#it's scary to be standing in the middle of a bunch of running pigs

[coyoteuugly]

love the validation i get from having lots of replies to my discusion posts, especially when they hit me with the, i never thought about it like that

[nomoregoldfish]

Imagine Pacho Sends You as a Gift to (Spy on) Amado 3/3

More smut (but I’m really bad at writing it, :////). Plot twist guaranteed. And I can’t believe I wrote 6K for this, FML. What has Chema done to me? I also made a few changes in the first two parts, read the whole thing on AO3.

You are woken by a phone call in the middle of the night. But you neither move nor open your eyes. You hear some numbers, Amado sounds irritated. It could be something related to tonight's dinner?

Your patience is wore out minutes after minute and Amado still hasn't returned to bed. You make a bold decision to wake up, and the Mexican is smoking by the window. Something keeps him up at night? That doesn't sound like the Lord of the Skies, the man who has had the world at his feet.

"You wanna talk, more sex or a bath?" You carefully propose.

"I was expecting for late night snacks you pull with some Asian witch shit." Amado lets you sit on his lap. "Hang on, I've got some leftovers from the kitchen."

You two settle for sharing the jacarandas mochi from a small food container in the bathtub.

"You like it?" You don't really need validation from Amado. It's just you spent hours coming up with the idea of improvisation, trying to make a traditional Japanese dessert more appealing to the Mexican guests. "I made the bean paste from scratch, less sugar. I understand most Mexicans are not used to sweet bean paste..."

"They don't deserve it." Amado suddenly claims. You don't get it. Who are they? "They are just a bunch of pigs in expensive suits, corrupted, stinky pieces of shit." Then Amado tells you almost everything. He invited the tequila exporters with the hope that the cartel could use their affiliate companies in the States as front to launder more drug money since tequila is one of the largest yet least regulated businesses between the US and Mexico. And the politicians are officials from Mexican Customs Bureau and SHCP.

"Fucking idiots. They thought I was gonna ask them to smuggle coke under the tequila crates. With all the fucking Pier 1 sofa and Ford pasenger seat manufacturers in Juárez, I've had more than enough trucks to move products across the border." When Amado brought up money laundering, the tequila exporters expressed concern regarding possible investigation of tax evasion from ATF, putting more pressure on Amado to increase their cut.

They eventually made a deal less favorable to the cartel and that's why Amado's a bit pissed when he's on the phone.

"Why are you telling me this?" For the first time that night, you ask softly.

"Those cabrón. They don't deserve what you bring to the table. You pour your heart and soul, making the best feast I've ever had. You deserve to know what happened." 

You've never thought you'd hear that from Amado. He didn't have to tell you anything. It makes you lower your guard. You want to get closer to him, without any agenda.

"Does this mean my body won't be put in the trunk of one of your auto collections tomorrow?" You try to lighten it up.

Amado kisses you from behind. The position is awkward but neither of you care. 

Making out with Amado in the bathtub makes the night better than your wettest dream. 

The Mexican's gonna make you cum again with those magician hands of his.

"You...haven't told me if you like the jacarandas mochi." You're so screwed. Maybe you'll never get the answer because Amado's too busy sucking you tits.

Amado clears his schedule the next day. He brings you to the Asian boutique where he bought the Japanese painting.

"One of my guys found this place. I thought you might be interested..." That's cute from a drug lord. But you're not that kind of person.

"A) I don't need a Buddha artifact home to find my inner peace, and B) only Pacho wears shirts with Chinese characters taken from a poem back in the Tang Dynasty. Seriously, he's ridiculous. Come on, let's go."

Instead, you two spend the day trying different Asian food you can find in DF. From hotpot to Peking roasted duck, from pho to char kway teow. Amado seems to enjoy the Chinese food more than others.

"Most Asian restaurants in North America are run by the Chinese, from San Francisco to DF. Since you guys can't tell if an Asian cook is from China, Japan, Vietnam or Thailand, he or she would quickly learn dishes from other Asian countries. We are always the most hardworking people." You explain to him.

"Oh, I love hardworking people." He's so full of shit but you can't help smiling. 

Amado finds a fortune cookie note saying "Happy New Year of Monkey." Then you explain Monkey is one of the Chinese zodiac signs which repeat every 12 years. 

"So 1956...I am a monkey? Cool." He's surprisingly quick with math.

You write the Chinese character of monkey on a napkin and Amado seems fascinated by it. So you suggest that he could get the Chinese character tattooed, "Next time you can show that to Pacho. He probably would get one, too."

Holy shit, he's really doing it. 

The way the tattoo parole Amado brings you to is cleared makes you believe it's part of the cartel business, which makes perfect sense. 

"You don't have any tattoos? Not at all?" You're surprised when the tattoo artist prepares Amado's skin on his forearm, first cleaning then shaving.

"We've fucked three times, once in a bathtub," Amado grins, obviously in a good mood, "Don't you think it's a bit late to ask? Or I fucked you too hard you didn't notice?"

Thank God the tattoo artist doesn't even flinch.

OK, you have to get back at the fucker. So when the tattoo artist asks you for the character to make a design, you write pig in Chinese instead of monkey.

"Hold on, that doesn't look like what you wrote on the napkin. Let me see it." Right after the tattoo artist places an outline of the design on his skin, the Mexican stops him.

You're 100% sure Amado doesn't speak or write Chinese. How the fuck does he figure it out?

"What is it exactly? Tell me the truth or you will have an honest conversation with my brother." Amado makes the threat more scary by pointing at Vicente, who stands next to the door with two guns and a pink lollipop. 

"Wait. He doesn't know shit. It was me...I wrote a different character." Your confession is quick, you don't want to see anyone get hurt over this beef.

You thought it's just a silly prank. Now you realize you're dealing with the most notorious narcos of the country. Amado may look like a businessman, reasonable, even decent. He's still capable of getting violent whenever he thinks it is necessary, to an extent you really don't want to know.

You take a deep breath, then apologize to Amado. You are ready for the consequence. 

"Apology accepted. On one condition, you'll have the exact same tattoo as I do when the new design is done." Fair enough.

But you're a chef who often needs to cook right in front of customers. You can't let them see a tattoo on your forearm. 

"How about here?" The Mexican is touching your breast as if no one's around.

It's a small tattoo, just one character. But it's near your heart and you're sensitive as fuck.

You can't move but your nipples are hard almost through the entire process. Amado's right beside you and he sees everything. Someone please help you ease the pain FFS.

The fucker doesn't act on it until you get into the car. Amado shuts the soundproof panel between the front and rear seats and the next thing you know, you're riding the man who just makes you get a stupid matching tattoo. It fucking stings, and itchy. Yet the pleasure is undeniable when your tits being teased, bit, sucked. Amado carefully avoids the tattoo, which makes you want him to scratch the itch even more. You scream his name when you cum with both extreme pleasure and pain.

Amado puts an arm around you when it's over. Two matching tattoos are right next to one another. Your heart is still beating fast from the afterglow, echoing his pulse.

You feel the caress on your beast, it hurts a bit yet the body warmth is nice. Is it how it feels to be marked by someone else? Not many people will ever see it, plus it's not a specific name or symbol that would embarrass you later. It'd be a secret.

"You know what? You won't be able to find a dead body to stand in for you when you eventually betray me, sweetheart. No one else would get a tattoo like this." 

What Amado just says feels like a kick in the stomach. It's cold and absolutely right. Have you been sloppy? Has Amado figured out something already? "Why would I betray you?" You ask, but he doesn't give an answer.

It's the last day of your stay. You have a very special package delivered from Japan.

You gonna make blowfish sashimi tonight for Amado.

Everyone knows it's toxic so it has to be handled with meticulous care. You make Amado watch every step —  a set of fuguhiki, knives with thin blade is unwrapped, you pick them one by one to gut the fish, remove the deadly liver and ovaries, skin it and cut off its head. Then instead of cutting outward like most people do, you turn a knife to cut inward. 

"Careful! You shouldn't hold knife like that." Amado almost jumps in to help. But you assure him it's OK. Then you show off the technique to cut extremely thin and translucent slices of blowfish.

To make the white meat more attractive, you set the slices in a large plate with red poppy flower pattern. They are so thin, the poppy flower is still visible when all's done.

"An ancient Chinese writer used to say, 'The taste of blowfish is worthy of death.'" You joke when you mix the sauce. "Don't worry. I'm a licensed blowfish-preparation chef."

Amado squints, "So you're testing me."

You want to tell him to just trust you, but you don't know how.

"There's no antidote for the tetrodotoxin. But I'll eat it, too. If it's poisonous, our muscle will be paralyzed bit by bit when we're fully conscious, eventually we won't be able to breathe. We're going to die slowly, painfully and desperately."

You take the first bite, Amado follows.

"Why are you so loyal to him?" Amado breaks the silence, "For one, you don't sleep with him. You obviously are not related. And as far as I know, money can't buy loyalty."

"I'll answer it if you answer my question first." The Mexican agrees. "You didn't want me for me, you barely knew me. You made the decision when Pacho said I was the best, he wouldn't last a week without me. You want him, or something that makes you his equivalent. Except being gay, I don't know. You won't fuck his boys, so I'm the next proxy. Am I correct?"

After a pause, Amado nods. Then it's your turn.

"How many female chefs do you know?" Amado is confused for a few seconds, then he gets it.

"There was no place for you in your line of work, just like there was no place for him in this game controlled by men, men who have multiple wives and fuck whores. He sees himself in you. So he takes you under his wings."

"Yes. Pacho is the only one who's believed me. He's also the biggest shareholder of my first restaurant."

Amado then asks what you gonna tell Pacho when you return. "I'll tell him you give really good heads. Maybe he should try it himself." You wink, "No, I'll let him know you're not a cold-blooded bastard. Even though you sometimes make awful choice by dipping sashimi in guacamole, you're appreciative of other people's work." You really mean it, you like Amado. But you'll probably never know if he buys it or if it matters.

After a while, you finish the whole plate of blowfish sashimi. "Seems we're not dead." Amado's poking your cheek with chopsticks.

"No, we are not."

"Last question, why did Pacho send you?"

"Amado, you would've done the same. You know that."

[ims-monbebe]

Heavy Dirty Soul

Authors note: Guyyys, I’m starting a new fic even though I have so much writing works to work on asdfghjkl why am I like this. Anyways here’s the first chapter. It’s different than things I’ve written for tumbr because it has characters instead of an x reader pov, so enjoy :-)

Chapter 1: What Happens When Two Lonely Bodies Get Together?

  Has it ever occurred to anyone that we judge people too much by a cover? Not that people walk around with literal covers on their bodies, but don't you think as a collective as humans we tend to judge too much on what people look like despite the type of people they are on the inside?

  "Ugh!" I groan as I push away my laptop. "This will never do." I take a large swing of my cup of coffee as my friend Brittany laughs in front of me.

  "Oh come on Hanna, it isn't that bad. You're hitting the topic on point. I'm sure it can blossom if you keep at it."

  I rub my temples as I look back down at my screen. "Who knew majoring in writing would have so much writing?"

  "It's kind of self-explanatory don't you think? Majoring in writing, of course, will have a bunch of writing. Have you even started the video part of this project that's due next week?"

  "Fuck!" I yell, causing a few heads to look at me. "I really forgot about that, what the fuck does videography have to do with writing anyways? That dick of a Professor Smith. It's all bull shit I'll tell you that."

  "Hanna," Brittany laughs again. "Have you even found what you want to do your video on?"

  "Yeah, of course." I take another sip of my coffee. "I'm going to that gig that those scary looking boys have been handing out flyers to all around campus. Should be fun right?"

  "Here you are writing a paper on judgment and yet you are judging these boys."

  "I'm just speaking the truth. You know Lee Jooheon right? He handed me the flyer and I asked him if it was okay to record from side stage."

  "Jooheon? The Lee Jooheon? Hanna, you know he has a reputation right? And it's not a good one."

  "Who cares about that when he's that hot? Besides, it's not like anything is gonna happen. This is professional. He agreed to let me record the whole thing as long as I edit it and help him post it on his youtube channel."

  "I don't know, I heard that bad things always happen at those gigs."

  "What could possibly happen?"

  Brittany shrugs. "I'm just saying, Hanna, that's what I hear around campus. Jooheon and his click have a very edgy rep."

  "A guy has a couple of piercings and a few tattoos and he's a bad guy? It makes him look exciting. The others though in his group I'm not sure about."

  "Have you been hanging out with Jooheon?" Brittany raises her eyebrow as she takes a sip of her coffee. "Because if you have I swe-"

  "What? No no, I only ever talked to him when he handed me the flyer. I've been classmates with him for years but we’ve never really talked to each other. He's always with his friends and has a different girl on his hip every other week." I shake my head. "Anyways, I should get going the gig starts in an hour and I want to get there so I can find out where to stand and what not."

  Brittany nods her head. "Yes of course."

  We both get up and take our trash to the trash can before stepping outside. "How are you gonna get there?" Brittany questions.

  "Probably just a taxi." I take out the flyer from my book bag and scan the address. "I have no idea where the hell this is even all about. All it really says is open mic night, come support talented local artist, and then the address on the bottom."

  "Well, I'm assuming from the words open mic, and the fact that it is a gig it's for music."

  "Brittany I know that I just meant like what's the point of it."

  "Beats me." Brittany shrugs as she begins to walk in the other direction. "I guess you'll find out later. I'll see you next lecture!" She waves off.

  I wave her off before turning around and walking down the street. I take out my phone and type the address that's on the flyer into my phones GPS. I squint my eyes as I realize that the place is only a 5-minute walk from my standing point. I keep walking straight down the road as my phone commands and make a quick left turn. Once I turn I see a street full of houses. I keep walking up the street until I stop at the 5th house up. Music is playing loudly in the back, I frown as I begin walking up the pathway that leads to the back gate. I push the wooden door and it opens slightly. I walk in further till I reach a huge backyard. Boys are laughing and setting up while drinking cheap beer. I look at my watch and notice it's only 7 P.M, the flyer states the show won't start until 8. I groan and scan my eyes looking for a familiar face.

  Why am I looking anyways? There's literally no one I know, this isn't my crowd or scene. I'm just here to complete my project and leave. I sit down at a table set up and take out my camera from my book bag. I look around as it starts up to see girls and boys staring at me while whispering in each other's ears. I roll my eyes slightly as I see a pair of shoes standing in front of me. I look up and gulp slightly at the familiar but not acquainted face.

  "Hello." The boy waves. My eyes stare at him harder.

  "Shin Hoesok?"

  "Please, call me Wonho." He sits down next to me.  "I heard you're recording tonight's show for us. I just wanted to thank you."

  I raise my eyebrow at him. "Um, you're welcome. I'm sorry I don't want to come off as rude but it's just a project for my creative writing class."

  "Hey whatever baby, I don't judge what it's for. I'm just thanking you. We'll get the scene out there sooner or later. That's what's important yeah? We're helping you while you help us in return. We give you something to record and you give us something to upload." He fiddles with his lip piercing with his tongue. He smiles a little more before standing up. "Come on, I'll take you inside so we can show you how we want tonight to go. Jooheon is waiting for you."

  I would usually get infuriated at the fact of some man I'm not too familiar with calling me baby. Hell, I'd probably hit him smack on the head with this patio chair I'm sitting on. But for some reason, I don't feel threatened by him right now. I know who he is, I know his reputation but to me, that's not who he's coming off as. "Just follow me." 

  I get up from my seat without saying a word. Wonho only smiles as he begins walking forward towards the house. He opens the sliding door and we both step inside. I look around and the house inside is really nice. "Who's house is this?"

  Wonho looks back at me as he begins climbing a set of stairs. "Jooheon's parents. They're out of town for the weekend."

  "That explains why you guys are having this whole thing?"

  He shrugs as he opens a curtain that leads to a back den. "Probably."

  We both walk into the room and there were the rest of Wonho's friends Shownu, Kihyun, Minhyuk, Changkyun, Hyungwon, and of course Jooheon.

  "Hey Heather, glad you can make it." Jooheon smiles, this girl on his lap giggling endlessly.

  I roll my eyes. "It's Hanna, actually."

  "Heather, Hanna whatever all the same thing. Glad you can make it."

  Wonho takes a seat next to him and suddenly everyone's eyes are on me. I let out a small breath avoiding to roll my eyes right in front of all them. "Why did you call me up here?"

  He leans his head back and whispers something into the girl's ear, after a few nods the girl leaves the room, staring me down in the process. "I have a few other, well we all have a few other requests for you." He smiles while he pushes his curly hair out of his face.

  I feel my heartbeat get faster, I've known of Jooheon for a long time. We've been classmates since middle school. We don't know each other personally but damn the boy this close and personal is making me feel something strange in my chest. I look up at him, Jooheon has his arms resting behind his head as he's nibbling on his bottom lip's piercing. I mentally slap myself after a few moments of staring at him."

  "Are you gonna go on or are you gonna just stare at me?"

  "Woah," Jooheon looks over at Wonho and points at me. "We got ourselves a feisty little kitten here." Wonho laughs and Jooheon clears his throat. "It isn't bad kitten don't get your little yarn in a bunch. Changkyun and Kihyun just wanted to know if it was okay if you can take photos as well."

  "What the fuck do I look like a photographer?" I roll my eyes.

  I look around and see Kihyun rolling his eyes. "Heather, it isn't a big deal, will you just do this for us? We'll pay you." Kihyun says in an angry voice.

  "For fuck sakes, my name is not Heather! Fine, fine. Whatever. I'll take photos of you guys, you don't have to pay me I don't need your money."

 I look at Jooheon again who only shows me a sly smile. "Great, I'll meet you outside then little kitten." 

  “You’re disgusting, aren’t you with that girl why are you even calling me that?”

  He looks over at Minhyuk and laughs, “I don’t know. I don’t even know her name.” 

  He gets off the couch and walks over to me. He looks into my eyes and brushes a piece of my hair behind my ears. “You’re a special little kitten tonight, but don’t worry. It will just be for tonight.” He grazes his thumb against my chin.

  I push his hand away from my face. “Get the fuck away from me. You’re a pig!” 

  I begin to rush out of the den and I hear laughter erupt from behind me. I feel the tears fight my eyes as I make my way downstairs. “Hanna wait!” I hear Wonho behind me.

  “What do you want? Are you gonna mock me too?”

  “Look I’m sorry that happened in there. I know Jooheon is a shit bag, but don’t let him ruin your grade. Please stay and record the gig?”

  I avoid making eye contact with him, I sigh before I clear my throat. “Why do you want me here? I know no one does.”

  Wonho shakes his head. “You have an important job here tonight, I won’t let Jooheon fuck that up, he’s fucked up too many things in our lives. So please stay?”

  I stay silent for a moment. Why is Wonho being so nice to me? Is all that can run through my head. Why is the hottest senior being this nice to me? “Fine, I’ll stay. Not for Jooheon, for you.”

  Wonho smiles the most beautiful of smiles I’ve ever seen in my life. “Good, I’ll go tell Jooheon and the others that he didn’t fuck this up. Just wait outside till we start. When we start I’ll go get you so you can know where to stand.”

  “Okay, thank you Wonho. Thanks for me calming down. You’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

  He looks down before he makes his way upstairs again. “You wouldn’t believe how much I get that.”

  “I believe you Wonho.”

  He turns back around. “Jooheon is actually the same way you know, don’t let the leather pants fool you.”

 “And if they do?”

 Wonho smiles once again. “Then you’ll be in for a surprise.”

[kaorei-endgame]

Game of the Year 2017 #2: Divinity Original Sin 2

The first Original Sin had one of those video game “issues” that’s only really an issue if you let it be. About six hours in, you’d figured out there were about a thousand ways to crowd controlling your enemies: stuns, knockdowns, charms, fears. With the availability, and reliability, of these attacks, battles often broke down to your mages/archers CCing everything on the battlefield while your warrior dismantled them one by one. This felt exceptionally mean--sadism in video game form--and somewhat abusive of the game mechanics, but combat was so often weighed so directly against you that “cheating” by charming half an enemy squad and letting them rough each other up, or depleting half a gigantic orc boss’s health before combat even starts by teleporting a poison barrel directly onto his face, was really more about evening the odds. Original Sin is one of those games, like Final Fantasy Tactics, maybe, where there’s a billion ways to break it. Unlike Final Fantasy Tactics, you don’t feel bad about it because, from behind a still-growing pile of saves and reloads, you know the game is happy to return your cheesy, scummy tactics in kind.

This is a co-op RPG I’ve been playing with Graz for 120+ hours, according to steam, and we still haven’t finished. It is, among Dark Souls, and Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes (Fast Karate GOTY, 2015), and Resident Evil 5, one of the best co-op experiences of my life.

You can play a skeleton, who has to walk around in disguise to stop everyone from murdering them, and has no need for lock picks because they can simply use, and I quote, their “bony fingers.” The elves are not only cannibals, but they’re cannibals that absorb the memories of their meals, which is sometimes used to learn new skills and sometimes used to solve murder mysteries. Maybe forty hours into the game, I realized this “being forced to experience a living creature’s final moments every time you eat meat” was probably created as an explanation of generic fantasy elves’ earth-mother veganism.

Near the beginning of the game a black cat starts following you around. If you have the Pet Pal talent you can talk to him and he just seems like... drunk? He doesn’t really have anything to say, but he doesn’t go away. If you walk through poison he’ll follow you and get poisoned too and he only has like 50 health so you’re always frantically trying to heal him because the friendly cat who does nothing except meow at me can never die. If you keep him alive throughout the whole opening zone, which also involves keeping him away from fires and superstitious guards who will shoot him on sight, his head clears and he joins your party as a summon.

Also the whole time he’s following you around, there’s this dog who won’t talk to you since he hates cats. But the cat follows you in real time, so if you go to a distant part of the zone and then teleport back to the central hub, the cat is briefly separated from you while it paths around the map to your location, and you can get the dog’s quest to find his missing girlfriend.

There is borderline erotica at one point where, if it’s not explicitly described, the game at least puts the mind worm of “lizard man cunnilingus” in your head. And like... well...............

Also there’s another dog later who’s like an evil pet of an eviler grave robber and he refers to himself as Artax: Death Incarnate or something and after you kill him you can use your recently acquired Spirit Vision power to talk to/throw shade at his ghost, being like “...death incarnate, eh...? :) :) :) :) :)” But it’s kind of wasted because even as a ghost (dog (way of the samurai)) he still thinks he’s pretty hot shit.

There are premade characters who have different dialogue tags, most of which seem to amount to jack shit, like almost any RPG with dialogue trees, but the one I picked, Lohse, is some sort of psychic medium who spirits would just hang out in, which was fun until a really bad demon got into her. Sometimes the really bad demon makes her do things that are completely out of her control, like try to murder an elf who’s trying to help you exorcise him, and isn’t it your favorite thing when games present you with a bunch of false dialogue options?

You start Divinity 2 a political prisoner. Unlike Skyrim, where you’re bound for the chopping block and then five minutes later someone’s telling you you’re a god, Divinity sits you on its prison island for something to the tune of 30 hours (then it tells you, more or less, that you’re a god). Because you have a collar on that restricts your scary magic powers, your overconfident jailers basically let you have the run of the place. You are hemmed in just enough to feel your yoke, and much of the early doings is learning where you may and may not go, and which places, just outside of your captor’s line of sight, are okay to seek out dirty business (i.e.: steal a few valuable paintings from). 

So you poke at all the nooks and crannies of this just-right sized zone, retrieving gloves of teleportation from the stomachs of hungry lizards, helping that dog find his girlfriend, and making painstaking progress on your escape. This is a tight, interesting area, far better than any of those in the first Original Sin, where there’s not even all that much combat. You bum around with a bunch of prisoners, some of whom certain party members have vendettas against/want to murder, but most of whom are like... chill old ladies that sell you water spells and will give you a free scroll if you give them a shoulder to cry on. Eventually, you kill the mob boss (but don’t let me see you laying a finger on Butter). If you’re a really good person, you kill all the magisters--who are basically the cops of the magic world--on the way out the door.

Boy oh boy, the jump in writing/world texture/everything from the last game. The move from “aggressively generic fairy tale stuff” to “moderately generic CRPG world” doesn’t put the writing in Witcher territory or nothing, but it’s much easier to appreciate the quirks of the setting, which holds strange sidequests where you help a bunch of thousand-year-old wizards who have been cursed to for all eternity to be both 1) pigs 2) pigs who are on fire, when you aren’t dealing voice acting that seems to be literally on purpose trying to kill you.

I’m of two minds about the changes to combat. Now characters have magical/physical “armor” that acts as a Halo-style rechargeable shield, protecting character’s vitality and also making them immune to status effects. Since most enemies have as much armor as they do health, that means they’re half dead by the time they’re vulnerable to being sleeped/charmed/whatever, and so crowd control has substantially depleted in value. Which mutes some of the “controlled chaos” feel of the first game--kind of a let down--but does tacitly nudge you into trying out the rest of the game’s broad spreadsheet of abilities, such as a teleport jump for fighters that sprays fire all over the landing zone, or a summoner’s ability to conjure an Inner Demon which both terrifies her opponents AND punches enemies that come into melee range with gigantic purple mind fists (essentially, we have been given Star Platinums of our very own).

And the uncontrolled chaos, where you laugh at the idiot NPC wasting its turn casting Rain until the next NPC sprays the area with lightning bolts and stuns half your crew, where you forget that the whole room is one big oil surface before you do your flaming teleport jump and now everyone in the room is on fire, or a giant Dune worm erupts out of the ground right in the middle of your boss fight and your enemies start attacking it instead and you’re like “.....so are we friends now?” and it’s like haha, nope, they still fuckin’ hate your guts and this battle just got even stupider and twice as long, so I hope you brought healing potions.

If anything, these changes have the unique effect of making me seriously consider playing this 100+ hour monster game that requires 100% of your attention and thought processes at all time (okay so sometimes I checked in on Fire Emblem on my phone during Graz’s turns, but that’s a given) sometime before the next decade. I suspect higher difficulties return a lot of weight to crowd control abilities.

Even though I know Baldur’s Gate has co-op, I didn’t think they could make a game like this. A gigantic, fully featured co-op CRPG where the other player doesn’t have to tolerate being a henchman at best. Where you can both run around talking to whomever you want and progressing quests however you feel like, and then come back together twenty minutes later to compare notes. Where you spend 3+ hours over two days on a single battle, reviewing plays and planning out turns like a pair of football coaches, micro-managing which of you is going to “waste” their turns conscientiously teleporting a friendly, but foolhardy, NPC out of harm’s way (or turning him into a chicken) so he’ll stop trying to impale himself on the NECRO-TENTACLE FIRE that you discovered, in this very battle, spurts out of every oily blob from the void beyond space after their death. And what’s that, four turns in the fire blobs start spawning?

Moreover, though every part of Divinity seems stupid, ramshackle, and tied together with twine, it’s often one step ahead of you. Regular attacks are governed only by cooldowns, but the most powerful spells are restricted by an MP-stand-in called “source” (still, charmingly, pronounced close enough to “sauce”). A difficult resource to replenish, we rarely used source abilities early in the game. But a couple hours after it came to a head, and I started saying “you know, I’m getting a little sick of teleporting back to the giant Source juice box in the hidden basement of this lady’s house every time I want to use Black Shroud,” and was decrying how if they replenished your Source after every fight, making it a per-battle resource, the game would be much more interesting they... give you an ability that functionally does that, and combat becomes much more interesting, on the exact right timeline for me to understand what I’ve gained with this power, having been frustrated for so long by its absence.

I gave up on trying to describe this game concisely. I’m not sure there’s a way to do so, when its whole ethos is jury-rigging systems onto systems and throwing weird events at you constantly and the whole thing chugs along like it was meant to be--damn, it never even crashed until I tried to install a mod. At the strange intersection between narrative and mechanics this game presents, if you think about it, you can almost always do it. You can skip an entire hedge maze by teleporting through its portcullises. If it’d take too long to loot a chest in plain sight of its owner, you can use your Polymorph abilities to turn invisible, pick it up, and send it to the inventory of your lockpicker, waiting outside. You can go upstairs at a bordello. When you wake up, predictably, you’re naked and being robbed. Only, oops, the robbers didn’t reckon your friends would have a magical teleportation pyramid locked onto your signal. 

In the same town, this maid crying about losing her owner’s purse robs you, and if you’re sympathetic about it and give her a hug when she asks, she picks your pocket, and the only way you’d know about it is if you check your gold total after the conversation because, let’s be real, she was acting super sketch. I mean damn, the game somehow makes scrolls, the categorical worst item class in all western RPGs, worthwhile. Who wants a one-use item when you can just learn the spell forever? Until the first time you come to truly understand that a short 3-turn cooldown in “Divinity Time” could be the better part of an hour, and therefore a hundred and twenty seven gold for an Armor of Frost scroll is a small price to pay for peace of mind when The Red Prince needs an extra dose of magical armor like right now. 

And for all the ways you can bring ruin upon your enemies, all the stupid tricks and techniques that really shouldn’t work but somehow always do, the thing that actually breaks the game? The item that made us look at each other and go “we should probably never use this item again if we want to keep having fun.”

Green Tea.

Conservatively, 200+ hours of my life has gone to these games, and when this one is over, I’ll still feel like it wasn’t enough.

[jackblankhsh]

Why I Quit:  The Corn Maze part 2

Using my phone’s flashlight I hurried along the path.  The trail zigzagged etching a crooked route over a mile long.  Low lights ahead shone on gruesome, unsettling displays – twitching crucifixion victims, gargoyles with glowing eyes, grinning deformed hillbillies in lawn chairs.  Traversing the maze meant heading from one illuminated oasis to another.  Eventually the path blossomed, opening onto clearings filled by set pieces, everything from a dollhouse full of sinister living puppets to a butcher shop serving humans chopped up by a giant wearing a pig’s head.  (It was there I passed the previous maze goers.  They huddled in a corner, while Pete -- nice guy -- squealed at them, swiping the air with a meat clever.)  

 All along the shrouded path performers lurked in the shadows.  Hidden by corn stalks they remained invisible until customers came too close.  Then the haunters struck.  Some lunged out snarling.  Others strolled alongside patrons, growling and rasping before slipping back among the stalks.  A few merely stood in the middle of the road, silently forcing maze walkers to go around them, anxiously uncertain what might happen.  Paraphrased Shakespeare came to mind:

 "What are these, so wicked and wildly attired; that look like nothing on Earth, yet are on it?"

 Running through the labyrinth I passed the witch’s coven boiling babies, and stumbled beyond the densely fogged lair of the corn monsters – faux fog whiting out everything until the other side – before passing thru the bone orchard.  Several posts planted in the ground allowed an assortment of bones to hang from an array of wires.  In the dark it looked like the bones floated in midair.  Meanwhile, a weeping angel shuffled through the bone orchard.  Her broken wings dragging along the ground, getting filthier with each step, she avoided maze patrons rather than went after them.  

 Some folks took that as incentive to harass her, chasing the angel about the orchard. When they did she cried out, begging them to stop:  “Why are you doing this?”  And for most this caused a realization about their behavior that compelled them to leave quickly, ashamed and disgusted with themselves.  The few contemptible enough to remain, taunting her further prompted skeletons to silently emerge from the shadows.  Distracted by the advancing skeletal horde the assholes took their eyes off the angel long enough for her to jump up, grab the wiring, and seemingly floating she unleashed a demonic bellow that would've unsettled a dinosaur.

 Aunt Daphne said, “Point there is to make customers the horror, sort of turn the tables on them.  I get though some cunt-brain gonna be a dick, so alls I think is yay if it works, if no then won't do it next year."

 Although I doubt the bone orchard worked on everyone, not all horror is gore.  I’m sure, if nothing else, it provided a lasting memory.  And what people said about, what they did when they saw it reveals more about themselves than they may intend to admit.

 However, my destination lay beyond the orchard.  I wanted to stake out the final corridor.  Where the path finally led to the exit an alcove in the corn allowed a performer to hide.  As maze goers breathed a sigh of relief, the exit in sight, that performer could come charging out wielding a roaring chainsaw, chasing them out on a final scare.

 Unfortunately the chainsaw didn’t fully work.  The mechanism had been disabled so that, though the engine rumbled the teeth didn’t rotate – all bark, no bite.  Still, it’s hard not to get spooked when a six foot three inch screaming weirdo comes out of the dark swinging a snarling chainsaw.

 Slipping into the alcove I turned off my flashlight.  

 Terry, the aforementioned giant screaming weirdo, said, “Sup?”

  “Just looking to cause a few scares.”

 “Cool.” Terry passed me the chainsaw, “I’m gonna get a soft pretzel.  Have fun.”

 She pulled off her mask, and handed it to me.  I donned the leathery patchwork, supposedly human flesh, and tried to suppress a mad giggle.  Terry disappeared, while I waited for victims.

 The chainsaw softly puttered.  

 "What's that?"

 "I don't like the sound of that."

 I tried not to snicker.  When the nervous patrons neared the exit I revved the engine.  Heads turned just in time to see me running at them.  Those who ran I chased a short distance then hurried back into the maze, in thru the exit to once again hide and await victims.  

 I heard whispers:

 "I think I saw someone."

 "Another fucking loser."  (This is why the chainsaw doesn't actually work.)

 This time I didn't wait.  I burst out swinging the chainsaw wildly.  However, none of them ran.  So at the exit I simply receded back into the darkness.  

 Such is life.

 Some screamed. Some laughed.  I couldn’t help smiling when I overheard a little girl tell her parents, “This is how you run from a psycho.”  She made it to the other side of the pumpkin patch before realizing I'd stopped chasing her long ago.

 At midnight the sound systems crackled as Aunt Daphne got on the P.A., “Well, folks seems another wicked night is behind ya.  If ya like, come on back tomorrow, but for now, head on home… before our ghouls get hungry.  Muh-hahahaha!”

 And with that Wilson’s Pandemonium Pumpkin Patch closed for the night.

 #

 Around the campfire Allison, Frank, Glenn, and I swapped stories.  

 Allison said, “I caught three stoners trying to hide in the dollhouse.  Someone always wants to stay her overnight.”

 “I had to make some kids stop fake-fucking the pumpkins.  We got li’l kids around.  Can’t be humping the fucking pumpkins,” Frank said.

 Glenn said, “I heard we got two shitters.”

 I said, “Jessica told me the same.”

 We all raised our glasses, “Spooked so bad they shit their pants.”

 We laughed. We howled at the moon.  We watched the fire die down just in time for dawn to take over.  It felt like home.  And that worried me a bit because I didn’t look forward to watching home dissolve simply because the season ended.  Yet, it seemed inevitable.  Nothing lasts, not even the best of times, so it seemed time to perhaps ride out on a high note.    

 The nomadic actors eventually retired to their RV, and I ventured to the concession stand to brew myself coffee.  I wanted to be alone, but inside I discovered Aunt Daphne deep-frying candy bars.

 Never knowing a reason to be gloomy around her, I bowed, “Hello pumpkin queen.”

 She smiled, “You and them been up all night?”

 I shrugged, “Work don’t start ‘til after dark.”

 “True enough.” She pulled out the basket, and dumped sizzling deep-fried delights onto a plate.  Talking aloud, though not necessarily to me, Aunt Daphne said, “Doc sez I’m not s’posed to eat this shit no more.  Too chubby.”  

 “Then don’t eat it,” I said fumbling with the coffee maker.

 She replied, “I’m your boss, I tell you what to do.”

 She laughed. Aunt Daphne glowed brighter than the sun.  She knew how to frown, but I suspect she never saw a need for one.  Yet, this morning something in her eyes seemed off.

 It compelled me to ask, “What’s on your mind?”

 She shook her head, “Same dumbass shit every year.  Parents get pissed cuz their kids get spooked.  They bring their children to a scary place then get mad at me for building it. Can you believe that?”

 I nodded.

 She sighed, “Problem is – you hear about the shitters last night?”

 Chuckling I said, “Yeah.”

 “I guess Jessica really nailed some kid whose daddy is just too damn important to have a son who shit himself in the corn maze.  He called me this morning making all kinds of noise.”

 Hearing the coffee start to boil I felt a knot in my stomach.  I got a feeling where this might be headed, and it seemed like dumb luck the bomb didn’t fall on me.  

 I said, “He wants you to fire someone.”

 Aunt Daphne chomped on a bar.  After chewing a moment she replied, “He wants Jessica, though he don’t know who to blame. We’re all the same bunch of fucking nuts to him.”

 Sighing I said, “Then if it doesn’t matter who goes fire me.  I’ve broken enough rules, putting hands on customers and such…”

 “Sounded like they deserved it.”

 “It should be me anyway.”  

 Finishing a bar Aunt Daphne said, “I don’t want to fire anyone who hasn’t done a damn thing wrong.”

 Nodding I said, “Fine.  Then I quit.”

 Folding her arms across her chest Aunt Daphne said, “Oh, so you expect me to lie?  Tell folks I fired someone I didn’t?”

 “Then I guess I’m fired you fat old dumb bitch.”

 She lightly slapped me, not even hard enough to kill a fly.  Pulling me into a tight hug she whispered, “Don’t think I don’t know this is about something else.”

 I squeezed her back then walked out.  My pay would come in direct deposit, so no need to linger I went to my car. Climbing in I started the engine thinking, “At least I won’t have to say goodbye.”

[jugheadeaton-blog]

Love Is Such A Strong Word...

Summary: Outcast. Different. Weird. Bullied. That's what Alex Rider and Ashlynn Rainer are. But why? Maybe it's the fact that Alex has been training to become the "king" of the most deadly gang in Alper Town? It can’t be. Nobody knows that Or perhaps the real reason is Ashlynn's secret job as sex slave. That can't be it either. Only Ashlynn and her father know that. So what is it? Find out what the real reason for Alex and Ashlynn's banishment is as the pair experience the ups and downs of being in love in high school.

A/N: This is my first story so bear with me xD This story is also posted on my Wattpad account, AlexTheTrashyWriter. Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Outcasts   

"Dad, we have to get him back!" I screamed as my twin brother sprinted away and into the forest. My dad gave me a disappointed shake of his head.

"No, Alex. He chose what he wanted to do," My dad spat through gritted teeth. "First your mom is taken from us and now your brother decides to leave us."

I stay on my knees, shaking. The tears roll down my face the second my dad utters those words. "But we..."

"No Alex! Not we! Only you! You're the one that wants that bastard of a kid back. But I won't let you go after that piece of shit!" My dad yelled and yanked the collar of my shirt.

"But why?!" I screamed, the tears rolling faster.

My dad gave me a look I've never seen before. His eyes were full of a deep, deep anger. "Because now that your brother is out of the picture, I don't have to choose. I'm training you to become the next Viper leader," he hissed.

I gave him such a horrified look it kind of  scared my dad to a point where he might've pitied me. Might've. But he just shook his head and gripped my shirt collar tighter. Then he dragged me away, half choking me. And during this who fiasco, I held the grey ash covered beanie my brother had given me before he set off. And that was that. My whole life was set up for me in minutes. And it was beyond my control. But I had to change it. Somehow. Sigh. What was a five year old to do?

I snapped awake as I tumbled onto the rough, blackened wood of my room. I winced and groaned as I propped myself up with my bandaged elbow. I hoped he wouldn't enter the scene but of course, he did.

"Rise and shine, Alex!" My father, Will Rider, hollered into a dented megaphone. "It's 4:01 AM! Get the hell up and take your lap!"

"Yes Dad," I murmured as I pushed myself off the slight dent I recently made with my body.

"Did you call me Dad?" My father yelled into the megaphone once more.

I clapped my hand over my reddened ear, which was now ringing. "No sir."

My father scowled and marched out the chipped door. I slowly got up and fixed my mess of a bed, which was soaked with the blood from last night's injuries. I then changed into the clothes my father gave me months ago and hurried out the door, into the early morning. To my dismay, he was already in his beat up navy blue pickup and started driving next to me, all the while screaming "Faster, faster!" into that damn megaphone. I wanted to cuss him out and tell him I started my last year of high school (aka hell) in about an hour but I knew to hold my tongue. My father was not a man to talk back to. I learned that the hard way. I coughed my thoughts away and silently ran my regular ten miles while my father continued scolding my ass off. But he must've been in a good mood since he only made me run ten miles in all. Weird.

An hour later, I was ready. I wore a blood red t-shirt, black jeans, simple black and white converse, the bandage-like eye patch I've been wearing for the past few years and the ash covered dark grey beanie I always wore, no matter how hot it was outside. With one glance at the shattered mirror on my floor, I examined the cuts and crap that were visible and raked some fingers through my messy oak colored hair. I sighed then slipped on my dirty denim jacket hanging by a loose piece of wood from my wall, slung my bag over my sort of broken shoulder and trudged out of the room, my stomach growling uncomfortably. My father had not said I could eat, so I guess breakfast wasn't an option. Oh well, I'll just eat the crappy school lunches. Again. I muttered a goodbye to my father and swiftly stepped out the door and towards Archer High. To my delight, a girl with dirty blonde hair stepped out of a house a block away. I smiled.

"Ashlynn," I called and waved at her.

Ashlynn looked up from her phone, making eye contact with me. She excitedly shoved her phone in her pocket and sprinted towards me, engulfing me in one of her classic bear hugs. "Hi Al!" she peeped. Her classic bear hug always hurt at first but since I've gotten used to the pain over the years, it didn't feel as bad as compared to the past. Ashlynn planted a kiss on my surprisingly-not-bruised cheek then (attempted to) ruffle my milk chocolate hair.

I hugged her back and pecked her on the lips. "Nice to see you again. Where the hell were you for summer?"

Ashlynn let go of me then gave me an annoyed look. "You dumbo. I told you I was at my aunt's place in Florida." She started walking.

I followed right after her. "You did? Oh. I'm sorry I guess I forgot."

"You always do, dumbo."

I probably forgot because of my multiple head injuries during summer training. But Ashlynn didn't need to know that. And neither did anyone else. "Yup," I agreed.

Ashlynn looked up at me, a glimmer of worry in her jade eyes. "Al. Why are you wearing pants and a jacket? It's 99 fucking degrees." She's always so protective.

But I won't lie, I was sweating like a pig. Then again, I had so many cuts, bruises and bandages scattered on my tall legs, it was kind of scary. "Well I get cold easily."

Ashlynn narrowed her eyes at me then began to nod slowly. "Okay."

I sighed of relief when she wasn't looking. Dodged another bullet. Thank God. She still can't ever tell when I'm making something up.

We became friends in second grade. She said hi, I said hi, you know that's pretty casual. Then she blurted out "Your hat's dirty. Are you poor?" It took her a second to realize what she said then she slapped her hand over her mouth and apologized a billion times. I stared at her for a couple of seconds then laughed. I liked her. I told her it was okay and from then on, we became inseparable.

As I got swallowed by my buzzing thoughts, Ashlynn tugged on my arm, which snapped me out of my daze.

"We're...here," She squeaked uneasily.

I took her hand in mine then squeezed. "We'll be fine, Ash." But I knew we weren't going to be, even if we were seniors. At the last second, I bent down and whispered, "Just stick with me, alright?"

Ashlynn looked up at me, her jade eyes staring into my dark browns. "I wasn't planning on it."

And with that, we plodded into the madness. Let's just say Archer High School wasn't exactly the safest place to be taught a bunch of useless crap. Jocks were sitting on the banged up, rusty lockers and smoking. Queen bees were glued to their phones and standing near their smoldering jock boyfriends. Nerds gripped calculators and held binders like babies. Rebels stormed the halls, drinks in one hand, cigarettes in the other. The "emo" kids hid in corners with their ear buds shoved in their ears. I know, I know. This all sounds so cliché but it was all true. Thankfully, not many people noticed Ash and I trudging through the halls. Although, the ones that did notice only just realized that I got held back. And those people included Martha Summers and Johnny Dixon. Great. They're what I like to call "Dick and a Bitch" since Johnny is a dick and Martha is a bitch. I squeezed Ash's hand and picked up my pace, dragging her with me.

"Hey where ya going Writer McGee?" Johnny called out.

I just bit the inside of my cheek and kept walking away. But of course, that wouldn't save me or Ashlynn. As Johnny trotted towards me, Martha held his beefed up arm and followed him. Perfect.

"Leaving so soon, Queen Slut?" Martha hissed in her annoying little voice.

I'm known to have a temper, but when it comes to school I'm fairly good at hiding my anger. But sometimes I just want to punch the blush off that girl's make up infested face. I continued to walk off but to my surprise, Ashlynn tugged on my arm and stopped. Just dead on stopped. In the middle of the hallway. Uh oh.

Ashlynn turned around ever so slowly on her heel and faced the queen of bitches herself. "Listen you Barbie look alike. I'm not in the fucking mood to deal with your crap. Especially not on the first day of school."

Everyone in the hallway oohed and ahhed as Ashlynn turned back to me. She giggled when she saw the shocked look on my face. She barely talked back to Queen Bitch. Like seriously. But since she talked back, I'm bound to get into some trouble with Queen Bitch's boyfriend.

"Ooh Queen Slut's scared," Johnny taunted. Some people in the hallway agreed and soon started chanting "Queen Slut's scared."

A bewildered look spread across Ashlynn's face as her cheeks became bright red with embarrassment. Oh boy, was I mad. No wait I wasn't just mad. I was way beyond mad. And I let my anger get the best of me.