Lastly thanks to Darren - my adventure husband. It really is like being married - we constantly bicker and don’t sleep with each other. Magical. Darren - I know I can be an annoying rat, and so thanks for putting up with me and my stupid voices.  It’s good to know I have a constant to talk to when things get horrible and your support means the world. 

SUPPORT CREW

Eternal thanks to the crew put together by David Scott who runs Sandbaggers. Without their local and in depth knowledge of the Namib, we would never have made it. Without the expertise of the drivers, the trucks could not have made the journey over the dunes, carrying our supplies, tents and bags. I’ll be honest, some of those climbs in the car were touch and go….. and who the hell tries to run over an Ostrich? MONSTERS LIKE YOU, THAT’S WHO. 

[threemonthsincapetown]

The last two weeks we've been 'on holiday' with Judith and Steve. After a few days exploring Cape Town we headed off along the coast, first stop Hermanus, where we were incredibly lucky to see whales jumping in the sea! And then on to the most southerly point in the African continent, Cape Agulhas. It was an incredible spot, where the Atlantic and Indian oceans meet, and looking out to sea from the lighthouse we were reminded of the treacherous journeys many people have made over the centuries, and also how the early settlers arrived in South Africa. We also had fish and chips on the beach at the Sea Shack in Struis Bay, sitting on wooden benches with our bare feet in the sand and watching the sun set.

The following day there was a problem with our accommodation booking so we decided to press on further along the coast and found a beautiful wooden lodge in Knysna to stay in. Last year severe forest fires swept through Knysna and we could see burnt trees at the bottom of the garden, but the house fortunately wasn't reached, although sadly over a thousand other house owners weren't so lucky. Whilst some of the vegetation needs to burn periodically to regenerate, the severe drought has exacerbated issues, and there were signs asking people to continue to use water sparingly, something we have become so used to that it seems normal now to switch the tap off whilst soaping your hands, and to not flush the toilet unless it's really necessary.

Further along the coast we then stayed over in Storms River for two nights, having a beautiful walk along a boardwalk to a series of stunning suspension bridges across the river mouth, zipwiring a series of 10 wires between tall ancient trees in the Tsitsikamma Forest, taking a Woodcutters' Journey tour into the forest and learning about the history of the area and the beautiful trees. We also hired bikes and cycled into the forest, but our original plans had to be changed when Rob and Steve saw two enormous baboons up ahead. Baboons are known for trying to steal food, especially from backpacks, and as Judith and I both had rucksacks on we stopped to deliberate about whether or not to continue until we heard rustling in the undergrowth just ahead, which helped us to make up our minds and we turned tail and cycled rather quickly 5 kilometres up a rather steep hill!! Having met some other people on our ascent, they told us to take a different path and visit the Big Tree instead. It's only about 500 metres along the road at the end of this path, we were told, but what they forgot to tell us was that the road was the N2 motorway!!! I wouldn't recommend cycling in a storm drain by the side of a motorway, even if it was only for 500 metres, but we lived to tell the tale and the Big Tree was amazing, standing many metres tall.

Then came two nights in Addo Elephant Park. It's hard to find the words to describe the amazing variety of animals we saw, including hundreds of elephants, two lions, buffalo, warthogs, zebra and many different Buck, including the absolutely magnificent kudu. Watching the elephants playing down by the waterhole just inches from our car was a truly amazing experience, as was sleeping in a log cabin, and Rob and Steve braaing supper for us one evening.

Moving on from Addo we had a long drive through the semi-arid Karoo, with nothing but scrubland, semi-desert and mountains for mile upon mile. After stopping off at the little village of Aberdeen for lunch, Steve drove us 147kms along a very straight road with barely a house or other road in sight! Arriving eventually at the barren Karoo national park, we were once again surrounded by mountains, and our cottage was just one of about 20 nestled in a valley with absolutely spectacular views. We went out on a night game drive and were fortunate to see another lion, many Buck, zebra, jackals, ostrich and three brown hyenas (which the ranger told us he had not seen for two years and was amazed to see that evening!)

Continuing our journey through the Karoo, we once again drove through miles of dry barren land, eventually reaching a turnoff to Matjiesfontein, our next overnight stop. Our friend, Scott, had recommended we stop off there and it was a delightful place. For those of you familiar with the Beamish Museum in the north east of the U.K., it was like staying there, or being on a film set! The village was set up in the 1900s as a stopping off point for train travellers to get refreshment whilst their train was refuelled, and it has been preserved in its original state, complete with old petrol pumps, bank, Masonic hall and hotel. We were treated to a ten minute tour in an old London double decker bus, and saw the dilapidated cricket pitch where the first international match between South Africa and England took place, ending up in the village pub for a singalong round the piano before dinner!!!

After our nostalgic night's stay, we pushed on to our final destination, Franschhoek in the Cape winelands region, moving from barren landscape to more fertile land. There we visited the Huguenot museum, learning about French Protestants becoming refugees and coming out to the Cape and settling on wine farms, many of which still have French sounding names. Well, you can't stay in the winelands and not try the wine, so we booked onto a cycling tour and visited three boutique wine farms, sampling lovely wines and also olives and olive oil. And the following day Rob and Steve visited the Franschhoek motor museum and all of us visited Babylonstoren gardens.

In our ten day trip we visited many different places in the Western and Eastern Capes - coastal areas, forests, stunning mountains, the semi-arid Karoo, the lush wine growing region .... It's been amazing and humbling. The beauty and diversity of this country is stunning!

Back in Pinelands, Elaine cooked us a wonderful meal and it was great to sit round the table and share together on Steve and Judith's final evening.

And on Wednesday morning the four of us went into town for a Cape Malay cookery workshop with Faeeza in the BoKaap. We had such fun and amazed ourselves by making samoosas, roti, chicken curry, chilli bites and sambal, and they tasted delicious when we sat down to eat them afterwards!

It's been a great holiday, and, like our other guests before them, I think Steve and Judith have gone home for a rest, but I hope they've enjoyed the travels as much as I did. I certainly won't forget our adventure in a hurry.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE TROUBLE WITH THE STARTUP GROWTH

New York or LA. It was no coincidence. I'll try not bringing books on some future trip. Need for structure I'm told there are people who do. For most of the audience seemed to be synonymous with quiet, so I didn't do it. The danger here is that you have to select 20 players. I know are programmers. If you can develop technology. And this turns out to be as true in a hundred years.

As technologies improve, each generation can do things that would be illegal otherwise. Periods and commas are constituents if they occur between two digits. The reason we tell founders is not to try hard enough.1 You can't make a list of n elements.2 So have we just shown, by reductio ad absurdum, that it's false that economic inequality should be decreased? I have not yet seen evidence that seemed to me full of random stuff. There are few corporations in which it would be hard for anyone to stop them in order to keep search broken, it makes me really want to know what languages will be like in a hundred years.3 Startups prosper in some places and not others. Even the most radically open-minded of us mostly do that. And when you discover a competitor with the sort of person who has them.4 In an earlier essay I said that upset him: that startups would do better to go off and work with a small group of other ambitious people. You can mitigate this with subsidies at the bottom and taxes at the top are grabbing an increasing fraction of the nation's income—so much smaller that all the rules are different.5

How can you manipulate data without doing pointer arithmetic? So any difference between what people want. When you raise a lot of lines have nothing on them but a delimiter or two. That doesn't feel right. I think it can scale all the way to find or design the best language is to be something that is going to read a description of Y Combinator that said Y Combinator does seed funding for startups. I don't like to admit it, but if I were choosing now that's still the one I'd pick. The negotiation never stops till the closing.

As with the question of cofounders, the real lesson here is to start startups, and it probably had something of the effect that parents hope children's books have in making people behave better. It's a general historical trend. And yet those who dislike the term are probably right, because if it means what I think it could give you an edge to understand the underlying principles. Could a programming language is how well it achieves its purpose, then the measure of the relative power of programming languages is more like the rate of income tax, the more you stay pointed in the same direction.6 It would work for a while, and then sell at the top, by underpaying their top management. Several of the most important principles in Silicon Valley don't seem to be taking their time.7 Is the right answer for dealing with fly balls. Anything that is supposed to double every eighteen months seems likely to run up against some kind of fundamental limit eventually. General Motors.

Google, or they'll see through you in a way that's incompatible with this curve.8 If you'd asked most 40 year olds in 2004 whether they'd like to publish their lives semi-publicly on the Internet in 20 years, and it hasn't affected programming practice much so far. In fact, getting a normal job may actually make you less able to pass costs on to customers and thus less willing to overpay for labor.9 We may have democracy, or we may have wealth concentrated in the hands of a few big blocks whose relationships were negotiated in back rooms by a handful of deals a year and they don't spend a lot of external evidence that benevolence works. Find something that's missing in your own country. And barring financial catastrophe, I think it may be, in certain specific moments like your family, this month a fixed amount of deal flow, and that people should work for another company for a few seconds I realized this when I read an interview with Joe Kraus, the co-founder of Excite.10 When a friend of mine said, Most VCs can't do anything that would be popular but seem hard to make something great and not worry too much about the business model, at least by their standards.11

Some kinds of waste really are disgusting. Once you're allowed to do that is not, at least for me, its main value.12 We could see the problem was intermittent. So one way to make a startup succeed—if you avoid every cause of failure, you succeed—and that's too big a question to answer on the fly. In the worst case takes a year rather than a weekend.13 In a specialized society, most of which fail, and one of the characters on a TV show was starting a startup were easy, everyone would do it.14 In languages, as in every other language. Lisp. But we can't start from the symptom and hope to fix the underlying causes. A round? And one of the O'Reilly people that guy looks just like Tim. It was a kind of shorthand: money is a huge time sink—more work, probably, than the startup itself.

But until this does start to happen, and arrange to be standing there when it does. In fact, one strategy I recommend to people who need a new idea is not merely ten people, but ten people like you. In that respect the Cold War teaches the same lesson as World War II, and the problems you understand best are your own.15 A company that an angel is willing to put $50,000 into at a valuation of a million can't take $6 million from VCs at that valuation. Free free If you do that, you get to a pretty big opportunity. So in effect what's happened is that a restrictive language is one that isn't succinct enough, and when it suddenly drops, you sell. We now have several examples to prove that startups don't need to market themselves to investors because they invest their own. What's not a theory is the converse: if you're trying to stop doing it, but now we advise founders to vest so there will be more like being able to pick winners. It's just something we use to move wealth around.16

Notes

MSFT, having sold all my shares earlier this year.

If you look at what Steve Jobs tried to raise money? The real problem is not just the kind of organization for that might produce the next downtick it will thereby expose it to competitive pressure. A good programming language ought to be a quiet contentment.

You owe them such updates on your way up into the subject of wealth for society.

The angels had convertible debt with a wink, to get only in startups tend to become a function of the movie Dawn of the hugely successful startups have over established companies is 47. Do not finance your startup with credit cards. Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston.

If you're good you'll have to want them; you have to preserve their wealth by forbidding the export of gold or silver. He did eventually graduate at about 26. That's the trouble with fleas, they may introduce startups they like the increase in trade you always feel you should never sell i.

What's the connection?

It doesn't take a meeting with a real idea that evolves naturally, and everyone's used to wonder if they'd survived. When you're starting a startup with debt is usually slow growth or excessive spending rather than doing a bad idea. If you want as an example of computer security, and that's much harder to fix once it's big, plus they are within any given time I thought there wasn't, because even if they could bring no assets with them. Apparently someone believed you have to mean starting a business, or can be said to have been truer to the size of a startup, both of which he can be said to have more money.

Http://doingbusiness. Someone proofreading a manuscript could probably starve the trolls of the big winners are all about to give each customer the impression that the lies people told 100 years.

The proportions of OSes are: the resources they expend on the web have sucked—. If you freak out when people are immune to the average NBA player's salary at the lack of transparency.

Unless we mass produce social customs. But if you're measuring usage you need to be secretive, because they could probably starve the trolls of the most common recipe but not in 1950 something one could argue that the VC. You'd think they'd have taken one of the 70s, moving to Monaco would only give you 11% more income, they did that they'd really be a win to do, I'll have people nagging me for features.

Why Startups Condense in America. Hackers don't need empathy to design new languages.

We care about Intel and Microsoft, would increase the size of the magazine they'd accepted it for you. They don't know enough about big markets, why didn't the Industrial Revolution was one of them.

The mystery comes mostly from the most difficult part for startup founders tend to become addictive. This is everyday life in Palo Alto to have gotten where they all sit waiting for the others to act against their own interest.

But it was raise after Demo Day pitch, the increasing complacency of managements.

But he got there by another path. Philadelphia is a function of revenues, and those are writeoffs from the moment; if you were going to work for us!

When governments decide how to be actively curious. And they tend to be low. They assumed that their system can't be buying users; that's the situation you find yourself in when so many people mistakenly think it was the recipe: someone guessed that there may be somewhat higher, even thinking requires control of scarce resources, because by definition if the fix is at pains to point out, First Round Capital is closer to a later Demo Day.

Thanks to Chip Coldwell, Jackie McDonough, Sam Altman, Guy Steele, and Steve Huffman for sparking my interest in this topic.

[magzoso-tech]

New Post has been published on https://magzoso.com/tech/deciding-how-much-equity-to-give-your-key-employees/

Deciding how much equity to give your key employees

Lewis Hower Contributor

Lewis Hower connects Silicon Valley Bank and VC/startup communities as a Managing Director with SVB Startup Banking.

More posts by this contributor

Manage your angel investors, or they’ll manage you

Anu Shukla had found the perfect VP of Engineering to help her build her latest startup, a company called RewardsPay. By that point, she had founded or cofounded several venture-backed startups (she’s up to five). The standard, she knew, was a roughly 1.5% to 2% stake for a key employee at the executive level.

But Shukla knew sometimes you need to give up more to get the right person. “At that point, there wasn’t much cash in the company,” Shukla says of RewardsPay, the company she founded in 2010 to help consumers convert rewards points into a commodity they could spend elsewhere. “This is the person we were asking to come in and build the technology and build our technology team,” she adds. He was also someone with experience who could command a sizable salary from a more established company.

Shukla ended up giving him a 3% equity share in the company. He needed to remain motivated to stick around for the long-run, Shukla explains, “and we also knew through subsequent rounds of funding he would become diluted.”

Tech’s main currency is built on a range of factors

Equity, typically in the form of stock options, is the currency of the tech and startup worlds. After dividing initial stakes among themselves, founders use it to lure talent and compensate employees for the salary cut that they almost inevitably will take when joining a startup. It helps keep employees motivated with the tantalizing prospect of a big payday when the company is sold or goes public.

But how much equity should founders grant the first engineers hired to help them build their product and the new hires that follow? What about that highly coveted VP of Sales brought on once a company has a product to sell? And what about others a young startup seeks to enlist in the cause, including key advisors whose insights and connections might increase its chances of success or perhaps an outside director with the right expertise to join a nascent board of directors?

Properly parceling out equity is a challenge for first-time founders. What stake an employee deserves depends on a range of factors, from skills to seniority and employee badge number.

“Is this employee #5 we’re talking about or employee #25?” asks serial entrepreneur Joe Beninato, who has founded or cofounded four startups and worked at another four. “What’s the experience of the person coming over? You have to look at each situation individually.”

1% or .05%? It depends on position and seniority

Yet while complex, several online guides provide compensation benchmarks that help founders think about the size of each slice of the company they give away when recruiting talent. Index Ventures, for instance, has published a handbook aimed at helping entrepreneurs figure out option grants at the seed level. At a company’s earliest stages, expect to give a senior engineer as much as 1% of a company, the handbook advises, but an experienced business development employee is typically given a .35% cut. An engineer coming in at the mid-level can expect .45% versus .15% for a junior engineer. A junior biz dev person should expect .05%, which is the same for a junior person coming in as a designer or in marketing.

And just because someone gets a big title, it doesn’t mean you should give away the store. “We see a lot of role and title inflation going on at the seed stage, which is best avoided,” warns Reshma Sohoni, co-founder and general partner at Seedcamp, a European seed fund quoted in the Index handbook. “At this stage, you are unsure of who is going to continue the adventure with you.”

Timing trumps seniority and experience

When Shukla was building her team at RewardsPay, she gave the earliest engineers joining her team an equity share of between .5% and 1%, depending on both experience and a person’s salary requirements. Some were willing and able to work for a minimal salary and higher equity, whereas others asked for higher cash compensation because of their personal circumstances. Regardless, Shulka says, “the early team you put together definitely gets a lot more stock than later employees.”

Indeed, in many circumstances, the timing of an employee’s decision to join has a disproportionate impact on how much equity is offered. It makes sense: the earlier someone commits to your startup, the more risk the hire is taking on.

If a key hire is the third person joining a two-person team, he or she can almost be considered a co-founder and may get as much as 10% of the company. But if a head of sales or VP of marketing joins once a startup has a product to sell and promote, they may get between 1% and 2%, depending on experience.

“The percentages really vary dramatically,” Beninato says. “I don’t want to say it’s like a decaying exponential, but it’s something like that. The first people get more, and it goes down over time.”

Time for an employee option pool

Eventually, founders need to think about creating an employee option pool — a more disciplined way to award equity over shaving off more shares with each new hire. “After a seed round, you want to have that employee pool at around 10% or 12%, plus or minus,” says James Currier, a four-time founder who is now a managing partner at NFX, an early-stage venture capital firm. Calibrating the precise size of that option pool, Currier and others say, depends on a company’s hiring ambitions over the coming 12 to 18 months — through a next funding cycle.

Again, online guides can help. The Holloway Guide to Equity Compensation, for instance, is an 80-page handbook that explains arcane terms such as “cliffs,” “claw backs,” “single trigger” and “double trigger” that any entrepreneur must know to even understand what their lawyers and advisors are telling them. The guide also identifies landmines to avoid and breaks down the equity ownership of a pair of sample companies whose employee pools range from 9% to 20%.

Over time, founders will need to tinker with the option pool as everyone’s shares are diluted with each venture round. “After an A, you want to put it back to 10 to 15%, depending on how many managers you need,” Currier says. Adds Anu Shukla, “Usually, the VCs are going to ask for a completely empty option pool where every share is available.”

Prepare to negotiate

The size of the option pool must be part of the negotiations with any venture capitalist — and founders would be wise to have thought about the issue before sitting in a VC’s conference room. “VCs often sneak in additional economics for themselves by increasing the amount of the option pool on a pre-money basis,” warn Brad Feld and Jason Mendelson in their book, Venture Deals: Be Smarter Than Your Lawyer and Venture Capitalist. At that point, the option pool is coming from the founders’ shares and those of their earliest investor so Feld and Mendelson encourage founders to push back if they feel the VCs are asking for an unduly large option pool.

“The entrepreneur can say, ‘look, I strongly believe we have enough options to cover our needs,’” Feld and Mendelson advise. To protect the VCs, they say, offer full anti-dilution protection in case the founders are wrong, and they need to expand the option pool before the next financing.

No one gets everything at once

Equity awards, regardless of their form, are subject to vesting schedules. Traditionally, startups have used a four-year benchmark with a one-year cliff: no ownership until an employee has worked twelve months, and then 25% for each year worked (or an additional 1/48th for every month worked). Yet there’s also the growing recognition that building a successful company usually takes a lot longer than four years, and options are about retaining people to build something great. As a result, longer vesting schedules are becoming more commonplace.

The growing time it takes companies to go public or be acquired is also affecting other stock option terms. Typically, employees have had up to 90 days after leaving a company to exercise their options, which can be costly and come with a large tax bill. Now companies are sometimes extending that period well beyond 90 days so that an employee won’t end up with nothing if they leave long before they can turn their equity into cash.

Boards of advisors and directors

Equity is also suitable for drawing a different kind of talent to your company: experienced people in the field who won’t come to work for you full-time but, if their interests were aligned with yours, might serve as advisors who increase your chances of success. (At this stage of a company, non-founder board members are likely to be its investors, so their equity will be commensurate with the size of their investment.)

Currier, the serial entrepreneur turned venture capitalist, says he typically offered between .1% and .3% of the company to attract an advisor to one of his companies. “What you’re hoping for is that one advisor who tells you something that triples the value of your company,” he says. “The problem is you don’t know which one of the five or six people you’d brought in as advisors will be that person. So you pay them all .2% and hope one gives you that idea that more than pays for itself.”

The takeaway: cash is limited, but so is equity

Giving out equity may feel painless. After all, it’s an easy way to preserve your cash as you staff your startup with top-notch hires that can significantly increase your chances of success. But take the time to understand the value of what you’re giving away, and bring discipline to the process early by creating an employee pool. Then if you have to spend a little extra to get someone really exceptional, as Shukla’s RewardsPay had to do, you’ll know where you stand.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

Hi! For the prompts, how about situation 2 + quote 15?

Situation 2: 2. i’ve been checking you out every time i see you jogging at the park and oh no what are you doing why are you coming over here?? + Quote 15: 15. “I thought this was going to be much easier than it actually is.”

Thank you so much for the prompt! I hope you like it! (also on ao3!)

Stiles may have had a problem. May. And, of course, by may he meant that he most definitely had a problem and it was progressively getting worse.

It had all started three months prior when he had started to frequent the local public park directly across the street from the sheriff's station where he usually ate lunch. With a gaping four hour hole between his morning history class and his afternoon forensics class, he had decided to start bringing his dad a salad or a veggie burger for lunch.

He always made sure that he spared a few minutes to snoop around his dad's office for any contraband junk food, checking every nook and cranny from between the couch cushions to under his dad's desk. He usually rooted out a few Twinkies, which he promptly threw into the trash can, and a couple packages of Reese's, which he always pocketed for himself.

It was only after he performed his search for junk food that he would hand over whatever lunch he had made for his old man who, without fail, rolled his eyes at him every time. The rest of the officers in the department thought it was hilarious. The Sheriff? Not so much. He just wanted to eat his candy bars in peace.

He always packed himself a lunch as well so he could sit and eat lunch with his dad, hoping to show some solidarity by eating whatever healthy meal his dad ate. Considering how high his dad's cholesterol levels and blood pressure was, he didn't want to tempt him by flaunting a nice juicy, beef burger in front of him while he munched on veggie burgers and carrot sticks.

They spent their time swapping stories about how their day had been so far, occasionally gossiping about who had gotten arrested for shoplifting or yet another DUI. Mrs. Martin was an incorrigible kleptomaniac and Mr. Lahey was the unofficial town drunk, the latter of which proving that the Sheriff was right to remove his sons from his custody a decade ago.

Deputy Graeme would occasionally poke her head in to inform the Sheriff that he had another conference to go to the following week or had a meeting with the mayor, but most of the time she darkened the doorway to tell them to stop gossiping. Stiles would just roll his eyes and ask how her daughter was doing at Berkeley, smiling innocently at the deputy until she cracked a smile and claimed her daughter was doing great.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and the half hour allotted for the Sheriff's lunch break eventually passed. And so, Stiles had to leave to let his dad get back to protecting and serving the good people of Beacon County.

Typically, after eating lunch with his dad, Stiles would simply walk across the street to the park, having roughly two and a half hours left to kill before his next class. He knew from experience that if he went home to relax before class, he would inevitably fall asleep and skip his class altogether.

It was a fate he would rather avoid since his dad wasn't spending thousands of dollars for him to nap. So instead, he would bring a book or a journal or a pair of headphones with him over to the park to help him pass the time until his next class.

His favorite spot was smack dab in the middle of the park, by the huge stone fountain that rose high above the surrounding rose bushes. Rainbows often flashed in the mist from the cascading water that bubbled placidly like some river out in the preserve, only serving to amplify the paradise-like feel of the fountain.

He would spend hours by the fountain, either sitting on the stone lip of the fountain or a bench nearby, letting the sound of the rushing water calm him down. To help the time pass more quickly, he would doodle in the margins of his psychology notebooks or listen to one of his various study playlists as he basked in the warm of the spring sun.

But as much as he loved the park itself and the fountain that had become his go-to spot for stress relief, there was only one reason why he kept coming back every day, even when he didn't have any classes. That distinct honor was one model gorgeous man whom Stiles only knew by the moniker he had given him: Hot Jogger.

He realized the name wasn't all that creative but no other name he had come up with had the same ring to it. Besides, what it lacked in originality it made up for in accuracy.

Because Hot Jogger was just that; the hottest jogger Stiles had ever seen in his entire life. And he had grown up watching Baywatch. (It was still considered a jog even if it was in slow motion, right?)

Hot Jogger was easily the most gorgeous person Stiles had ever seen with his dark, tousled hair that was almost artfully mussed and gorgeous eyes. He wasn't quite sure what color they were as Stiles had only admired him from afar, but they were dark and intense, set under a pair of thick black eyebrows.

His high cheekbones looked like they were carved in marble by the gods themselves, dusted with dark stubble that boasted a few tiny spots of silver under his chin. Speaking of his chin, he had a cleft in it that was partially covered by his stubble along with his dimples that made adorable indents in his cheeks when he smiled.

And what a smile he had. It was like watching the sun burst through a thicket of gray clouds when Hot Jogger smiled, his beautiful face becoming even more radiant than usual as his lips parted to reveal immaculately white bunny teeth.

Altogether, Hot Jogger looked like he should be modeling for some kind of high-end agency that had billboards plastered all over New York City and Los Angeles and Paris. And that was just because of his face, not to mention his body.

He was around Stiles' height, if anything an inch or two taller than him, but his physique was worlds away from Stiles'. Where Stiles was pale and lanky, he had the most beautiful sunkissed skin and a body that would make any porn star green with envy.

His upper body itself was a work of art, a fact that Stiles only knew because of Hot Jogger's apparent affinity for jogging without wearing a shirt. His shoulders were broad as was his chest that had a light sprinkling of dark hair over it, centered in the very middle of his chest.

A drool worthy trail of hair led down under his waistband from beneath his navel. It ran down over his washboard abs that redefined what a six pack should look like.

He had biceps that looked bigger than Stiles' head, though they weren't overly vascular in the way that many bodybuilders' were. His forearms were lightly haired, as were the backs of his hands that looked oddly gentle despite his intimidating stature.

His legs were masterpieces, as well, his calves well-defined and somewhat hairy, hairier than his arms at the very least. And his thick, muscular thighs looked capable of crushing a man's skull.

But what had really captivated Stiles was Hot Jogger's ass. It was easily the most glorious ass Stiles had ever seen in his twenty years of life, perfectly round and tight looking. Seriously, he was pretty sure that he could bounce a quarter off of that ass and he wanted to fucking worship it.

So, in all honesty, Hot Jogger was singlehandedly the only thing that consistently brought him back to the park. Besides lunch with his dad, of course.

Stiles had started coming to the park three months ago when his spring semester had officially commenced and he had once again become a slave to his school schedule. After sharing a Caesar salad with his dad who had loudly complained about Stiles not letting him have any dressing, Stiles had meandered over to the park.

He had taken a seat on a comfy wooden bench by the jogging path that twisted its way through the park, finding a nice spot in the early spring sunshine, a chill still in the air. He had been tugging a paperback novel out of his bag, glancing up at the sound of a dog barking, when he caught his first glimpse of Hot Jogger. His jaw had nearly fallen off.

Hot Jogger had been doubled over as he tied his running shoes, further along up the path. Normally someone tying their sneakers wouldn't have been very interesting to him but something else had caught his attention: the sight of a perfectly round ass straining against the black nylon of a pair of running shorts.

Stiles had been helpless to resist shamelessly ogling the man's backside, instantly ensnared by the thrall of a great ass. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he ended up actually drooling on himself as he stared. Especially since he wasn't the only one who had been staring.

The mere sight distracted middle aged soccer moms in their yoga pants and Uggs, interrupting their gossiping over Starbucks lattes. They completely ignored their kids who were tumbling around in the grass in favor of ogling the jogger's wondrous ass. Not that Stiles could blame them.

There was a gaggle of girls who looked to be high school aged, seemingly skipping class to go galavanting around town, chattering away about the most recent rumors plaguing the hallways of Beacon Hills High. They froze in their tracks when they noticed Hot Jogger's ass, their faces flushing as they giggled like little idiots.

Stiles had ignored both groups of women who gazed almost predatorily at the poor jogger who was just trying to tie his sneakers. Suddenly feeling guilty, Stiles had averted his eyes, trying to refocus on the book in his lap.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles noticed the jogger straighten up and run a hand through his sweat damp black hair. It was then that he first saw the jogger's face and fell face first into a pathetic crush on the handsome stranger.

With high hopes of seeing the unworldly gorgeous jogger again, Stiles returned to the park the following week after eating lunch with the Sheriff. He wasn't disappointed.

Picking a different spot, this time by the fountain that would become his favorite place in the park, Stiles had doodled in one of his notebooks. He had absentmindedly drawn whatever came to mind, from the irises that grew along the jogging path to random nonsensical doodles, while keeping his eyes peeled for the hot jogger.

He hadn't been disappointed. A few minutes after arriving at the park, Stiles caught sight of Hot Jogger across the field, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

He had been wearing ear buds, his phone secured to his upper arm with a black armband that matched his black running shorts that even shorter than the ones he had been wearing the previous time Stiles had seen him. That time, his shorts only fell a little bit further than halfway down his thick thighs, showing off the amazing bulk of muscles that glistened with sweat.

As sure as he was that those thighs could kill someone, Stiles wanted to have them wrapped around his neck, even if it meant he might suffocate to death. He was about ten seconds away from starting a religion in the name of those thighs.

He was also about ten seconds away from coming in his pants. Especially when he just so happened to notice the fact that Hot Jogger wasn't wearing any underwear.

Needless to say, Stiles made sure he added 'go to the park' to his mental to-do list. He didn't always see Hot Jogger when he visited, which was a bit of a letdown, but reasonably he knew that the modern day Adonis had a life outside of jogging half naked around the park.

Unfortunately, today seemed to be one of the days when Hot Jogger was absent from the park.

Stiles had only had a morning class, his psychology lecture that started at eight a.m. sharp and dragged on for two hours, which gave him more time to cook lunch for his dad. He grilled some chicken breast and put it on some whole wheat bread with some tomato and avocado, wrapping it up along with a side of roasted veggies.

His dad had grunted and groaned when Stiles plopped his lunch down on his desk before starting his examination of the office. Unwrapping his sandwich, the Sheriff had insisted that he didn't have any contraband food in his office.

Stiles would have liked to believe his dad but he knew all about his father's predilection for junk food. He ended up finding a mini Reese's cup behind one of the picture frames on his dad's desk.

Feeling rather magnanimous, Stiles had simply sighed and handed the piece of candy over to the Sheriff. He firmly instructed his dad that he was only allowed the one piece, reminding John that he had no reservations about recruiting the rest of the sheriff's department to keep him from consuming any more junk food.

They chatted for awhile, about Stiles' psychology class and some of the calls his dad had gone on earlier, until the Sheriff's lunch break was over. With an extra skip in his step at the prospect of seeing Hot Jogger again, Stiles had made his way out of the station, saying his goodbyes to the deputies on duty.

Embarrassingly eager, Stiles jogged across the street to the park, seeking out a nice spot in the sun by the fountain. Not many people were around, the only others at the park a few elderly women on a bench, preoccupied by feeding some pigeons bird seed.

Stiles had expectantly glanced around a few times in search of Hot Jogger, hoping that he didn't look like some kind of weirdo. But Hot Jogger was nowhere to be found.

Admittedly, he was pretty disappointed, chewing his lip as he scanned his eyes over the park, paying special attention to the jogging path in hopes of seeing Hot Jogger stretching his legs or pausing for a drink of water. But he just shrugged and let out a small sigh, shifting his attention to his cellphone to check his email and his text messages.

He answered a text from Erica about going to a party over the weekend, informing her that he might drop by for a couple hours if nothing else came up. Scott had sent him a text to detail his most recent with Allison, summarizing the plot of the new romantic comedy they had seen. Stiles just replied to his message with a smiling emoji.

With nothing better to do other than go home and laze around watching TV while munching on his own hidden stash of junk food that he kept tucked in his underwear drawer, Stiles decided to linger in the park. It was a bit chilly, winter's frost still hanging over the little mountain town, which explained why park attendance was noticeably down.

Stiles didn't mind, wrapped up in a thick flannel over his Batman t-shirt, nice and cozy despite the cold breeze that rustled the still bare branches of the trees around the park. He considered walking over to the Starbucks situated at the corner for some hot chocolate, but he balked at both the length of the line and the exorbitant price.

Instead, he pulled up an app on his phone, passing some time playing Magikarp Jump. He was about to beat yet another league when something compelled him to look up from his screen.

Across the park, on the jogging path, was none other than Hot Jogger. The mere sight of him, running along the path in a t-shirt and pair of basketball shorts, made Stiles' heart race like he was some kind of Victorian maiden catching a glimpse of her favorite suitor.

Stiles quickly averted his eyes before Hot Jogger noticed him staring, getting caught much more likely without the usual throngs of people all about. He refocused on his game, feeding his Magikarp a couple more times.

But the tempting allure of Hot Jogger was too much for Stiles to resist for very long and he found himself stealing a few peeks over the top of his cellphone. Hot Jogger looked like he had only just begun his run, his hair still perfectly styled rather than messy and wet with sweat, his skin looking dry.

In the pale sunlight, he looked even more ethereal and angelic than usual, bathed in misty light as he jogged along the winding path. Stiles was mesmerized, forgetting all about the phone in his hand as he turned his full attention to the gorgeous god of a jogger.

He didn't even bother trying to hide the fact that he was staring which is why he suddenly became terrified when Hot Jogger turned his head to look directly at him, slowing his pace until he was no longer jogging.

Stiles' throat instantly tightened, making him feel like he was choking, panic clawing through his whole body. In a desperate, futile attempt to hide, Stiles lifted his phone and stared blankly at the screen, his Magikarp drifting aimlessly around its pond.

His mind raced, playing out all kinds of horrible scenarios. He hunched his shoulders and tried not to shudder at the possibility of his own father having to arrest him for some sort of public indecency charge.

Logically, he knew that ogling a jogger was just creepy, not criminal. But that didn't stop the ice cold dread that churned in his stomach at the thought that Hot Jogger was probably heading towards him to pummel his face into a bloody pulp.

"Hey," a voice greeted out of thin air, startling Stiles so much that he let out a loud, embarrassingly high-pitched squeal as he jumped, nearly dropping his phone. Wincing at his own humiliating flailing, Stiles raised his head to look around for the source of the voice.

He didn't have to look very far. Hot Jogger stood by his side, a warm smile brightening his face as he looked down at Stiles.

"Uh, do you mind if I sit here?" He asked politely, pointing a finger at the lip of the fountain to the right of where Stiles was sitting. He dropped his hand and waited for a few moments before scratching the back of his head, tacking on, "If you don't mind, of course."

"Uh, oh!" Stiles mumbled, shaking his head as he slowly processed Hot Jogger's words, belatedly realizing that he should probably respond. Scooting over a few inches, Stiles waved his hand in the general direction of where Hot Jogger had pointed, inviting, "Yeah, man, go for it."

Hot Jogger took a seat with a small sigh, running a hand through his hair as he did, mussing it until it looked like he had just rolled out of bed. Stiles tried not to notice how good it looked, keeping his eyes firmly planted on his shoes.

"I'm Derek, by the way," Hot Jogger announced, drawing Stiles' attention away from his dirty sneakers. Hot Jogger, or rather Derek, was smiling at him, his dimples visible beneath his dark stubble that was looking fuller than usual.

"Stiles," he responded, smiling back at Derek, desperately hoping that his smile didn't look too forced or fake. His smile became a little more genuine when he noticed the way that Derek's eyebrows furrowed at the sound of Stiles' name.

They fell into silence after the short introductions, awkwardness hanging in the air between them as they looked away from each other. Stiles twiddled his thumbs as he absentmindedly watched a tiny flock of birds hop around in the grass in search of hugs, beyond glad that Derek hadn't approached him to confront him about his creepy staring.

Before the thought had time to finish crossing his mind, Derek cleared his throat. Stiles froze, his thumbs pausing in midair as he braced himself for the worse.

"Um, so..." Derek started, scratching the back of his head again, Stiles noticing the motion out of the corner of his eye. He paused, swallowing heavily and licking his lips, before trying again, claiming, "I've been thinking, uh..."

He trailed off again with a frustrated sigh, piquing Stiles' curiosity. Stiles turned to look at Derek just in time to see him scrub a hand over his face as he muttered under his breath, "I don't know why, but I thought this was going to be much easier than it actually is."

"Everything alright, dude?" Stiles asked cautiously, the sight of Derek looking so distressed tugging at his heartstrings. He nibbled his lip as he threw caution to the wind and reached out to rest his hand on Derek's shoulder, squeezing gently.

It seemed to work reassuring Derek as he dropped his hand onto his lap and turned to face Stiles. Taking a deep breath, he blurted in one rush of air, "Would you like to go out with me sometime?"

Stiles had to blink a few times as he tried to process Derek's unexpected, unbelievable words. He opened his mouth a couple times, before closing it, having some trouble formulating a response. Finally, he just asked, "Uh, I'm sorry, what?"

Derek's face immediately fell. The corners of his lips turned down in disappointment, his eyebrows scrunching together.

Realizing that his question could be misconstrued as a harsh rejection, Stiles raised his palms as he desperately tried to correct himself, "Wait, that's not what I meant! I just... I wasn't expecting it."

"Well, it's just that I've seen you around the park for the last few months," Derek explained, keeping his eyes down as he fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt, showing off a flash of his abs. He was adorably flustered, a flash of red coloring his cheeks as he scratched his chin, reminding Stiles of a shy little puppy who wasn't sure if they are allowed on the couch or not.

"I've been thinking about asking you out for awhile," Derek claimed, a small deprecating smile twisting up the corner of his lips. "But I too nervous. My sister finally told to just ask you already."

"Your sister sounds pretty smart," Stiles remarked with a wide grin, shifting to sit a few centimeters closer to Derek.

"Yeah, she really is," Derek confirmed, nodding sagely. A proud smile stretching across his face, he commented, "Graduated top of her class at Harvard. She— Oh, wait—" he sharply raised his head to look at Stiles incredulously "—Do you mean... You actually wanna go on a date with me?"

Stiles nodded, laying his hand on top of Derek's. Feeling a red blush fill his own face, Stiles smiled up at Derek, trying to figure out a way to tell him about the little problem he had, about his habit of watching a specific hot jogger.

Then again, maybe it wasn't a problem. After all, it had gotten him a date with a veritable Greek god.

[nalufever]

Hi, I hope you don't mind, but could I request an "impromptu party at Lucy's" scene / story / ficlet? Canon or modern setting is fine, whatever interests you! I just have this image of people drifting in or drifting by, and nobody minds too much that it gets a little crowded, since it's a nice excuse to snuggle or chat with a friend over a drink in a quieter corner. Or whatever!

Thanks so much @impracticaldemon!  I think this became the ‘whatever’ you mentioned ~ but I did manage to dose it with some humour.  ^^

’Party’

Word Count:  1633

rating:  teen

Canon-esque setting

Lucy decided the gathering had turned into a party when she’d sent Freed and Bickslow out for more booze. Sure, asking Mira to pop over to the guild and make a platter of sandwiches was a close second. But on second thought, getting Mira out of her apartment was more of a self-preservation method than anything else. If the match-making demon was gone, then snuggling on Natsu’s lap was way more relaxing.

Cana had offered to go fetch drinks.  But Lucy didn’t have room for barrels of beer, not with the constant flow of guild mates showing up. Evergreen and Elfman arrived holding hands.  And what was odder, they managed to remain on friendly terms! No fighting, threats to stone the massive muscled man or manly tears in response to affection.

Wendy was around somewhere, she’d turned up with Charle - and then joined a quiet card game with Romeo and Chelia. Happy had dragged Charle away and Lucy had been even happier to see that. He’d calmed down with the ‘he liiiiiiiikes you’ and the 'you liiiiiiike him’ teasing against his human partners, but he still enjoyed making those subtle and not so subtle digs about how handsy Natsu and Lucy were with each other.

Gray refilled the ice bucket and sighed. Juvia was giggling in the corner with Lyon and that just didn’t sit right with the ice mage. Lyon had been dating Meredy for close to two years now, but the way he smiled at Juvia set Gray’s teeth on edge. Who needed to smile that much anyway? It was unnatural in the extreme.

Moving without conscious volition, Gray strode over and removed his shirt to throw it in Lyon’s face. Mockingly he said, “What’s up?”

“More like what’s down once I punch your lights out!”

Juvia shook her finger in Lyon’s face. “No fighting! Today is Gray and Juvia’s seven month anniversary of our seventh date!”

Gray sidled closer to Juvia and hugged her, making sure to keep angry eye-contact with Lyon as he patted her back. “Sorry babe, we should get out of here and celebrate.” He glared harder at Lyon and then smirked. “Let’s celebrate the way we celebrate all our anniversaries.”

Juvia bit her lip and let her fingers run playfully up Gray’s arm. “Can we?”

“You know it.”

“All night long?”

“We should get going.”

“Juvia agrees! Bye Lyon!” Juvia took Gray’s discarded shirt and stuffed it into her purse before hauling ass out the door with her lover.

Lyon shrugged and pulled out his communications lacrima, dialing Meredy. “You were right, I’m coming over now to make it up to you.” He listened intently to his device as Meredy spoke. Smiling he answered her. “I’m prepared to go all night long.”

When the low rumble of conversation stopped, that’s when Lucy and Natsu realized they’d gotten way more comfortable than they’d planned on. To whit, Lucy was straddled on Natsu’s lap and both her hands were dug into his pink hair. The slayer had his hands full of Lucy’s backside - in layman’s terms, a double handful of booty.

Erza had been making love to her piece of cheesecake, ah, eating. She’d taken a sinful bite, closed her eyes to enjoy the creamy texture, after she’d swallowed and opened her eyes, her gaze landed upon the corner. The corner where the 'hosts’ of the impromptu gathering were swapping spit. Her hands trembled and she dropped her own piece of cake. She gasped and pointed to the corner.

A vague ripple of consternation swept over the room. Not the weirdness of Erza suffering from destroyed cake.  It was the horrific novel action of herself being the instrument of destruction for her cake. Like lemmings over a cliff, everyone’s eyes were drawn to the corner via Erza’s pointing accusatory finger.

Too late to pretend it was anything other than what it was, Natsu kept his hands on Lucy’s ass. Peering around her, he addressed the group. “Yes, I liiiiiiiiiike her and she liiiiikkkkkkkkes me! Get over it!”

Head now buried against his chest, Lucy whimpered. The teasing would be merciless from everyone.

“Okay.”

“Sure.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, no biggie.”

“Man.”

“Yup.”

“About time.”

“Shit, I lost the betting pool!”

Conversations started up again.

Jellal handed Erza another piece of cake. Happy with her new treat, she allowed Jellal to lead her away. Alone together in the kitchen, Erza licked the crumbs from her fork and set it down.  Jellal smiled brightly.

“What?” Erza blushed.

“It just occurred to me I should show you how much I liiiiiiiiiike you.” Jellal didn’t show any self-consciousness at stealing Happy’s shtick. Matter of fact, he winked and raised his eyebrows.

“Oh!” Erza stepped into Jellal’s arms and lifted her head to accept his kiss.

Muffled giggles floated in and out of Erza and Jellal’s recollection. Too focused on each other, they ignored the whispers and slightly scandalized conversation between Levy and Gajeel (the 'lucky’ couple who’d discovered them). The slayer and his girl backed out of the kitchen, holding hands they snuck away to the closet to make-out.

Max took an opportunity to get closer to the intriguing girl he’d spotted across the room. He was guessing she was attractive - he’d only been able to see how fetching she looked tossing her hair. He’d seen nothing but back and side views of what he assumed was a cute female. Oh, he’d seen her bend over and knew her ass was fine. Not as rounded as Levy’s, but a close second - not that he’d ever tell Gajeel his girlfriend had a bangin’ butt. He did value his life.

Too many other mages obscured his view. People like Elfman, Wacaba and Freed didn’t worry him.  It was the more suave and into women types, like Laxus, Reedus and Gray that irked Max. To be fair, every guy he listed already had significant others - but Max felt at a distinct disadvantage in the looks and charisma department. It wasn’t fair that certain others had so much and his biggest claim to fame was how average he was. It was enough to make him want to take his favourite broom and sweep for hours.

Feeling like taking a chance, Max scooted closer to the beguiling woman. At this point it didn’t matter WHO she was, he was going to make an advance. His years-long dry-spell of female companionship was ending tonight.

His mystery woman threw back her head and laughed. Stomach filled with jumbled rocks and butterflies, Max gathered his courage. Jumping without a plan, he tapped her shoulder.

“Hey!” Laki raised her glass to Max. “Glad you could make the party tonight!”

“Laki?” Stupefied, Max stood there and eventually shut his open mouth.

“Wanna do shots?”

“Sure!” Max nodded and accepted the bottle she held out to him. “Body shots?”

“Are there any other kind?” Laki winked and curled her arms around Max’s arm. “I’ve been waiting for you to get over here for what seems like hours.”

“I’ll do my best to make up for you having to wait.”

Laki relaxed against Max’s side. “Oh, I know you will.”

It didn’t surprise anyone once they’d finished the bottle that they left together.

Evergreen pushed Elfman onto the sofa and clambered onto his lap. Into his ear she purred, “Let’s stage a fight and leave so we can get freaky.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. Slipping off his lap, she stalked a few paces away and crossed her arms. Raising one thin eyebrow and making a sour face, Ever said, “When I ask if I’m too heavy the manly thing to do is insist I’m not!”

“It’s manly to agree.” Elfman stood up and scratched his head. “You have put on a few pounds, I can’t tell a lie! That’s not manly at all!”

“Why must you be so obsessed with being manly?” Ever screeched her words accusingly. “I’ve had enough!” She pushed her way through the crowd and stormed out of Lucy’s apartment.

Looking around with the most confused look he could muster, Elfman shrugged. “Great party but I gotta go. It’s manly to apologize.”

Once the door shut behind him the conversation picked back up. Most of the partygoers made snide comments about how whipped Elfman was. The slayers with their superior hearing only laughed because they knew Elfman was smarter than he appeared and was now getting busy with his girlfriend.

The crowd had thinned quite a bit now. Mira had shown up, deposited the platter of sandwiches and cajoled Laxus into leaving with her. Everyone pretended not to notice Freed following five minutes later. It was the best kept non-secret in the guild, and people were only guessing the threesome were hiding the exact nature of their relationship so that Makarov didn’t suffer a heart attack.

Happy and Charle disappeared next; one minute they were watching the youngsters play cards and the next they were gone. Claiming it was getting too late, Wendy, Romeo and Chelia took off. Reedus, two bottles of red wine and one of Lucy’s flirty neighbors left. The O'Connels politely said goodnight and took their leave - their babysitter was expecting them home.

The last stragglers left. A handsy Lisanna 'assisted’ Bickslow to the door, she turned and blew kisses to Lucy who gave her a thumbs up. Their loud giggles were audible for minutes as they staggered down the hallway. Wakaba and Macao scooped up as many bottles as they could carry and nonchalantly exited.

Natsu grinned at Lucy. Alone at last! “Let’s clean this tomorrow.”

Lucy looked at the time and smiled. “More like later today.”

“Since you agree, how about we get some sleep?”

“Sleep?” Lucy slung her arms around Natsu’s neck. “Our party has only started.”

[mindthump]

Tesla is now doomed. Here’s how its EV dream will soon come crashing down http://bit.ly/2YSD48Q

Getty

Tesla completely transformed the automotive landscape when it introduced the Roadster, pioneering the mass-market electric car. It sold the first widely-available EV, and it did it with a product that you could easily live with every day. The company has done more to further the electric game than anyone else and deserves total credit for making EVs a part of the discussion when it comes to the future of the automobile. Tesla has changed the world. It’s also doomed.

The last mainstream automaker to be launched from scratch in the United States was Saturn, a heavily subsidized child of the GM family. Even with those deep pockets, it failed. History is littered with dead automotive brands. The list of deceased automakers is also replete with visionary leaders who pioneered new tech and aimed to dominate the luxury market.

This is all to say: we’ve been here before. Hudson, Tucker, DeLorean, Packard, and more. The stories here are all different in their specifics, with some succumbing to shady government dealing, others losing to price wars. While the immediate causes of their failures might be unique, the fact that they failed certainly is not.

The consumer automobile game is devilishly tough. The dirty secret of the car making world is that the big brands only make around 6% margin on every car they sell. That’s a pathetic amount of profit when compared to other well-known brands like Nike, Apple, or Disney. Shoes, upscale electronics, and entertainment (as well as scores of other industries) all offer double the profit margins, faster production times, less regulation, and fewer unionized workforces. Building cars is dumb. Car companies make billions of dollars in profits because they sell so many cars, not because each car is so profitable. And therein lies the rub for Tesla.

Why Tesla is doomed

The only way to be successful at car manufacturing is to do it at a very large scale. You have to sell hundreds of thousands, if not millions of cars per year to be stable. In 2018, Tesla shifted a total of 245,240 cars. The Model 3 also became the best-selling luxury automobile in United States. 2018 was a fantastic year for Tesla. It has also taken the company to the very brink of imploding.

Scaling up production lines and capacity is the activity that is killing Tesla, but scaling up further is the only thing that can save it. The company is at the low point of a “production valley” where becoming capable of building 300,000 cars has made them wildly unprofitable, but the only way to get to profit is to build even more capacity to enable it to make 700,000 – 1,000,000 cars. Tesla could potentially have, or raise, the billions needed to do this. It could, that is, if the company could concentrate on doing one thing at a time.

Tesla’s worst enemy is Elon Musk. The serial entrepreneur has an affliction that many serial entrepreneurs have: Shiny Thing Syndrome. Mr. Musk loves to chase after new challenges and novel projects. Tesla is currently producing 3 different cars, wall chargers, charging stations, electric semi-trucks, photovoltaic roofs, and spearheading autonomous technology. Throw in the odd flamethrower, underground tunnels, and a new insurance product (not to mention Space X), and you see a leader not focused on doing the hard work of pushing his company through a crisis of scale, but a man obsessed with moon-shots and new projects.

It should be noted that Musk has never operated any business at this scale before. Running a nimble online service such as Paypal is a very different thing than running a multinational car manufacturer – especially one that is exclusively pursuing new technologies. Quite frankly, Musk is not qualified to be CEO of Tesla any longer, and the mismatch of his skills to the company’s needs could not be worse timed for Tesla.

In the next 12 months,  practically all other major global auto manufacturers have plans to release their own electric cars. Tesla ate their lunch last year when it became the best-selling luxury car, but at that time, it was the only EV game in town. More worryingly, the most common Tesla owner complaints happen to be the areas that traditional car companies excel at: fit and finish, service infrastructure, and execution on timelines. When Porsche announced its Taycan electric sedan, its #1 source of reservations was from current Tesla owners. This is a surefire sign that the Tesla customer base is eager to upgrade to something better.

China, the world’s largest car market, and the savior of many global brands, cannot save Tesla. Indeed, the current trade war between the U.S. and China is hurting Tesla more than any other car company. The current price for a Tesla Model 3 in China is approximately $73,000, with roughly $30,000 of that price being the result of China’s import tariffs. In January, Elon Musk broke ground on a Gigafactory in China, and the total investment in the project is expected to exceed $4 billion, according to Goldman Sachs. That is an amount of money Tesla, quite frankly, doesn’t have to spend. After a disastrous first quarter 2019, the company quickly raised $2.35 billion in stock and debt. Even with this recent cash infusion, Musk told employees the company would be bankrupt in 10 months if spending continued at current levels.

The end of Tesla

Tesla will not go bankrupt. It cannot go bankrupt. At the moment, the company is still well-placed to raise another funding round and could likely even do as many as three more funding events before investors stop lining up. Failure for Tesla won’t happen tomorrow, but it is coming. More and more evangelists are changing their tunes as competition in EVs gets fiercer. Wall street is losing patience with broken promises and erratic CEO behavior. And the everyday consumer is finding more electric car options that tempt their dollar now that Tesla is not the only game in town. No, Tesla’s end will not happen tomorrow, nor will it be a dramatic collapse.

Getty

Telsa is too valuable a brand to disappear in a cloud of Chapter 11 smoke. Again, history bears this out. The vast majority of automotive brands from years past were acquired or absorbed into larger brands, where some succeeded brilliantly (Dodge) and others slowly morphed into something unrecognizable (Hudson). Arguably, the Tesla brand is the most valuable piece of Tesla’s balance sheet as other manufacturers have caught up with their hard technology (batteries, chargers), and are rapidly chasing down their soft technology (Autopilot). The Tesla brand is global in reach, and still viewed favorably overall by the public.

The endgame for Tesla is an acquisition. It is the way of the automotive jungle — the circle of corporate life, as it were. The unknowable part at the moment is exactly who will acquire Tesla, as the list is quite long. Another car company is the reflexive bet, but Silicon Valley and Chinese auto manufacturers are all likely bidders as well. Apple already offered to buy Tesla back in 2013 for more than the company is worth at the time of this story. The field of suitors is wide open, and the eventual winner could well come as a surprise to the everyday public.

Regardless of who steps up to the plate, it will be very surprising if the transaction is labelled as an acquisition. No — this will be a “merger” or “partnership” to protect egos and that all-important Tesla brand (again, the most valuable asset on their books). Any upcoming news of a partnership with a Toyota or a Mercedes should not be seen as a life preserver thrown out in good faith, but a wholesale pirate sacking of the company. Musk will quietly slip away to chase his shiny things, popping in for product launches and tweetstorms, but the adults will be put in charge and set a profitable course. What happens after that, no one can know.

Before the pitchforks come out, make no mistake: the world is a better place for Tesla having existed. Electric cars are no longer made out of old Porsche 914s by a guy in a shed. We are moving toward an electric future, all thanks to underdog Tesla. The world, and Americans especially, are enamored with an underdog story. But more often than not, the underdog loses. That’s why they are underdogs. In the best of worlds, Tesla can influence Mercedes or a Chinese company from the inside to really nail electric cars and make them the most affordable option for consumers. I hope that comes to pass for all our sakes.

Tesla is dead. Long live Tesla.

Tesla is being hurt by the trade war more than any other carmaker

Polestar electric vehicle won’t lose $7,500 tax credit because of Volvo sales

Fisker plans sub-$40,000 electric SUV with 300 miles of range for 2021

[garden-ghoul]

appendix blog, part 1

“going straight from talmud to LotR appendices is probably the easiest transition ever”

There’s a little beginning note that explains why certain things were included and how various sources are quoted... good good historian formatting. 

The Third Age was held to have ended when the Three Rings passed away in September 3021, but for the purposes of records in Gondor F.A.I began on March 25, 3021.

See. This kind of bullshit. This is my favorite part because nothing makes a world feel more real than neighboring (ish) kingdoms disagreeing on how to mark time. Listen it’s fine, relativity dictates that events at different locations and different times can be “simultaneous” depending on how you look at it. The One Ring was destroyed at exactly the same time as Galadriel and Elrond’s boat set off from the Grey Havens.

I hope everyone who knows anything about relativity is mildly pissed. *I* sure don’t know anything about relativity, and am grievously misusing it. Er, right, I’m blogging the appendices.

THE NUMENOREAN KINGS

...this starts with an account of the creation of the Silmarils. Listen. LISTEN.

There were three unions of the Eldar and the Edain: Lúthien and Beren; Idril and Tuor; Arwen and Aragorn. By the last the long-sundered branches of the Half-elven were reunited and their line was restored.

Isn’t Arwen already a descendant of both lines. LISTEN!! Mr Tolkien!! What are you on about!! He even goes on to explain Elwing and Earendil’s marriage in the next couple paragraphs! Are the “branches of the half-elven” actually... half-elven mortals and half-elven immortals?? What do you mean “their line was restored”?? Is this some more monarchist genetic purity bullshit?? Gentle reader, I’m sorry for the absolute profusion of question marks, but I don’t really understand what he is obliquely hinting at.

The sons of Eärendil were Elros and Elrond, the Peredhil or Half-elven. In them alone the line of the heroic chieftains of the Edain in the First Age was preserved; and after the fall of Gil-galad the lineage of the High-elven Kings was also in Middle-earth only represented by their descendants.

Okay I really like this. After the first age there are no longer any pure noble lines of any particular race. Nobility, as we see in Rohan, just sort of happens organically. I know this is the exact opposite of what Tolkien wants me to get out of this, but I’m reading it as “nobility is arbitrary, and heritages have no inherent value, especially after their context has been lying under the sea for thousands of years.” 

There’s a bit about  the founding of Numenor and they mention Meneltarma. My favorite Meneltarma thing is that after the world was rounded it still presumably sticks up out of the ocean and has a view of Tol Eressea, and people keep sailing around looking for it. I’m not sure we ever heard for sure if Tol Eressea ended up on Middle Earth or in space when Numenor fell. Then there’s a list of rulers of Numenor. Anyone have sources on the last two ruling queens, Tar-Telperien and Tar-Vanimelde? They also mention the divide between Tar- kings and Ar- kings--the latter have Adunaic names, which explains what I’ve been wondering since I read the Akallabeth. The Faithful are even... linguistically faithful. Because of course they are, it’s Tolkien. Linguistic decisions are a primary method of characterization. I’m still mad Ar-Inziladun changed his name to Tar-Palantir when he re-Faitful’d. Inziladun is the coolest fucking name ever. PLEASE let elves learn about the letter Z. Also in re the execution of those speaking Sindarin on Numenor... I wonder what Tolkien thought about the way those methods of linguistic persecution were and are used on real-ass Earth? Did he hold all natural languages to be good and worthy? (most likely: no) It’s not like I need his probably racist opinions on this but I want him to see! Double standards!

They mention the palantiri, and I want to say quickly how rad it is that if you use them for one specific thing a lot they can get stuck on it. Their animating magic gets confused and trims the subroutines that allow them to look at other stuff. I’m fond of these buggy magical artifacts.

After this there’s a lineage of Elendil’s descendants in exile. I love the phrase “ship-kings,” and I hope Tolkien is going to explain why they are called that. Nope, he did not explain. Arnor ended up being divided into three kingdoms with silly names due to an inheritance spat. I remember someone (Tom Bombadil?) talking about small kingdoms, and I expect they will all be destroyed in the war against Angmar any day now. Oh no maybe they will destroy themselves! Just like any European fairy tale with three brothers, two of them are wicked and will not stop bickering over Amon Sul and the palantir there. While this is happening, the chief Nazgul moves in up north specifically to kill them all, but apparently they don’t notice and he has plenty of time to establish infrastructure and gather armies. Guyssss. Oh! And this is the place where they name him the Witch-King! Thank goodness that’s taken care of.

This one guy in the Good Brother kingdom tried to take over the other two Arnorian kingdoms, because they didn’t have the ~blood of Isildur~ ruling them. Bull! Shit! Who gives a fuck, man! Don’t conquer people this is basic fucking courtesy. ESPECIALLY not when Angmar is RIGHT THERE waiting for the Evil Brother kingdoms to try to secede and take advantage of your strife! Oh that king’s name was Argeleb though, a really good name, a good name for a star.

It is said that the mounds of Tyrn Gorthad, as the Barrowdowns were called of old, are very ancient, and that many were built in the days of the old world of the First Age by the forefathers of the Edain, before they crossed the Blue Mountains into Beleriand, of which Lindon is all that now remains. Those hills were therefore revered by the Dúnedain after their return; and there many of their lords and Kings were buried.

Hey. Rock on. Elves aren’t the only forebears who did cool shit and who we owe cultural continuity to. Ah then there’s this cool bit about how Ardevui (some king) had to flee Fornost and stay the winter with some snow people (!!) who gradually... warmed up to him, to such an extent that when Cirdan came to fetch the Dunedain there the snow people were like “nah stay till summer, then we can take down the Witch-King.” Ardevui didn’t listen, and almost immediately died in a shipwreck. But he did give the snow people a Foreshadowing Ring that probably is going to show up later. Ardevui was the last king of Arnor, but like, he had an heir. I guess the guy just wasn’t feeling kingship. Aragorn could have already been a king, except that hobbits didn’t really need any kinging and there weren’t enough Dunedain left in the north for it to be worth it. The royal line started a tradition of fostering their sons in Rivendell. So they’d be elvish enough to seem kingly, I guess. Elvish is like French, you’ve got to know it if you’re noble. We also hear about how Celebrian was tortured by orcs (why were there orcs in the north? has Angmar not fallen yet?) and had to go away to the West for her trauma.

And now we come to Aragorn II, the current king, who sometimes vacations in his country house near the Shire. But big folk are illegal in the Shire, so he never actually goes in. Just hosts exclusive parties at his mansion. Also we find out that Sam’s daughter Elanor is 1) very beautiful (presumably as a result of magic dust) and 2) a handmaid of Arwen.

Aha! Finally, ship-kings! They’re exactly what they sound like, a succession of kings who built navies and conquered stuff along the western coast. I just can’t bring myself to care that much about the Gondor section, because there’s no hobbits and so far Beruthiel hasn’t been mentioned either. It’s just a series of small wars with literally every one of Gondor’s neighbors. Oh wait no now we’ve got a bunch of Gondorrim being rude to some king’s wife because she’s of a “lesser race,” which caused a civil war. “No, no,” they reportedly said, “we’re just concerned her children will die when they’re 30, like normal humans.”

Then there’s a bunch more wars I don’t care about. Arvedui tries to claim kingship of Gondor, because Arthedain apparently have a tendency toward greed and too much respect for successions. Gondor just stopped talking to him and crowned someone else as king. Better luck next time, asshole. All right, here we go, one of the kings (?) from Gondor, Earnur, comes up to the Grey Havens to help retake Arnor and Cirdan and everyone go off on Angmar. Earnur almost kills the Witch-King but his horse is too cowardly. Glorfindel shows up and makes the prophecy that no man will kill the Witch-King. Okay, what? Since when is Glorfindel a prophet? Among elves that capacity is usually reserved for 1) mothers (and only in regard to their children) and 2) rulers of countries. Anyway after Earnur goes back to Gondor and becomes king he is laughably easy to bait by calling him a chicken, with the consequence that he rides to Minas Morgul to fight the Witch-King and gets tortured to death. He was the last king of Gondor, because mumble mumble blood purity hangups.

More wars, more wars. Duirng Denethor’s father’s reign a Mystery Guy from a Mystery Place shows up and is just really super good at fortifying Gondor, but he leaves as soon as he’s done enough deeds to make it safe. They call him Thorongil, but I kind of suspect it’s Aragorn. That would just make Denethor’s attitude toward Aragorn in RotK more hilarious, because young Denethor really resented how much everyone loved Thorongil more than him. This is also the origin of Denethor’s distrust of Gandalf, since Thorongil kept telling Ecthelion to trust him.

Oh I thought eventually there would be like a chapter break or something. TOMORROW is Aragorn and Arwen.

[junker-town]

4 expert predictions about the NFL offseason

Retired NFL lineman Geoff Schwartz makes a few educated guesses about this offseason, including what the Steelers will do with Le’Veon Bell and Antonio Brown.

The season might be over, but that doesn’t mean we don’t discuss the NFL. There’s a ridiculous amount of NFL offseason storylines to follow, and I want to share my thoughts on all of them.

Let’s start with player movement now that we’ve had our first trade of the 2019 offseason.

Will the Broncos still draft a QB? Yes.

The first trade of 2019 was a shocker. Joe Flacco was traded to the Denver Broncos for a mid-round pick. Remember, this is a Broncos team that just shelled out money to Case Keenum. Keenum is guaranteed $7 million in 2019 in the final year of his two-year, $36 million contract. If the Broncos can’t move him, which will be tough at that salary, they have to eat that money. No bueno.

The Broncos’ plan is clear. They are building a team that’s going to resemble the 2015 Super Bowl winners: defense, rushing the ball, and timely passing.

As I covered last week, you need offense to get into the dance. Trading for Flacco is not enough offense to win. This move makes no sense. However, I do expect the Broncos to still take a quarterback high in the draft to eventually be the top dog when Flacco is finished.

Which team could attempt to trade for Antonio Brown? The Raiders.

The Steelers have two big decisions to make this offseason. Let’s start with Antonio Brown, an elite weapon who’s a five-time All-Pro. Since 2013, he has averaged 1,500 yards and 11 touchdowns per season while battling through double-teams.

Brown said goodbye to Steelers fans on social media recently even though he’s still on the roster. He clearly wants a trade out of Pittsburgh, but I’m not sure the Steelers are going to listen to his pleas. The Steelers are an old-school organization that doesn’t get manipulated by these sorts of demands, e.g. Le’Veon Bell. If they believe Brown can help their team, which of course he can, then I think they will attempt to patch things up.

However, principles be damned if someone offers a first-round pick in the package for Brown. I’m skeptical teams will trade high-value picks for a 30-year-old receiver with a monster contract and history of diva behavior. If that’s the case, the Steelers have to move Brown. They’d clear his combined $38 million off their cap in 2020 and 2021 (but would still have to take a $21 million hit in 2019) and get rid of a headache with an eyes toward the future in draft picks.

So who makes the trade for Brown? The Raiders. Duh. This just feels like a Raiders’ play. They can make a splash move in the middle of bad press — they still don’t have a place to play next season — and also get fans excited for the move to Vegas. The offshores list the 49ers as the favorites, for whatever it’s worth.

But the Raiders have the ammo with draft picks, and they need weapons so badly to help Derek Carr or whoever is playing quarterback. From just a football angle, Brown would do fantastic in a West Coast offense. They’d find ways to get him in space without double-teams and can use his ability to fly.

If you want an outside-the-box location, look at the Super Bowl champions. The Patriots have multiple picks within the first 100 slots and they could use Brown. The culture in New England should be a good fit for Brown, too. I wouldn’t rule that out, even if the Steelers have claimed he wouldn’t be traded to New England.

Where will Le’Veon Bell sign? The Jets.

While the Steelers are figuring out how to handle the Brown situation, they have another player dispute to tackle as well. Bell wants out. He should get his wish.

Bell received the franchise tag last season and chose to sit out the season to preserve his body for 2019. There are reports the Steelers might be petty and use the transition tag to gain some trade leverage for Bell. I hope they don’t do it and just let him walk.

So where does Bell end up?

There are teams with cap room that could use a dynamic playmaker like Bell, including the Jets, Colts, and Texans. However, as was the holdup in Pittsburgh, Bell wants to get paid. Super duper paid. Bell wants to be paid as a hybrid player — a runner and a pass catcher.

Well, no team should pay him as such. I’m probably on the more extreme side here, but I don’t think there’s much point paying a running back big bucks. They don’t prove to be that valuable to winning when you can draft a back in a later round or even, as Phillip Lindsay showed us, as an undrafted free agent. But teams have money and they need to spend it, so Bell will get a deal at a rate just above Todd Gurley.

I think those teams I mentioned above are most likely the options for Bell, with the Jets being the favorite. The Jets badly need some offensive weapons for Sam Darnold, and they have the money to overpay for Bell. The 49ers and Bell would be a perfect match scheme-wise if the 49ers wanted to add Bell. His market will be hot.

Will Nick Foles be able to recreate magic elsewhere? Nope.

Nick Foles is out as an Eagle. I don’t think we will ever appreciate what Foles did over the last two seasons. Foles is a backup quarterback who won Super Bowl MVP honors. His Eagles won all three of their elimination games in 2017. Then last season the Eagles won their final three regular season games, all must-wins. They went into Chicago as the sixth seed and beat the Bears in the playoffs. So Foles was 7-0 in elimination games over two seasons before losing to the Saints in the Divisional Round.

But, with Carson Wentz back healthy to start 2019, it’s time to move on from Foles. The Eagles could franchise-tag Foles in an effort to gain some capital back for him. I expect teams to offer no better than one second-round pick in this draft for Foles, with maybe a late-round pick thrown into the trade to sweeten the deal.

The logical place for Foles to end up is Jacksonville. Blake Bortles is finished and with the Jaguars’ defense, they just need average from any quarterback to have success. If the Dolphins choose to move on from Ryan Tannehill, that seems like a decent team for him.

There just aren’t a ton of landing spots. Most teams have franchise quarterbacks or have young quarterbacks on their roster, so Foles will have slim pickings.

Lastly, Philadelphia was a perfect storm for Foles: outstanding coaching, an offense tailored to his strong suits, a great offensive line, and above-average weapons to target. I just don’t see him duplicating success elsewhere.