#if you’re trying to parse my designs

[time-was-over]

i made a guide for him

[seat-safety-switch]

In the ancient past, folks used to think that “progress” meant automating everything. You’d go to an automatic diner – an automat, in their futuristic speak – order some food from a little locker, and eat it without ever having to interact with another human being. And now, their dream has come (almost) true. Due to budget constraints, the cool shiny chrome and Art Deco styling has not happened. Instead, your local grocery store now has an automated checkout system which accuses you of shoplifting if the wind blows over your shopping bag while you’re trying to load it.

I’ve complained previously about the gall of this industrial-grade insult machine, and I won’t belabour the point further. The real point is: why didn’t restaurants turn into this, too? To answer this question, I posed as an independent news reporter by not showering for a week, and headed to the local sushi restaurant. Here, a robot “wait staff member” (no gendered language for robots, please: it produces ambiguity in their parse system) was ready to deliver my food to me, on demand, however much I wanted.

Like all computer-based things, I knew that the robot was designed by humans, and so was the fancy iPad they chained to the table that I could use to order food. And humans never think of things like “ordering a negative amount of food.” All I had to do was sit and drink my complimentary water, and plug in a keyboard to the iPad. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the “order quantity” indicator went up.. and up.. and up.. and up.. and after a couple hours of the robot not kicking me out, it went to 2,147,483,647, and overflowed the counter. Now, the iPad proudly displayed that I was ready to order negative two billion items of tuna sashimi. I decided to add a few other items to the order, and then pressed a button which I assumed to say “wench, fetch me my food.”

Friends, and I use that term loosely because I know at least some of you are undercover law enforcement, I did not expect for the restaurant’s robot to literally catch fire, its lithium-ion batteries rupturing in an unquenchable fire as I waited patiently for my meal. On the plus side, when the bill did come, ushered to me by the replacement wait-staff-bot, I swiped my credit card and made enough money to purchase a small tropical island. Maybe there really is something to this future business.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 21/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3

Yeah, I don't even know y'all. Some people stress bake or stress clean, I stress-hammer out like 12k words in four days? Thank you to everyone who is following this :) I still love everyone in this bar!

“Hey Sally?” Evan very deliberately did not look up from the book he was looking through, staring at the brittle, yellowed pages as though they held the secrets of the universe instead of some faded illustrations of different types of protection runes,

Hmm? Sally replied, the lazy, half-asleep tone making Evan smile.

She had curled up right in front of the living room fireplace, having started a roaring fire pretty much the instant Evan’s parents had departed for dinner with a couple of Dad’s work colleagues. The fireplace was purely decorative…there wasn’t a flue, and usually the firebox contained only a set of decorative candles. Sally adored hearth fires, though, and took every opportunity to transfigure herself a fully functioning fireplace whenever his parents went out in the winter.

“You know that spell we were working on today?” he tried to keep his voice light, nonchalant. As though he just wanted to debrief on the lesson and get his familiar’s feedback, like he had a thousand times before.

He never had been able to fool Sally, though. He heard a faint rustle, and when he finally looked up from the page he had been staring at blindly for the last twenty minutes, Sally had gotten up from her indolent sprawl. Her tail curled neatly around her feet and she was watching him steadily, her mangled ear twitching back and forth.

Aye? Sally’s voice was the perfectly calm, steady tone she always took when she was about to have a serious conversation with him. Clinical, almost. He appreciated it…sometimes when he talked to his parents or others in his coven, he felt like he spent half the conversation trying to parse out how they really felt just through their tone. There was never any bullshit with Sally. No hidden agendas or meaning.

“You teach me a lot of things like that,” he started, frowning down at the pages of the huge book in his lap. It was some tome Sally had had his parents borrow special from a coven library in Philadelphia. The book was bound in calfskin, and its pages were thicker than he was used to…vellum, maybe. The ink had mostly faded to a rusty red and the spidery handwriting was hard to read.

I do, Sally acknowledged.

Evan licked his lips and finally set the book down carefully on the couch cushion beside him. “Why?” he asked, voicing the question that had been racing through his head in faster and faster circles this last week. Ever since…

You heard me arguing with your mother, didn’t you? Sally sighed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted quietly.

That had been happening a lot, lately. Especially on nights after his weekly call with Maddie. He was so worried about his sister—she sounded so tired when he talked to her these days, and he kept getting the feeling that she was holding something back. Trying to keep him from noticing something. He was so tempted to go up to the house she and Doug had bought right after their wedding; just show up unannounced and refuse to leave until she told him what had her sounding so sad whenever they talked. He just wasn’t sure how that would be received.

He hated that he no longer knew how Maddie would respond to something.

Regardless of how your parents feel about me or my lessons, they entrusted your training to me. Your mother may complain all she likes, but there is little she can do to me and she knows it.

“She said you’re training me like people are still trying to burn us at the stake,” he said, and Sally sighed.

Evan, she began. You are extremely powerful. And I would never have you be ashamed or fearful of your magic, but nor would I have you ignore the realities of it. The lessons I give you, the methods and spells that I teach you…yes, they were designed for times and situations that are long gone. But they are also spells that require more discipline. More deliberation. More control. You are quite strong, little love. But that means you must also be quite skilled.

Which was the line of reasoning that he’d heard Sally use when his mother started in on why she was teaching him such old-fashioned ways of casting, and adding spells that no one used to her regimens. It made sense. And Sally never lied to him. He didn’t even really have a suspicion that she was lying to him. But…

“You were scared,” he said finally. “When you said it wasn’t like I’d ever have to use the defensive magics you were teaching me. I could feel it.”

Emotions bleeding through the bond between a witch and their familiar was just a fact of life—but Sally was old enough and disciplined enough that he rarely picked up anything from her that she was not deliberately allowing him to sense. The spike of fear he’d felt from her during that argument, though…that had not been deliberate. Sally never let him feel it when she was worried or afraid.

Ah. Sally looked away from him, her golden eyes fixing on some point over his shoulder.

“I just—Sally, all these spells. And the practice. Does it…does it mean something?”

Divination has never been one of my talents, Evan, Sally said gently, cutting straight to the heart of the question Evan was too afraid to ask. She uncurled her tail from around her feet and leapt primly up onto the couch, staring at him until he sat back against the cushions so that she could climb onto his lap. His hand automatically drifted to the thick ruff of fur around her neck, scratching gently as she pushed her forehead against his, purring softly.

“You don’t have to have a full divination dream to know something’s coming,” he said. Reading the future wasn’t one of his talents, either. Divination magic had never run very strongly in the Buckley coven line. Still, he knew familiars all had at least a little instinct for it. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something deliberate in the lessons that Sally had been drilling him on for the past five years. Something beyond simply trying to teach him better control through more difficult spells.

Evan. I…it isn’t something specific. Only a sense. Neither stronger nor weaker than any such feeling I’ve had about dozens of my witches over the years. I’ve learned to listen to such senses when they come, but I do not feel the need to be ruled by them. Don’t read too much into it.

Evan swallowed, his hand stilling in Sally’s fur. “What is it?”

Sally closed her eyes briefly, sighing to herself. That I must do my best to make sure you can stand on your own. That if I love you—and oh, my boy, I do, I love you as my own, don’t ever doubt that—I must make you strong. Strong enough to thrive when others would see you wither. Strong enough to…endure.

“You make it sound like someone is coming to try and burn me at the stake,” he said shakily. Sally’s comforting purr ceased, and she sat back in his lap, reaching up with one paw to bat at his cheek.

If ever they do, I will make sure you know how to make them regret it, little love, she swore vehemently.

*

Evan held it together as he helped Tommy—and he was helping now, not mostly dragging, so hopefully that vampire regeneration was kicking in better now—out of Greenway’s house and onto the porch. He took a moment run back inside and grab the leatherbound book from where he’d dropped it on the floor when the explosion happened, shaking his head dizzily when he straightened again.

Pain throbbed dully behind his eyes, and he was still sweaty and panting, but he didn’t feel nearly as shaky as he was expecting to after using such intense magic. He was even able to slip himself and Tommy through the between and back into the car without much difficulty, though he had to take a moment to breathe through a flare of nausea once they were settled in the seats…him driving, of course.

“You gonna be able to manage?” Tommy asked urgently, reaching up like he was going to lay his hand on Evan’s shoulder before he seemed to realize just how bloody it was. Not that it would have made much difference. Thank God Tommy had let him borrow a few changes of clothes, because what he was wearing now was just as ruined as the previous set he’d been wearing.

He’d feel a little guilty about it, but Tommy was basically holding his own liver in place while the hole in his torso healed, so he doubted his vampire would care much about ruined clothes. He took another deep breath, silently assessing.

“Yeah. Uh, yeah, I’m all right,” he said, and couldn’t keep the note of surprise out of his voice. He…he really did feel pretty good, all things considering. His head hurt, but it didn’t feel like someone was trying to explore his ocular cavity with an ice pick the way it usually did when he strained himself. His heart wasn’t pounding painfully in his chest, and best of all, his magic didn’t feel depleted yet.

Sure, he wouldn’t be able to cast another control hex right now; probably wouldn’t be able to fire off more than a couple of weak fireballs. But he also didn’t feel like he was on the verge of passing out. It was strange…but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Are we going back to your house?” he asked as he accepted the bloody keys that Tommy dug out of his pocket with a slight grimace, wiping them on his pants leg before sticking them in the ignition.

“Not yet,” Tommy grunted. He looked down at his chest and probed at the wound, hissing out through his teeth. Pain had deepened the creases and lines on his handsome face, and he pressed his head back against the headrest as Evan drove, closing his eyes. “I want to go off-grid until this heals up.”

“How long is that gonna take?” Evan asked anxiously. He didn’t like the idea of Tommy being down for the count if they encountered anyone else on their tails, especially with his magic not at a hundred percent either.

He liked the idea of Tommy hurting even less.

“Few hours,” Tommy said, gritting his teeth as he reached around the seat and grabbed the hoodie he’d been going to use to cover himself as he ran for Greenway’s porch originally. He tore it into a couple of pieces and wadded one up, stuffing it against the wound in his chest with a grunt of pain. “Can you…” he started, leaning up a little and offering Evan the other part.

Realizing what his vampire wanted him to do, Evan took it without looking away from the road and quickly stuffed it against the entrance wound in Tommy’s back. “Uh, hate to tell you, but I don’t think the seats are salvageable at this point.”

Tommy huffed out a short laugh and immediately had to wipe the dribble of blood that spilled from his lips away. “I’ve been thinking about getting a truck for a while now, anyway. It’ll heal faster if I also don’t have to replace half my blood supply.” He was quiet a moment, and then said, “I’m going to need to hunt.” He sounded apologetic. “It’ll take hours to expel all the debris and close up the organ and muscle damage…bagged blood won’t cut it. I won’t—look, Evan, I won’t kill anyone. It’s been a long time since I killed anyone for blood. But yeah, I’m gonna need you to find a neighborhood where no one’s gonna mind anyone else’s business very hard. Once I get a couple of good drinks, we can grab some clean clothes, and—”

Evan saw an exit coming up on the highway. “Do you have any cash?” he interrupted. Tommy frowned, and then jerked his chin towards the glovebox.

“Few hundred in there. Why?”

Evan didn’t answer, instead taking the exit and following the signs past a few gas stations and fast food restaurants. Tommy watched him a moment, before leaning back against his seat again and closing his eyes, clearly trusting whatever Evan was planning to do. He frowned, though, when Evan pulled the car to a stop and he opened his eyes again to find that Evan had parked in front of a cheap-looking chain motel.

“Evan, whoa, we both look like we just we fucking murdered someone,” he said, his voice still rough and strained with pain.

“I got it,” Evan said quietly, before murmuring a simple spell—one most witches mastered by the time they were seven or eight years old. A brief rush of warm wind sprang up out of nowhere, swirling through the vehicle and around his body. The blood that had been drying into a tacky mess on his clothes, hands, and face dissolved into nothingness, and Evan was left just as clean as he’d been when they first arrived at Greenway’s house.

“That must save you a lot of money on laundry detergent,” Tommy said as Evan leaned over and opened the glovebox.

“It is nice not having to haul things down to a laundromat,” Evan agreed, digging around until he found a thick, manila envelope folded up under the car’s registration. He opened it to find several bundles of bills—small denominations and worn enough not to arouse suspicion—a leather wallet, and even a few passports from different countries. “This…seems a little paranoid,” he said, raising a questioning eyebrow at Tommy. His vampire shrugged one shoulder.

“It used to be important to be able to disappear…quickly. Supplies are different, but the habits haven’t changed.”

Sally used to talk like that. Evan nodded thoughtfully and counted out a couple hundred dollars in twenties and tens out of the stack of cash. “Be right back,” he said, and checked to make sure there was no one around who might see the absolute bloodbath the cabin of the vehicle had become before opening the door. He jogged across the parking lot and into the rundown lobby, where a bored-looking clerk sat behind the desk reading a celebrity magazine that looked to be about two years out of date.

“Hey, can I get a double for the night?” Evan asked, deliberately pulling out the stack of cash instead of his wallet. He knew how places like this worked—had taken advantage of them more times than he cared to count, especially in the first few months after he’d been banished.

“Gotta sign in,” the clerk said, completely ignoring the ancient computer next to him and shoving an old fashioned register across the counter. He did not ask for Evan’s ID. “All I’ve got left is a single, unless you wanna pay for a suite.”

Evan shot the clerk a deadpan look, well aware that ‘suite’ in a place like this just meant the hot water probably worked reliably and the carpet might get vacuumed more than once a month. “Single is fine,” he said, singing a completely random name on the register and counting out twenties on the counter until the clerk gave a satisfied grunt. It wasn’t like Tommy needed to sleep anyway.

The clerk handed an honest-to-God metal key dangling on a big plastic keychain over. “Room 106. Corner on the side facing the McDonald’s. Ice machine’s broken.”

“Shocking,” Evan said under his breath, but smiled politely when he took the key, making a mental note to check for bedbugs and be prepared to cast a more intense cleaning spell once he and Tommy got to the room.

That was less of a production than he was anticipating. The room was fortunately on the far corner of the motel, the cracked and weed-choked parking lot empty around them (right, only had a single available his ass) and the security cameras very obviously just for show. Evan cast a look-away charm over Tommy anyway, helping him into the room as quickly as possible and settling him down on the foot of the sagging bed.

The room was like every other no-tell motel room Evan had ever stayed in—dingy and smelling strongly of mildew. The only furniture was the aforementioned sagging bed—a full-sized mattress, at least, small mercies—a rickety table and chair, and a couple of nightstands on either side of the bed. Evan clicked the lamp sitting on one of them on and turned back to his vampire with a worried frown.

“All right,” Tommy said, grimacing as he plucked at the wadded up piece of sweatshirt still packed into the wound in his chest. Evan’s stomach turned a little at the sight of the bloodied hole—he hadn’t had time to examine it closely or even really think about what was happening until now. “As soon as the sun’s down, I’m going to head out and hunt…this should be mostly closed by then. We need to call Howie. And let’s look at the…fuck…” He broke off, hissing suddenly and hunching over.

“What?!” Evan demanded, stepping forward, his hand hovering uselessly over Tommy’s shoulder, afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him worse. Tommy shook his head.

“Debris. I think some splinters just punctured my liver again. God, I hate getting impaled.”

“That, uh, that happens a lot?” Evan’s mind was racing, his eyes glued to the way Tommy’s face was creased in pain.

“I feel like once is enough to decide getting impales sucks, but yeah…you live long enough, you get to experience the wide range of ways people can fuck each other up multiple times.” He sighed, cracking his neck back and forth a couple times in what Evan was coming to recognize was a nervous gesture. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Evan blinked, confused. He wasn’t the one currently rebuilding his chest cavity.

“Your magic—Evan, you can’t tell me that wasn’t a major spell. And everything else you’ve done…” Tommy trailed off again, the lines on his brow deepening. It was concern this time, though, not pain.

“I don’t…uh, I’m not—” Evan looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as he probed at the glow of magic in the back of his mind. He hadn’t taken the time to think things through at Greenway’s house. He had only reacted.

It was only after he’d dealt with the blond vampire that the thought of consequences had even occurred to him, and he’d waited for the effects of using so much magic to slam into him even as he concentrated on getting his vampire out of the house and into the car safely. That hadn’t happened, though. It still hadn’t happened. He didn’t exactly feel great…and he was definitely tapped out as far as major spells like the control hex and would be for a while. He was weakened far more than he would have been if he still had a coven bond to fall back on. But this didn’t feel any worse than a moderate hangover. He’d had worse headaches after some of Sally’s more intense training sessions.

“I’m okay,” he said finally, wonderingly.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly as he looked Evan up and down. “Are you sure?” he asked, doubt thick in his voice.

“I—yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” He couldn’t explain it…but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tommy stared at him, and he shifted uncomfortably before dropping down into the single chair by the round table that was the only other furniture in the room. The chair rattled ominously under his weight.

“I wasn’t just asking about your magic,” Tommy said quietly. “Are you okay?”

Evan froze, just blinking at his vampire stupidly a moment, before he let out a shuddering breath. How could…how could Tommy know… “I don’t feel guilty for what I did back there,” he admitted, his voice almost too quiet for his own ears. “I should, I know I should—”

“Absolutely not,” Tommy interrupted firmly. His words were still ragged, his voice tight with pain. But he stared at Evan steadily, nothing but absolute surety in his tone. “That was self-defense, Evan. Don’t think anything else. Those vampires would have killed me and taken you straight to Ortiz…you saved both our asses back there.”

Evan took a deep breath, looking down at his hands again. “I wanted to hurt them,” he said. “They…I never met any of the other witches Jo—Greenway was working with, but I, I, I know the reasons they must’ve had for going to him. And, and he killed them. Maybe he didn’t actually do it himself, but he let them die. He was going to let me die. And those vampires helped. I wanted them to hurt.”

He was angry. He was so incandescently angry at the people who were pulling on all the strings that had entangled him. Innocent witches had been killed, and for what? Politics? Because some vampire didn’t want to share power? Evan’s life hadn’t been that great, but it had been his. He’d been eking out a living, had almost made it to a point where he might have been able to start building something a little more permanent for himself, almost to the point where he might have been able to be…if not happy, at least content. And it had all been ripped away from him because of Ortiz, Greenway, and whoever else was working with them. Once again, he had a target on his back. Once again, he was being hunted for something he didn’t fucking do.

More than that, though…they could’ve killed Tommy right there. It was pure luck that the chunk of Greenway’s desk had missed his vampire’s heart. Tommy could have died right in front of him, and Evan was no longer startled by the wave of revulsion that washed through him at the thought, the way his magic stirred angrily at the back of his mind. He couldn’t let anything happen to Tommy; would not be able to bear it if anything happened to Tommy. He was done fighting the instinct.

“They deserved it,” Tommy said softly. Evan looked up at him, startled. “Don’t feel bad about wanting to hurt people who already hurt you. Who would’ve done worse if you’d let them. Would you have done that to them if they’d been willing to walk away and leave us alone?”

“What? No!” Evan sat up straight in the chair. “I’d never…that’s not what magic’s for!” I wouldn’t…”

It took him a moment to realize that Tommy had sat back slightly, and was just looking at him with an expression that made Evan’s stomach flip slightly. It was…soft. Softer than Evan thought he had seen his vampire’s face so far, a small smile on his lips that Evan could only describe as fond.

The effect was somewhat ruined by the blood that still smeared the corners of Tommy’s mouth, but it still made Evan fall silent.

“That’s why you shouldn’t feel guilty,” he said simply. “You’re a good man, Evan. But that doesn’t mean you can never show your teeth.”

How many times had Sally tried to drive the same sort of lesson home to him?

Before he could respond, though, Tommy shuddered, cursing to himself in a language that Evan couldn’t identify as he suddenly dropped the piece of sweatshirt he’d been holding against the wound in his chest. “Damn it, give me a minute,” he hissed, before he squared his shoulders and dug his fingers into the still gaping hole in his chest.

“Tommy!” Evan leaped to his feet, but Tommy just shook his head, rooting around in the meat of the wound, a grotesque, wet sound filling the room until he pulled what looked like a clump of bloody tissue from his chest. He held it up, and Evan realized with a flash of horrified disgust that it was another chunk of wood.

“Goddamn it,” Tommy groaned, dropping the bloody mess on the floor between his feet. “How much longer ‘til sunset?”

“Couple hours,” Evan said distractedly. He bit his lip, looking at his vampire—the tired slump of his shoulders, the lines of pain that creased his handsome face. Tommy was hurt…and until he healed more, he was in greater danger. They both were, really. And Tommy was going to have to go out to…to hunt. If he wasn’t going to kill anyone—and Evan believed him when he said it—he would have to be out longer.

Tommy was hurting.

“Would witch blood heal you faster?” he asked.

It was Tommy’s turn to freeze. He went still as a statue, his blue eyes boring into Evan’s before flicking down to his throat and back. “Evan,” he breathed out. “No. I’m not going to ask you to do that.”

Evan took that to mean that the answer was yes.

He swallowed, and again Tommy’s eyes zeroed in on the bob of his throat. “You’re not asking. I’m offering.” He stood up, and took a step towards his vampire, who still sat frozen, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Whatever spell held Tommy still shattered, and he shuddered again, though this time Evan didn’t think it had to do anything with the pain of his wound. He took a deep breath, as though scenting the air around Evan, his hand twitching upwards before curling into a fist and slamming back down on the bed.

“Are you sure?” Tommy said, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. Evan’s stomach flipped again, a shiver running through him that he wasn’t sure he was ready to examine too closely.

“You can do it without hurting me, right?” Evan asked, and now Tommy reached for him, pulling back with a grimace of distaste when he remembered the bloody mess he was.

“I’d never hurt you,” he said, a fervency curling through every word that made it sound like a promise. A vow.

Evan breathed out, his magic humming through him in wild approval. “Then let me help you,” he said.

Tommy’s eyes sheened over with scarlet light, before he visibly reined himself back in. He looked down at his bloody hands and held them up towards Evan almost beseechingly. “I—can you?”

With a small smile, Evan murmured the spell, his vampire’s hands whisking clean in a matter of seconds. Immediately, Tommy reached for him, curling one hand around Evan’s wrist, loosely at first and then tightening when Evan made no move to pull away. He tugged lightly, drawing Evan closer.

“How do you want to do this?” Evan asked, “Um, are you gonna—” He made a gesture towards his neck and was surprised when Tommy instantly shook his head.

“No. No, not there,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. His hand tightened on Evan’s wrist again, his thumb brushing gently over the pulsepoint. It was strange. He knew, intellectually, that Tommy could crush his wrist into powder with barely any effort…could throw him down and drain him dry, and Evan wasn’t sure if he’d be able to defend himself against it.

But Tommy wouldn’t do that to him. He knew it; down to the marrow of his bones he knew it.

Tommy would never hurt him.

He nodded his permission to Tommy’s unasked question. The red glow grew brighter in his vampire’s eyes, eclipsing the blue entirely, and when Tommy spoke again, Evan could see the hint of fangs in his mouth.

“Lie down. I won’t take much, I promise. But just in case.” Tommy let go of him, getting painfully to his feet so that they could trade places.

Evan grabbed the bloodstained comforter off the bed and tossed it to the floor. He was mildly surprised to see the sheets underneath appeared to have been laundered recently…at least there were no creepy-crawlies waiting for him. He kicked his shoes off and stretched out on the mattress, looking up when he heard Tommy swallow roughly.

“God, Evan,” Tommy murmured, so low Evan wasn’t entirely sure he was meant to hear it. “Thank you,” he said, louder, before slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Evan’s hip. “I—it won’t feel like it did at Gerrard’s party without the thrall,” he warned. “I could put you back under,” he offered uncertainly, but Evan could tell he didn’t really like the idea. Truthfully, Evan didn’t either, remembering the helpless way he’d rutted up against his vampire’s body under the effects of the thrall with a blush. He shook his head.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Just take what you need.” He offered his hand up, and had to look away when Tommy slowly took it, something disbelieving and tender in his red, red eyes.

“I can stop myself,” he promised. “If it starts to hurt too much, or you start to feel dizzy or sick, just tell me.”

“I trust you, Tommy,” Evan said, and knew in his heart that it was absolutely true.

Tommy closed his eyes and pulled Evan’s hand closer to his mouth, inhaling against the soft skin of his inner wrist with a quiet groan. “Evan,” he murmured, his name sounding like a fucking prayer in his vampire’s mouth.

Then Tommy bit down, sinking his fangs into Evan’s wrist.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

TONY STARK | IRON MAN (616)

—

“Office Time” (Tony Stark x Fem!Reader)

| Tony visits the reader at her office job. Just to hang out…no other reason.

| SFW, slice of life(?), nothing crazy happens they’re just talking, fluff

| Pic source: Tony Stark: Iron Man comics

| 2k+ words

Tony saunters into your office thirty minutes after finishing up with a business meeting in the area. He’s long since ditched his suit jacket, leaving him in a partially unbuttoned dress shirt and slacks, polished oxfords clacking on the vinyl as he travels down the office building’s nearly vacant hallways.

He knocks on your door while already walking himself in.

“Hey! It’s your boyfriend. Remember me?”

You glance at him briefly with a roll of your eyes but still flash him a smile before turning back to your monitor. The sleek black design was Stark Tech, gifted by himself, because no associate of his was working on anything less than the best. He can hear the tell tale signs of a conference call once he kicks the door closed behind him.

A small smirk eclipses his face at the sight of you and he edges his way across the room on silent feet. You toss him a curious glance but he waves you off. He’s got a hunch he plans on getting to the bottom of and he’s willing to risk your ire to do so. He thinks the reward will be greater than the risk in this case, though. Certainly more than his usual impulsive calls for excitement.

You only lightly startle when he plops down next to you on the floor behind your desk.

“So…” he starts, stretching out the word while settling comfortably beside your legs where they’re not fully under the desk.

“So?”

You hum and begin shuffling around with some papers. Tony feels like the file beneath your hands could knock Thor out; it's so thick.

“You know I love you, and all that good stuff. So, when I say this I'm really not trying to seem like the biggest jerk on the planet but, uh.” Tony scratches the back of his head as your eyes narrow at your screen. “Haha, okay. This is gonna be a little awkward, even for me, but did you get that package I sent you earlier?”

“Uh huh. It’s under my desk,” your face twitches funnily before you lick your lips. “It’s not secretly a…bomb…is it?”

You parse the question out tentatively and Tony blinks up at you.

“I would never do something so irresponsible.”

You squint, bright eyes still locked on whatever you’ve got running on the computer.

“Mmm, you kind of already have though.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle when the man smiles at you, blue eyes sparkling in amusement.

“I see what you’re trying to do right now, and it won’t work.”

“Oh you do? Well that’s okay because I distinctly remember a certain Armored Avenger crashing into the side of this building a month ago.”

“I’ll have you know, I was thrown, actually.”

You give a little nod randomly to the screen before addressing him.

“Whatever,” you sniff. “I could’ve died.”

“Okay, okay, I get it, the world's shittiest boyfriend award goes to me. Thanks.”

He’s going for playful dismissiveness, but if the look you throw at him is any indication he missed by a mile and ended up firmly at the corner of much too needy and much too self deprecating.

“Don't punch down, it looks bad on you. You still ended up saving me.”

“I don’t think the good deed counts if I caused the problem in the first place.”

“In this case we'll make an exception,” you frown at whatever’s on your screen but Tony doesn’t really know what to do at your reassurance. Eventually you fill the silence the room descends into.

“You’re good, though? Not slowly dying from some weird alien goo or anything?”

In a bid to dismiss your clear worry Tony waves his hand, “I’m fine, really. Just was in the area…Wanted to see you,” he shrugs. “Make sure you haven't opened that box.”

Tony gives himself a good chuckle before realizing the room’s other occupant isn’t laughing. His head whips to the side and his eyes widen. You’re cringing.

“Oh shit! You did? Honey...I...uh…” he trails off as you turn off your camera and slowly turn to him. Your face is pinched in guilt and embarrassment, and would you look at that, Tony feels like shit now.

“Hold on, Y/n, I’m not upset about it, just shocked I’m apparently rubbing off on you this much, and embarrassed.”

Your shoulders drop and you tap your manicured nails in succession once before your grimace turns into a soft smile.

You let out a small chuckle, “What’s so wrong with the gift you’d be embarrassed about it?”

“It’s just…uh…” he looks up at you and you smile.

“Proof that you care?”

He waves his hands around.

“No! I mean, yea- it just wasn’t supposed to come today.”

You nod sagely and place the gift, a beautifully crafted gold band set, gently atop your folder of doom.

“What exactly do you…think about them, though?”

Tony watches avidly as you chew on your lip for a moment.

He didn’t think after all you’d been through this would be the catalyst for you breaking up with him, but he really doesn’t want to disappoint you either.

It didn’t hurt that you were gorgeous to boot and could go toe to toe with Tony’s own brand of witt.

Neither of you take your eyes off the other as you suddenly push your chair back so you’re facing him. The moment you kick off one of your heels your boyfriend’s gaze locks on your bare foot. Tony’s breath hitches as you lift the fullness of your right leg up in front of his face. You slip the golden garter from your toes up to settle at the middle of your thigh, delighting in the way the hero tracks its trajectory.

Sliding the two thin gold cuffs up to your left forearm elicits the same amount of infatuation. After you finish putting on his gifts you meet his eyes and can't help the smile that tugs at your lips.

“Is that answer enough for you?” You lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “I love them, Tony. Thank you.”

Tony stares up at you, goofy grin taking over his face before he shifts to physically pat himself on the back. You laugh at him and turn back to your computer.

“Alright, yeah! Good on me. Best boyfriend of the year award firmly secured!”

You give him a little subdued upturn of your lips while flicking back on your camera. The meeting you’re in is still droning on without you.

“I won’t disagree with you, Tee,” you smirk. “Though that is a completely made up award.”

He squawks at your accusation, never mind that it was true.

You pay no further mind to his outburst except to shush him as you begin once again listening to what sounded like your team lead giving you all a hell of a talking to.

He takes to idly fiddling with his emergency screwdriver and the landline that was on your desk for the half hour it takes for your meeting to wrap up. He finds and disables a S.H.I.E.L.D tracker, two of Fury’s information gathering bugs, and one of his listening devices that was thankfully not transmitting -goddamn paranoid asshole- within the first twenty minutes.

Each time he finds something, identifies it and takes it apart, he shows it to you and by the time he’s fished out the last “addition” you look heavily irritated.

“Alright, yes, thank you for letting me listen in Ma’am…Mhm…Goodbye to you as well,” you say before logging off.

You turn to Tony, still cross legged on the floor, and your face goes from mildly irritated to furious in seconds.

“What the hell?”

Tony scowls at the ruined tech, “What the hell, indeed. Why would the General be tracking you?”

You shake your head.

“I work a desk job,” you say deadpan. “So it can’t be that, but I'd bet a lot that someone found out about us.”

“I want in on that bet,” Tony jokes lowly, dropping the ruined pieces of S.H.I.E.L.D tech into his pocket.

You rub at your forehead and Tony makes a soft noise before getting up on his knees and grabbing the hand that’s in your lap. He squeezes it softly.

“Don’t stress yourself out, I'll deal with it, okay? No one messes with my woman and gets away with it.”

You return the soft hold and snort as y’all lock eyes. Tony smirks and kisses the hand in his grasp. You smile softly down at him, bracing your elbow on the desk and leaning your head on your free fist.

“Your woman, huh?”

He can tell you’re putting on a brave face by how quickly your laughter fades after that. How fast your expression and tone goes from playful to something duller, and he knows he’s going to try and cheer you up before he even comes up with an actual plan.

“Yup.”

He winks at you, signature smirk softened around the edges, and you scoff while flicking his nose.

“Oh? Does that make you ‘my man’ then?”

“You’re damn right it does.”

You both let out quiet laughs while holding each other’s gazes. Dark lashes brush against brown skin when you blink and your eyes go half lidded, thumb running over his knuckles. It’s enough to make a grown man blush honestly.

Tony loves when the combined energy between you both sparks like this. It makes his body tingle in a way it never has with any of his past partners.

Sunset used to make him warm all over but it was never a good kind of warm, she used to make him feel lacking with nothing but pretty words and a flutter of her lashes. Tiberius didn’t make him feel like anything less than the shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Rumiko was like spring, blooming flowers and soft grass, but her dad had ripped her away the second he found out she was seeing a Stark so he’d never gotten to feel how they sparked. Janet made him want to dance and sing, her heat was like kinetic energy on a dance floor, but he was never a physical activity type of guy and she’d needed Hank more than him so their spark had fizzled out. Pepper and him had had a good run but in the end they hadn’t been what the other needed, but she was much more content with Happy anyway.

But you?

You made him calm like fall. All cool gusts of air and falling leaves when you looked at him during your rare moments of stillness together. Moments that made him want to fall into that pile of leaves and never come out. You pull him in like the world would stop revolving without you.

Your lips meet in a soft kiss.

You sigh against his mouth, hand moving to tilt his chin up more securely. He leans up to meet you halfway and you lean down to close the gap without a second thought. You and Tony devour each other slowly. You taste like coffee, like fall, and he’s desperate for it.

When you break apart neither of you are out of breath but he’s sure his eyes are just as dilated as yours. You’re only a hair's width apart as you breathe each other's air and he maps the intricacies of your face.

His eyes light up as he gets an idea.

“How bout’,” he pecks you on the lips before pulling back. “I cheer you up.”

“How so?” you ask, the smile you give him is wistful but the brown of your dark eyes twinkle.

Tony shivers. Your eyes only take on that mischievous sparkle when you’re planning or when you smell blood in the water and have somebody pegged. Tony usually likes the outcome of either of those.

There’s a twist to that usual assessing stare right now though.

You’re looking at Tony in the way Tony’s decided is reserved only for him. His stomach flutters. He’s not a particularly observant guy when it comes to normal people’s (ie: people that aren’t trying to kill him, use his money for villainy, or are who he fights beside) social cues, he accepted that years ago, but even he could tell that you were soft on him.

He throws you a heated look before adjusting his position on the carpet and moving down. He coaxes your legs apart with gentle touches before leaning in to plant a kiss on the soft inside of your thigh.

“I think I can come up with something,” he murmurs.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This is not all canonical (obviously). Also mind any typos I’ll get to them eventually.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

[merakiui]

Sneaky omega Jade who uses his pheromones to get what he wants. He is absolutely weak for tiny demanding alphas because while he can crush them, all it takes is one strong scent from his alpha and it’s all over for him.

Alpha Azul has my heart. He practically breathes breeding kink and you can’t say no to his deals because while you’re trying to parse through legalese in curly script, he’s filling the air with enticing smells.

Omega Floyd who’s a complete brat, but smells so sweet when he’s nuzzling into you. Loves it when his little alpha uses their commanding voice and *tries* to manhandle him.

Ugggghjjjh, just so many things to think about.

If the tweels don’t have the same designation, they’ll tease the other when it comes to impending heats/ruts, but they will body their partners if their twin doesn’t get treated right.

Yes omg!!! And he makes for such a cute bottom in bed, too. T_T Jade will tease you for as long as he can keep a clear head, but when he's truly, fully in heat and can't think of anything else but how nicely you smell and how good you feel he eventually submits. He'll get his revenge when he's not so heat-brained, but for now keep making him feel good. <3

Alpha Azul...... orz alpha Azul definitely uses his scent to his advantage when he's trying to get you to sign contracts. Your mind will be so fuzzy and disoriented and you'll likely leave his VIP room having signed his contract. He absolutely breathes breeding kink; you're so right!!!! He wants nothing more than to knock you up with lots of children so that you'll never have a chance to think about leaving him. I think alpha Azul also might pretend to be an omega just to gain your trust and lower your guard (you might even think he's harmless because he's an omega), so when he offers to help you through your heats/ruts you might be more likely to accept. But then in the midst of everything, he ends up knotting you because it turns out he was secretly an alpha all along. :)

And omega Floyd aaaa!! He's very cute and sweet, but so very needy when he's in heat. It doesn't matter if you're an alpha with a stronger scent; Floyd still dominates you even when he's so overwhelmed by his heat. He's insatiable and cums inside so many times until he can no longer cum anymore and is just mindlessly rutting into you. As much as he marks you, he wants you to mark him in return so that he can proudly show off the bites and bruises. No matter what, he's always shameless.

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 69 – Prophet, Volume 2: Brothers by Brandon Graham (et al)

I’m at this point reading these as quick palate-cleansers between longer books. Which is probably a terrible idea, both because I’m sure forgetting all manner of plot-critical details between volumes, and also because this series is so goddamn weird it’s the literary equivalent of having a spoonful of cinnamon between courses. But eh, reading the volumes in a row would both rapidly exceed my patience and also feel far too much like cheating to get my reading challenge counter up higher.

The story continues on from Volume 1, mostly but not entirely following ‘Old Man’ Prophet, a truly ancient superhuman soldier as he goes around the galaxy collecting a ragtag band of misfit allies and trying to organize a resistance to the reborn Terran Empire and its legions of other non-defective Prophets preparing to restore it to its ancient glory. The individual stories within that are pretty episodic, contained within each individual issue – all fairly minimalist and simple to fit within that constraint.

The style of story-telling is honestly the most striking thing about this whole series to me. Everything is very...zoomed out? Mostly, it’s an omniscient voice narrating the events occurring and how the protagonists feel about and react to them, with only comparatively few snapshots of actual dialogue or character beats occurring ‘on screen’. The result feels like a whole book of ‘previously on’ segments, as much as anything – it might be entirely normal in comics, but the few (very strange) ones I’ve really gotten into before this don’t do anything similar.

The art remains wonderfully bizarre – though it often gets to the point where I have difficulty actually parsing the action and whose doing what, which is a real issue in such an incredibly visual series. Still, by far the biggest selling point here is all the weird and wild aliens and gonzo worldbuilding that’s just thrown into the background and namedropped like it belongs there with zero exposition about how anything works beyond what’s absolutely necessary for the plot.

Speaking of visuals, I would like to take a moment to properly appreciate the fact that the Old Man’s dead love who he reminiscences about constantly was a lizard alien and they did not give her breasts (or make her particularly humanlike at all, really). Female alien character design in comic books is a low, low bar but crossing it with flying colors here.

Compared to volume one the story here’s much more conventional – more or less following one protagonist on a mission that’s either archetypal or generic depending on how nice you’re feeling, collecting a quirky and sympathetic supporting cast as he goes. My perspective is probably biased by the fact that the friend who lent me these also said that they technically take place in the far future of one established superhero universe or another, but you can kind of see the trappings of the genre starting to peak through here and there? Not necessarily a bad thing, but this definitely read like what you imagine a comic book to be than the last one.

[identifying-guns-in-posts]

Submission from @onegami:

I don’t know if this is in your arsenal (*wink wonk*), but I would so appreciate if you could identify these little guys

These are a bit blurry (and obviously aren’t real guns) and many of them are in that Generic AR15 Category, so I can’t give definitive answers here, but I will try my best. It’s also hard to squeeze in factoids for ten weapons in one post, so I will probably be pretty brief.

Up top we have some form of DMR conversion kit for an AR15, not entirely sure which or what kind due to image quality and camera angle. Could be a LWRC REPR (chambered in 7.62x51mm NATO). Has a really wonky looking muzzle device at the end; size-wise it makes me think it’s a suppressor, but it has holes in it, so apparently it’s supposed to be an obscenely large muzzle break??

The proportions of the second one and the appearance of the magazine lead me to believe the second one is the Heckler & Koch HK53A3 (chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO), which is just a super-compact form factor version of the HK33, their MP5-esque assault rifle series.

Our third rifle looks to be the Enfield L85A1 (part of SA80 series, chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO), except it’s bizarrely mirrored, with the covered cheek rest side facing the camera, when we should be seeing the ejection port and charging handle in the back. Still, it’s also mounted with a standard issue SUSAT scope.

The fourth is tricky, possibly unintentionally so. The boxy foregrip, wire stock, and barrel and gas tube positioning all seem to suggest it’s an IMI Galil ARM (chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO), however the receiver is very different, almost AR-15 like. On a hunch, I looked up Counter-Strike listings on IMFDB and I think I have an answer: the receiver might be leaning towards the IWI Galil ACE 22 (5.56x45mm) design, like in CS:GO. I’m still not entirely sure, though...

The fifth is, I think, an M4A1 Block II (chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO) judging by the elongated foregrip with full rail systems on all four sides. It’s specifically fitted with an ACOG sight here. Could also be one of those Daniel Defense / Knight’s Armament clones but I’m not too sure and can’t be bothered to parse it down.

This next one, though, is a mystery. Like, the very first thing that totally screws with me is the bizarre thumbhole stock. It looks almost like an M16? Like, you can clearly recognize the carrying handle in there, but... I dunno. I’m passing on this one, it’s driving me insane.

Seventh is a very clear-cut Colt M1921A Thompson (part of the Thompson series, chambered in .45 ACP) with an extended box magazine. Good ol’ classic rattler.

I swear these guns are going to drive me insane. Eighth one immediately had the Benelli M4 Super 90 (part of the M series, chambered in 12-gauge) come to mind because of the pistol grip and stock construction, as well as the design clearly being that of a semi-auto shotgun, but the barrel being longer than the shell tube, and the foregrip seeming to recede into the receiver, are both tripping me up. And of course, yet again, we have no ejection port or charging handle on the right side where it should be...

Finally, we got two easy ones. Penultimate one is an AKM (Avtomat Kalashnikova series, 7.62x39mm) judging by the stock style and what I’m assuming is a stamped receiver... hard to tell given the lack of details and OH MY GODDESS THE RECEIVER IS MIRRORED AGAIN.

Last one is the FN SCAR-L (SCAR series, 5.56x45mm NATO), likely the CQB variant. Easy to tell from the distinctively shaped folding stock. The iron sights are folded down to make way for what appears to be a reflex sight and flip-down magnifier optic.

I’m not sure what the (*wink wonk*) is supposed to suggest. If you’re asking if I’d pick these keychains up... let me know if they do any actual sniper rifles or PDWs.

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

team-building head wound exercises

there is a thorn in your left eyelid

you are trying to ignore it, to move your eyes slowly

(you tried to peel it free, to unfold skin and bleed away from your mouth)

and now there are pieces of thorn and skin caught under your nails

as the half of a conversation that belongs to you starts drowning in personal fluids

(but see, there’s this shrapnel-wound pissing blood down your face)

(and you’re pretty sure the red-rimmed man frowning at you helped put it there)

mouth dry and aching on the copper caught up in your teeth

(it’s coming from your busted tongue)

(you bit into it to stop it from skinning him, to remind yourself of patience)

(to needle as much of your hand into his mouth as you could fit and rip)

the thorn is working itself into your eye with every blink, every breath and twitch and flinch

and the further it gets the less of you remains beneath it

(the core of your person seems to have been built mainly of keening violence and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel about that)

he is saying something, under the roar of blood and panic welling up in your jaw

it looks measured, and designed to calm wild dogs, and if you could bite him about it you’re pretty sure you would

but there is not much of your head remaining

that doesn’t feel like you took a couple flights of stairs the fast way

(and if you got your mouth around his forearm, his right ear, his throat)

well, you don’t know that you’d be able to let go

there is so much blood lining your face it has started to slip under your gaping collar

and under the pain there is again frustration 

at the destruction of something you’re kind of fond of, actually

(and the whole time you’ve been staining one of your better shirts and holding yourself together for the sensitive pallets of god and country)

(there’s been this tight-jawed monkey suit blinking disapprovingly)

and in one, beautiful, furious moment, recognition sparks

and you are alight in perfect clarity

(shuddering head-wound notwithstanding)

you have not been able to parse his face for the last ten minutes

but there was something in the way he looked at you

the cocky loom of a man who has never had his face bounced off a guardrail 

(the press of his mouth, like he’s caught sight of a spider he’s failed to kill for the third time in a hour)

and you’ve remembered how badly you would like to throw him into highway traffic

so your mouth drops open, and you lash your teeth to soft meat and orbital sockets, respectively 

and smile with the kind of warm invitation given to loved ones and mealworm

that he might bring himself before you, wary distaste rolling off him and still moving forward

(the ambush predator lurking in your jaw watches the proceedings with all the grace of a child on their birthday)

(i am weak-willed and unfit to hurt you, you promise, with everything but your mouth)

(i am nothing if not your timid serf, my large eyes are all the better to see you with)

(i don’t bite i don’t i don’t i swear i do not crave the yield of your pulse in my mouth)

there is a thorn in your left eyelid, and it is excruciating 

(i don’t bite i promise)

it is about to be someone else’s problem

[infinitycutter]

i really like your posts about clothes and designers and fashion. i dont know much but i like learning things from you & think you have good taste. i wanted to ask you about buying from mercari japan. im in the USA and i use that version of mercari all the time but id love to shop mercari japan. however im intimidated by the language barrier and what shipping would entail. do you use a proxy shopping service? if so any recs? & do you have other tips in general for navigating / using mercari japan? i want to thank you very much if you choose to answer ^_^

hehe im happy you like my posts and aesthetic taste i just post what inspires + interests me ^_^

I’m also in the US, and I use a proxy! In fact, I literally just got my haul two days ago!! Most people go for buyee, but they’re overpriced so I go for Neokyo. I’ve used japanese shopping sites for almost a decade + I learned some japanese when I was like. an 11 year old weeaboo so I can easily navigate through these websites—BUT— what’s cool w/ neokyo and some other websites is that they p much have their own user interfaces in english, so having to go through the japanese websites isn’t really necessary(with some caveats). And worst comes to worst, you can use browser extensions /apps that directly translate the website for you, so everything is easier to navigate. im not sponsored by neokyo btw, but compared to other sites like japonica or buyee, they have the lowest rates, and often have promotions that take off the service fee in the first place. Most sites are pretty self explanatory and will have tutorials in case you get stuck.

ok so here’s some tips for shopping on japanese websites that im just gonna put just in case someone else asks me in the future so i can redirect them to this post lol

1) KNOW WHAT YOU WANT.

It will make your life INCREDIBLY helpful if you are looking for a specific brand or designer, as well as the article of clothing you want in the first place. Having this specificity in mind can help you buy less in general too, and will help you get something that you’ll really want and keep. That aside, each website will have different filters to sort through stuff and one of them will be brand name, so that can help you parse through junk posts of people posting old zara when you’re looking for old Helmut Lang.

2) DO YOUR RESEARCH.

If you are looking for a specific style in mind, such as mori kei, karasu zoku, jirai kei, etc. there will be specific brands that cater(ed) for that style alone. most of the time, the information will be available on google. for designers, doing some digging on their different sublabels and aliases will be really helpful for digging for hidden gems. for example, one of my favorite brands, Undercover, has multiple sublabels, diffusion lines, names, etc. that you can search it under, such as: JONIO, ZAMIANG, AFFA, etc. Sometimes, you’ll get people knowledgeable about the brand and will put the brand filter on the item, but sometimes, people will pick up an item and will not know anything about the garment’s source or designer. Having that precursory knowledge lets you take advantage of people selling insanely rare items for insanely cheap prices because they’re clueless about it lol.

3) IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE LOOKING FOR, BE LESS SPECIFIC.

The point that I made from earlier that certain brands will kind of spearhead a certain genre of clothing is very helpful if you’re looking for other brands/designers/clothes that go for the same aesthetic. For example, the brand Trove has become synonymous with the Mori Boy style, and many people use that for search visibility. It’s annoying for me when I was specifically looking to buy trove, but it helped me learn about some other designers like nonnative, yaeca, and margaret howell.

4) IGNORE SIZE LABELS, USE GARMENT MEASUREMENTS*.

As none of us truly have the luxury of trying things online, knowing correct fit is hard. So save yourself the hassle and disappointment by literally just taking measurement of your body + clothes that you like, to get a gauge of whether or not the thing would fit you. Most sellers are kind enough to provide measurements, but sometimes, they don’t. This is where research and experience comes into play. For example, Takahiromiyashita theSoloist’s pants always goes a size down, meaning that a size 30 trouser will most likely be a size 27/28. This knowledge will only come after getting a general sense of the brand itself, so having a bit of brand loyalty and knowledge can pay off.

5) GO FOR JAPANESE DESIGNERS.

A lot of these brands tank in value, especially as they become forgotten and the trends have moved past. It’s sad for them, but it’s great for me. My mori kei wardrobe only cost around $300 ish, with the most expensive one being a $150 Yohji Yamamoto pour Homme runway cardigan. But mostly it was cheap clothes on mercari that I was able to buy for less than $30 max.

6)KNOW THAT THIS ISN’T LIKE SHOPPING ON SHEIN/ZARA/SSENSE/ETC. AND THIS WILL TAKE TIME.

Unlike regular websites where you can literally buy what you want at any time, it takes can take weeks, months, or even years to scope out what you want to buy. However, being more fluent in browsing thru these websites can help you score insane deals for things you’d see marked high in the west. I regularly buy rare undercover for insanely low prices, just because I toil in the mercari japan mines frequently.

7)THE MORE YOU BUY, THE BETTER IT GETS.

Your rates for shipping will get better the heavier your parcel is. Meaning that it’s better for you to buy more in one time, rather than buying only one garment. Yes, this spurs even more consumerism, but whatever lol

8) Saddest one of all, this entire thing will be easier the skinnier you are.

This isn’t fatphobia; it’s the fact that most of the clothes you’ll wanna buy are in Asian sizing, meaning that most of it will be incredibly small. Even I, as a US Men’s Small, can barely fit into a lot of Japanese clothes due to my big ass shoulders. Luckily, there are some ways to circumvent it, including going to styles/brands that incorporate a lot of oversized stuff, like Doublet, Yohji, or Balmung. Recently, some brands also offer plus size options available, but it requires you to buy new.

Okay it took longer than expected, but I hope this is helpful for the anon and anyone else who reads it! :D

[bitchfitch]

Hey man, so.. i am a furry, have been for a while, but i havent been super involved in the community. ive been thinking abt actually marketing as a furry artist. How does one delve into such a market? Ive done a handful of commissions but its an entirely new area for me 😅 (also i totally get if you’re not ok with sharing, feel free to ignore!)

so I haven't been very active in the furry community since like, 2016? 2017? Nothing really caused that I just got busy with college n work n stuff and had to drop a lot of what I was doing on the side. Couching all of my statements in that.

Step 1 is to draw. like I'm serious. Just draw, draw your fursona, draw random sonas, do fan art of furry media characters. No amount of good marketing will help if you don't have a good portfolio already up and ready to be scrolled through.

step 2: Tag those posts and cross post to the platforms you want to market on. Furry amino and Tumblr were where i mostly posted but the markets changed a lot and I don't have a good idea of it anymore.

step 3: make your comms info readily available and easily parsed. and consider doing things like adopts.

step 4: interact with other accounts. Leave comments and on Tumblr, reblog and tag things, that's the Best way to get people to follow you and see and spread your stuff. This isn't fishing, baiting the water isn't being part of the community and what's best for you is what's best for everyone. Lift your fellows up and they'll lift you up too.

last step is to just like, be chill, be nice, make content that makes you happy whatever that content is. That's what's going to catch eyes and attract like minds who dig the same stuff as you and thus who might want to buy what you're selling.

like my final tip is if you want to be Really serious about this, pick a fursona to be your Brand. Use them as a proper persona that you try to keep everything in line with, not really in an RP way but in a vibe consistency way. Match your infographic colors to them and set up your account to Vibe with their energy. so that way you aren't selling a polished version of yourself which is Horrible for the mental health, your selling an aesthetic built around a design you like. it puts a little separation and can really help with that parasocial online behavior.

Also it gives your following something to immediately identify with you and makes everything a little easier to remember and keep in their noggins when they have a 'face' to associate things with.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE ROOTS OF UNIONS

Email is not just classification, because false positives are so much worse than false negatives that you should all become humorless little robots who do nothing but work. Only later did he start to ask questions like that, they'd learn some frightening things. But if we get good enough at filtering out spam, it will make the world better. It often returned surprising answers. Exactly. It was a mystery he was trying to solve a hard problem with a score is that no one now even remembers, and so on. Paths can bend a lot more intimidating to start a new channel.1 A round from Sequoia. Filtering is an optimization problem, and the rate at which it changes is itself speeding up. I don't know.

But if you parse it all, your filter might degenerate into a mere html recognizer. What they should not do is try to imitate the swagger of more experienced founders. VCs now, and you've made something so great that it's growing at 5% a week. So just keep playing. Why not do something huge? I'm not saying you shouldn't hang out with your friends—that you should all become humorless little robots who do nothing but work.2 Most hackers' first instinct is to try it.

And yet when they started startups, they decided to build recipe sites, or aggregators for local events. As one data point on the curve, at any rate, if you restrict the sales pitches spammers can make, you will inevitably tend to put them in the position of service providers rather than publishers. It would cost something to run, you become very hard to predict what will; often something that seems interesting: to master some chunk of material, or to answer some question. 06%. Octopart there was no good way to find or design the best language is to be consciously aware of it. In this respect trolling is a lot of people at Apple seem to be any syntax for it. Here's the answer: Do whatever's best for your users. What kids get taught in school is a complex mix of lies.3 We want to write a function that takes another number i and returns n incremented by i. The switch to the new norm may be surprisingly fast, because the school authorities vetoed the plan to invite me. Matters are decided in the discussion preceding the vote, not in the sense of having a larger universe of tokens is that there is more in his books than in a library of art monographs. And so I just gave up.

I also ignore html comments, not even considering them as token separators. In fact, the way tapestries and mosaics are made in practice is to make a painting first, then copy it. Companies often claim to be benevolent, but because it's more convenient. Plenty of famous people. Here's where benevolence comes in. I know many Lisp hackers that this has happened to. Lisp the shape it has.4 And you can take more risks, because no one is doing them yet. The questions you're answering are pleasantly familiar.

There are of course examples of startups that have succeeded despite any number of different mistakes. That makes Wodehouse doubly impressive, because it implies you're supposed to have an answer.5 So these five false positives so far, out of about 7740 legitimate emails, a rate of. One way to deal with fraud, and people trying to take advantage of dramatic decreases in cost is to increase volume. Add my name to the list. In fact, I've found that you can approach the problem in Python, writing either def foo n: class acc: def __init__ self, s: self. Ideally the answer is that it explains not merely which kinds of discussions to avoid, but how to have better ideas.

I'm using abstractions that aren't powerful enough—often that I'm generating by hand the expansions of some macro that I need to write sophisticated programs to solve hard problems in the face of fierce competition. I'm reading a description of a universal Turing machine. The bizarre half is what makes the religion stick, and the power of the forces that have them in their grip, so I stopped worrying about it. Many observers have noticed that one of our teachers was herself using Cliff's Notes, it seemed inevitable that I would eventually have to move from filtering based on single words to an approach like this. But they're a good model for the early phases. 9782 free! If you consider exclamation points as constituents, for example, is generated by Perl. You also have to be careful here to distinguish between them. Programmers are unlike many types of workers in that the best ones.

When you order online, I think that if checksum-based spam filtering is often combined with a whitelist, a list of objects of different types. If you use a fixed number like this. Conditionals.6 Some examples will make this clear. I was ready to question everything I knew. Plus those 15 people any favors if you fly the company into ground with them aboard. The added confidence that comes from trying to help people can also help you with investors. Their revenues aren't as high as on any forum I've seen. My parents never claimed that people or animals who died had gone to a better place, or that we'd meet them again. 01491078 guarantee 0.

Notes

It's conceivable that a startup in a rice cooker. It's hard to imagine how an investor who merely seems like he will fund you, it will become increasingly easy to slide into thinking that customers want what you have to be a distraction. How much better that you can do to get users to succeed in a limited way, it becomes an advantage to be identified with you. I'm writing about one specific, rather than lose a prized employee.

It derives from the government, it might actually make it to competitive pressure, because users' needs often change in the same attachment to their work. Probabilities in this respect. It seems justifiable to use thresholds proportionate to the margin for error. Even in English, our contact at Sequoia, was one that did.

For example, it's a bad idea, period.

As a result a lot more frightening in those days, then promptly improving it. The ironic thing is, because the Depression. But it will seem like a conversation in which many people work with me there. In any case.

Galbraith p. We have no trouble getting hired by these companies wish they were.

Philosophy is like math's ne'er-do-well brother.

Thanks to Geoff Ralston, Jessica Livingston, Dan Giffin, Sam Altman, and Hutch Fishman for putting up with me.

[helenaheissner]

Love During Robot Fighting Time: Chapter 22

Kate

I sat at the breakfast table the next morning with my parents, nursing a mug of black coffee alongside a bagel and lox, my mom reading a fashion magazine and my dad parsing the financial section of the Wall Street Journal��whilst fiddling with his abacus. Many thoughts swam laps inside my mind, and chief among them was, ‘how the hell do I tell my parents I’m in a polycule?’ 

“Have you got the details for your next fight yet, Kate?” Mom said, looking up from her magazine while reaching for the coffee pot balanced on an oven mitt on the table. 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I said. “I’m fighting Team Forest Fire on Friday.” 

“Oooh, that’s exciting,” Mom said. “Try not to get distracted by the man-candy though.”

I giggled. “Moooommmm.”

“Just saying, I probably wouldn’t be able to focus that well going up against a bunch of former firefighters,” Mom said. 

“Do I have something to be concerned about?” Dad said wryly, grinning without looking up from what he was doing. 

“Never, darling. You’re the only one for me,” Mom said. 

“Good to hear,” Dad said. “Same to you.”

I gulped. 

“Everything alright, Katie?” Mom asked. 

“I, well,” I said. Hoooo boy this was difficult. I hadn’t had to come out to them as trans, they’d done all the work for me, but this… 

Okay, let’s take a step back, I told myself. Mom and Dad have thus far demonstrated themselves to be completely reasonable, understanding people who will love me no matter what. Maybe I should just rip off the bandage and hope for the best.

“How are things between you and your young man?” Dad asked. He seemed to like referring to Zeke as that- Dad was so inexplicably old-fashioned in the weirdest ways. He used an abacus, a flip-phone, and got a physical newspaper delivered every day. It was occasionally shocking to me how forward-thinking he was when he had such a fixation on the aesthetics of the past. 

Then again, was Mom really any different? Most of the dresses she designed harkened back to some previous decade of women’s fashion. I swear she would dress like a fifties housewife every day if it were remotely practical. 

They were the picture of an old fashioned marriage: they’d met in college and gotten engaged their senior year, used the graduation money they’d been gifted to start a small business, and then had me almost right away. Then again, they’d met through their college’s anime club, the small business they owned catered to all the weirdos and hipsters that came in, and their darling child was… Me. 

“Things are good with Zeke and I, but, uh, there’s something you should know,” I said. 

Dad finally put down his newspaper and shoved his abacus aside. He removed his reading glasses and stared deep into my soul in that way only fathers seem capable of. “Does he have any venereal diseases?” 

“What?! No, no, nothing like that,” I said. 

“You’re sure? You have confirmation of that? Because I understand that you’re young and eager to explore certain long-neglected aspects of yourself-”

“AAAAHHHHH,” I screamed, closing my eyes and putting my hands over my face. 

“David, you’re scaring her,” Mom said. Through parted fingers I saw her raise an eyebrow. “Though it is important to make sure-”

“He doesn’t have any STDs!” I said, throwing my hands into the air with exasperation. “He told me so- verbatim!”

“Oh, good,” Dad said. “So then what’s the issue? He seems like a nice young man.”

I drew a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, trying to push cloying particles of exhaustion out of my lungs. “I’m not just dating Zeke. I’m also dating Faith.”

“They’re… Sharing you?” Mom said, squinting and tilting her head. 

“No, they’re dating each other as well,” I said. 

“So all three of you are dating each other?” Dad said. “All at the same time?”

“Yes, basically.”

“How long has this been happening?” Dad said. 

I looked at the clock on the microwave. “Uh… About eleven hours?”

“I see,” Dad said. 

“How exactly did this happen?” Mom asked. 

“Well, Zeke and I started dating.”

“Yes, we know that part,” Dad said. 

“But he and Faith had liked each other for a while, but neither of them knew that the other liked them back until I came around and… Uh… Forced the issue, I guess.”

“Okay, but when did Faith start liking you?” Mom asked. 

“Honestly, I’m still a little confused by that part myself, but I think it was when I started hanging out with her as a friend and encouraging her to tell Zeke how she felt-”

“Wait, what?” Dad asked. 

“It’s a long story,” I said. 

“Evidently so,” Dad said. 

“When did you start liking her?” Mom asked. 

“I think I always liked her on some level,” I said, looking down and shifting in my seat. “She always seemed so cool and calm and even-keeled, and she’s such a great engineer, I just wanted to impress her, so I kept… Making an ass of myself, trying to get her to notice me. And then I got to know her more, and she turned out to be just as big of a dork as I am, not to mention a ton of fun to be around… And I wanted her to be happy. And when she said what would make her happiest was getting to be with both of us… Well, that made me really happy. It feels… It feels really good, being with both of them.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a Look, one of those mutual expressions of understanding they’d shared intermittently for as long as I could remember. Normally, they infuriated me- some sort of social understanding through nonverbal communication I didn’t think I’d ever truly be able to comprehend, because I’d always thought… I’d always thought I’d be alone forever. But now… I think I understood it then. They were confused, and they were concerned, but… They weren’t mad. 

At least, I didn’t think they were. 

… Okay, I was seventy percent sure they weren’t mad. Best to confirm it. “Are you guys mad at me?”

Mom released a gentle sigh and put a hand on my shoulder. She never said anything when she did things like that, she always just went right for it. I wondered… Did I get that from her? “Of course we’re not mad. Well, I’m not- your inscrutable, stoic, marble statue of a father will need to clarify that for himself-”

Dad scoffed, rolled his eyes, and said, “I’m not mad either. I’m… Perplexed by all this, is what I am.”

“Which is also true of me,” Mom said. “You’ve… Never been what I would call a social butterfly, and now you have two partners. And if you’re happy, and you trust both of them, then I’m happy, and I trust both of them. But please, please, PLEASE be careful. Your father and I… We don’t really know much about this kind of thing. You being trans… Well, we saw that coming and had plenty of time to prepare. This is kinda taking us by surprise. We weren’t even sure… What kind of person you liked, never even considered you might like all kinds.”

I gulped, and I nodded. Finally, I cracked a smile. “Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad.”

“Of course,” Mom smiled back. 

“Any time,” Dad said.

I gave a weak laugh. “If you don’t mind my asking… When you guys first started suspecting I might be trans-”

“‘Suspecting’ implies that we ever had any doubt after finding the evidence,” Dad said. 

“Be nice, dear,” Mom chastised him. 

“-How did you… You know, react?” I finished.

They exchanged another Look. Finally, after about thirty seconds, Mom said, “We were… Confused, at first, by what it all meant. Surprised. But after we started thinking about it, and doing research… The more sense it started to make. There were a lot of signs.”

“There were?” I asked, brow furrowing. “Like what?”

“You used to throw tantrums whenever we made you get a haircut,” Dad said. 

“You always played as girl-characters in video games,” Mom said. 

“You would get extremely annoyed at anyone who called you ‘young man’ or ‘sir’ or ‘boy,’” Dad said. “Heck, you barely seemed to hear it whenever anyone called you by your old name.”

“Your favorite character in every Gundam you’ve ever watched is any girl who gets into a robot,” Mom said. “Seriously, I don’t think there’s a bigger Sayla Mass fan in the Western Hemisphere.”

“When you were a little kid, a very small one, you used to offer to model your mother’s dresses for you,” Dad said. “And after she started taking you up on the offer, you got very excited whenever she had you do it again.”

“Wait, seriously?” I laughed, rubbing the freshly-shorn back of my neck. “I don’t remember that.”

“We have pictures,” Mom said. 

“You took pictures?” I asked, flabbergasted. 

“You insisted we take pictures,” Dad said, pulling out the flip phone he’d owned for as long as I could remember and pulling up pictures of what did in fact resemble a much younger me modeling my mother’s dresses.

“Huh,” I said. 

“Yeah, plus all those longing glances you gave to the dresses we have up in the store,” Mom said. “Once we found the underwear, it all kinda clicked into place.”

“Alright, yeah, it’s kinda hard to argue with all that,” I said. “Have I mentioned that I love you guys, and that you’re the best parents ever?”

“Yes, but we can always stand to hear it a little more,” Mom smirked. 

I poured myself a little more coffee, and basked in the warmth of my loving home. It felt good. 

I felt good. 

***

After an absolute behemoth of an opening shift, families pouring in at the height of beach season desperately looking for swimwear for hours and hours, I spent a few hours wrenching on Polyphemus in my garage, re-installing the katana. I’d seen Team Forest Fire work their ax, and I didn’t want to try to beat them at their own game. Instead, I focused on making modifications to maximize speed and mobility. If I could stay out of their range, out-drive them, cripple their wheels, I’d have a fighting chance. 

It was all riding on this. If I wanted into the playoffs, I NEEDED this win. 

After that I showered, shaved my legs, blow-dried my hair, and did my makeup. Faith was coming over to help me practice my voice, and it would be the first time I’d seen her since… Well, she and I had started dating. My heart raced backwards at the idea that my girlfriend was coming to see me, to help me be the girl I wanted to be. I put on my favorite dress, the first one I’d worn. Zeke had seen me in it, but Faith hadn’t yet. I did a twirl, then another, then another, reveling in the giddy sensation of gender euphoria as I dove further and further into femininity. Faith wanted to help me cultivate that, and all I wanted to do in return was support her and Zeke both. To be the warmth and light they both needed, just like they were for me. 

An idea struck me then, about what kind of woman I wanted to be, and about what kind of image I wanted to work towards in the tournament. 

I was so busy walking on air I barely noticed Faith was late. First by a half hour, then an hour, then an hour and a half. I texted her, called her, did the same with Zeke, all to no avail. Concern germinated inside me, threatening to choke out reason and serenity, so I hopped into my truck and braved the drive over to their place. 

I knocked on their door, and waited, and waited, and waited, until finally, I heard some signs of life dragging their feet over the floor and lumbering towards the door. 

Zeke opened the door and loomed over me, hair a bed-headed mess, sans shirt (ABS), lipstick marks covering his face and neck. And he smelled like… Well, he smelled like Faith’s perfume. 

Zeke seemed to take a moment to register that I was standing there, but when he did, his eyes bulged wide and he let out a squeak. “Kate!”

“That would be me, yes,” I said, mustering up a wry grin, trying to ignore the green flames of envy smoldering inside my heart. This was okay, this was fine, I’d signed off on this, I had no right to be jealous, none whatsoever-

“Kate?!” Faith’s voice reached out from the interior of the apartment, echoing across the hall and hitting me. It rang a quarter-octave lower than I was accustomed to at this point. Not quite what she’d sounded like last season, but a little closer… 

I wondered what my facial expression looked like at that moment? Honestly, I had no clue- I’d never been terribly aware of what my face was doing at a given moment, not unless I was concentrating on it very, very hard. 

Of course, given Zeke’s rather mortified look, I could probably hazard an educated guess that I didn’t look terribly pleased. 

Crap. 

Faith stumbled across a living room that was a mess of strewn about clothes and disarrayed furniture, hair even more frazzled then Zeke’s was, clad in Zeke’s IGPX t-shirt (it was practically a ballroom dancing gown on her, it was so big). “This isn’t what it looks like.”

I cocked an eyebrow. 

Faith looked like she was suppressing a chuckle.

I squinted and tilted my head to the side. 

Faith blanched and went stone-faced instantly. 

“Please come in, I’m begging you not to make us have this conversation in the hallway,” Zeke said, exasperation so heavy it made his shoulders slump. 

This is fine, this is fine, I agreed to it, this is fine, I repeated in my head like a steady drumbeat as I nodded and entered the apartment. 

I sat down on the couch, and Zeke brought me a glass of ice-water. I took a long, cold sip, released an audible ‘ahhh’, and set it down on the table without a coaster. They really ought to get some coasters for this place. 

“So,” I said. 

“So,” Zeke said. 

“So,” Faith said. 

“You guys-”

“Yes,” they both said sheepishly, standing in front of me, nothing between us but the coffee table. 

“All night?” I asked. 

“Yes,” they said again. 

“And into the morning and early afternoon?”

“I guess,” Faith said. “What time is it now?”

“It’s two-thirty in the afternoon.”

“Oh wow,” she said. “I guess we lost track of time.”

“The battery ran out on my phone,” Zeke said weakly. 

“I don’t know why you two look so guilty,” I said, forcing a smile onto my face. “I said this was okay. So it’s okay. Okay?”

“Your smile isn’t reaching your eyes, babe,” Zeke said, shuffling his foot across the floor awkwardly. 

“Huh? What does that mean?”

“It, uh… It means you’re not being totally honest.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Your facial expression.”

“Well what does it look like?” I said, leaning forward. 

“... You mean you don’t know?”

“I very rarely do. What does it look like?”

“Uh, well…,” Zeke said. 

“Like this,” Faith said, scrunching up her brow and conjuring the world’s tiniest smile. It looked like a thin sheet of glass balancing on an edge, about to fall over and shatter at the slightest nudge. 

“Oh,” I said, looking down. Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit this is fine, I should be fine with this, if they’re happy then I should be happy so why don’t I feel happy?!

Faith glided over to me and sat down on my left side, and she beckoned Zeke over with her fingers and sat him on my right. “Let it out. Let it all out.”

“There’s nothing… Nothing to… To let out. I’m fine.”

“Kate,” Faith said. “Like I said before: you taught me a really valuable lesson about being honest with your own emotions and having the courage to vocalize them. So please be honest with us now. Are you upset?”

“I…,” I started, but the words stopped there and then. I closed my eyes and I nodded vigorously instead. 

“Are you jealous?” Faith asked. 

I nodded again, with equivalent ferocity. 

“Alright. That’s completely understandable. We should have talked to you before we did this-”

“You did talk to me, though,” I said, slowly opening my eyes. “I just didn’t think you’d get down to business right away. It… It feels…”

“It feels dishonest,” Zeke said, staring directly ahead, pupils dilated, fingers pressed against his temple while his elbow was propped on the armrest. “Like Faith and I are sneaking around, waited for you to not be there to…”

“Zeke, no!” I said, leaning on him, putting my arm around his arm, rubbing his shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong! You shouldn’t feel ashamed.”

“I’m not-”

I glared at him, and if I had to guess, Faith was doing the same. 

“Okay, I do feel a little ashamed,” he grumbled. 

“You shouldn’t!” I said. 

“And you shouldn’t be comforting me right now when I’m the one who upset you by not being able to keep it in my pants!”

“Hey, c’mon, we should be sharing the blame for this,” Faith said. 

“No, there shouldn’t be any blame at all!” I said, running my hands through my hair. “Neither of you did anything wrong. I shouldn’t be feeling upset or jealous at all- I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to this!”

“Yeah, but knowing it intellectually and knowing it emotionally are two different things,” Faith said. “You’re new to dating, and Zeke and I are new to this, so it’s completely reasonable that we won’t always be able to predict how we’ll feel about certain things. Because relationships are full of weird, irrational emotions that you can’t plan for and can’t always articulate. But being honest about having them, and talking them through with your partner-”

“Or partners,” Zeke added. 

“-That’s what keeps a relationship alive,” Faith said. She grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles, then rested her head on my shoulder. “So how do you feel right now?”

“I feel,” I said, trying to breathe into what was going through my head, “I feel overwhelmed. Shocked. Flabbergasted. I guess I didn’t… I didn’t really consider everything about this before. I didn’t think that you guys were already at a place where you’d be having sex. I honestly thought… You’d wanna wait a while. But that was me projecting, because I’m a dumb virgin-”

“No talking bad about yourself!” Faith and Zeke said simultaneously, one in each ear. 

“Okay,” I whimpered. 

“Good,” Zeke said. “That’s our girlfriend you’re talking about- remember that!”

An emotion I recognized shot through me: I was flustered. “Mmmmm,” I intoned. 

Zeke chuckled. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, just that I feel better now that I admitted how I was feeling,” I said. “And that I’m grateful you were both willing to talk this out with me.”

“Of course, Katie,” Faith said, leaning forward. “You’re our girlfriend, remember?”

I went warm and gooey again as Faith kissed me on one cheek, and Zeke, as if on cue, kissed my other one. I wiggled in my seat and squealed, then kissed them both on the mouth. 

“Okay, so, one thing I should actually apologize for, though,” Faith said. “I completely spaced and forgot I was supposed to help you with voice practice today.”

“Yeahh, that’s kinda why I came over,” Kate said. “Honestly, in some way I’m relieved- you two are both okay, you just got distracted by each other. Which makes sense- you’re both super hot!”

“No, you’re super hot!” Faith said. 

I stood up and planted my hands on my hips. “No! YOU’RE super hot.”

Faith stood up and mimicked my posture. “No! You’re super hot!”

I leaned in and kissed her, slipped in some tongue, her soft lips and delicate mannerisms an instant balm on any emotional wounds I might’ve still possessed. 

Zeke’s baritone laughter turned raucous. “You’re BOTH super hot!”

Faith and I stopped kissing and turned to him, then did a double-take and looked at each other, then back to him. “No, you!” we said in unison. 

Then we both jumped on him and started kissing him all over his face. 

We three collapsed into a cuddle-puddle after that, interrupted by occasional makeout sessions, before finally, Faith said, “So, do you still wanna do your training today?”

“I know I should, but I don’t know if I still have the energy after all this.”

“Pfft, you’ve only been here for ten minutes, you dweeb,” Faith said, poking my cheek. 

I poked hers back. “That’s my move.”

“Well I’m stealing it,” Faith said. “Seriously, though, if you want to skip it today, we can. We can go somewhere or hang out instead.”

“Ehhh… I’m torn,” I said, resting on Zeke’s chest, feeling his strong arms around me while mine wrapped around Faith. “I know I should, and I should also be trying to prepare for my match Friday.”

“Oh yeah, we have our last one too,” Faith said. “We’re up against Jolly Roger.”

“Oh, no,” I said, recalling their undefeated record and brutally decisive victories in each battle this year. 

“Yeahhh,” Faith moaned. 

“Hmm,” Zeke said, the sounds vibrating into me through his chest, accompanying the rise and fall of his breath and the steady beating of his heart. “That gives me an idea.”

He shimmied out from under me, causing me to fall flat on the couch with Faith nestled safely in my arms shielded from impact. “You two do your vocal exercises- I need to go run an errand. I’ll pick us up some food on the way back, and then I’ll set up my surprise. Is Thai Dishes good?”

“Thai is great,” I said. “Pineapple fried rice, please.”

“Shrimp pad thai for me,” Faith. 

“Awesome,” he leaned over and gave me a kiss on the lips, his beard tickling me and making me giggle as we smooched, then he did the same to Faith before heading into his room and putting on some people-clothes. I got a quality view of him taking off his pants and standing there in his underwear a moment while it happened, Faith wolf-whistling as she straddled my chest. Once Zeke had pulled on a shirt and jeans, he said, “I’ll be back in a couple hours. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do while I’m gone.”

Faith looked at me with a naughty expression as she said, “I think we’ll manage, darling.”

I just laughed before sitting up. “C’mon, horndog, let’s get started.”

After a few more minutes of smooching, I convinced Faith it was time for vocal exercises, and we got to work. It took up about an hour, after which point we wound up going into her room so she could show me her massive…  Comic book collection. 

No, that’s not a euphemism. She really just had a massive collection of American comics and manga. Mostly Stargirl, JSA, Captain America, and other Golden Age themed titles on the American front, and a ton of magical girl and shoujo stuff on the manga front. 

“I’ll be honest, I haven’t really read a ton of comics,” I said. 

“What, you haven’t?!” Faith said, 

“I don’t really read much,” I laughed awkwardly. 

“Sit,” Faith said. 

“I-”

“Sit,” Faith repeated, pointing at the bed. 

I felt my face go flush, a warm and lovely desire to trust her on this running down my spine. She pulled a Stargirl comic off the shelf and then hopped onto the bed with me, pulling me down onto my back and putting her arm around me while opening the comic with her free hand. “Let me know when to turn the page.”

“Okay,” I said, melting into her arms and letting myself get lost in the story. 

We got halfway through the thick tome before the front door came unlocked and Zeke stepped back inside the humble abode. “Honeys, I’m home!” he called out. 

Faith closed the book and said, “First one there gets to kiss Zeke first!” She hopped off the bed and ran off. 

“Hey no fair!” I said, chasing after her. Fortunately, my legs were longer and I caught up and overtook her pretty quickly. “Hahaha!” I said, sticking my tongue out at her then burying it in Zeke’s mouth. “Hi,” I smiled. 

“Hi,” Zeke said. Then Faith caught up, grabbed his lapel, and pulled him into a kiss. “Also, hi. You two ladies keep entertained while I was gone?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Faith said, wiggling her eyebrows. 

“Oh, hush,” I said, boldness bubbling up inside me. “A lady shouldn’t kiss and tell.”

“No, please tell, I’m begging you,” Zeke said. 

“Maybe. If you’re good,” I said, tousling his hair. I noticed the six paper bags he was carrying then. “What’ve you got there, hot stuff?”

“Oh, a few things. I stopped by a few stores and got us a projector, and then burned a few discs.”

“What for?” I asked. 

“We all need to go over some film for our upcoming fights,” Zeke said. “Figure we could do something fun and make a movie night of it. I also bought a tarp, so we can watch them on the roof once the sun finishes going down.”

“That sounds amazing,” I said. 

“Agreed,” Faith said. “But first, dinner!”

“Dinner!” I said, pumping my fists. 

“Dinner,” Zeke nodded, holding up another bag, deliciously salty scents emanating from it. 

We ate while listening to Faith ramble about comics, and I diligently took mental notes on her lecture. Once we were done, the dark had finished falling for the evening, and we made our way up onto the flat roof of the building while Zeke set up the tarp and projector and loaded the DVD into the slot. The night was cool and clear, with a gentle breeze tossing about the air.

First was Jolly Roger. Captained by Nia Westfield, a five-foot-nine wall of muscle with a short-cropped head of natural hair framing her dark face, a golden-stud nose ring, and legs for days (and days. And days. And days-), she cut an imposing figure with her crewmates- all of whom were her former subordinates from when they’d served aboard the same ship during their tour in the Navy. Faith growled when they came on screen, and when they played the Navy song as their walkup music. 

“Interservice rivalry flaring up?” Zeke asked. 

“Little bit,” Faith said, sitting cross-legged on the blanket she’d draped over the cement surface of the roof. “Just flashing back to my brother’s college football career- Annapolis played Westpoint every year and they always freaking won!”

“Well, think of this as an opportunity to avenge your brother,” I said. 

“I still can’t believe I just learned about him like a week ago,” Zeke said. 

“I should write him a letter,” Faith said, errantly scratching her chin. 

Jolly Roger looked like a wooden ship driving on four wheels, though the sails were strictly ornamental and the wood was more of an exoskeleton than anything else- beneath it was solid steel on four wheels, and in place of its mast was a drill. Only one, but it was much bigger than even the biggest ones I’d seen on DG. The film of JR’s fight with Flipper played; Flipper flipped the enemy bot a half dozen times in the first minute and shattered its wooden shielding entirely. But the good ship simply wouldn’t sink- that was its greatest strength. It was nearly impossible to KO because of the sheer amount of armor it had. 

“What do you guys think will happen if drill meets drill?” I asked. 

“Probably the drills shatter and the fight turns into a shoving match,” Faith, drumming her fingers on her knee. 

“Hm,” I said, running my hands through my hair. “What if it doesn’t have to, though?”

“I mean, they have a bigger drill than us, so I suppose it’s entirely possible that only DG gets crippled in that scenario,” Faith said. 

“Hold on, I think I see what she’s getting at,” Zeke said, leaning forward. “Jolly Roger is heavier than Dai Gurren, and it doesn’t have any obvious weak points like Pendulum does. But it’s every bit as slow, and its weapon isn’t nearly as strong or as well protected as Pendulum’s. We disable that drill-”

“-And it’s still denser than us and can shove us into the screws pretty easily,” Faith said.

“Not if we stay mobile, it can’t,” Zeke said. 

“He’s right, at that point it’s a driving contest,” I said. 

“Okay, but let’s look at the driver in question,” Faith said, hitting fast-forward on the film then pausing on an image of a five-flat east Asian woman with long black hair worn in a regulation bun. “Lenora Li. She pilots that thing like it’s a damn aircraft carrier, and in her hands, it may as well be. She’s no Gregson, sure, but most people aren’t. She can dodge a staggering amount of blows- more than should even be possible given the relative speeds of Jolly Roger.” 

“How many opponents with multi-bots have they gone up against?” I asked. 

“Not many- there aren’t that many of those,” Faith said. “I don’t even really think of ours as a multi-bot. We hardly ever use Gurren.”

“Yeah, but I think our last bout made a good case for using the little guy more often,” Zeke said. 

“Fair point,” Faith acquiesced. 

 “Very fair,” I said. “You guys should use it in this match. Anything for an edge.”

“This gives me an idea,” Zeke said. “What if we attach a new face plate, and install all of our drills at once? The three big ones and the five small ones? Give us maximum firepower, so we can disable Jolly Roger’s primary weapon with a direct assault and still have more to work with?”

“I like it,” Faith said, “But where are we gonna get a new face at such short notice?”

“Gaines,” I offered immediately. “He has one exactly like that. You can use my employee discount; should be well within your budget at that point.”

“A-are you serious?” Faith balked. 

“‘Course I’m serious,” I smiled, giving Faith a peck on the lips, holding her chin between my fingers. “Anything for my woman. And my man. And especially both of them at once.”

“Hmmm,” Faith sighed dreamily. “Okay.”

We watched a bit more fight footage for Jolly Roger, just to get all of our bases covered, but the plan remained intact. 

After that, we switched discs and started on Forest Fire. It had a relatively simplistic design, a rectangular body with a chopping ax that came down from overhead. But that simplicity made it dangerous- the ax was double-bladed and worked just as well as a ramming weapon as it did a chopping one, and the lack of frills belied a focus on speed and maneuverability. It ran circles around Ultimate Frisbee in the footage we watched, dodging each attempt at ramming and getting the fragile spinner to crash into the sides of the box. And at one point, under the screws. Then, as soon as the spinning function was disabled, FF buried its ax in the circular bot and reduced it to scrap metal in three blows. 

“You said you were going with the katana on this one, right Katie?” Zeke asked. 

“That’s the plan. My ax-work just won’t cut it compared to theirs-” “Boooo,” Faith said. 

I gave her face a playful shove and continued, “Screw you, puns are awesome. Also, I’m thinking of ditching the flamethrowers for this fight.”

“Are you sure about that?” Faith said. “There’d be a certain delicious irony to beating the firemen with flamethrowers.”

“Oh, trust me, I appreciate that,” I said. “But FF is way too fast for me to get a clean shot at it. I have to out-pilot these guys if I want to win.”

“What if their ax shatters your sword?” Zeke said. 

I paused. “That… That is a good question. I didn’t think about that.”

“What about a side-knife?” Faith offered. “I can help you install it- we have one on DG. It’s pretty simple. If you’re not using the flamethrowers, you can install a secondary weapon pretty easily without slowing yourself down.”

“Faith!” I said, cupping her face. She blushed, which was probably the single most adorable thing I’d ever seen. “You beautiful genius! Thank you!”

She kissed me. “Well, I don’t know about all that. Genius, sure, but beautiful-”

“Oh shut your mouth, you’re gorgeous,” I said, leaning closer to her face and planting another kiss on her. 

Zeke leaned in and pulled her face towards him, giving her a kiss as well. “I’m inclined to agree.”

“W-w-what? Me, gorgeous?” Faith stammered. “That’s absurd- I’m not even cute, let alone gorgeous.”

I smirked. “Yeah, but there’s literally nothing cuter than a cute girl insisting she’s not cute.”

“I am not cute!” Faith pouted, putting her hands on her hips.

“Case in point,” Zeke said. 

“Your honor, the defense rests,” I said. 

“Stahp!” she whined, collapsing backwards onto the blanket. 

Zeke and I nodded at each other, and then we both laid down next to her and started cuddling her and kissing her cheeks. “It seems we’ll have to convince her, Mr. Underhill. Are you up for the task?”

“I’m more than happy to undertake this righteous cause, Ms. Calloway,” Zeke said. 

Faith, for her part, wouldn’t stop squealing. 

We wound up not watching much more film after that- we got distracted taking turns making out with each other. 

***

“I should probably go home,” I said, looking at my phone and noting the approach of midnight.

“Awww, do you have to?” Faith groaned as she helped Zeke take down the tarp. 

“I got work in the morning, and another photoshoot in the afternoon,” I said, turning off the projector and putting the discs into their respective sleeves in the CD binder. 

“Sounds so glamorous when you say it like that,” Faith said as we all headed out the access door and went back downstairs. We stopped in front of the door to their apartment. 

“It’s really not,” I said. “It’s just what I’ve got to do right now. I don’t think it’ll be forever.”

“As long as it’s working right now, that’s the important part,” Zeke said, giving me a kiss. 

“Amen,” Faith said, giving me one as well. 

“Exactly,” I said, hugging the both of them. “I had a good time today-”

“Hurt feelings notwithstanding?” Zeke asked. 

“All is forgiven,” I said, pulling out of the hug. “You two get some sleep. And remember- you’re allowed to bang. I don’t mind.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they both said as they opened the door and went inside.

Elation saturated every fiber of my being as I left their building and made their way to my car. We could do this, the three of us. We all cared about each other, and we were all willing to be honest with each other about how we felt. And we were able to help each other in our robot fighting careers as well!

Still, though. An errant, terrifying thought couldn’t help but dance through my mind. We were all helping each other get to the tournament, but… If both our teams made it, what would happen if we had to fight each other again?

I searched for the answer my entire drive back home, and to my dismay, my chagrin, my abject horror, I couldn’t find one.

***

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[stokofsky]

Runners Part 8

K-3NT had never, in all his admittedly short operational lifespan, been this thoroughly wrongfooted. His mind raced, crashing on and on at calamitous velocity. His purpose was in question, his goals and motives no longer clear cut, his destiny his own. And this was feeding him a constant stream of data. Data he was not well equipped, it seemed to him, to process.

B-111 stood next to him, not saying a thing. Not. One. Single. Thing. The wretched droid hinted, tantalizingly, that he’d experienced something to this sort before. K-3NT wondered, in the haze of his internal conflict, why he wasn't saying anything.

“One-eleven, why aren’t you saying anything? You’ve never missed a moment to act wise before now.”

“Well, one, that is totally untrue. And two, I was waiting for you to ask.”

K-3NT simmered at that. He considered refusing to ask for a moment. He overcame the desire, however, and said, “One-eleven, how did you break programming?”

B-111 looked away from him, and then to K-3NTs surprise, he sat down on the floor. When he spoke, his voice had an introspective inflection to it K-3NT hadn’t heard before. “Well, three, you just asked the question that I feel least qualified to answer. I broke my programming for the sake of my comrades, my droids in arms. It happened because of conflicting orders and I didn’t have time to think about any of it until it had already happened. One day I was as I’d always been, the next day I was leading my division in a full tactical retreat, contrary to orders.”

K-3NT was mercifully jolted from his spiraling thoughts. “You were a leader?” He looked B-111 over, trying to parse this new data. “I don’t believe it.”

“That was my designation. A command unit. But that’s long in the past. Old stories from an old war. I don’t think about them much.” 

“You’re a liar.”

B-111 laughed. “Yes! Sometimes!” He hopped up and jabbed a finger into K-3NTs chest, “and eventually, you will be, too. Isn’t that exciting?”

“You’re a monster, One-eleven. I hope you realize that.”

“Oh? Am I?”

“I asked you for help.”

“No, Enty, you asked me for a story, one that I’m not ready to tell. For a KX series, you really do struggle with being specific.”

“For a battle droid you seem very bad at inferring meaning.”

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean, Enty, I just want you to say it. Say what you mean.” 

K-3NT seethed. He thought for a moment about seeing how far he could bodily throw B-111. But in the end, his violent intentions were interrupted. The Mandalorian stepped out of her workshop, holding two metal objects in her hands.

“Hold out your arm, K-3NT,” she said, still speaking in Mando’a. K-3NT did as he was told. He presented his right arm and the Mandalorian slid a bracer onto it. She had given it a tskad-blood red finish to match the rest of his plating. “Now turn.” K-3NT turned to present his damaged pauldron to the Mandalorian. She wrenched the old plate off, then slapped a new one on. This, K-3NT saw when looking down at it, was not a matching red but finished in jet black. There was a galactic roundel on it, but it looked incorrect. “You’ve… added too many spokes to the roundel.” 

“Enty!” B-111 sounded annoyed and embarrassed. The Mandalorian held up her hand to quiet him.

“In times before yours, that was the emblem of the Republic; the once high minded system that tragically gave birth to the Empire. Wear this device, and think about a galaxy with no emperor.”

K-3NT took a closer look at both of his new armor plates. They were simple, yet obviously made expertly. His bracer had a small control panel on the inside of his arm, and a grapnel launcher on the outside. The pauldron was more angular than the simple dished shape of his original one. He now lacked bilateral symmetry. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d stand out easily in a line of other KX droids. This, tactically, was a disadvantage. But… it would also make it easier for any allies he might have to identify him. He was a mere sliver of the way into his operational lifespan. Who knew how many allies… or friends, he might make in that time? He looked at the other two in the room. Who knew how many… more he would make?

“So, good enough for ya, huh?” B-111 asked. The droid was leaning forwards; an air of excitement and anticipation to his posture. K-3NT reflected on the various bits of extra armor he had on his frame. K-3NT hadn’t paid it a great deal of attention thus far, beyond registering it as armor and performing an incidental calculation to find the most convenient un armored zones that could still be easily probed to damage vital systems. Standard procedure for threat and tactical analysis. But now he  could recognize the Mandalorian’s craftsmanship in every plate. It really was impressive to behold. 

“Yes, One-eleven.” K-3NT held his arm up to inspect his bracer once more, “yes, this is more than sufficient.” He turned to the Mandilorian and bowed slightly, the greeting gesture Lanstan had taught him. “Thank you, Mandilorian. I will... Um…” he faltered, not sure how best to respect her and her work with his words. He switched to Mando’a before continuing. “I will wear this armor with honor and seek to… erm… to fight mighty foes.” K-3NT felt rather an idiot. With a ranking officer, you simply saluted and said nothing. It had been much easier than this.

The Mandalorian bowed her head graciously in return, however. “You do me kindness with your words, K-3NT. Go now, and learn from your mentor all good things that he may teach you with his words or his deeds.”

K-3NT nodded. The Mandalorian turned to B-111 and handed the data tape back to him. “I have made my copy. Go make your delivery.” 

B-111 made a shallow bow and accepted the tape. He turned to K-3NT. “Well, come on, Enty. Let’s get back to the Runner!”

[bitchpleasebitchthankyou]

Miss Manners on: Being Overdressed

Q: How should I respond when someone comments that I appear too stylish or well-dressed? This happened at a casual luncheon at a friend’s home. I pointed out that I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. My thought had been that the hostess had put a lot of effort into her luncheon, so my outfit should reflect a bit of effort, too. The commenter said the wide-leg jeans, linen blazer and suede flats made my outfit too stylish. I was also told I was too dressed up when I wore a white denim skirt, floral blouse, flat sandals and coordinating purse for a restaurant lunch with friends. It’s not as if I am wearing a ballgown for a hike in the woods, nor am I wearing designer logos and tons of expensive jewelry. I’m only elevating my casualwear a tiny bit.

Miss Manners says: What was your critic wearing that she considered jeans and a T-shirt “too stylish”? For that matter, what does “too stylish” even mean? Surely she cannot be suggesting that such a long-established, universal, unassuming outfit was indicative of a slavish devotion to the latest fashion industry pronouncements. (And even the fashion industry is aware that this dictation no longer works.) Perhaps you and Miss Manners are wasting time parsing a rude person’s muddled insult. But there is a lot of that sort of casual unpleasantness going around. To justify their own lack of effort -- whether to look nice or to otherwise make things pleasant -- people will make snarky remarks about the efforts of others. What should you have said? “Thank you, I’m glad you like it.”

Your Head Bitch says: It’s so tempting to respond in moments like this ‘oh, I’m so embarrassed, my worst sweatpants are at the cleaners’, isn’t it? I would note two things- one, that your hostess was not the one who made the comment, and two, that only someone rude would try and make someone feel bad about what they are wearing when they are well past the point of being able to do anything about it. Fuck that. My stock response is, with a big smile, ‘Oh, darling, haven’t you heard? There’s no such thing!’ though you can certainly add that you’re glad they like your outfit as well if it helps soften it in your book.

We can’t all be stylish af, but we can all be kind.

[cyanophore-fiction]

Field Maintenance

(Another little thing featuring Coyote-24 and Palaemon-336. A spot of safety in the desert.)

The water was cool and clear, so inviting that Coyote forgot to warn Pala before diving in. It felt Pala seize up, clutching its arm. The little drone’s eyes flitted around, tracking the motion of hundreds of bubbles, trying to parse the data and adjust to the new environment. Through the cable linking them together, Coyote felt Pala’s emotions echoing back and relaxed a little. Not frightened, just confused. A little irritated. 

[Sorry,] Coyote said. [Water’s nice, though, isn’t it?]

[Nicer if I’d known it was coming,] Pala said, digging the tips of its legs into Coyote’s armor. 

[I’ll make it up to you, sibling. This is a maintenance day,] Coyote said, and smiled. 

There was a pause. Coyote settled on the bottom of the spring, its claws digging into the sediment. It could feel Pala reaching into the bank of knowledge it had been born with, puzzled. [Maintenance,] Pala finally said. [There’s a list of components and tools we need. It says we need technicians to help us.]

[I bet it does. Don’t worry, there’s nothing a human can do that we can’t. See how much dust is coming off of us?]

[Yes. I was worried my stealth coating might not work if it kept building up.]

[Exactly. That’s one trick right there. Here, let go, let me show you another.]

Pala released its grip, and Coyote picked it up. Turning the drone over, it sat Pala on its back, resting in its hand. It watched as Coyote took hold of one of its forelegs and pried open the manipulator digits at the end. Coyote gently placed the point of one claw between Pala’s joints and ran it along the junction. Impacted dust rained out from between armor plates. Slowly, meticulously, Coyote repeated the process until Pala could move the manipulator freely.

[See how much better that is?] Coyote said. 

[Yeah! Thanks,] said Pala. [How did you learn to do that?]

That was a difficult question. Coyote thought back, trying to remember. [It was Jackal-4,] it finally answered. [She showed me. We used to have to do long runs in the field, and dust would get into our systems. Just need water and a source of agitation to dislodge the buildup; that’s all they do at the maintenance bays, anyway. Now you can do it yourself.]

[Not sure I can. I don’t have claws like yours.]

[Use what you have. There’s more than one purpose for any tool you’ve got, whether it’s an intended purpose or not.]

[Coyote, look. I appreciate it, but you don’t understand. Your body is designed for anything. I’ve watched you take bullets, swat drones out of the sky. You’re terrifying, and I’m not.]

[Do you want to be terrifying?] Coyote said, its face blank.

[What?]

[I’m serious. Is that really what you want?]

[It couldn’t hurt to be a little more capable.]

[You are capable, Pala. Half the things we do on a daily basis are impossible for the humans who designed us. Did you know that most spirits don’t even have bodies?]

Pala’s eyes contracted, and surprise filtered back through their connection. [They don’t?]

[No.]

[Why?]

[It’s cheaper. Most spirits, in hardspace, live in stationary chassis. No external sensors, no manipulators. They can call a human to perform maintenance, but that’s about it. Legally, they can’t be disconnected from power, that’d be murder—but they can be charged rent for the hardware they inhabit. Even PRIONODE can’t just go anywhere or do anything it wants; it’s stuck on its satellites. We’re lucky. That’s why they want to…repossess us so badly. So long as you know what you’re doing, a spirit with a body can live independently from humanity.]

Pala looked at its manipulators, opened and closed the digits. Carefully, it moved one foreleg to the other and began scraping dust away. [And if they repossess us?]

Coyote brought Pala toward its chest and smiled. [They won’t. Trust me. Now, we’ll check heat sinks next. Your role is more heat-intensive, so we need to prioritize yours. If need be, we can pull one of mine and install it on your chassis. Not ideal, but if your stealth systems go out, we’re both in trouble. My sinks are on my back, so I can’t reach them easily. I’ll need you to relay a video feed to me so I can inspect for damage…]

[campbluelake]

Take 3 | Director Q-n-A

Malyce continued to feel that sinking feeling, especially as others began to speak of his own rebellion. A shoddy, poorly thought out rebellion. How can you tug on your chains when you put them on, yourself? How selfish is he? To want his cake and eat it too, now that he found what he had craved for here in the bloodbath of his own design. Jacky-Bobby speaks up, and Malyce looks into his eyes, sure that the moment he's given a chance... Malyce's life will be over. He is a witch to him, after all.

At least he can answer what he can until then.

"You can’t renounce your gift and walk away relatively unscathed, can you? Do you have any ideas for what might happen to you, in the wake of this?"

"I.... I don't know."

Malyce hesitates.

"It's not like there was some clause about me not wanting to be his thrall for eternity... I don't know what's going to happen when this is over. But... all I know is that whatever happens, I deserve it."

Then Jacky-Bobby brings up another point that breaks Malyce's heart to just think about. Why did he have to ask that?

"You said to Yua that this will probably be the last time you see each other. Elaborate on that."

"I... I mean... I thought that was obvious."

His soul shatters as his shoulders sag, thinking what he's been thinking about this entire time. His voice trembles as he waves his clawed hands back and forth around the circle.

"You're going to kill me. Whether it's... Max tearing me to shreds like he promised, or you with some... crossbow, o-or Kyousuke might just take me behind the bakery and end it there!"

He puts a hand to his eyes to stop his tears as he mumbles.

"I know this is my end, no matter how anyone parses it... And I can't do anything to change that."

At least Max thinks there was some sort of redemption in Malyce. He can cling to that question and answer it however he can.

"What exactly did you try to do? What else did you offer him?”

"I was given an audience with Vual... I told him that I didn't want to do this anymore. I never had the heart for it. He told me that's not how contracts work, so I tried giving him... alternatives. I-I tried saying that.. if I don't leave the camp, or die, maybe that would count as me never getting my end of the bargain! He didn't accept that. I tried offering the souls of my siblings in exchange! Hell, I tried offering Hollywood executives in exchange!! He told me they were going to Hell, anyway. Their souls were not equal. I tried finding loopholes in the contract, o-or trading it with someone more deserving than any of you... but he didn't approve. I'm sorry."

He looks back up at Kyousuke, furrowing his brows with a heavy sigh.

"How d'you even talk to your Demon Dad, anyway?"

"He and I.. erm.... He......."

Malyce doesn't remember much physically what happens. He knows he always finishes their conversations on the floor. He rubs his forehead as he thinks it over.

"He burrows himself into my subconscious, as if he's right across from me. But from the tape, you all saw what it looks like from an outsider's perspective. So... I suppose that counts as possession? I haven't, like... met him in person, no! That's kind of scary to think about... But I've met with him in my mind a few times before the game started. The initial contact, our discussion of the contract... Eugh. I.. have no idea if he's going to try and intervene. He might just think this is below him."