#instead of like eight projects of all shape size and importance

[abigailspinach]

Yes fantasy Christmas party with the baby unicorn

[wyrmst]

Out in the Cold (Part Four)

M Orc x M Troll (Hulder) Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 4126

Content Warnings: Animal Death (Hunting/Self Defense), Injury (Animal Attack), Broken Bone, Blood

If something can go wrong, it will go wrong.

You wake with a confused snort. The only thing keeping you from tumbling to the forest floor below is your superb cat-like reflexes, your hands automatically darting out and gripping the branch you're perched on.

Your fingernails dig into the cold bark as your bleary mind tries to make sense of what happened. All around you are the snowcapped tops of evergreens. Much of the same sight from before you fell asleep has been blurred white by the flurries.

As you look around, the small pile of gathered snow falls from atop the hood of your cloak. Before you can get a firm grasp on your bearing, you’re distracted by a strange noise.

What is that…?

You freeze in place as you realize the sound is crunching snow. 

Nearby.

Footsteps? There's something moving around on the ground below you.

You look down, expecting to see a band of enraged orcs gathering around to shake you out of the tree and beat you to a fine pulp, but instead you see the hulking, striped form of a young winter-coated hexopard, sniffing around the base of the tree. 

It uses the claws on two of its six massive paws to dig at the bark, leaving large gouges in the hard surface of the tree like nothing more than lukewarm, spreadable butter. 

Damn. That’s a problem!

You bite your thumbnail in worry, mind racing for a solution.

The overgrown creature below you rears up, leaning its full weight on the tree and causing the wood to creak and groan. It stretches out its neck, following a scent that’s drawing it up the tree. Its twitching nose would be a great deal more adorable if it wasn’t the size of your fist and above a maw full of razor sharp fangs that could snap your bones like brittle twigs.

The way it's behaving, it’s either going to climb up, or the tree is going to snap under its weight and bring you crashing to the ground with it from a tall height. 

Terror settles in your gut, but you manage to stay calm. You absolutely have to figure out how to handle this - lest you end up as this creature's next meal, or broken from a fall from this height.

LAST SPRING

“And remember, the most important part of staying safe is being aware of your surroundings.” Torg’s deep voice easily projects out over the group without being too loud. “That’s why we hunt in pairs; Two sets of eyes always see more than one.”

You're in a newly set up hunting camp, listening to Torg address your little group; you, and eight tweenaged orclings. All of them are somehow scarily buff, despite barely being out of single digits in age. Some of them are already taller than you, and all of them are already wider.

While Torg talks, you take one last chance to look over your new bow.

It took some time and a lot of effort to finish it. Urguk’s family trade is carpentry, as it turns out. So, you spent a lot of afternoons trying to shape a usable riser and set of limbs out of hunks of wood, using machines in his family’s workshop that you’ve never even seen before, let alone knew how to use. But Urguk was more than happy to show you, and while he’s not the best at verbal instructions; he certainly makes up for that in enthusiasm. After several sessions, friction burns and splinters later, you ended up with a bow that was nearly functional. 

And even more lucky for you, Lurog is much better at giving instructions, and used their experience braiding to help you make your bowstring. She effortlessly knew the amount of strands you’d need for a light enough draw weight for you. Coating the strands in beeswax and braiding them together was the easy part, after that.

And now you have a new, practically shining weapon, tailor made by your own hand to suit your strengths. The first time you practiced with it after it was made, Torg was nearly blown away with how big of an improvement it made on your aim. You certainly didn’t have to quit mid-quiver, now.

And you have to admit, the admiration and praise from him felt quite nice…

Finally, it’s time to get to business after weeks of crash course training; you’re more than ready to see what the bow you slaved hours over can do. You’re aching to see the culmination of the daunting task of crafting an entire functioning weapon by hand, that you only managed to accomplish with the help of your friends.

Your friends…? 

Ugh. When did you start calling them that? 

It's not a good idea to get attached like this…

“Alright, is everyone ready?”

Your much younger compatriots' energetic voices sound around you in a loud and discordant, though affirmative, chorus. 

“...Absolutely!” You add a few seconds late.

Torg finishes addressing the group. The bubbling excitement of the youngsters you’re surrounded by is truly contagious, a pleasant buzz of activity in the back of your mind. 

The kids disperse with their chaperones - whom respectively give you a reassuring, tusky grin and a lazy thumbs up - as they pass with their charges in tow.

It seems that this year, things have been restructured to account for your presence. Urguk and Lurog are acting as chaperones for the four pairs of young orcs, there only to confirm their kills and to act as support if anything goes wrong. This is usually solely Torg's job, but they seem excited to be sharing the responsibility this time. You’re a bit surprised that some of the more seasoned hunters weren't the ones doing this job, but it occurs to you after some thought that they’re probably busy doing their own hunting, now that spring is here.

That left Torg open to act as both your chaperone and your hunting partner. Though you still have to make a solo kill, he'll be your second set of eyes. 

…You get the feeling he made things this way to shield anyone else from the potential mishap you're likely to cause, deciding instead to take any  resulting damage that may result himself. 

You huff at the thought. You’ll show him.

You suppose it’s for the best. Over the last few weeks of archery practice, you think he’s gotten a lot more relaxed with you, and he’s not the worst company to be stuck with in the woods for an extended period… At least you’ll be safe if anything happens, you try to convince yourself that’s the only reason.

The chaperones and pairs of orclings gradually depart from camp. You're left with only your own chaperone/hunting partner, alone in the newly verdant forest clearing.

“A rousing speech as always.” You grin and gesture to your own sleek face. “I like what you’ve done with the beard.”

“Hmm, thanks.” He rubs the short, newly trimmed shape of his facial hair. “I always cut it back this time of year. Otherwise it collects pollen and I’m sneezing all the time.”

“I see.” You smile, thinking of his thick, dark hair dusted yellow-green instead of the sleek, neatly-trimmed thing it is now. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

“Lead the way,” Torg's mouth takes on a small curl of a wry smile before adding, "Boss."

You can't help but laugh, and make your way through the trees, as well, though you head in the opposite direction of the other group.

It takes you a long time to find any hint of a wild animal, even despite it being the season when nature is bursting at the seams with young rabbits, elk yearlings and various types of fowl.

You finally manage to find clear traces of a hooved herbivore grazing. Between the hoof prints in the soft areas of ground and the occasional mark of antler velvet being rubbed against trees, you determine it's most likely an elk. You follow the signs as best you can through the woods, following the path the creature took likely some hours earlier.

After a while of tracking, you crest a small incline, and through the twiggy branches you can make out the form of your quarry. A young male elk grazes in the fresh spring grass of the area below the overhanging slope you stand on.

It's a bit big for you to take down on your own with only your light bow, and you can basically hear Torg thinking the same thing behind you. You had expected to kill a hare or maybe a spring quail, but this elk is the first living creature besides Torg you've laid eyes on for several hours. 

You need to get this one. Your ego won’t let you pass it up.

But it’s angled slightly towards you. If you shoot it like this, your arrow won’t be able to get past the elk’s shoulder bone - resulting in a long, messy death, rather than a quick and much less painful one for either of you.

You nock an arrow and line up your shot, steadying your breathing and waiting for the elk to move to a better position. 

And finally it does, turning broadside to reach what must be a particularly succulent looking patch of grass.

Your arm doesn't shake anymore when you draw back the string. 

You hold your breath and loose the arrow - just as the deer turns slightly back towards you.

The arrow hits it and stays lodged behind its shoulder. Luckily the arrow didn’t glance off the bone, but it’s closer to the front of the animal rather than where it needs to be on the side.

The elk lets out an alarmed bellow and bounds off through the woods, leaving a bright red sanguinous trail to follow. 

"Dammit-" You hiss in irritation, rising hastily from your crouch to tail the wounded animal.

"Don't worry." You hear Torg encourage in uncharacteristic low volume as you pass by him. "You'll get it."

You track the cervid once again, this time slightly easier given the literal colored line leading you to it. After nearly another hour of following the trail through the brush, you come to a clearing. 

You walk out into the middle of the empty space, where the blood trail immediately stops dead, ending in a large collected pool on the grass with no indication of anything leaving it. Somehow, there is no sign of the wounded elk anywhere.

The clearing is devoid of movement and sound - all the sounds of small animals moving through the brush and bird calls have completely stopped.

It’s downright creepy.

You approach the bloodstained area, not caring to avoid the cracking twigs under your boot while you crouch beside the ominous puddle to investigate. 

It’s blood, alright. But the trail seemingly leads to nowhere. You stand back up, irritated. Your tail swishes angrily, slapping at the grass at your feet with the end of each twitching arc.

You did everything right! Why are things going wrong now?

“What in the hell-?” You motion widely with your hands, palms up. “Did it get up and fly away, then?! Maybe it ascended to heaven!”

“Wait-” Torg says your name in a stern voice as he reaches the edge of the clearing behind you.

A large glob of something wet drips into the middle of your outstretched palm.

Your eyes dart to the source of the wetness, a rivulet of red now slowing tracking down the tendon in your wrist.

Blood.

Your head snaps up, and you see the now lifeless corpse of the elk, now half-eaten, with one of your arrows still buried in its shoulder. It’s lodged into the crook of one of the branches of the large tree overhanging the clearing, legs and antlers dangling limply.

“W-W-What in the hell!” You wheeze out again, paralyzed by fear, your legs planted firmly to the ground.

“Don’t turn around. Back up. Slowly.” Torg continues, deadly serious.

Your legs just aren’t listening to your command to function. They may as well be made of jelly.

Even less so when you spot the culprit that stored the elk in the tree.

Glittering, fixed eyes meet yours. A silent behemoth- an adult male hexopard, still clad in winter coat- becomes clear in your vision through the camouflage of the underbrush. It’s crouched predatorily at the other end of clearing. Lying in wait, ready to launch itself at any moment. A ring of wet crimson coats the fur around its mouth.

You barely choke back the scream, only managing to because your life may depend on it.

“Listen-” Torg says your name again, much more desperate this time. “I know it's scary. But you have to move.”

You want to, but you just can’t. You can’t move, can’t bring any words to escape your choked-shut throat.

“It will be alright. Don’t turn your back on it,” Torg repeats, this time both firmer and more pressed, but still somehow comforting. “Slowly. Come to me.”

Unthinking, you tilt your head to look back at Torg- maybe to better plan your escape route, maybe for reassurance- but either way, it is a mistake.

In a snap, the stillness of the situation breaks. 

Everything moves so fast. The hexopard lurches forward at top speed, covering ground at an alarming pace with its six, agile limbs.

You’re about to be devoured.

But you don’t die horribly - instead you’re slung forcibly out of the way, nearly toppling over your own feet in the process. 

You stumble to regain your balance as Torg places himself between you and the hexopard. His spear is up between his hands, a horizontal bar smashed into the hinge of the beast’s jaw. It snarls and gnashes, trying to break free from the makeshift bit with fang and claw.

“Hrrgh- RUN!” He shouts at you, his arms straining with all they have to keep the massive creature impeded.”RUN NOW!”

You know you should flee, but -

This thing will outrun you in seconds if it gets past Torg, and you can’t withstand even a single hit the way he clearly can.

You make a split decision to disobey Torg’s instruction. Your legs instead carry you as fast as possible towards the nearest tree not containing a dead elk, and you hastily begin to scale the tree. If you get up here, you can probably at least hit it with some arrows-

“NO! IT CAN CLIMB!” Torg shouts at you between the snarling he’s doing in an attempt to intimidate the beast, noticing your change in plan. “YOU HAVE TO GET-”

Before Torg can complete his thought, the wooden haft of the weapon holding it back snaps in half with a sickeningly loud crack. The middle of the wooden shaft is crunched to splinters between the animal’s powerful, sharpley fanged jaw. The spear’s body is separated into two ragged pieces.

The hexopard uses the force of the stored up energy releasing to take Torg down, knocking him supine, where it bears down on him. 

Torg raises the back of his bracer-covered forearm, lodging it in its mouth in the spear’s place, to keep the creature away from his face and throat.

Torg has dropped the blunt end of his spear, but the tipped end stays in his hand as an improvised blade - anything to stab and gouge in an attempt to fight back as he struggles on the ground.

Shit, shit, shit- I have to do something- 

Or Torg’s going to- 

Going to-

You can't even bring yourself to even think about it.

You cradle your head in your hands, not even noticing the elk blood you’re smearing in your hair, desperately trying to squeeze a good idea from between your temples.

The hexopard’s jaw finally readjusts its grip and clamps down hard, crunching down full force on Torg’s forearm, and assumingly, straight into bone. Torg lets out a bellow in pain, still striking at the beast’s face and head one handed with all of the strength he has left.

But what can you even do? Your hands can’t be trusted to hold your bow with how badly they’re trembling in abject horror, let alone still being slippery from blood.

You’re weak and useless, as always-

The predator drops his arm to go for his neck. Torg’s opposite gloved hand holding the creature’s snout at bay is his last resort to keep the menacing jaws from fully mauling him. You can see cyan-hued blood running down his arm as it tremors, his strength threatening to fail any moment now.

That's when you remember the other weapon you have access to - your trusty dagger, resting concealed on your belt, like it always is.

The beast’s jaws slip past Torg’s grip and snaps forward to rip out his throat. Torg barely manages to turn his head fast enough to survive, instead the fangs piercing the leather armor covering Torg's shoulder and sinking into his flesh.

“Hhrngh-!” Torg grits his teeth, struggling in vain to pry the creature's mouth from his deltoid with his hand. 

Your hesitation is driven away - it may be a stupid idea, but you need to at least try to help before it's too late.

At least if you fail and you both die, you won't have a whole tribe of orcs seeking revenge on you for getting their chieftain killed.

You unsheathe your trusty dagger, holding it with both hands as you quickly adjust your positioning.

You take a deep breath.

Then, you pounce.

A dizzying spin of pale colors swirls in your vision as you descend. The weight of your body drives the full force of your fall through the knife. You land on your feet (of course) on the furred back of the creature with a thump. Your dagger buries into the back of the hexopard's neck, right below the base of the skull, sinking down to straddle the creature’s back to try to keep yourself from being flung off.

The beast releases its clamp on Torg in surprise. It thrashes and roars in a spray of blood, now fully focused on you. It tries to throw you off or twist back to bite at you, but it's too late.

You continue to leverage the blade with all your body weight until you feel a snap, and the creature lets out one last long, mournful waul before falling completely limp and silent. 

Breaths wild and heaving, you look at Torg's pale expression of awe below you, momentarily stunned yourself. 

Then you snap back to your senses, sheathing your blade and rolling off the hexopard's back to help Torg to wriggle free from beneath the beast’s deadweight.

Soon, with your moderate assistance, he's dragged himself clear of being pinned. He holds his palm to the weeping holes in his shoulder, staunching the heavy flow of cool toned blood from his wound. 

He lets out a low groan as he stubbornly tries to get to his feet with only the use of one of his thick arms.

"Don't stand up yet… I-" Your hands don't stop shaking as you dig through your pack, searching for your first aid supplies. The adrenaline in your veins is making all of the heavy emotions feel far away for now. "Let me at least patch you up first."

He grunts affirmatively and leans back against the base of the tree you were just perched in. 

The first thing you do is hand him one of the healing draughts tucked at the top of the kit.

"Thanks." He pops the cork from the vial with his thumb, draining it one handed before handing back the spent bottle. "Have a feeling I'll need it."

“Yeah. I… think I would’ve much preferred the elk maul you.” You say, trying to make light of the situation. “Are horribly dangerous big cats usually skulking around baby’s first hunting trip?”

“No, they are supposed to have woken up from hibernation and migrated for spring by now. Big guy was probably a late riser and driven mad by the hunger.”

You start to tend to his wounds; you’re not the best medic, but you at least know enough to manage to clean a wound and put on a bandage.

“Your blood is blue too.” You observe with a small laugh, though you’re not sure why you said that of all things.

“Yeah-” Torg sucks in a hiss of air at the sting of the antiseptic coated cloth meeting his cuts. “Mom’s a troll- A giant.” 

“Well, that certainly explains a lot about you.” You work to bandage the large wound first, then any other ones on his arms, hands and face that are profusely leaking. “A bit surprised you didn’t mention being half troll by now.”

“Completely different kind of troll than what you are. Didn’t seem important.”

“A troll is still a troll!” You laugh incredulously.

Torg simply rolls his eyes at you, apparently too exhausted to continue to argue.

Then you come to his left arm, which doesn't seem to look quite right.

“Your arm…”

“S’broken.” He says simply, as if he was telling you what he had for breakfast instead of something this upsetting. “Not my first broken bone. Shaman will fix me up.”

After you’ve cleaned and bandaged the bite wound under his bracer, you help make a makeshift splint with your unstrung bow.

“At least this came in handy in some way today.” You chuckle as you begin to tie the strips of cloth to secure his arm to it. It earns an amused snort from him, and you’re happy as long as he’s conscious and interacting.

You work in relative silence after that. You glance up to check he’s still lucid when you see his dark eyes resting on you.

Maybe it’s the flood of emotion rushing back into your brain as the adrenaline wears off, but you can’t help but feel incredibly fond of him right now. 

You also can’t help but think - maybe a bit strangely, given the current circumstances - that he looks very handsome, even like this.

“Yes?” You say, smirking, your ears twitching as you try to banish the strange thought.

“...You didn’t run when I told you.” Torg admonishes you with a grunt, his voice hoarse.

“Oho, is that really something you’re going to scold me for? Right now?” You say incredulously, gesturing to his general state of injury. “That stinking behemoth would’ve bitten your head off next if I hadn’t disobeyed you, you know!”

“I know. You made the right call.” He nods. The smile he gives you exudes pure pride. It's a foreign expression for you to see him with- to see anyone with, when it comes to you- and one you're not used to being on the receiving end of in general. “Thank you.”

"Sure." You try to ignore how flustered this makes you, and help him get to his feet. It must just be your emotions being unhinged from the ordeal. “I would’ve been an appetizer if you hadn’t pushed me out of the way first, so I suppose we can call it even.”

Luckily, his lower body is generally unharmed, so he can still walk unassisted. Once he gets some stronger pain medicine from camp, he’ll likely be able to make the trip back to the settlement with little issue. 

Torg stubbornly insists on giving the dead hexopard a look over before you leave. He has to confirm your kill, apparently.

You don’t even want to look at it anymore, the remorse heavy in your gut. You’re a thief, not a murderer - you don’t personally relish in killing living things, even animals. Hopefully hexopard meat is edible, so it nor the elk’s death isn’t pointless, but… At the end of the day, between the hexopard dying or Torg, you much prefer that it wasn’t Torg.

“Imagine that, a little cat killed that huge beast on his first hunt!” He remarks in amazement as he looks over the huge carcass. “Never seen anything like it in my years of being Chieftain so far.”

“I mean, usually this trial is done by children, right? That would be quite a feat.” You chuckle in turn. “I’d hate to encounter the little bastard that could manage this...”

Torg seems to find that quite funny as he bellows out a laughing fit, having to wipe a tear from his eye with his good hand.

“You should be proud.” He adds when he’s composed himself. “It’s a great achievement to take down something so large, all on your own.”

“I didn’t do it on my own.” You assert with a smile. “I had an excellent distraction.”

You think, perhaps, you’ll leave this out of the next message to your guildmaster as well…

>> ✨ MASTERLIST

[bubmyg]

(mostly) for him - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: lawyer!au, established relationship, fluff, humor, ft independent art contractor taehyung and yeontan (the most important feature)

word count: 2,735

summary: yoongi doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of a dog or taehyung asks you to dog sit yeontan for the weekend.

a/n: this takes place before “for us” (linked on my masterlist) and can be read as a prequel of sorts. “for us” does not need to be read to understand this but it’s nice in context :-)

The extra curt tone of Yoongi’s voice clipped on the end as his headache throbbed just underneath where he rubbed long fingers into the pain and the sound colliding plastic made when he misjudged hanging up the phone elicited another pointed throb to the surface. His second hand joined the first on his neck, threading together as his forehead hit his desk and if he weren’t hyper aware of any and all noises, he would have mistaken the tentative knock on his door for the sound of his skull dully thumping through the desk calendar.

“Uh...hey Mr. Min?”

He couldn’t even muster enough energy for formality, groaning to the dangle of the pink tie you’d secured around his neck that morning, “Yeah, Jeongguk?”

Four days into his internship meant the young intern still had flushed cheeks and magnified doe eyes when he popped into the office and Yoongi theorized they’d never go away, especially not when they only worsened, softening on some sort of edge of concern as he barely cracked the door to his boss slumped over. 

“Uh…” Yoongi threaded his fingers underneath his chin, propping himself up to squint at Jeongguk, the only way to suppress his headache enough to hear whatever he needed, “...there’s a man in the lobby for you and...he has a dog? Is that okay?”

“Did he give you a name?”

Jeongguk’s features squinted, “Uh, T-Taehyung I believe. I tried to tell him to leave the dog but—”

Even his headache wanted to flee at that name and it gave Yoongi the momentary ability to lift his head without wincing. He sighed instead, “He’s an old friend. Send him in. The dog too.”

If an incompetant investigation team paired with a tentative intern Yoongi incorrectly assumed could deal with them couldn’t make him want to rip each of his hairs out by the individual follicles, Kim Taehyung definitely could. 

Specifically when he waltzed through the closed office door without knocking with a frazzled Jeongguk on his heels, only to shut the door in the face of Jeongguk’s apologetic Hey! You were supposed to follow me!, and plop the equivalent to a living pom pom onto his desk. 

The dog seemed to study Yoongi, mirroring the inquisitive squint of the man before he let out a low growl, baring his teeth just long enough to let out the least intimidating yap! Yoongi had ever witnessed. 

Taehyung panicked nonetheless, swiping an arm underneath the dogs middle to drag him against his side like Yoongi had seen him haul blank canvas’ multiple times before. Yoongi passed his analyzing glare from the still vibrating dog to his owner, forcing his eyebrows not to lift into his hairline as he took in the state of his friend. 

Heavy brown jacket draped over his shoulders with his arms not pressed into the sleeves, baggy pants swishing around sandals strapped to his ankles, a white button down half secured across his broad chest, messy brown hair smeared into his eyelashes, and the geometric smile painted to his gums a sharp contrast to the uttered scolds he periodically mouthed in between the dog’s pulsing vibrations. 

A streak of red acrylic paint bubbled on the side of his neck and Yoongi unintentionally zeroed in on it, eyebrows crinkling at that instead of the rest. 

“New project?” Yoongi motioned to the red glob, “I’m still pretty rusty on copyright law so—”

“What?” Taehyung’s smile erased for comical confusion, almost like a cartoon character as he dragged the dog aside carelessly to press the sanction of his index and middle finger into the glob. He inspected it with an almost giddy realization, shaking his head as the smile returned and he wiped the glob across the front buttons of his shirt, “Oh, no. I’m not sure where that’s from.”

How do you not know? “Right…” Yoongi leaned back in his chair, elbow on the arm of the chair to press his cheek into his palm, “Take a seat—” When Taehyung flopped with dog balanced carefully across his thighs, he continued, “—what brings you here?”

“What? I can’t just come to visit an old friend?”

Yoongi shook his head, rutting his chin further into his palm, “No, you’re always welcome here or in my home. I just figured—”

“But I do need something,” Taehyung was still grinning, unapologetic and charming, “...I have an unexpected trip this weekend. I have to go quote some work for a new aviation museum a couple towns over. Will probably take the whole weekend.”

“Need me to get your mail?” Yoongi thought to Taehyung’s mailbox, an oddly charming spiral that curled upward out of the soil like a screw with a tiny, birdhouse like structure balanced on top. 

“Nah, if someone wants to steal and pay my bills for me, they can. The hotel I’m at doesn’t allow dogs, so—” The younger man again hooked an arm underneath the dog, plopping him down on top of the desk. It bared its teeth but didn’t bark and Yoongi held up a silent hand in surrender, “—I need you to watch him for me.”

Yoongi was suddenly pulled from studying the seeming eyebrows embedded into the dog’s fur, ones that were silently judging the gape that suddenly overtook his lips. “You...I...you want me to what?” 

“Dog sit. Come on, it won’t be that bad. Tannie is extremely well behaved.”

On cue, the dog yapped. Louder than before. Twice.

“A-actually,” Yoongi sat a bit straighter in his chair to bullshit properly, “My intern, the one who brought you in. I hear he loves dogs. He lives alone on his campus so like, maybe ask him?—”

Taehyung laughed, “Why would I want a stranger to take care of him? No, it has to be you.”

Yoongi felt his resolve fading the higher Taehyung’s smile dimpled into his cheeks, gaze falling away from his friend to pat affectionately down the dog’s spine. His fluffy tail wagged once then twice, spinning a delighted circle a top the desk to stretch his tongue for Taehyung’s willing hand. 

“You...can’t find anyone else? You’re sure?”

“Nope!”

“I probably need to call—”

“Oh your lovely wife? Tell her hi for me, by the way,” Taehyung seemed to muse mostly to himself as he shifted in his chair, “She’ll love him. I know it. And it’s only for a few days—”

“Only for the weekend?”

“Only for the weekend. Not even forty-eight hours. I’ll be back Sunday before noon.”

“...if you say so—”

Taehyung barely waited another syllable, shooting up from the chair to reach the door in one long stride. “Great! I had your intern go to get something from my car for me so—”

Yoongi started to defend Jeongguk, that he only answered to him and Taehyung didn’t have that kind of authority, when the gangly college student waddled around the corner with a giant blue tub clutched in white knuckles. 

“Is this that tub you wanted, Mr. Kim?”

“Yes, perfect!”

“You can just call him Taehyung, Jeongguk, that’s—”

Jeongguk plopped the plastic to the ground below his feet, long ways across the hall and huffed, dabbing at some of the sweat in his neatly parted fringe while Taehyung beamed. “It should all be in here. Food, some toys, his bed—”

Yoongi eyed the industrial sized bag of food Taehyung dragged out from underneath a labrador sized bed and a squeaky toy shaped like a horse, then eyed the dog on his desk, his long muzzle poked into Yoongi’s pen jar. 

“...you said he’s...a Pomeranian? Right?”

Translation: He won’t sprout into a puffy Great Dane like one of those spongy toy dinosaurs you put into glasses of water overnight, will he?

Yoongi slumped into the seat when the garage door rumbled to a stop, closed and fully enveloping the garage in the eerie light provided by the illuminated timer hanging above the mechanics that opened and closed the technology. His head lulled, eyeing Yeontan where he sat gracefully in the passenger seat, head tilted at a neon orange ladder hanging from a hook on the front wall of the garage. 

He pocketed his keys, fumbling his phone into his pocket as well before dragging the dog underneath his arm like he’d seen Taehyung do without much struggle. 

“This is your first test,” Yoongi told the dog at a grumble as he swung cracking joints out of his SUV, “Actually, our first test. Hope you like Lexus SUV seat reclining, we may be sleeping out here—”

Yoongi tried to twist the door shut without alerting you of his presence but your sweet voice rang down the staircase, “Hi, bub!” and he was already entirely done for seventeen different reasons. 

He adjusted the dog in his grip, peeled his shoes off by the ankle because he figured you scolding him for some buffable scuffs was the least of his worries, and then he called back, an octave lower than normal and unintentionally trembling on the end, “Hey!”

He watched you take the stairs two at a time, concern written all over your features and your fingers struggling at your necklace clasp (He’d have to help you, anyway. He always did) but you paused halfway through your descent and your sentence, changing your inquiry, “Hey, are you okay—wait is that a dog?”

Yoongi presented Yeontan like Simba in the Circle of Life sequence. “Taehyung’s dog,” He corrected, assured more than anything. 

You took the rest of the stairs at a normal speed and then did Yoongi register you only had one half soled sock on too. Cute. “Let me guess,” You were ranting, “He showed up at the office because he panicked about some last minute contracting appointment he had somewhere out of town and needed a sitter and you and your way too big heart was the first person he thought of.”

Yoongi blinked at you as you materialized in front of him, fingers reaching out to scratch at the dog’s ears. “Yes. Actually, that’s exactly what happened.”

“That’s Taehyung for you,” Yoongi read the smile on your features as genuine but he still swayed, uneasy with your lips on his chin, “What’s his name?”

“Yeontan,” Yoongi blinked into the kiss you pressed to his lips and he steadied mostly himself with a hand on your hip, “You’re not mad?”

“No?” You pulled the dog into your arms, letting him lick a stripe to your nose that you giggled into and Yoongi melted even if he’d witnessed the dog take a shit on the newly planted daffodils outside the office without so much as blinking, “I know how Tae is.”

“He’s a good friend he’s just…”

“Taehyung,” You finished for Yoongi, cradling the dog against your chest like a baby, “He’s just Taehyung.”

“Right.”

You considered the dog for another few passing moments, rocking him between the sway on your feet and then you panicked, “Do we need to get him food? I’ll run to the store—”

“No, actually Taehyung brought food with him...like enough for seven of a dog his size. You don’t think he’s punking us and is gonna swap this little guy out for a horse in the middle of the night, do you?...”

“Maybe not a horse—” You said ten hours later at three in the morning with two torn couch cushions and a stained rug and patio, “—but maybe a demon.”

Yoongi was afraid to shift higher on the bed to wrap an arm around your shoulders even if his legs were bare from the covers and he was freezing in fear that he’d wake said demon from his slumber at the foot of the bed. His hair stuck out on one side over his ears, mud crusted underneath his fingernails where he’d tripped in pursuit of the escaped creature down their cul de sac, and nail rips in his favorite university basketball t-shirt. 

“Satan reincarnate,” Yoongi breathed with finality as it raised it’s tiny head and whined. 

“No,” You moved, catching the dog in gentle fingers when he tried to skitter out the cracked door of the bedroom. Your bottom lip pouted, stroking a gentle finger behind the dog’s ear, “He misses Tae…”

Yoongi’s features scrunched, “Who would miss him?”

You settled back into his embrace that he stretched for you, still cradling the dog’s head to your chest, “Shush. Remember that one day conference I attended for work and you called me crying—”

“I wasn’t crying—”

“It’s like that,” You kissed the top of the dog’s trembling head instead of the cheek Yoongi presented for you. “He’s just sad and needs some love, that’s all.”

Yoongi held his neck in an awkward position until you awarded him with a peck on the cheek. “What about me?”

You rolled your eyes, jostling the slumbering creature in your arm to fit your fingers into the soft hairs at Yoongi’s scalp and cooed just to hear him whine, “Oh, come here—”

The dog incident rate skyrocketed at night and then dipped drastically low during the day, a gradual decrease until it met and rested at zero, and Yoongi virtually forgot about Yeontan’s presence for various durations throughout the day. It was his emergence from a shower well into the Saturday evening hours that made it worth it, his heart melting into the stumble of his feet halfway down the staircase when he caught sight of you curled up on the corner of the couch. 

He knew you were awake only by your phone resting in your hand, your other fingers preoccupied with scrunching through Yeontan’s fur, lips puckering to place periodic pecks to the space between his flicking ears. 

Yoongi dropped a knee into the couch, the first step in wrapping his stature around you, arms threading around your tummy to thread at your navel and squeeze, chin dropping to your shoulder. He wasn’t intrigued by the contents on your phone but instead the tiny, slumbering creature with his nose buried between your thighs. He eyed the flex of your fingers, in, out, scratching like you would in his scalp and an endearing sigh relaxed his further into the crook of your neck, lips turning to mouth at the sensitive skin there. 

“Maybe we should get a pet of our own…”

You were careful not to wake the dog as you tossed your phone aside, turning your head to allow him better access to your throat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. A dog, specifically.”

“I’d like that.”

“You would?” Yoongi nuzzled the spot underneath your ear, “I haven’t had a dog since I was younger…”

Silently, you shifted, gently placing Yeontan into Yoongi’s lap and he subconsciously picked up where you left off in mindless petting. “Oh yeah?” You curled into his side, tucked into his chest. 

“Yeah. His name was Tubby,” His cheeks heated a bit even without a reaction from you, “You know. Like from the Teletubbies…”

You nudged gentle fingers up underneath Yeontan and the hem of Yoongi’s crewneck, applying gentle, sweeping rubs to his tummy. “That’s cute, Yoons.”

Yoongi grunted in embarrassment, “We could name our dog something different. More refined.” 

“Oh yeah?” You repeated the rhetorical inquiry in the same, hopelessly endeared tone, “Our dog?” 

He hummed a mindless tune for a few moments before the gradual shake of his head grew in volume, “No, nevermind. We couldn’t have a dog, not right now. We’re both too busy. It’s not plausible…”

“I think we could do it.”

“Maybe…” You startled when Yoongi stood, dog in tow as his face scrunched while his spine stretched, “I don’t know. It’d be nice but...yeah. I don’t know.”

You watched Yoongi’s slow waddle away from you, again hopelessly enamored by the dip of his head as he clearly tried to converse with the half asleep puppy until you thought to call, “Hey, where are you going?”

“He needs to go outside one more time before bed!”

You pretended not to hear the high pitched shriek followed by low grumbles and the spray of the hose on the kitchen sink. He returned without the dog, shoulders slumped and a ranting pout screwed to his lips as he muttered something you couldn’t hear. 

“...alright?”

“If we do get a dog, can we train it not to shit right outside the door—”

[elcorhamletlive]

fandom: MCU (non-powered AU)

ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark tags: Fluff, established relationship, human disaster Tony Stark, pre-serum Steve Rogers

“Hi.”

Steve blinks. The sound of loud thunder roars outside, but he doesn’t jolt, too focused on the image in front of him to be startled by the noise. 

He has no idea what to say, and he isn’t sure if the shock is because of Tony’s absolutely sodden state – his hair glued to his forehead, his clothes dripping with water, forming a small puddle in front of Steve’s door – or because he wasn’t expecting to see Tony for at least three more days.

“Hi?” he says, a little tentative, before his brain catches up to reality. In his defense, he was getting ready to sleep when Tony knocked. He looks at what Tony is holding – a wet mess that seems to have been a flower bouquet at some point. “What are you doing here?”

Tony lets out a sigh that he seems to have been holding down for hundreds of years. “I forgot the flowers,” he says.

Steve looks at the bouquet again, just to check that he isn’t, in fact, delusional and isn’t dreaming up his boyfriend showing up at his apartment at almost 1.a.m. while it’s pouring outside, and also when said boyfriend was supposed to be in Hong Kong. “You’re holding them.”

“No,” Tony breathes, and it’s only then that Steve realizes he sounds exhausted, and looks it too. “No, I mean—I was supposed to have arrived earlier, but I forgot the flowers. And I thought about calling Happy and asking him to take me to the store, but he was already on his break, and I think he’s going to meet May, and—” He stops himself, seemingly realizing his rambling. His eyelashes are dark with water, one or two drips still holding in between a couple of them. “I thought I could just get to the store and pick up the flowers myself. Of course, that was before the world started to fall apart.”

“Right,” Steve says. He steps aside, gesturing for Tony to come in, still taking in how drenched he is. “But—but what are you doing here?”

Tony wobbles inside, nearly limping, and Steve is filled with worry when he catches sight of how thin his shirt is. He doesn’t wait for Tony’s response, already running inside to grab the first towel he finds in his bathroom.

“I’m—” Tony is interrupted by a shiver, complete with teeth chatter. Steve, only sort of panicking, throws the towel around him, bringing Tony closer to the center of his living room. “I’m being a good boyfriend,” he finishes.

Steve, who’s mentally cursing out both his heater for being broken and himself for not having taken up Tony’s offers to fix it earlier, can barely grasp what he means. “You’re—What?”

“I— ” Tony stutters. He’s still shivering, and Steve hurries to grab two more towels and throw them over his shoulder before he realizes he should probably try getting Tony out of his wet clothes instead. He starts by trying to slip his soaked blazer off his arms, but Tony gestures, still holding the destroyed bouquet. “I’m here. You thought I wouldn’t be, but I am. And I… I bought you flowers.”

Steve frowns. Sometimes Tony does this thing where he’s twisted a thought in his mind so many times he seems to believe Steve can read it, and so when he talks, it’s as if he thinks there’s already a conversation happening.

“I thought you wouldn’t be in the city”, Steve agrees slowly, trying to find some common ground. Tony nods emphatically.

“Right,” he says, and then sneezes. Steve goes back to the task of taking off his blazer. “But I’m here. I managed to get Pepper to let me go earlier.” He tilts his head, eyeing Steve with something that seems both expectant and a little nervous. “I know I’m a little late, but it’s not tomorrow before you fall asleep, and I really wanted to be here for our anniversary.”

Steve stops. Stares. Blinks.

“Tony,” he starts, unsure of how to do this, before deciding to just go right to the point: “Today is not our anniversary.”

“’Course it is,” Tony counters, his brow furrowing.

“Uh,” Steve says. “No, it isn’t. It’s next week.”

“What? No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No. It’s—Today is the 19th.” Tony’s voice grows a little hesitant. “…Isn’t it?”

Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket and places it in Tony’s hand so he can see the date.

“…It isn’t,” Tony says. “I.” He blinks for a moment, adjusting to the information. “How could I have thought it was?”

Steve knows well how – by keeping crazy hours working on projects and only going to sleep when absolute exhaustion hits, completely messing up his biological clock. But this isn’t the time to go into another lecture about Tony’s work habits. “Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says instead. He loosens Tony’s tie, taking advantage of the way he’s staring blankly ahead to start unbuttoning his shirt.

“I was so sure it was today,” Tony says in a small voice. “Happy even asked me, because of course, I must have told him the date before, but I insisted it was today.”

The mention of Happy brings something else to Steve’s mind. “Wait. Happy left you here right before the end of his shift? And then you went to get the flowers?”

The flower shop is just two stations from Steve’s block. Happy’s shift ends at eight, and, considering Steve’s clock just marked fifteen minutes past one a.m., it doesn’t add up.

Tony says nothing.

Steve drags his eyes to his face, studying it carefully.

“Did you get lost on the subway?”

“No,” Tony says, his cheeks flushing.

Steve holds his stare.

“Okay, fine, I did.” There’s a strident note in his voice, and a burst of fondness floods Steve’s chest. “I messed it up, okay? It was supposed to be—I wanted to—” He gestures aimlessly with the soaked flowers. “I messed it all up.”

Steve can’t help but smile. Having finished opening Tony’s shirt, he raises his hand to Tony’s face, gently cupping his cheek: “There are lots of lines in New York,” he says, even though he knows for a fact that if Tony had ever used the subway more than, maybe, once in his life, he wouldn’t find it hard. He keeps this knowledge out of his tone, though; the difference in their upbring is always jarring when it rears its head like this, and he knows it makes Tony feel uncomfortable and guilty, even though it’s not really his fault. “It can be complicated.”

Tony’s eyes don’t buy his reassurance. “I’m an idiot,” he croaks.

“No,” Steve says, final. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Tony’s wet cheek, lowering his hands to rub the towels against his shoulders gently. “You’re a good boyfriend.”

Tony lets out a humorless laugh. Steve doesn’t reply, though, focused on slipping the shirt off of Tony’s torso. His tanned skin gleams with leftover sprinkles of water. Steve brings both ends of the towel to the middle of Tony’s chest, enveloping him in it.

“Let’s sit down,” he orders, and Tony goes along, his disappointment still clear in his expression.

They both sink onto Steve’s couch. Steve busies himself taking off Tony’s sneakers, a little horrified by how wet his socks are. If Tony weren’t so upset, Steve would use this opportunity to make a point about the importance of function over style when it comes to shoes. He doesn’t, though, rubbing the towel in fast strokes against Tony’s feet to warm them up.

Tony lets out a pleased little noise that Steve enjoys probably more than he should, his cheeks heating and fodness curling low in his belly. He lets go of Tony’s feet to pick up the towel over Tony’s shoulders and take it over his head, his movements a little clumsy over Tony’s hair. He’s making a mess of it, but at least it isn’t dripping water anymore.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Tony says, but his own voice sounds a little distant, almost dazed. “I mean, geez—I wanted to surprise you, and now here you are, having to take care of me.”

Steve presses a light kiss against his shoulder. “I like taking care of you,” he says, both too casual and too honest.

He decides not to watch for Tony’s reaction, standing up and walking quickly to his bedroom. He picks up a sweater from his closet – it’s a little loose on him, so it should fit Tony just fine – and a pair of sweatpants that, come to think of it, are probably Tony’s anyway. On his way back, he also comes by the bathroom, picking up a comb.

“Here,” he says, stretching the sweater’s head hole to beckon Tony to come closer. He does, and Steve pulls the sweater over his body, enjoying the feel of the wool over Tony’s solid, lean shape. “Take your pants off.”

Tony still somehow has it in him to do a little eyebrow wriggle in response, but then another sneeze forces him to focus and follow Steve’s lead. He puts on the sweatpants, and Steve stands up for a moment to size up the result.

It’s… oddly comforting, to see Tony in such cuddly clothes. Steve kind of wants to wrap a blanket around him, which, now that he’s thinking about it, might actually be a good idea.

He hurries to his bedroom again to pick up his old, extremely warm and comfortable duvet, and when he goes back, Tony’s eyes widen.

“Are planning to smother me with covers?” Steve ignores him, having a little difficulty opening up the duvet – it’s a little overwhelming to hold. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Yup,” Steve says, finally just throwing the duvet over Tony’s body, pulling at the end to leave his face uncovered. “You figured me out. That’s exactly the plan.”

Tony blinks, and Steve has to smile at how he looks right now – literally a ball of fabric and covers with a lonely head on top.

He picks up the comb, and Tony’s gaze turns hesitant.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He gestures at the bird’s nest mess his hair has become. “I can fix it in the morning, you know. You’re doing all this work…”

“And I’m fine doing it,” Steve completes. Then he adds, “I want to do it.”

Tony looks up at him, lips pressed together in a thin line, and Steve just—really, really means it. He wants to take care of him so badly.

Let me, he thinks, silently hoping Tony can somehow read his mind.

It’s unclear if it works, but Tony nods, slowly, and Steve smiles.

He runs the comb through Tony’s hair, taming the wet curls. The result reminds him of the Tony he used to see in the news, with his hair slicked back with expensive gel. That was way before Steve knew him as a person, and even longer before Steve started knowing him as Tony . He looked handsome then, as he does now, but still the difference in setting coils up Steve’s insides, makes something warm and gooey flood his chest.

It doesn’t take much work with the comb to fix the mess Steve made with the towels. Still, Tony hums as Steve continues, small, pleased noises seemingly coming from the back of his throat, each one filling Steve with nearly unbearable fondness.

When he finishes, Tony’s eyes are closed, and, when Steve steps away to place the comb on a side table, Tony clumsily reaches out for him, shifting the duvet enough that his arm looks like a foreign object, raised awkwardly under the covers.

“C’mere,” Tony mumbles, his voice raspy as if he’s about to fall asleep. The duvet moves as - Steve assumes - Tony raises his other arm, and even though he can’t see it, Steve would bet actual money he’s making grabby hands. “Come on.”

“Calm down, duvet monster,” Steve says, fumbling until he finds one end of the duvet to pull up just enough to slide inside. His reward is the touch of Tony’s hands, warm and familiar as they pull Steve to a surface he recognizes as Tony’s lap. Pretty soon he’s enveloped by warmth and softness, as if he’s stepped inside a cloud.

“Sorry for being a mess,” Tony whispers, his chin over Steve’s head. Steve looks up just enough to scowl at him.

“Stop saying that,” he scolds, and Tony chuckles softly.

“Okay,” he says, pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

His eyes are closed, but Steve keeps watching him, wrapped in the lines around his mouth, the subtle but delicate curl of his lashes. “Thank you for the flowers,” he whispers, because it occurs to him he should, and he hadn't yet. “And for being a great boyfriend.”

Tony’s arms tighten around him. Steve thinks he shivers, but it might be just an impression. “You’re welcome. Thank you for being you.” The words float between them, Steve’s heart swelling, and maybe Tony catches on the weight of it, because he adds: “Now, how about we get some sleep?”

Steve leans in against his chest and reaches up to press a kiss on his neck. “Good idea.”

Tony hums, clearly already beginning to doze off, and Steve nestles closer, his head over Tony’s chest. He’s overwhelmed by that same warm, gooey feeling, and his body feels like goo, too, melting against Tony’s.

He closes his eyes. The rain roars outside, but all he can hear is Tony’s heart.

[thegreatsaiya-z]

Saiyan Biology Part 2 

(Actual Info under the cut)

Teeth

Saiyan teeth are based partially on baboon teeth in that the canine teeth are notably larger than the rest of the incisors, although the rest of the incisors are also fanged, and suited for ripping and tearing.  However, their molars are still similar to those of most omnivores, and are used for chewing.  As a result, saiyans are classified as an omnivorous species, although they take the concept of eating everything to the extreme-for example, while a saiyan will gain little to no nutrition from eating stone or metal, they are technically capable of digesting materials commonly thought to be entirely inedible.  Saiyans tend to prefer meat because it is high calorie and high protein-both necessities for their biology- but they do require plant based nutrition for a rounded diet.  Their teeth are capable of cutting through bone, and their molars capable of grinding down tough woody stems.  A saiyan’s digestive system is equally robust, and capable of resisting most parasites and poisons found in food.  As a result, cooking is not a requirement for digestion, but most saiyans tend to have at least a couple foods they prefer cooked (or alternatively complex food items that require cooking to come together). Also, while not their primary food source, due to their incredibly large calorific requirements, saiyans on the battlefield will fall to eating the the bodies of their not-always fallen opponents (i.e. that one scene of Vegeta snacking on a random alien mook’s arm), which doesn’t help increase their intergalactic standing. Like some reptiles, saiyans are born with all their teeth and they exhibit polyphyodonty-if a tooth falls out, another will grow back in its place.  Despite the large size of most of their teeth, they are fully hidden by the lips.  Saiyan jaws tend to be larger and wider than those of most similarly sized mammalian species, and they have an incredibly strong bite force-although again, they are similar to crocodiles in that even a fairly small force stopping movement of the jaw will be an effective neutralizing method.  

Half-saiyans retain the oversized canines, although the rest of the teeth are similar in appearance to those of a human.  Half-saiyans are born with canines, and the rest of their teeth grow in sometime between three to six months.  Apart from this, their teeth are similar to those are full saiyans, as are their digestive capabilities. Their jaws are larger than those of most full blooded humans, but not necessarily to the extent that their canine teeth will fit properly.  As a result its fairly common for the canine teeth to project outwards and protrude slightly past the lips.  This is entirely a cosmetic issue, and could theoretically be remedied by braces, although the issue of placing the braces for long enough remains an issue, particularly with the amount of facial trauma most saiyans go through, and also the problem of finding a dentist willing to stick their hand in that mouth.

Quarter saiyans, like half saiyans, retain most of the dental and digestive capabilities of a full blooded saiyan.  They have oversized canines, although not to the extent of full or half blooded saiyans.  Like human infants, they are born toothless; their canines grow in within the first couple of months, afterwards the rest of the teeth grow in between six to eight months.  They do have a set of baby teeth, but after those grow in they retain the polyphyodontic trait.

Eyes

The pupil and iris of a saiyan have no differentiation, is ovular and elongated, and contracts and expands with the light (and, occasionally, emotion).  Their visual acuity is no better than a human, although their night vision is far superior.  Without the use of ki-energy, saiyan eyes possess tapetum lucidum- otherwise known as eye shine, which allows for vision in low-light activities; with ki-energy, a truer backlight is possible, allowing for some vision even in pitch-black environments.  In fact, the general environment of earth tends to be a bit bright for saiyan eyes, resulting in slit-like pupil/iris’s.  This is because saiyans originally evolved in a low-light environment from living under the canopy of their original forested planet (listen. listen.  You do not get monkey-based species without trees.  I do not know what was the saiyan origin planet in the main universe was, but I do not care, a rain forest type environment makes sense.), and later on the red sky of planet Vegeta was relatively dim compared the sky of planet earth.  Additionally, because they tend to gain power with the moon, saiyans are naturally at least partly nocturnal, which also plays a part in their keen night vision.  Saiyans also have sensory organs present in the inside corners of their eyes that allows them to sense heat energy of nearby organisms (i.e. that thing snakes can do? yeah kind of like that).  

Half saiyan eyes are rather similar to those of a full saiyan, although the sensory organs are under-developed and unspecific.  Gohan is actually tremendously, horrifically blind without glasses nearsighted, although not as a result of an incorrect blending of human and saiyan genes or entirely as a result of eyestrain from reading.  Admittedly he did strain his eyesight throughout his childhood, because it didn’t get bad enough that he needed a book half an inch from his face in order to see it until high school, and he didn’t realize most people did not see the world in various states of blurry.  Luckily, saiyan and half-saiyan eyes are similar enough in function to human eyes that regular glasses do work.  

In quarter saiyan eyes, the thermoreceptor organ is entirely absent, and pupils are more ovular even in day-light.  Otherwise they function much the same as full and half-saiyan eyes do.  

Noses

A saiyan’s sense of smell is probably their most developed sense.  It is very sensitive, and capable of picking up minute differences in scent.  They are adept trackers by smell alone as a result.  That said, saiyans aren’t particularly good at blocking out potent smells, and overwhelming scents-particularly unpleasant ones-can be debilitating much as high pitched noises can be to a Namek.  Unlike humans, saiyan noses have diagonally set nostrils instead of downward facing ones, much like new world monkeys.  In half and quarter bloods, the angle of the noses shifts downwards with the addition of human blood, but otherwise the function remains the same

Body and Proportions

Saiyans tend to be stockier than the average human, and very much embody the idea of being built like bricks.  They’re a warrior race from a high-gravity environment, and they look it.  They have long torsos and longer arms, and a prehensile tail and prehensile feet from their arboreal ancestors (who were comparatively closer to modern saiyans than humans closest tree dwelling ancestors).  A saiyan tail, apart from its noted sensitivity to being yanked and containment of trigger glands for the Oozaru transformation, is also an important part of a saiyan’s balance.  Ki-energy can serve as a substitute, but without actively circulating energy, a tail-less saiyan has not insignificant balance problems.  As children, saiyans tend to lean more towards a quadrupedal stance, although it’s considered improper in higher echelons of Saiyan society.  As they grow older and proportions shift, they tend toward bipedality.  Unlike human primates, saiyans have retained claws instead of nails.  

Half-saiyans have more variety in body shape, although they still trend to more solid builds (e.g. even Gohan, the person closest to being a twig of everyone with saiyan genetics, has fairly broad shoulders and a barrel chest).  Typically, the length of the torso, arms, and legs are more or less equal in length to each other.  Half saiyans retain the prehensile tail and feet, although they’re not quite as hairy as a full blooded saiyan would be.  Their nails aren’t quite claws, but they’re still thickened and come to a natural point.  

Quarter saiyans have similar body shapes as half-saiyans.  Their proportions are close to human, although they’re noticeably off to a practiced eye.  The tail is thinner and shorter, but still present, and while the back of the foot is fairly human in shape, the feet are still prehensile.  Their nails are mostly blunt, but still thicker than a full blooded humans would be.

Due to the high gravity environment of both planet Vegeta and the original saiyan origin planet, saiyan skeletal and muscular structures are several times more dense than those of most humanoid species of comparable size.  This allows saiyans to hit harder and lift more than most species, assisting in part of their infamous power.  Their skin and most of their other organs are similarly tough-without energy circulation, they can still be harmed by mundane means, but it takes a considerable amount of force to result in damage (e.g regular hand guns or even a car crash wouldn’t amount to much more than mild discomfort, but something along the lines of a missile launcher would) On the flip side, the amount of energy required to maintain their dense physicality is incredibly large.  Even without much activity, around twenty to thirty thousand calories are necessary for a saiyan to function.  Strenuous activity and/or energy use increase the required calorie usage exponentially.  As a result, a saiyan can die of starvation in a matter of days.  The tough physicality and intense calorie requirements are considered dominant traits, and remain present in half and quarter saiyans.

[pixelpoppers]

Animal Crossing’s Endgame Trolls Focusers Even More

With Animal Crossing: New Horizons's increased tools for town customization - the ability to actually shape the land and water, place furniture and decorations outdoors, and decide where almost every building goes - many people have done crazily impressive things with their islands that are wonderful to behold. These island-scale projects seem to be what you are intended to do once you reach the "endgame" and unlock the terraforming tools. But I found that when I reached that point, I had very little interest in undertaking such projects and was largely done with the game. And I think I've figured out why.

Animal Crossing does a lot to deliberately slow the player down, but once you start working on projects as large-scale as terraforming the delays and interruptions both skyrocket. Not only will each project take a long time, but you'll frequently have to put it down unfinished and remember what work remains to be done.

The first factor is that the terraforming tools themselves are slow and clunky to work with. You don't get some kind of Sim City-style god mode; you have to physically walk to each grid square (traversing any cliffs or water along the way), carefully position and point yourself, and use the correct terraforming tool. This process is at least free - infrastructure changes (moving houses or shops, building slopes or bridges, or demolishing slopes and bridges) all have costs in the tens or hundreds of thousands of bells, which slows down how much of that you can do, although that's at least in an organic way that allows you to set and work toward goals.

More interruptive is the fact that these infrastructure changes also have arbitrary delays and limitations attached. You can only be building or demolishing one bridge or slope at a time and it will take at least one day each. You can only move one house or shop per day and it will also take one day each. Perhaps worst of all, you can only plan to place a house or shop in a place that is currently clear.

Want to move a house one square to the right? That will require two moves over two days and a separate house-sized clear area to temporarily hold the house. It will cost a total of 100,000 bells.

Want to swap two houses? Three moves, three days, a house-sized holding area, and 150,000 bells.

Want to raise or lower the ground where some buildings currently are? That will require two moves, two days, a house-sized holding area, and 100,000 bells per building, with terraforming in between.

On top of this is the largely random distribution of furniture and decoration items making it difficult to plan to use specific ones, especially in large numbers. If there's something you can buy but it's not currently at the store (or if it's in limited supply) you can mail-order it - but you can only order five items per day and they won't arrive until the next day.

Add it all up and a large-scale project like renovating your island can easily take weeks and this seems to be by design. Having a long-term goal and poking at it a bit further every day can be pleasant and satisfying - but to focusers like me, the fact that it's broken into multiple days by arbitrary interruptions and it's not possible to track your progress makes it far less pleasant than it could be.

The kicker is that it's extremely difficult and expensive to experiment with changes (which is especially important for people like me with poor spatial visualization ability). If I think I want ten streetlights in an area, I mail-order them over two days and have them all on the third day. If I try them out and then decide I want garden lamps instead, I've just wasted the bells but more importantly two full days of mail orders. And when I did do a medium-scale project to create a little suburb area for four villager houses, after a few days of moves I realized the houses were each one square to the left of where I wanted them - and I just left them there rather than spend 400,000 bells and eight days fixing it.

When I played Dragon Quest Builders (and this also applies to Minecraft, Terraria, etc. etc.) and I wanted to redesign my town, even if it took a lot of time and resources I could do it in a single continuous effort, keeping the goals in my active memory. And at one point I redid a town in Dragon Quest Builders, decided I didn't like it, and simply reloaded my save.

But if I want to redesign my island in Animal Crossing, I have to make a long-term plan, commit to it without a chance to test it out, and keep track of it over at least several days as it gets interrupted over and over. And since Animal Crossing auto-saves and has no capability to back up a save, any design I end up disliking will take just as much time, effort, and bells to undo.

I like the idea of terraforming and renovating my entire island. I can see why for some players it's a source of additional enjoyment that extends the game's lifespan by dozens of hours. But for players like me, it's a giant chore that doesn't seem worth it.

[bondsmagii]

(over the last month or so, I’ve been working on a small project for Halloween. I’ve long since been fascinated by the paranormal experiences that occur in childhood -- it seems everyone has at least one incident that occurred when they were younger that they can’t explain now. I have many, of course, but I started thinking about the children I grew up with. what were my childhood friends experiencing at the same age as I was, when we were in class together; hung around together? I managed to get in touch with several old friends I had from the ages of 8-11, and asked them to share that one incident they couldn’t explain. I have recreated the stories here, with my own narrative supported by excerpts from their letters -- and it’s a pretty impressive bunch of stories.)

FINLEY

Finley shared an interesting story with me, about a place close to where we grew up in rural Ireland. As a bit of background information, this village was typical of such rural places – very small, with most people knowing everyone else, and with a lot of surrounding farmhouses in scattered locations around the village. One of these isolated houses is the focus of Finley’s story.

One Halloween, when Finely was ten or eleven years old, he was trick-or-treating with some of his friends and his younger brother Aaron, who was about eight. They’d already got a pretty decent haul from their street and a few of the other nearby ones, and they were discussing where they should go next when they were approached by another group of kids heading the opposite way. After a brief comparison of sweets, Finley noticed that these kids had some seriously impressive stuff: full-size chocolate bars, entire packets of chewy sweets, etc.

“Where did you get that from?” he asked, and the other group had a brief debate over whether or not to tell them, before figuring hey, it’s almost the end of the night, so it probably didn’t matter too much if they knew.

“You know the Commander’s house?” one of the kids asked. “If you go all the way to the front door and knock, you get the really good stuff.”

Of course Finley knew about the Commander’s house. Every kid in the village did, because it was something of a local mystery. It was nicknamed such because of one of the many rumours surrounding it that attempted to answer its strange origins; it was large and on the outskirts of the village, with a lot of land, but it didn’t belong to a farming family. Most people had therefore decided that its owner was Commander, though what he commanded depended on who you asked. Some people thought he was the regional Commander of the British Army, then still occupying the area due to decades of civil unrest; others thought he was the regional Commander of one of the country’s many paramilitary organisations, which really couldn’t be more different from the first option. Still, everyone agreed on one thing: whoever lived there was very important, and therefore very intimidating.

Something else to consider was the fact that it was widely believed that the Commander did not like to be bothered by trick-or-treaters. This was backed up by the fact that he left a bowl of treats at the end of his (very long) driveway, with a strict sign advising everyone to please take only one each; it was further backed up by the testimony of those who had failed to see the small bowl and ventured up the drive anyway, where many children and their parents had reported the Commander’s choice of Halloween decorations to be inappropriately scary. This much I can confirm myself – I remember hearing my mother’s friend complaining that her son and daughter had been left traumatised by the decorations and special effects. It was quite clear that the Commander didn’t encourage visitors to his door, but at the same time, who else in the small village could afford to be handing out full-size treats? Finley was all for trying his luck, figuring that maybe all the scary effects were to ensure that only the bravest children got the rewards.

Finley’s friends were reluctant, but not out of any fear. They pointed out the fact that it was getting late, and the Commander’s house was a decent distance outside the village. By the time they had walked there and back, it would be time to head home. In the same amount of time, they could probably get through an entire other street. In the end, Finley’s friends decided to stay and do the next street, and Finley and Aaron decided to take a chance. They all split ways, and Finley and Aaron headed for the village outskirts.

The Commander’s house couldn’t be seen from the road. It was set back up a long driveway, and surrounded by fields and trees. The walk to the house would have been fairly boring, and Finley admitted wondering if he had made the right choice. Instead of gathering up extra treats, he and Aaron were trudging up a long country road in the dark and the cold – without the buildings to keep the wind at bay, it was freezing. By the time they reached the entrance to the Commander’s drive, both brothers were shivering and a little fed up.

They couldn’t see any bowl at the end of the driveway, and they had a brief debate over whether they should risk going up there. Eventually they decided to, because they figured the Commander might have retrieved the bowl because of the fact it was getting late and any more trick-or-treaters would be unlikely; they also just didn’t want to waste the journey. They set off up the long drive.

The driveway was certainly very creepy. The trees either side were large evergreens, and they blocked out what little light there might be from the moon when it appeared between the drifting clouds. The brothers joked around at first, but the further they got from the safety of the road, the less funny everything seemed to be. All the rumours came back to them: the Commander had put real bodies on the driveway one year; another year there had been a burning car visible at the drive’s end, with horrible screams sounding from it. Aaron began insisting he could see shadowy figures moving between the trees; Finley told him to shut up, but he could see the same thing too. They seemed to flicker constantly, moving among the trees and vanishing up into the branches. Several times Finley saw a tree different from the others, one that should have lost its leaves but was dark against the sky anyway, the branches covered by a shifting mass that Finley didn’t dare look at for too long.

Eventually they made it to the house, and they were both stunned by how ordinary it looked. It was an impressively large house but in no way scary; several of the downstairs lights were on and were casting a warm glow onto the ground outside. Emboldened and all the more convinced that the Commander was packing up for the night and they had made it just in time, Finley and Aaron ran up the steps to the front door and knocked.

They had to wait a while before the door opened, and they had been on the verge of giving up when it did. The person who answered their enthusiastic “trick or treat!” didn’t exactly look thrilled to see them, Finley remembered, but he wasn’t rude either, and the woman with him – they assumed his wife – at least complimented their costumes on her way past the door. Finley noticed that inside, at least in the small area he could see, was very empty and dusty, with the walls and floors completely bare.

“You should have come by earlier,” the Commander said gruffly, grabbing a bowl from somewhere out of sight behind the door. “It’s too late now. Happy Halloween.”

He dropped something into each of their bags and closed the door.

Needless to say, Finley and Aaron were less than pleased with their reception and even less so when they saw what they had been given: a small plastic box, about an inch square, containing within it a gummy sweet shaped and coloured like a cheeseburger. Finley was especially annoyed, not being a fan of such kinds of sweet, and the brothers complained openly on their way back down the drive. Finley still noticed the strange shadowy movements, but was too annoyed to be scared.

By the time they reached the village, they had decided revenge was in order. They met back up with their friends, who had much more to show for the last hour than they did, and relayed the story. All that time wasted for one single gross sweet was not acceptable, they unanimously decided. They agreed that they would go back the next evening and egg the house because, in Finley’s words, it seemed like a totally rational and non-dickish response to the issue.

The next evening they dutifully made their way back to the house. They were only armed with one six-pack of eggs, but it was enough of a confidence boost – together with the larger group and the slightly clearer night – that they made their way up the drive quickly and fearlessly. They quietened their joking as they approached the house, but as soon as they sighted it, all their confidence vanished. A stunned silence ensured, all of them transfixed by the sight in front of them. Finley describes it best in his letter to me: 

The house was a ruin. Not a recent one, either – obviously at that age I had yet to develop my urban exploring habit but even then I knew the decay was far too advanced to be more recent than maybe twenty years. Thinking about it now, the place had to have been exposed to wind and weather for about forty years – it was comparable to some places I’ve since explored that were about that old. The roof had totally collapsed and from the ground, the night sky was visible through the glassless windows on the third floor. Water lines streaked with mould covered the building’s front. The windows Aaron and I had seen lit up just the night before were bricked up and the stairs we had climbed were cracked and covered in weeds. The whole house seemed to sag to one side, like it might collapse at any moment. Every remaining window was smashed.

The group made their way quickly out of there, unnerved and silent. By the time they reached the main road, questions and accusations were flying. None of them knew that the house had been abandoned and it certainly had never been mentioned in the village before (strongly suggesting that nobody knew), and Finley’s friends repeatedly accused him of lying about going to the house the previous night, claiming that he and Aaron had gotten scared and bailed. A heated argument ensued, at the end of which it was decided that if Finely and Aaron could produce the small burger-shaped gummies – of which none of their friends or classmates could remember receiving from any other house in the village – they would believe them.

Back at Finley and Aaron’s house, the burger gummies were quickly found and presented. What was more, in the light of the kitchen they didn’t look so great, appearing to be dry and cracked. Finley’s friends examined them and reluctantly agreed that they believed the brothers, but their reluctance turned to unease when one of Finley’s friends turned the package over to reveal the barely decipherable stamp on the bottom: a faded expiry date for January, 1971.

[tomasistrill]

“Don’t look; but I Think The Elephant In The Room is Wearing An MF Doom Mask..”

By @tomasistrill

December 12, 2019

The Manifesto

“I am the elephant in the room;

bringing doom,

really soon.”

-TOMMY TRILLY

-Form & Shape

The image is sized to be square to eligantly frame my thesis of the symmetry that outlines all things asymmetrical.

Using dimensions of 1080x1080pixels gives the piece functionality & purpose as cover artwork for an important project being manifested as we think, speak & breath.

The color scheme is purposely & purely monochromatic. Starting from left to right; the viewer will immediately see that black is the dominating color of the composition.

However, dominant, is nothing less than an understatement. When working with black on this piece; I found myself compulsive, aggressive & even manic at times.

I strayed far from my initial concept of having the black fade to an almost white tone; never truly giving my viewer the graceful embrace of a pure white.

Instead; my fanatical usage of black lead me ever deeper into the enigmatic labyrinth of my subconscious & a graceful awareness of the courage to create.

-Ethos, Pathos & Logos

The toxic love affair between my creative mania & the color black conceived a scene no longer so two dimensional; contrasted with a character that will never be anything more than it’s two dimensions.

The character is depicted in the center of the room. However, because he cannot escape his two dimensional existence, the center of the room is a place he can only observe from afar. He doesn’t understand why none of the people in the room pay attention to him.

His body language communicates a lonely disposition; arms hanging at his sides, hands [possibly] in his pockets & eyes staring far into the abyss; painfully conscious of his glaze matched by the depths of true existence.

On the left & right of our self-ruminating character; reads “S†≡≡Z.”

A word meaning to have style with ease; made popular by hip-hop on the East Coast. In my meditations on the word, came to me, the most clear understanding of grace & what it means to have it.

Bruce Lee describes it as the effortless flow of water; taking the shape of whatever contains you; the body containing the mind & the mind then containing the soul.

This journey inward in search of the holy S†≡≡Z requires you to courageously be yourself purely in the face of adversity. Everytime you choose fear over courage; you’re taking steps outward & away from the S†≡≡Z!

-Spiritual Subliminals

Diving ever deeper into the art & the messages it has for us; we’ll turn our focus to how the word “S†≡≡Z” is communicated to the viewer. Using things such as; color, form, shape, symbology, typography, etc. I was able to effectively communicate ideas to the beholder, in a very visual, yet subtle way.

“S - - -Z”

The “S” at the beginning represents a wavelength that’s smooth from crest to trough.

While the “Z” at the end presents an opposite, but equal wave; this one being more aggressive in it’s frequency.

This is the inevitability one faces in making the decision to be themselves.

Sometimes the wave is S & sometimes the wave is Z, but if you know how to surf; the ride is always steezy.

“- † - - -“

The letter “T” here serves at a ✞ symbol standing for the divine power of love & forgiveness within Man.

“- - ≡ ≡ -”

The arrangement of three horizontal lines is an angelic numerical sequence “111” that tells the intuition to take action.

Encouraging you to keep following your spirit; if you see this listen to your gut/heart.

The double “EE” sequence is made of three horizontal tic marks, similar to a traditional capitalized E, but instead here we see “≡” used; one of the eight trigrams used in Daoist cosmology meaning “Heaven.” 乾 Qián ☰ Heaven|坤 Kūn ☷ Earth|震 Zhèn☳ Thunder|坎 Kǎn☵ Water|艮 Gèn☶ Mountain|巽 Xùn☴ Wind|離 Lí☲ Flame兌 | Duì☱ Lake

This rendering of “S † ≡ ≡ Z” is then contrasted across the longitude of the entire ensemble; painting a polarizing picture of the age old existential struggle of the inner against the outer.

The only usage of a true white tone is in the first occurrence of S†≡≡Z; in the darkest section of the piece. Then, almost mockingly, right in the middle of the lightest area, we see the return of darkness; in the second & final occurrence of S†≡≡Z.

This beautifully illustrates; when the world is dark, the individual will intuitively become the light he so desperately seeks.

We can then safely assume if the world becomes illuminated in mankind’s brilliance; the individual will only find peace in the shadows of his own world.

Narrative-

MF Doom:

A character/persona written by british-born EMCEE Daniel Dumile.

From his upbringing in Long Island, New York to his controversial rise to infamy; his story is trill hiphop lore. He became a man deep in the minds of millions & they don’t even know his name.

Initially, rapping under the alias Zev Love X, he formed the rap group KMD & signed to Elektra Records. Just before the release of the group’s second Album, boldly titled “Black Bastards,” the doom rapper’s late brother DJ Subroc was struck by a car & killed.

That same week the group was dropped from their label & the album was scrapped. Dumile left the industry & lived essentially homeless from 94’ to 97’.

He then left New York to settle in Atlanta, Georgia. Still recovering from his wounds; the rapper would don the iconic DOOM mask & take revenge "against the industry that so badly deformed him".

Thus the notorious villain of the hiphop underground MF DOOM was born.

He is often praised as not only one of the illest lyricist to ever do it, but also as a genius producer.

However, inspite of his immaculate discography & significant respect from industry legends, he is still widly unaccepted by the community he’s devoted his life to.

The Elephant:

Elephants are known as a keystone species; meaning it has disproportionately large effect on its environment relative to its abundance.

In fact, by simply existing; the elephant has the power to inflict change in the world it lives in. They, as all animals do, move across the earth manifesting their every desire; unconcerned with anything & everything that isn’t necessary to life.

Effortlessly laying the foundation on which nearly every other speices, within it’s domain, inevitably builds it’s existence.

They themselves embrace a matriarchal lifestyle; in which the feminine is the primary power within society.

Family Groups, consisting of mainly females & children, are led by the eldest female matriarch; with many of the males choosing a more solitary existence.

The elephant recognizes itself in a mirror; demonstrating a capacity for self-awareness found only in apes & dolphins. They also morn their dead & show signs of stress when loved ones aren’t well.

It is well known that the elephant’s memory is stone; able to recall locations of watering holes, family members, vast migration routes, etc. all over their 70 year lifespan.

Conflict:

It’s no surprise that elephants have inspired many literary, mythical & religious cultures; traditionally the elephant has been a symbol of strength, power, wisdom, longevity, stamina, leadership, sociability, nurturance and loyalty.

We see these things reflected in political ideologies of the American Republican Party; who’ve used the elephant as a mascot since 1874.

Conveying a message to undecided voters to preserve the values of the past & to have noble principle guiding your actions.

On the surface level this is honorably patriotic, but as I dived ever deeper; I found a story of people divided simply by perspectives based on how reality presented itself to the misdirected & misguided naiveté of the ignorant & innocent.

The parable of the blind men & the elephant originated in the ancient Indian subcontinent. A group of blind men, who never encountered an elephant before, all touch a different part of an elephants body & insist they know exactly what it is in front of them; based on their limited experience, they all go on to describe what they understood the elephant standing in front of them to be. The first person, whose hand landed on the trunk, said "This being is like a thick snake". Another man, whose hand reached its ear, said it seemed like a kind of fan. The third man, whose hand was upon its leg, said the elephant is a pillar like a tree-trunk. A fourth man who placed his hand upon its side said the elephant, "is a wall". Another who felt its tail, described it as a rope. The last felt its tusk, stating the elephant is that which is hard, smooth and like a spear.

In this parable; I found a moral of the subjective truths we face every day in our common lives.

All of these men share a deep common attribute of blindness & thus will cling to shallow differences in sensual experience & each man will have a different ideology for why he does so.

Man will neglect fellowship with his fellow man if, in his limited experience of reality, he finds it to be a necessary action in his life.

Unfortunately for a more modest man; life is often misunderstood by his neighbors.

Perhaps he dreamns of power, so he creates the illusion he has a higher knowledge of the elephant. Maybe he’s a coward & would rather formulate an opinion than walk away, because he fears rejection from the group.

Man has a habbit of claiming to know the absolute truth based on their limited, subjective experience. As they ignore other people's limited, subjective experiences. Which may be equally true; only ever able to justify their claims with fear or courage.

Resolve:

Courage requires immaculate moral responsibility & higher knowledge. To stand in the face of destiny with the heart of a warrior is an endeavor most men can no longer dream of.

It requires too much & so most men spend their lifetime in the same predicament the elephant himself is in; standing in a room being ignored by those whose hearts call out to him! To be the elephant in the room is a tragedy largely ignored.

The expression "the elephant in the room" is a metaphorical idiom in English for an important or enormous topic, problem, or risk that is obvious or that everyone knows about but no one mentions or wants to discuss because it makes at least some of them uncomfortable or is personally, socially, or politically embarrassing, controversial, inflammatory, or dangerous. This same sociological & psychological repression operates on the macro scale of modern society.

Should something as conspicuous as an elephant be overlooked in codified social interactions? Of course not. You are the elephant in the room.

Conclusion:

Not only has he not forgotten; but the elephant himself, in all his divine S†≡≡Z, stands in a room full of people he remembers from the beginning of time. They talk of the old days; almost every word hinting at his presence in the room, but they just go on rambling as if the elephant himself isn’t standing next to them. They’re completely oblivious to the fact that there’s a god damn eight-foot seven-inch Asian elephant with a fucking MF DOOM mask on right there. He’s tired of being ignored; soon he will escape from his interdimensional hell & bring doom.

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

A Taste Of Christmas, 5/6

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 5/6.

Pairings: Metacrisis Nine x Rose.

A/N: Sequel for The Summertime Of Our Lives. Written for doctorroseprompts' ficmas challenge. Ficmas challenge: Ornaments, Wreath, Ribbon, Stockings, Rooftop, Earmuffs, Bright. Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“Christmas is a time when you get homesick - even when you're home.” - Carol Nelson.

CHAPTER 5:

The table was covered with papers of different colours, glue sticks, bits of cut papers, cutting shapes, scissors, stickers, paint, Posca and a mix of silver and red flakes. In the middle of this mess, there were ranks of homemade invitation, cards, name tags and menus elegantly ornamented with Christmas themed elements like snowmen made with buttons of different sizes and colours, Christmas trees made with pine needles, pine cones made with bits of cardboards, candy canes made with paper straws. Those were things Tony had never seen in his entire life and he had been more than happy to help his sister crafting these little pieces of art. For him, it meant nothing because he never celebrated Christmas and because it was all new and secret – Pete must never know! – it was an exciting mission for the seven years-old boy. In the middle of this mess, the Doctor found the blonde head of his wife. She had collapsed on her table of work after working really hard on the last details for their upcoming Christmas party. She wanted it all to be perfect and she was pushing herself to exhaustion. The Doctor had already cleaned Tony up and put him to bed. Now it was time for his lovely wife to follow the same path. She was working hard, too hard, for their celebration to be perfect. They could have chosen the emblematic date of December 25 for this because it was in the middle of the week and everyone was working. Instead, they had chosen December 21 and 22. It was in two weeks time so it was important for the invitation cards to be sent as soon as possible or no one would be available. They didn’t have many friends around here, just a handful, but it was more than enough. The Doctor delicately picked Rose up. She protested, opened her eyes but ended up wrapping her arms around his neck and snuggling closer to his chest. He took her to the bedroom and lay her down. He carefully removed all leftovers of her artistic activities from her face and hair. He had always seen Rose as a young woman who was mature and clever for her age. More than other nineteen years old kiddos of her kiddos of her generation. With all the traveling they did and all the dangers they faced, she had grown up faster than she should have. This universe had completed her transformation into a grown-up woman. This was the first time in ages that he was seeing the child in her. Participating in this impossible Christmas revival was making her innocence and childish behaviour resurfacing. He congratulated himself for this idea. He was falling more and more in love with her. As he needed less sleep than a normal human being, he was often pacing around the house and resolving grids of crosswords to keep busy until finally sleep came to him. Tonight, though, he had other projects. As soon as Rose was tucked in bed, he left a note on his pillow and used the wrist device that was formerly Jack’s. He profoundly disliked this device: it was having too nasty effects on the user. However the TARDIS wasn’t ready to travel yet. She still needed to mature. Better give her all the time she needed to be at the best. He was one careless driver and an insatiable traveller. She would see the universe. She would see his family, help with raising his children. That was how he had dreamt his life with Rose once. The house, the human friends, the ‘ordinary’ life were just good bonuses. He was sprawled out on the bed when Rose woke up. All dressed in his signature outfit – jumper, leather jacket, black pants and boots – he had fallen asleep as soon as he had reached the bed. Strangely, he was wearing more colours than usual. These clothes were dark, reflecting the darkness of his soul when they had met and bringing a sort of protection to their owner. They were an homage to all the lost ones he was carrying on his shoulders with the damages of the war he was the only Time Lord to have survived to. Today, they were covered in an elegant mix of pastel and bright colours. On his head was resting a wreath of flowers Rose had only seen once in her life. The device around the Doctor’s wrist confirmed that he had been travelling while she was asleep. But what had he been up to in the galaxy? Why was he covered with flowers? Like he had done for her the night before, she delicately took off his shoes and jacket. She left the flowers on him just for the pleasure of having him waking up later with them and gently mocking him. It was breaking his bad boy appearance, making him look like a soft warrior. The Doctor could have been one of the French soldiers who left fresh and joyful for the first World War had he not already lived the horrors a war could cause to a person, to a population, to a whole planet. He was a warrior recovering from this war that had happened long before they met, a war that would haunt his mind for as long as he would be alive. Flowers were a meagre comfort for the broken man who had a hard time pulling himself back together. Where would he be without her? Who would hold his hand during the dark times? It was a question she still was asking herself. Less now than in the first days of her new life here, but sometimes she caught herself wondering who was holding the hand of the Doctor who was still running for his life. A thought she was keeping for herself not to sadden her Doctor. At least, he had her hand to hold; he had the woman he had always desired. And the Time Lord could make friends with anyone, as annoying as he could get when he was babbling relentlessly and considering the persons, humans or not, facing him like they were completely stupid. But if you were asking for help, he never refused and that made him a great friend. Being friend with such a person wasn’t without risk. You have to be prepared for the worst at any time. This life wasn’t for everyone. Some just couldn’t handle it. Rose had adjusted to this life for the man she had fallen in love with. She went downstairs and cooked breakfast for the two men of the house who weren’t up yet. She had no idea when the Doctor had fallen asleep but Tony was sleeping in. She had never seen him sleep this late on mornings. The sound of his steps on the ground above her proved her wrong. The boy was up and he was coming her way for breakfast. She had put everything down on the table and was making pancakes by the time he joined her in the kitchen with dishevelled hair and a sleepy face. He mumbled a hello and settled down at the table to eat his breakfast and drink his hot chocolate. Rose smiled, ruffled his hair and kissed his head before dropping a couple pancakes in the empty plate beside him and covered them with honey. It was his favourite meal to have on morning. Something the Doctor loved too… if she added bananas that tasted like bananas. “What is it, Rosie?” “Hm?” Rose sat down on the chair next to him for her morning tea. She had sugar and stirred the brewage for a perfect mix of the flavours. Tony was pointing to her tattoo. She was used to it now and didn’t notice it as much as she did before but to Tony, this was new. He hadn’t remarked it sooner. The lines were going from a wrist to the other in elegant lines forming long loops and drawing tight knots. The Doctor was wearing the same tattoos. He had had a harder time to get used to them. Maybe that was why he was wearing the leather jacket again: to avoid people’s looks on him now that he was vulnerable. Just like them all. “That’s a tattoo.” “Cool!” “Mum didn’t find it cool when she has seen,” chuckled Rose. “Dad has one too. That’s a number. He said that the day he met mum but she told me it was bollocks.” It was. Pete had had that tattoo long before their mother came in this universe. He had revealed the meaning of it when she was her prisoner in one of his labs in Torchwood. It was connected to his activities in this huge institution of researches. The Cybermen and Daleks, the Void, they hadn’t been caused only by her original universe. Pete had helped with it and played dumb when everything happened. They all had been fooled by him and she was the only one to see the truth behind his mask. The numbers on his arm indeed were a date. The date of his entry in Torchwood which matched the date he had met Jackie in the other world. “The Doctor and I are married,” explained Rose. “We did a hand-fastening marriage this summer and instead of wearing wedding rings, we chose to have the ribbons of love tattooed on our arms.” “The Doctor has them too?” “Yep,” replied the hoarse sleepy voice of the concerned man. He had swapped his jumper for a T-shirt and I kept his pants and socks. His short sleeves revealed the lines tattooed on his arms. The exact same lines as Rose. He stuck his arms together for the pattern to be complete and Tony was amazed by the complexity and beauty of the arabesques forming the ribbons. He could have had them off in some planet in the far future but he had chosen to keep them. They were the symbol of his love and marriage with Rose and he was growing quite fond of them. “We can get married with tattoos?” “Not really. There’s a ceremony called hand-fastening. The engaged couple brings ribbons made with fabric that have a special meaning to the both of them. A qualified and close person to you tells the story of the hand-fastening and what it means to the engaged couple. You face your loved one, gather the ribbons and take the hands of their hands. Your right hand takes their left on and your left takes their right one so your arms are forming a sort of eight or an infinite sign. The person you’ve chosen to marry you fastens the ribbons around your joined hands and tie them with a nice knot. You say your vows and the ceremony is over.” “But the tattoos?” “There are married couples that feel the need to exchange gifts that were very personal and dear to them to symbolise their love and trust. Others choose to have bond tattooed for everyone to see their love. Or simply as a reminder of their bond. Rose loved the tattoo idea so we’ve picked it and it’s fantastic to see that our marriage wasn’t just a dream.” The Doctor walked over to Rose and dropped a kiss on her lips. Tony had a wide smile. It made him so happy to be surrounded by so much warm love. He giggled when the Doctor ruffled his hair and tickled him. But he was so intrigued by what he whispered in his ear that he finished his breakfast and ran in the living room. Rose raised an eyebrow, the Doctor shrugged innocently and Tony squealed happily. Rose was intrigued so she went in the living room and there, she understood: in the night, the Doctor had built a fake chimney and had hung Christmas stockings on the mantel. There were one for each one of them and one for their friends. who were invited to their party. Every stockings was filled with chocolate and crackers and candy canes. Everything to make this first Christmas here even better. She threw herself in the Doctor’s arms. He really was fantastic. “Oh, Rosie, it’s snowing!” Tony put the stockings back on the chimney and ran to the closest window to watch the white flakes fall from the sky. Snow for Christmas, long time it hadn’t happened in their original universe. Thankfully global warming didn’t exist in this world. Somehow, they had managed to protect it for the future generations. As if anyone wanted to conceive and raise children in this full scary world. And since they were in a small quiet town, away from the big cities, the skies were as clear as they could be, offering them an impressive cover of shining stars to observe.an activity that the Doctor loved doing when was sitting in front of the patio door. When the night came, he chose to watch the stars with his little family: his wife and brother-in-law. But changing a habit had a certain price and he hadn’t seen it coming. The stars were brighter than usual that night and watching them from inside the house was lessening this beautiful brightness. The Doctor wanted to climb in the rooftop but Rose firmly refused. It was too dangerous. She allowed him to watch them from outside on the condition that he was dressing up to face the cold. He ended up muffled up in a warm coat and scarf and gloves but also a pair of earmuffs he was sulking about. Rose had insisting on the fact she loved his big ears the way they were and didn’t want them to suffer from the cold. She won the battle obviously and he soon forgot the argument-that-wasn’t-really-an-argument. Standing in the snow and holding the hand of his wife while speaking about the stars he knew to Tony was better than sulking about stupid earmuffs that indeed were keeping his ears warm for Rose to sexily nibble them later…

To be continued...

A Taste Of Christmas © | 2019 | Tous droits réservés.

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[gloomy-goober]

Growing Up Parts of A Whole

MASTER POST (Chronological Order) 

Series status: Not Complete  AO3 Summary:  Side by Side; Piece by Piece.

While Thomas grew his sides did too. Each one a different part of him and each one developing on their own time before they were allowed out to interact with the others. They all have their story on how they formed and became aware of themselves and they each played their part even before they manifested in the physical world for the first time.

Characters:  Heart/Morality/Patton Learning/Logic/Logan Creativity/Roman Creativity/Remus Delusion/Deceit/??? Fear/Anxiety/Virgil Thomas Sanders

*************

Two Plus One Makes Three

Heart and Learning are the base of what makes a person. You love things and begin to judge right and wrong and you learn to further your mind and grow. Course that is not all that makes a person. Once you learn you may start to develop your own ideas. You may even begin to...CREATE.

The Door in the Basement

Creativity was told to avoid the basement but being such a young side he was very curious about every room in this mind space. When the older two leave him alone he decides to act upon this curiosity. Down there he discovers something exciting: a door with no handle. A door to future side's room.

I’ll Fight the Sky for You

When Thomas has a bad day his subconscious is plagued with lightning and thunder. Morality and Logic don't like it much but this is the first time Creativity is ever seeing this. Course when he learns that is scares the older sides he makes it his job to go out there and save them from the evil 'dragon' that dares terrorize his new family. Despite the fact that there should never had been a way for him to get out of the main hub.

Split

Creativity is not feeling his best. He has a headache, everyone is turning down any suggest he has, and all he wants to do is sleep. So when he says something to Heart that makes him unhappy the young side takes that as his cue to leave for the day. Sleep with surely cure this as long as mysterious changes to his room don't wake him up.

I Know its Today

Creativity has been locked in this scary room for twenty-three days. In that time he has been sure that his friends have been working tirelessly to break him out. That is why he is focused on small projects to distract himself from the possibility that...just maybe...they haven't even noticed that he is gone. But that is silly, such a silly sad thought. Why would they not help him? In fact, he knows that they will show up any day now. Even today probably.

Liar Liar

Soon after Creativity, another side appeared into the mind palace. Almost eight years he had been waiting to get out of his room. So, of course, on the one day he did not believe it woudl happen he finally would get his wish.

Bruised Ego

Dee has only been around the other sides for a week. He loves the warmth of this area of the mindspace, he smiles he gets from Heart, and (most importantly) the food. This wonderful place feels like paradise. That doesn't stop him from collecting secrets from the other sides to protect him. It is his job, after all.

Starts with Their Names

Creativity has been very focused on his job lately. With Thomas going into Middle School the child had gotten into many different things; one of these included theater. Practicing lines, learning songs, and just feeling truly part of a group drew Creativity to these new experiences like a moth to a flame. This also brought about an interesting thing that happened in the audition process and made a very important question appear in the child's head.

"Why don't we have names?"

I’m Fine

From the moment that Thomas’ alarm went off, it was easy to sense that something was off in the mindscape. The temperature was a freezing cold to match the tension. The shadows in the corner of the hallways seemed to be darker. If it was not a school day, there would be great encouragement for their host to stay in bed.

There is no reason for Thomas to feel this scared. This off. What could be wrong on a normal morning? And why are none of the usual things working to calm him down?

No Longer Alone

Anxiety has been living in the basement of Thomas' mind space for almost two years now. A place were all the host's darkness resides. The small side has learned how to take care of himself and how to avoid the sides whenever he goes upstairs. Tonight's midnight food run goes a bit differently.

You Can(t) Fly

Roman only has a few days left before his dreams are gone forever. He needs to get to Neverland. So, the Creative side enlists the help of the emotions to get the help he needs. All he needs is a happy thought, after all.

The Door Opens

Roman just lost his dream to fly to Neverland. He thought that falling off a tower and having his dreams crushed would have been enough to get most of the attention of the older sides to stay on him. Turns out they would rather worry about Anxiety. They always worried about Anxiety now.

It just seemed to confirm more and more that he was not needed. Without a dream, or a stable idea to give to Thomas, Roman was starting to believe he had to be the most useless creativity in the world. Did not help that for years now he felt like something in him was missing.

What's worse is there seems to be a weird door in his room that he never noticed before

Glam Up a Rainy Day

Thomas is having one of those days where it just seems terrible for no reason. This causes it to rain in the subconscious world that lies outside the main 'house' where the sides live.

Anxiety is experiencing this for the first time and has decided he likes rainy days. What he expected to be a long day of being alone and sitting by the window in the main hub turns into something every unexpected. Especially when the unexpectedness comes with the person he thought the least likely to want to be around him.

Royal Sized Changes

Eighth grade is that terrible time where one begins to question where they belong. This even happens for young sides, especially to those that have always been sure what they were meant to do.

Creativity is going through some things and changes need to be made.

Hiding Flaws

Anxiety goes upstairs to see if Roman can fix the chipping nail polish and finds something more interesting instead.

Make Believe 

Daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince! What could be more amazing than a world that can be shaped to the whim of the pure creative energy of a man? Or could it be something terrifying as pure energy can sometimes run without reason? Roman knows all about that as he takes the other sides into his wonderful kingdom for an amazing quest. What the quest entails only he knows... At least, he think he knows. He is the only being that can manipulate the subconscious to his whim as far as he knows.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Anxiety's first Christmas with the others was something special considering it was over twenty years he was waiting.

Duck Out

Anxiety has to leave. He needs to get out. It has what Thomas has wanted from the beginning and after all that has happened with the other sides, he finally gets that he is not welcome here.

He just needs help from an old friend. A friend he has not spoken to since he stormed out on him for saying his dreams were crazy.

[reylofanfictionanthology]

After the Blazing Fire Dies: the 2019 Reylo Fanfiction Anthology Gift Fic Master Post Part Two

The After the Blazing Fire Dies Collection on AO3 | Gift Fic Masterpost Part One | Treats Masterpost

Home by Anonymous for methusalahoneysuckle

What does it mean to forgive a parent? What does it take to let go of a rage that feels so righteous? Or, How finding love for Ben Solo meant confronting his past, and finally learning to let go.

eight nights into forever by Anonymous for MissCoppelia

Rey has never had a family, has never known what it truly feels like to have a home. Then she meets Ben Solo, ten years her elder and entirely too handsome, he seems to be as taken with her as she is with him. A year into their romance he invites her to spend Hanukkah with his family in the United States and Rey, for the first time in her life, is faced with family... ...and a steamy night spent in Ben's childhood bedroom.

An avalanche of hopes and dreams. by Anonymous for MizuPhoenix

Rey sets off to find an ancient artifact, that might help the Resistance obtain victory and peace. But when Rey gets lost in a blizzard, and finds that Kylo Ren is once again right on her tracks, she rushes off into a cave. They end up caught inside, and need to find a way not to kill each other long enough to survive their current situation. Will they be able to pull it off?

Asleep now, and silent by Anonymous for monsterleadmehome

Rey Nolan takes Intro to Automotive Repair course at Coruscant Community College from Han Solo, intending to learn how to fix cars, and gains a pair of surrogate parents instead. Only trouble is, Han and Leia's son, Ben, is as hot as he is infuriating. And he makes her feel so uncomfortable, makes her want things she cant entirely put into words. But he always seems so cold to her, so rude. It's clear as day what he thinks of her, and it isn't favorable, so her crush simmers in silence. When the Organa-Solos invite Rey up for a winter getaway to their family's cabin, she doesn't realize Ben is coming, too. What's worse than having to spend six hours in a car with your crush, who hates you? Getting snowed in with him, that's what.

Signed, Future Kylo by Anonymous for Nervoustouch

It was just supposed to be some low-key spying, but once Rey realized that she could leave things for Kylo through the Force bond, how could she let the opportunity to let out her inner prankster go? What she didn’t expect, though, was that he would confront her about it.

Smiles and Shoulders by Anonymous for NewerConstellations

"Rey had just turned to head back to her desk, water bottle in hand, when she saw Ben Solo walk in. Just who she wanted to run into after an unpleasant morning of being poked and prodded by her gynecologist. Ben Solo was part of the First Order team that had come along when Resistance Games recently merged with First Order Entertainment. He was made project manager of the combined Quality Assurance team, Rey’s department, which meant he helped document and assign the bugs that made up each QA tester’s workflow. He was grouchy, and he usually sent important bugs last minute or just horribly documented, making everything harder for the team, especially during sprints. Over the three months they’ve been working together, she’d called Ben out on his terrible practices repeatedly, and each time he’d just challenge her to get the work done or steal his job. Which is why it surprised her now when she saw Ben give her a quick once over and his cheeks turned red..."

The Ways We Choose to Survive by Anonymous for Noppoh

"What's happening to me?" Part of his heart sinks. Part of it sparks something closer to alive. "You're a vampire now," he says. "I'm sorry."

Give and Take by Anonymous for OccasionallyCreative

Kylo Ren, Ben-- he knew not what his name ought to be now, at the end of everything safe and known--felt the familiar, tell-tale sting of newly conjured tears as he stared into his dysmorphic reflection shining up at him from a set of golden dice. His father’s dice. He shuddered a gasp, ignoring how his tears now trickled from the corners of his eyes, dripping into the crevasses of his face.

Degrees and Galaxies by Anonymous for okaypianist

Ben could think of numerous other things he would rather be doing than spending an afternoon working on a paper. That all changes when he bumps into Rey. Maybe spending the day at the coffee shop isn't the worst way to spend his time.

we decided not to kill the wolves (we wanted to be wolves) by Anonymous for PalenDrome

A pack of wolves lives in the woods to the north of Raddus and as winter looms, they have their eyes set on Leia Organa’s stronghold. Rey may be new to Raddus, but she’s not about to do nothing while it may be in danger. And besides, Poe must be exaggerating about wolves the size of bears. She’s not afraid of monsters.

Why? by Anonymous for Pawprinter

A glance across a battlefield.

(won't you) whisper soft and slow by Anonymous for perperuna

ben solo (phd) is a physics professor at university of chandrila. rey jakkuson is an archivist specializing in historical documents from the 20th century who works at the university's library. they have no reason to run into each other ever-- except that rey is the head archivist for a project with letters from the vietnam war, including letters between anakin skywalker and padmé amidala.

Wrong by Anonymous for persimonne

Despite negotiating with the Resistance so that he can marry Rey the second she sets foot on-board his ship, Kylo is reluctant to have sex with her. It may have something to do with the writhing protuberance between his legs, but that's just a guess.

you pierce my soul by Anonymous for pillar_of_salt

It was not common knowledge, held only in the closest confidence by his most intimate associates, that Ben Organa-Solo’s heart had been captured by a Royal Navy captain as thoroughly as she captured and conveyed enemy vessels. However, despite his age and desire to be wed, he allowed himself to be persuaded against the match, for his dearly beloved mother was uncertain as to the young lady’s youth and her son’s proclivities for shouting matches and dueling.

Handcuffed in the Honeymoon Suite by Anonymous for platalet

Ben and Rey are caught breaking into the office of a notorious crime boss on Canto Bight. The boss decides to teach them a lesson in an unorthodox way.

A Smuggler and a Jedi by Anonymous for politicalmamaduck

Can you truly run away from destiny? Ben Solo thought he could after quitting the Jedi academy to get into the smuggling business with his father. However, when a lucrative job offer takes them deep into the territory of the Chiss in wild space, Ben must admit that his connection to the Force is not something he can keep running away from. When Ben comes face-to-face with Rey, a mysterious woman who had been appearing in his dreams, he must make a difficult choice.

The Moments that Belong to Us by Anonymous for PoliticalPadmé

the regency fic no one asked for.

Little Things by Anonymous for punkeraa

Ben is a freelance graphic designer who works out of his basement and prefers to not get involved with anyone. Rey is an amateur general contractor helping her friends flip the house across the street. When Rey tries to do something nice for her new neighbour, she's treated to a lecture and then several days of being avoided.

The Dark Earth Spins Beneath Us by Anonymous for radioactivesaltghoul

Ben's defection from the First Order is supposed to make everything different. And it has, for the most part--better. Except Rey can't seem to catch a moment alone with him, and Ben doesn't seem to be making any efforts to be alone with her. The ghost of Crait still hangs over them, but Rey knows this impasse can't last forever.

I Notice You As You're Noticing Me by Anonymous for rakefire

"JOIN YOUR FRIENDS HERE AT ‘ALL THAT JAZZ’ ON FEB 15TH FOR OUR 2ND ANNUAL SINGLES AWARENESS NIGHT Ladies get ½ priced drinks Gents get ½ priced fries JOIN US AND BE ALONE TOGETHER" Rey and Ben feel a bit lonely on singles awareness day. What could go wrong?

caught in a decaying orbit by Anonymous for redbells

Rey was the conquering hero. Kylo Ren was in a cell and the Resistance was victorious, but it left her wanting.

Mission Possible by Anonymous for reinasolo

Ben Solo, CIA Agent and all around "bad ass" gets an assignment that really should have been a breeze, but a scavenger, a general, a commander, and a trooper ensure it will be anything but easy.

Teaching Miss Niima by Anonymous for Reneemm

Kylo Ren was free. He gave his lectures, graded assignments, and generally kept to himself. He wanted peace and quiet. As much peace and quiet teaching could offer him, at least.He got what he wanted.Then she appeared.Rey Niima was everything he ever desired in a woman, all save for one tiny, insignificant detail. He was her Professor. Moral and ethical quandaries aside, he wanted her.

New Year's Eve with a Girl named Rey by Anonymous for reylocalligraphy

It's New Year's Eve in the bustling city of New York and Kyle plans to spend it alone at work. That is, until he meets a girl named Rey.

lashes by Anonymous for ReyloTrashCompactor

He told her that she should leave it, that she didn’t need to come here. Maybe he was right, but it hadn’t seemed so at the time. No. No, at the time, it had been of the most vital importance that she come here. That she see what had happened here, learn the truth of it for herself, shape it with her own mind and hand and actions. “I know what doing penance looks like,” he’d said in the aftermath. “This won’t help.”

Banana Nut Muffins by Anonymous for Rhizaria

Ben's radio show is all over the place and Rey can't help but call in to comment.

Death Becomes Her by Anonymous for Rhonda3Green

He watches the trickling liquid as it slides down the space between her breasts, fast then slow, along the dip of her belly. It hovers above the fullness of her mons, the single drop refracting the light and green of the canopy above, and all he can think about is how much he wants to capture it on his tongue. To lick the hot salt of her skin, and lose himself in that bright, earthy scent as he breathes her in. He is Death. And she is his.

This Dance of Light, This Sacred Blessing by Anonymous for rissanox

Snapshots in a modern AU.

a flicker in the dark by Anonymous for roamingbadger

Their bond was still there. He could feel it like a flicker of flame at the end of flayed string, still trying to hold on. The burn kept his skin warm. He refused to let it die out.

Game On! (aka Deflowering Doctor Jackass) by Anonymous for SaintHeretical

When Rey is stranded at her bookshop in the middle of an upstate NY snowstorm with a local professor she knows only as "Doctor Jackass", she decides the best way to pass the time is to play a game. And that, of course, leads to other activities.

slip, slip, knit by Anonymous for sciosophia

Honestly, this was not one of her greatest ideas but Rey will make it work.

Serendipity by Anonymous for second_chances

When she had decided to start shepherding the Adept, Rey had made a vow to herself to help them all—even those imprisoned by their own internal darkness. Camouflaged with the cuff, Kylo would never know that Hux’s war dog was closing in on him until it was too late. That was one death she didn’t want weighing down on her conscience. She’d had the opportunity twice to kill him, but she was still convinced his life was not hers to take. The Force still had a plan for Ben Solo, that she was certain, and securing his safety was just as important and making sure the little girl she sought made it off world and survived as well.

The Mistake of the Mailman by Anonymous for shewhospeakswiththunder

Rey's on-campus university address is 'Box 324 Mulberry St, The Bryant Center.' Ben Solo's address is '324 Mulberry St.' And she keeps getting this poor guy's mail.

all flowers in time bend towards the sun by Anonymous for SithishJedi

After months without contact, the force bond opens but something is wrong.

your love could be too much by Anonymous for six4au

Rey, the successful host of the award-winning confessional podcast The Best Policy sits down with a new guest, world famous actor Ben Solo. Except these two are already well acquainted. They broke each other's hearts seven years ago.

The Golden Age by Anonymous for sokki09

Hollywood, 1953. After the press catches wind of yet another crashed car and yet another drunken night on the town, actor Ben Solo has to face facts: his bad-boy image is in need of a serious fix. Pairing him off with a wholesome, up-and-coming actress girlfriend seems like it might just do the trick. They can walk red carpets together, sell the whole relationship thing. And he can get his career back on track. Which is what he wants. Isn't it? Rey Jackson is nothing that he expects, and everything he finds himself wanting. But she's on her way up, a star in the making, and he's... self-destructive, on a good day. Weary of the business, and tired of being who he is. What they have is fake; there's no illusions that it's more than what it is. But what else is the magic of cinema for, if not to allow yourself the chance to dream? OR: here, have a a Golden Age of Hollywood Reylo fake dating AU!

and the snow started falling by Anonymous for SpaceAusten

Oh, that secret that you know / that you don't know how to tell... Trapped by shame and snow, Kylo Ren faces his ghosts.

All At Once by Anonymous for SpaceWaffleHouseTM

The First Order has taken over the planet Neftali in the Soccoro system. Every year, the town of Cordel Cove hosts a winter carnival that culminates in a masquerade ball. The presence of one Supreme Leader has been requested.The Resistance has come to Neftali to strike a deal with a shady organization, using the carnival as a distraction. They send Rey to the masquerade to keep an eye on things. After one too many drinks, the masked man all in black catches her eye and asks for a dance. But what will happen when the masks come off?

I Choose You by Anonymous for spookykingdomstarlight

In the throne room, Rey proposes a counter offer.

Heart of Clay by Anonymous for starlightreader

Rey discovers a very interesting recipe in one of the tomes she's stolen from Luke. While she experiments, Kylo Ren disappears mysteriously.

pianissimo by Anonymous for TheStolenQuill

Rey is a wonderful pianist who just was hired as a court musician. She's nervous enough with her new position, but then she gets entangled with the royal family, especially one Prince Ben.

Magic Rises by Anonymous for thewayofthetrashcompactor

Rey finds lost things. It’s what she does, and what she’s always been able to do. Magical artifacts, prized jewellery, a blue ribbon giant pumpkin, you name it, she can find it. When Leia Organa of House Organa-Solo asks her to find Luke Skywalker, Rey’s sure that Kylo Ren moving in next door isn’t a coincidence. She’s going to have to use all the magic in her arsenal to figure out what’s going on.

Plan B by Anonymous for Tiara_of_Sapphires

Tiara_of_Sapphires asked for "Senator!Rey and Jedi!Ben AU where Rey gets kidnapped for ransom," with some banter and awkward, socially stunted Ben Solo, as well as some good hand-holding and/or forehead kissing action. Hopefully this is lighthearted enough to at least give everyone a bit of a smile. That said, it is unbeta'd, so if it doesn't, that's no one's fault but mine.

Blue Moon Lovers by Anonymous for tigbit

Rey lives a simple life, working at her coffee shop--Resistance. Then her life takes a turn when she meets her neighbor, Leia Organa, and she discovers a past life that is connected to her own. Not to mention that the enigmatic Ben Solo twists her mind and emotions in different directions. Rey will come to learn that sometimes the mistakes of the past can affect the present, and that some are destined to be soulmates.

Somewhere in the Dark by Anonymous for tm2taughtmefamlaw

The world is not as it once was, and bands of survivors struggle to live in the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse. Rey has found a life with Leia’s band of scavengers. Despite the gloomy landscape, it’s a far less tragic and far more boring life than The Walking Dead led her to believe. She’d choose a waning stockpile of toilet paper over Ben Solo any day.

hit me with your best shot for tmwillson3

"So Rey decides to torture him in her own, unique way. She won’t let him ignore her." In which Rey and Ben are rival Quidditch players recruited to play for England in the World Cup.

(I close my eyes and fly out of my mind) Into the Fire by Anonymous for TourmalineGreen

“Alright, SHUT IT!” Rey hollered. “This was important to Leia. We will ALL be participating. Trust requires interaction, right? That’s what we tell our clients, and it’s what we believe, so get over yourselves! You can retreat to your echo chambers next weekend. This week, we are working hand-in-hand with First Order. If it kills us.” OR Scenes from the careers of two people who hope to change the world, one neighborhood at a time. What stands between them again? Oh, right - nothing but pride (and possibly prejudice). Thank heavens someone sees what’s going on.

Crisis Girlfriend by Anonymous for walkingsaladshooter

Ben was in love with Rey for over a year when he asked her to go with him to his ex’s wedding as his ‘girlfriend’.

Be careful what you wish for by Anonymous for Zabeta

Rey has spent her life wanting to get off Jakku, and see the universe. She thought she would eventually earn enough to barter or buy her way off-planet. But the universe has other plans.

[fanfictionized]

Help Me Help You - The Tingle In My Bones (12/?)

Character: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader / OFC

Chapter summary: Annabelle gets to meet Bruce and they take her blood sample to get closer to answering the question as to what had happened to her.

Meanwhile Anna relives the same flashbacks from when she woke up in the lab.

Warnings: None, description of wounds?

Words: 3.1k

Previous Chapter // Help Me Help You - Masterlist

Bucky and Annabelle stayed up until the sun rose, just watching TV and enjoying each other’s company. They didn’t talk much after, only some occasional questions from Annabelle, asking him to change the channel or some coming from him, asking her to explain some pop culture references to him, which she did gladly and overexcitedly.

They both saw the house beginning to show life, Steve being the first one to greet them as he entered the living room. “Well, hello there.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk, his brows raised at both of them. “I see you’re doing alright.” He stated and strolled into the kitchen. Bucky huffed and Annabelle smiled before she yawned. “You know you can go back to bed, right?” Bucky asked her with a gentle voice. She shook her head as tears formed in her tired eyes. “It’s better if I don’t…” They both knew what she meant “But I also want to have some sort of a sleep pattern, you know?” She stood up from the couch and stretched her limbs. “I think I’ll have to meet the rest of the group eventually.” She sighed and let the joints in her back pop. “I probably have a lot of their questions to answer.”

“You wont have to say anything you don’t feel comfortable with.” He assured her and she laid her hands on each of her shoulders, bending her head back, yet still looking at him through her lashes. “I’m only afraid that I’ll be useless. I don’t know shit about anything that happened back there.” “Then you’ll just tell them that.” She suppressed a smirk of her own. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.” She started walking backwards, still holding eyes contact and pointing her thumb at the stairs behind her. “I’ll go take a shower…okay. Yes.” She answered her own thought and walked off.

He continued to stare back onto the screen.

Bucky was glad about what he had said to her back in the kitchen. He needed her to know she had someone to talk to if she wanted to. He hadn’t expected her to remember him, though. She had already stared at his metal arm various, numerous times. For so long, he had projected his fears onto those stares. Because he felt like she knew about all the horrible things he had done. The things he had done for Hydra. But the way she had talked to him and the little information he gave her to make her feel a little better about herself, didn’t give her enough to paint the whole picture. It made him feel like she only knew half of the story, that he had been their victim, too.

Which was right, after all. Still, he felt like he was lying right into her face. And the crazy thing about it was that he felt the need not to do that. He cared. Because he let her down one time and after that his only mission left would be making sure that it would never happen again.

Of cause he was curious about what had actually happened in the lab upstairs and what the new serum had done to her entirely, but first; she seemed normal to him and second; he was convinced that she wouldn’t know or remember more than him as well.

He would be there if she needed him to be, but until then he would keep his distance for her own good. He couldn’t have her knowing that he had worked for the enemy for over seventy years. She couldn’t know that such a man was living under the same roof as her. He couldn’t do that to her.

She’d find out eventually, but they all knew that she had enough to deal with at the moment as it is.

So he’d just linger in the shadows behind her like a fucking creep. The thought crawled through the back of his head and a blush crept up his neck.

The bad side of his brain always had to get a word in. Be it in the form of crippled anxiety or self-degradation.

But he still believed in good intentions and those were the thoughts he wanted to keep.

***

The shower had felt good on her abused skin. Her hair had already been greasy as fuck and she had no longer endured her own smell. It had fallen from her mind and her attention for a long while until she sat on the couch for more than a few minutes, sitting in her own stew. Sounds more disgusting than it actually was. She was mostly still crusty with blood in some places. Dirt as well. She watched the pink-colored water flow down the drain. And yes, sure, she had begun to sweat wildly again during her “sleep”, but thank god that had been all. Her injuries that included cuts and puncture wounds with bruises around them which had mostly healed and faded. She was still a little discolored altogether, too pale as her body was still adjusting to not only the environmental change but her guess was the internal one as well.

She still didn’t feel it though. The only strange thing until now had been the scene in the lab, although it had felt more like a panic attack or an adrenaline rush. Her instincts taking over instead of real, actual conscious actions.

She had stepped out of the shower and wiped her palm over the fogged mirror. She looked so drained of everything. Her collarbones stuck out like they never had before and her cheekbones and defined jawline were shaping her face dramatically. Her belly had gotten flatter and even her tits had shrunken.

To her it felt like she had been gone for way longer than just five weeks. She couldn’t believe all of that had happened in so little time.

She sighed and looked away from her reflection, draping a fluffy towel over her wet skin.

She remembered as they cut her hair. Her second day after her abduction and one man had come up to her with a blade. She had never been more afraid, more convinced that this was how she was gonna go. But he just walked up behind her and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. She had been screaming throughout the whole process. Then she heard the sound and felt the sensation that made her realize he had just cut it all of. Well, most of it anyway.

Remove any inconvenience, she realized that after.

It still felt weird, not having it hang down her back and it still looked like someone had cut it off for her. Longer there, shorter on other ends and altogether aggressively shaped.

She actually didn’t mind the length. Just the way it reminded her of how for five whole weeks her life and body had not belonged to her.

Can’t think about it, Anna.

She reminded herself and walked out of the bathroom, the chilly air there rising goose-bumps on her skin. The closet was fully equipped with clothes. She let out a sigh of relief before she pulled out a sports-bra, panties, a t-shirt, jeans and socks. With each item of clothing she put on she felt her weight-loss even more, the clothes all a size too big which would have normally fitted her just fine, but now she just looked like a sad potato sack.

Stop pitying yourself, the voice in her head snapped back at her. Just eat a few pizzas more and you’ll be right back to normal, if that’s what you want to call it…

She shook her head as she aggressively brushed her wet and knotty hair. Out of all things, this would be the last to be dealt with. She sure as hell had more important things on her plate.

She stormed out of her room and whirled around, observing the rest of the hallway. Last time she checked it was just after eight. She didn’t know when the rest of the Avengers would get up and start their day, but she had already heard more voices coming from downstairs behind the closed door of her room. She stepped back downstairs and immediately locked eyes with another man.

“Hello.” She spoke and approached the man in his forties who was sitting at the table, eating breakfast, surprisingly sitting there all by himself. He looked at her almost comically timidly, yet his eyes were kind and he pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “Good morning.” He stammered in a soft voice and managed a hesitant smile. His face looked familiar. Well, he was an Avenger after all, but which one…

She sat down on the opposite seat of him. He looked at her like a puppy. Pretty lost, with big eyes and messy curls of dark hair on his head.

He cleared his throat “Are- I mean, how, how are you doing?” He finally managed. “I’m… good. Thank you.” Considering… “So” She squirmed in her seat, watching him wipe his hands on his pants “Which one are you again? I’m sorry for asking, I’m really bad at remembering faces.” She chuckled. “Oh, no worries. It happens all the time actually. I guess my green and big alter ego is perhaps more popular than I am, huh?” He smiled nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the sad truth. Of cause.

“You’re-“ “Bruce Banner.” He reached out his hand across the table and she shook it. She was astonished by how similar their facial features were despite looking completely different once he had changed into this Hulk-man…

“It’s very nice to meet you, Annabelle.” He said and she wasn’t surprised that he knew her name. They all had to know after all. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” She smiled and sat back into her chair. “So, when do they usually get up?” She looked around. Bucky had vanished from his previous position on the couch and wasn’t in the kitchen either.

“The others? I don’t know, Steve is usually the first one to get out of the house to take a jog in the park or something…” He looked over his shoulder as well. “But the others should’ve been here already I think. I- I don’t know, really…” He muttered. “Okay.” She sighed “I just hoped I could-“ “Finally get it over with?” He chuckled. “Oh, no. It’s not-“ “Don’t worry, I get it.” He reassured her. “It can be strange, coming to a place like this. Seeing all the others and thinking; why am I even here?” She scrunched up her nose and smiled back “Yeah. Sort of.” “Well, then. Welcome to the club.” He ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Hm. Is this what this is, though.” She mumbled more to herself than to anybody else, but he still heard her question. “I don’t… I’m not sure, really.” He sighed, looked almost guilty. “We are here to help you; I don’t know what comes after that.” “So you don’t know what will happen to me?” “Well, that’s” He shook his head, looking down at his plate and letting out a desperate laugh “That’s difficult to answer. They- we don’t know what Hydra did to you and… it’s kind of a priority to figuring out the next step. We need to know what they did, what it did to you and what their next approach to this is.” Her mind began to drift away. “What they were planning on doing or the advantage you might’ve given them.”

She sort of figured.

Hydra.

She had heard it on numerous occasions. Bound to a chair, while floating in and out of consciousness, singing in the back of her head like a mantra. Soldiers raising their fists above their heads while screaming that same word as a salute. It all had seemed very Third-Reich-ish.

Her tormenter’s face finally had an unmistaken name.

“Annabelle?” Dr. Banner’s gentle voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Yes?” She didn’t realize her eyes had begun to fill with water until she blinked at him and tears rolled over her face. “Hey, uhm. I- I’m sorry. Gosh, I knew I shouldn’t have said it like that, I mean they just got you out-“ “It’s fine.” She rushed and wiped a hand over her face. “I just, uh…” She looked back at him, the gears inside her head turning. “You’re… the doctor around here, right?” He nodded hesitantly, folding his hands together in front of him. “Well, yes…” “How would you tell what happened to me? Exactly?” He raised his eyebrows at her and shifted in his seat. “Uhm, well. I would start with a blood test, I assume.” “Good.” She nodded and let out a deep breath through her nose. “Then we’ll start with that.”

***

She sat on a treatment couch. Her legs were swinging in the air nervously since she couldn’t bounce them and her hands were gripping onto the leather underneath her. Her heart rate had begun to pick up the minute she had entered the lab. His lab, presumably. It was a different one from when she had woken up the first time in this place. She assumed it was because there were still too many reminders of the places of her captivity. High ceilings, medical equipment, fluorescent light that penetrated her retina… Although everything was way more spacious and the walls were not white and cold, but glass and see-though.

“I guess it’s a lot to get used to at first.” He said, his back turned to her as he gathered a swab and splashed some anti-bacterial, clear liquid onto it.

“The real fun begins once you meet all of them.” He smiled sheepishly to himself “They can be a handful, but I’m sure you will grow to love them.” He turned around and took her left arm into his hand and she bent it to display the crook of her arm to him. He momentarily stopped talking as he saw the partly faded bruises in the whole area that came from the multiple punctures and pricks of the needles, accompanied by a few tiny, tiny wounds where those needles had actually gone under her skin.

He swallowed and pushed his glasses back onto his nose. It truly seemed to be a nervous tick with him. He looked her into the eyes.

“I, uhm… I think it’s better if we take the other arm for now.” He muttered, his voice suddenly very quiet. She nodded.

The right one wasn’t unscathed, but certainly in better condition and he rubbed the pad over her sensitive skin there.

Her heart beat was in her ears by the time she saw the needle and she turned her head as her breathing faltered, then picked up.

“We don’t have to do this right now, Annabelle.” She heard him say, but didn’t look back, just squeezed her eyes shut.

“Anna is fine. Or Annie or something.” She let out a shaky breath “Please just- I want to get this over with.” I need to know what they’ve put inside me.

Bruce heard her unspoken plea and nodded, lining up the needle.

She let out a hiss at the all too familiar pinch. She imagined the blood running out of her in a steady stream and she almost felt like she was going to puke with everything she was holding back. With all those memories wanting to replay themselves in that moment.

Her eyes were closed, yet she suddenly saw a different kind of black filling her vision. The kind she had only felt once before, in the other lab. Before, her eyes were closed, but she still saw the source of light from above her through her eyelids, but suddenly there was a deeper, opaque shade to it and she tore her eyes wide open at the feeling rushing through her veins and into the needle. She was gaping down at it, at Bruce who was still focused on it, but not her. She didn’t know exactly why but she was grateful for that, because something felt off and she had a feeling that if he’d been looking, he would’ve seen it too.

The whole room had changed another shade, but not in color. Something else. The way she perceived things was different. Everything was. The adrenaline made her heart jump and she groaned as she squeezed her eyes shut, covering her hand with them to keep them that way.

“Are you okay?” She felt Bruce’s eyes on her but she couldn’t look at him just yet. “Fine.” She gasped, trying her best not to act out the rush that was coursing through her limbs, making them vibrate with needed action and the tips of her finger tingle almost painfully. She had to keep it in, suppress it, whatever it was.

And just as it subsided, settling back into her unshakable bones she heard his calming voice.

“All done.”

She peeked one eye open. It seemed as if everything was back to normal. He was holding a tissue onto it, putting on a Band-Aid immediately after. Her fingers were still shaking, she realized, so she dug them back into the leather seat.

“You’re pretty pale, should I bring you something? Do you want a glass of water- “? “I’m okay, really.” She smiled at him and he eyed her for another moment before he let go of it and her smile dropped again.

“You’ll tell me if you feel or notice any changes, okay? Any whatsoever.” He looked at her earnestly. “I will.” She replied and jumped off the table onto shaky legs. She played it of by swaying her body to an imaginary tune inside her head.

“I will tell you if I see any changes to your system.” He smiled. “Thank you, Doctor Banner.” She tried raising her arm to shake his hand, but she hissed when she still felt the sting.

“I guess a fist bump will have to do.” She muttered and used her other hand to bump fists with him. He raised a brow at this, but eventually laughed.

“Alright, Anna. You can call me Bruce, by the way.” She smiled back. “Thanks, Bruce. For doing this. I’ll… see you around?” She scratched the back of her head. He nodded and sat into his office chair.

“I’ll see you around.”

.

.

.

Next Chapter

Taglist: 

@humanexile

[scoutshonor56]

Burning Down the House

With a new year upon us, I decided to leave our pouting, petulant, and clueless “president” alone for a while.  I’m at the point where I don’t want this blog to become a regular, though fun and cathartic, critique of this moron’s day to day behavior.  Besides, who can keep up these days?  Certainly I never intended this blog to become solely a political airing of grievances anyways, when started back in November of 2016 - but then, who would have ever envisioned the likes of Donald Trump in the White House?

 So today I’m going to address an issue close to my heart; the wellspring that nourishes my spirit and is essential to the health and well-being of every living thing on our planet – the environment.  You see, I’m a baby boomer who grew up in the 60’s, and was quite the impressionable 14yr old on April 22, 1970, when the first official Earth Day was proclaimed. That year also saw the creation of the EPA, and like most of us from “back then”, I still hold onto many of the ideals of an aged hippie -  

 Those who know me also know I later worked for NASA - another touchstone for my generation - at Johnson Space Center, inside the television/communication contract, for 14 years.  During that time I got to watch the Space Station being built piece by piece, from when the first module, Zarya, went up on a Russian Proton rocket, to the first crew occupation, to its successful completion.

 I still pay attention to our space program as a tax paying enthusiast, although not nearly as much, and thus I watched a fascinating show on NOVA a week or so back, entitled “To Pluto and Beyond”.  It was about the continuing voyage of NASA’s New Horizons exploratory spacecraft, which is now traveling at roughly 37,000mph some 5 billion miles from our planet and still able to send back data and outstanding imagery to its home base here on Earth (taking over 4 hours to do so).

 In a nutshell, when New Horizons was first launched, in January of 2006, scientists and astronomers didn’t even think much existed past what they call the Kuiper Belt (the area in space past the planet Neptune), other than insignificant, floating chunks of minerals and ice of varying size and shape – such as Pluto, now not even an officially termed “planet”.  

 But soon that would change as our telescopes got larger, more sophisticated, and certainly more powerful (such as the Hubble), revealing a wealth of new discoveries and vastly widening out view, and theories, about space past our solar system.    

 In just a little over two years after its successful flyby of Pluto and its moons, sending back stunning and never before seen imagery, project managers were able to plot a new course that would enable the probe to fly past what is now called 2014 MU69, or its more colorful nickname, Ultima Thule (which sounds much more bad-ass!)  

 To go into any detail about the show and this discovery would require a whole different blog, so for my purpose today, let’s just say the level of technology, engineering, and computational math involved in this exploratory endeavor is right up there with just about any other high achievement in man’s history; an incredible display of determination and shear brain power that simply boggles my mind.  Sure, it was just an unmanned flyby, a probe…but successfully plotted over billions of miles, traveling at 37,000mph through orbiting planets, asteroids, and clouds of space debris, where a collision with something the size of a pea could mean instant disaster?  Where the tiniest fraction of miscalculation can put the craft literally millions of miles off course?  In the harshest and most unforgiving environment imaginable?  You may as well try to explain quantum physics to me.

 So what - what’s this got to do with a Talking Heads song... my point is this: excuse me if I don’t buy into this long running campaign of bullshit and misinformation put out by the petrochemical and carbon-based conglomerates, their money-wallowing and soulless lobbyists, and the special interest groups, who for the better part of fifty years have retained a complete stranglehold on our politicians and policy makers.  They continue to control the discussion of our energy sources with fairy tales and scare tactics in support of a technology that is over 200 years old. Let’s dim the lights, roll out the boogyman, and wind him up:

 “It will cost jobs!!  The transition to renewable and clean energy is too expensive, the sources unable to compete in today’s economy!!  The technology and infrastructure have yet to be fully worked out!!  It’s much more difficult and complicated than you can possibly understand!!  It’s simply going to take more time – it will be a long, slow process, and oil and gas will continue to play a dominant role in the meanwhile!!”

 And on, and on, and on…

 Bullshit!  Germany now gets 40% of all its energy generated from renewable, clean sources.  There are other countries in Europe harnessing tides to generate energy.  Our planet is a hotbed for thermal energy potential.  A recent study done here in Houston, at Rice University, claims Texas (who leads the nation in wind generated energy) has enough sun and wind to completely wean itself off coal within the near future.  

 Since when did America become the nation that couldn’t; that shied away from a challenge, technological or otherwise; that chose to follow instead of lead… was I stoned during that period?  Did I miss something?  Fifty-eight years ago, President John F. Kennedy stood at a podium at Rice University Stadium and declared:

 “We choose to go to the Moon!   We choose to go to the Moon...We choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard; because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one we intend to win, and the others, too.”  

 To put this into context, at that time it had been just over a year since America had launched their first man into space: Alan Shepard riding a Redstone rocket 116 miles into suborbital flight, lasting fifteen minutes.  Back then NASA scientists and medical professionals didn’t even know if a human could survive such a trip, or for how long.  Would they retain their vision, their mental capacity?  Would they lose all sense of direction?  Pass out? Would they be able to endure and function during the required long duration flight to the moon and back?  How would we even achieve such a feat?

 OK, some might say, “Well, sure, NASA had a limitless budget - and after all, the space race was strictly for nationalistic reasons anyway, to beat the Russians to the moon…”

All true, but umm, have you looked out your window lately?  Pay attention to any news?  And no, Fox doesn’t count.  According to a recent analysis, published in the Journal Science (see the story in the NY Times), our oceans are warming far more quickly than previously thought; like 40% faster on average than a United Nations panel estimated five years ago.  Researchers now conclude that ocean temperatures have been breaking records for several years straight.  Compounding the effects of our melting polar caps, warm water also takes up more volume than cold water, resulting in sea levels rising at an estimated rate of .13 inches (3.2mm) over the last 20 years.  Satellite measurements tell us that over the past century the Global Mean Sea Level (GMSL) has risen by 4 to 8 inches.

 Right now, over the last decade, we are seeing an increase in the number and severity of hurricanes, monsoons, tornadoes and wildfires.  NEWS FLASH Gomer and Thelma Lu, this isn’t a conspiracy perpetrated by greedy and alarmist eggheads in lab coats, nor is it “fake news” or fuzzy science; and it certainly shouldn’t be considered, or treated as a political issue.  It’s rock-solid, provable science that is accepted by 97% of scientists, climatologists, and geologists all around the world, who continue to ring the emergency bell. It’s happening today, all around us, and the bad news is we’re already too late; at this point, if we were to get serious this year, 2019, it will still be a game of damage control; of mitigating the consequences of our greed, ignorance, and gullibility.  

 In comparison, the goal and challenge of beating the Russians to the moon seems quite miniscule to that of restoring and maintaining the health of our little blue lifeboat called Earth.

 “Whatever, our planet is a dynamic, ever changing thing - Earth has gone through similar climate changes before!”   Yes, true – but over the span of tens of thousands of years, you moron.  Man has achieved the same results in barely two hundred.  

Just curious, but what part of 2.5 million pounds/second of co2 pouring into the relatively thin, fragile layer of atmosphere that protects our planet don’t you get?  Too hard to think about, or conceptualize?  Or is it easier for your lazy, flabby, unexercised brain to simply believe that it all just dissipates into outer space – you know, where the alien abductors that beamed you up into their mothership that weekend reside…

 Make America Great Again?  What a sad, short-changed, and utterly empty joke of a campaign slogan… Here, I’ve got one for you: SAVE OUR PLANET!  For your children’s future and their children’s future.  There simply is no option; no magical, last minute solution.  No plan B.  No spare planet accessible, sorry, this isn’t a movie - its real.  

 I simply don’t understand; why isn’t this the number one issue of concern for everyone?  Could there possibly be a greater threat and more important challenge facing us all today?  

 Ah well, what the hell – we’ll all be fine in a couple thousand years after we evolve with gills and become aquamen and women… Although, good luck finding something to eat, as we’re also killing the entire food chain of life in the oceans, from coral reefs to the dolphins, the sharks, and the whales…I guess we could become aquacannibals – now there’s a surefire idea for a hit movie!    Hmm, I wonder if we could talk Jason Momoa into that hard turn in the movie series plotline…  

[cthulhuofficial]

Today - tonight - is three years since NYC. I once read that the body replaces all its cells every five years - and recently learned this is a myth. I feel like I've lost something important; the idea that sufficient years could pass and he would have never touched any physical part of me was a comfort. But I'm doing good. My husband is here, and my parents will be with me tonight and this weekend, and we'll be working on a project in my home. Only anger remains and that's dying as well now, three years later.

I am disappointed that his cancer screening came back negative, though.

I removed these from my blog because they were too painful at the time, but I just... want them somewhere.

August 3rd, 2018

I still can’t use the r-word for what happened to me, although I no longer blame myself. There were bruises on my thighs. Inside I was raw, and it hurt to walk and sit for three days. The pain, at least, was proof that my body had stood up to him where the rest of me had failed. The last thing I remember was throwing up in an alley; when I tidied up the next morning, I found vomit on the blazer I’d been wearing. I don’t remember getting home. “You don’t want any curly-haired babies?” he’d joked the next morning when I found out he’d come inside me twice. He told me he’d help pay for the morning-after pill. I took one at lunch that day. He never gave me any money. He was larger than anyone I’d had before. I worry that my body is permanently changed by him. I hate this thought. He insisted on talking to me later. I resisted, but there’s only so far you can remove yourself from someone who sits eight feet from you in the same room, someone that you have to actively work with, meet with, speak with every single day. Just the sound of his name, someone asking whether he was working from home or if he was in a meeting, set my teeth on edge. I couldn’t look at him without remembering how he looked naked, the shape and size of his dick, and being disgusted at how much I didn’t want him, never wanted him. His yawns, the sounds he made when he stretched at his desk, sounded just like the sounds he’d made when he’d orgasmed inside me and rolled off with a groan. I cannot accurately describe what this torment was for me. He apologized to me the next day, which saved my sanity. Vindication: he knew he’d done something wrong. He told me he didn’t like his job, didn’t like New York City, missed his wife, might have cancer. I’ve never wanted someone to have cancer before. May it flourish, may it be painful, and may it kill him after a long slow decline for what he took from me.

August 14th, 2018

I am trying desperately to fit what happened onto a framework so I can process it: “Okay, this happened and it sucked, but what can I take away to help me grow?” Except a coworker raped me and I ran home. That’s not really a lesson. I didn’t “learn” anything except to Trust No One. I have a habit of rosifying the past with time, so I keep questioning if I took the cowardly way out. Maybe I should’ve given it time. Maybe I could’ve gotten used to it. Some days, like today, are worse than others. I’ve been missing NYC and Chris and Joshua and Steven and Richard. I wrote SWEDEN in giant-ass letters in my calendar this week last month, because I would’ve been in Stockholm for Intro Days if I hadn’t left. Instead, I’m in Denver flipping through the Lonely Planet guidebook I bought for Sweden before everything came crashing down.

[jeremystrele]

Introducing The TDF + Laminex Design Awards 2021 Residential Architecture Finalists!

Introducing The TDF + Laminex Design Awards 2021 Residential Architecture Finalists!

TDF Design Awards

by Lucy Feagins, Editor

Photo – Tom Ross

Nielsen Jenkins, Mt Coot-Tha House

Mt Coot-Tha House by Nielsen Jenkins was completed for a family member of one of the architects, on an empty bushland block next to their shared childhood home in Brisbane.

Designed as a wedge that has lodged itself into the mountainside, the house wraps around a luscious green central courtyard, and provides both connection to and protection from the elements.

The project explores ideas of connection and refuge within a site characterised by its slope and extreme bushfire exposure.

Photos –Rory Gardiner

Archier, Corner House

Presenting as a solid fibre cement-clad volume to the street, Corner House by Archier references the board and batten detail of typical fishing cottages in its Flinders, Victoria location.

An experimental floor plan is revealed inside, with living areas positioned in each corner of the dwelling, connected by stepped walkways acting as gallery spaces. This layout accommodates a set of new routines for the clients as they settle into retirement, supporting strategies of occupation where two people could live together with equal parts connection and freedom.

The house and landscape mediate the relationship between the occupants, with each corner volume acting as an independent space, but with large windows that promote a visual connection between areas. The courtyard plays a crucial role in this gesture, filtering and softening views across the project.

Photos – Derek Swalwell

Architects EAT, Bellows House

A single row of mature poplar trees forms a soft foreground to what’s considered the main facade of this Flinders, Victoria house by Architects EAT. Trees cast morning shadows onto the white concrete masonry blocks, animating its long articulated form. Together with the unusual shapes of the frustum roofs, these evoke street engagements and curiosities.

Being a beach house where extended family and friends often gather, spaces have been designed to facilitate collective experiences: kids bunkering together; an open washroom that doubles as a mud room; multiple entry points into the house; and different indoor and outdoor living areas.

Photos – Derek Swalwell

Rob Kennon Architects, Elwood Bungalow

This Elwood, Victoria project by Rob Kennon Architects relies on the idea of subtracting space as much as adding it.

Occupying the former land of a rear garden, the renovation embodies a desire to turn away from the neighbouring walls, in favour of an inward dial plan that axially and infinitely looks onto itself.

The ‘addition’, a low-lying single-storey extension, builds square up-to all three rear boundaries and subtracts a circle garden out from the middle. The resulting form visually and functionally aligns with the family’s values of openness and connectedness.

Photos –Rory Gardiner

Studio Bright, 8 Yard House

Rather than a traditional house with a singular backyard, 8 Yard House by Studio Bright is distributed along the length of its North Fitzroy site, punctuated with a series of variously sized outdoor courtyards.

Across the whole site are eight outdoor spaces, the largest between the studio, garage and the main volume of the house. A central located pool becomes another landscape area either to use or look out across.

Overall, the architectural form is defined by an almost monumental brick construction detailed with perforations, rhythmic built-in columns and planter boxes.

Photos – David Chatfield

Furminger, River House

Furminger have repurposed an existing weatherboard Brisbane home through minimal intervention.

A primitive architectural intention was used to establish building and landscape through the metaphor of a ruin. The site was conceived as a large garden to hold program for daily activities. Heavy masonry walls intersect the site, carving out public and private courtyard gardens, creating new entries into rooms through garden spaces.

A strategy was developed to use concrete as cheaply as possible, using what many would consider commercial or industrial construction techniques. The entire structure was constructed from tilt up concrete panels, which were poured and stacked on site.

Photo – Tom Ferguson

Benn & Penna Architecture, Henley Clays

Henley Clays by Benn & Penna involves alterations and additions to a freestanding brick cottage in Sydney’s Lower North Shore. Additions are framed upon a heavy brick plinth that extends the sandstone base of the existing cottage, forming a series of landscape-inspired rooms that gently ascend through the home.

The material quality of the spaces is robust and earthy, with brickwork used throughout floors and walls. The mortar colour has been matched to the brickwork to amplify the monolithic and landscape like qualities of the project, while openings have been carefully arranged to puncture the building’s mass and wash its cave-like spaces with natural light.

Throughout the houses are gradually occurring level changes, encouraging the dweller to meander through the space. Steps between each level are used to demarcate the spaces, making them feel both intimate, while connected to the rest of the house.

Photos – Christopher Frederick Jones

Anthrosite, Hamilton Courtyard

This Newcastle project by Anthrosite presented the rare opportunity of converting two detached houses into one home. Instead of being pressured into market norms of maximising floor space, the clients were more concerned with creating a series of family spaces that felt connected to one another.

The result is a celebration of the courtyard; a generous central area that unites the wings of the house and promotes visibility, allowing the occupants to remain connected to each other even while engaged in individual tasks.

The importance of the courtyard’s role in the house is duly acknowledged with the main entry. An intimately scaled passage leads off the street, opening out not into the home but onto the private and calming courtyard garden.

Photos – Tom Ross. Styling – Jessica Lillico

Blair Smith Architecture, Brunswick Lean-To

This addition to a heritage listed cottage in Brunswick, Melbourne by Blair Smith Architecture showcases how homes can be enriched through modest architectural intervention.

The circa 1900 double-fronted cottage now sits alongside a new 51 square metre addition, achieving a high level of detail and finish, within a limited budget. This new building takes formal and programmatic cues from the dilapidated lean-to structure it replaces, while overcoming its shortcomings: a lack of aspect, awkward layout, and poor thermal performance.

The northern facade is divided into 11 modules characterised by three sliding timber screens on a single track. These screens have numerous purposes; they control heat gain, glare and offer an increased level of privacy to surrounding development.

Photo – Chris Warnes. Styling – Anna Delprat

Studio Prineas, Bona Vista

Bona Vista in Sydney’s inner-west reinterprets the characterful features of its Federation frontage, forging a warm domestic setting for family life.

In line with heritage guidelines, the council was highly prescriptive of the building envelope, forms and materials of the new addition. The architecture embraces the hip roof profile, while introducing an unconventional internal ceiling line; a surprising and memorable volume articulated by partially obscured skylights filtering natural light.

Studio Prineas have drawn a level change that once separated house and garden into the interior, forging a distinction between the old and new architecture, and connecting the new addition to the landscape.

Photos – Ben Hosking

Edition Office, Kyneton House

A refined palette of gracefully ageing, tactile materials defines this country house by Edition Office in Kyneton, Victoria.

The greatest inspiration for the project came from the client’s ambition to capture the passing of time through curated views of the garden, and white ceiling volumes that pick up the fluctuating levels of natural daylight.

The home’s deepened position within the site allows its relatively simple brick form to avoid feeling dominated by the garden, but instead wrapped and softly enveloped by it.

Photo – Anson Smart. Styling – Stanwix Studios

Fox Johnston, SRG House

This 1970s heritage-listed house originally owned by Sir Roy Grounds in Balmain, NSW has been reengineered for contemporary family life by Fox Johnston.

Keeping within the building footprint, Fox Johnston have carved extra space and forged stronger connections to landscape and place, while maintaining the integrity of the original structure and material language.

Interventions focused on restoring the superstructure; better connecting the home to the landscape; converting lower-ground space (previously housing an air-conditioning plant) into two bedrooms; replacing the ‘80s garage with a new structure and apartment for multigenerational living; and softening the geometry of the original grid design.

Photo – Dianna Snape

FMD Architects, Coopworth

Coopworth by FMD Architects is a contemporary interpretation of a country farmhouse nestled in the rural surrounds of Bruny Island, Tasmania.

The property’s sheep, wide-ranging views to the water and mountain ranges beyond, and weathering shacks dotted over the island, provide an ever-changing landscape with which the house converses.

The resulting footprint of the house is consciously constrained to maximise arable land, but with generous interiors facilitated by various gabled, hipped and skillion rooflines. Simple plywood linings and concrete floors draw focus to this ceiling, which features wool sourced from the property, adding to its thermal performance.

Photos – Dion Robeson. Styling – Janet Keating and Amy Collins Walker

Nic Brunsdon, East Fremantle House

East Fremantle House by Nic Brunsdon is a contextually responsive addition to a heritage cottage.

Most important to the project is the space that’s not built – a large northern void – a space for light, sound, and breeze to inhabit. The house traces the void’s edge, providing constant connections to nature.

Once a dark period home with ‘60s additions and asbestos sheds at the rear, the home is now arranged as four interconnected sections: the existing brick cottage, an entry link, a ground floor addition, and first floor addition.

The living room is a ‘garden room’ lined with sliding north-facing doors, allowing the space to cleverly spill outdoors and occupy the full width of the site.

Photos – Martina Gemmola. Styling – Ruth Welsby

Wowowa, Pony

Pony is an agile alteration and modest addition to a 1960s apricot brick home in Brighton East, Victoria.

Wowowa devised a reworking of the original home, alongside an agile new extension. This extension adopts a simple, linear form that slides against the existing volume to run lengthways down the block. The focal point of this new structure or ‘colonnade’ is the roof, which takes design cues from the nearby beach to feature cladding and construction methodology akin to a boat with a keel, bow and stern.

A dessert-inspired interior colour palette draws on the client’s mid-century furniture, and allows a smiling eye to whimsically dance around the home.

Photo – Ben Hosking

Wiesebrock Architecture, Bellbrae House

The brief of this Bellbrae, Victoria home called for sustainable design measures and a flexible floor plan suitable for regular guests.

Two pavilions were created by Wiesebrock Architecture in response, comprising the primary house and a guest pavilion. In between the two pavilions is a large outdoor deck covered with polycarbonate roofing.

Aesthetically, the new house draws on the couple and architect’s love of old farm sheds. Durable, low-maintenance, corrugated and galvanised steel sheeting features on the exterior, while the warm interior references classic shearing sheds.

Photos – Katherine Lu. Styling – Koskela

Curious Practice, Lambton House

The small 55 square metre footprint of this new, suburban four-bedroom home by Curious Practice maximises landscaped areas on its Newcastle, NSW site.

Carefully considering the unique five-way intersection of mixed residential and commercial buildings it addresses, the house performs simple gestures to maximise its relationship to context, both neighbouring and public.

A step-down in level from entry to living areas creates a seat at garden level and combined with a generous window injects light and air, while engaging with passersby. This public gesture is continued through an extension of the green streetscape through fences and canopies designed for verdant consumption of the building over time.

Photos –Derek Swalwell. Styling – Simone Haag

Austin Maynard Architects, Garden House

By nature of its inner-city Melbourne location and by design, Garden House by Austin Maynard Architects belies its size and scale.

At street-view, the shingled, simple and domestic scale garage appears to be the house in its entirety. Walk down the side pedestrian alleyway however, and the main front door opens up to reveal a much bigger property, comprising four distinct elements appearing as separate buildings. These buildings are ‘invisibly’ connected via mirrored glass corridors, reflective of the property’s well-established garden.

This high-performing, high-tech, inner-city Melbourne oasis produces 100kwh per day and has a 26kwh Tesla battery.

The Design Files + Laminex Design Awards 2021 Residential Architecture award is presented by COLORBOND® steel.

COLORBOND® steel is one of Australia’s most loved building products, producing coated steel products for more than 50 years. Their coating technology offers exceptional performance with resistance to chipping and cracking, creating highly durable roof and wall cladding materials.