#motion picture mash up

[cavegirlpoems]

Violet Core Approaches

So. My close friend and collaborator Sarah Carapace has been working on Violet Core - a ttrpg about dykey mecha pilots in space - for the past few years, and that work is approaching its fruition. It's about to get kickstarted pretty soon, and I got a preview copy of the game ahead of that. So, preview/review I shall.

Disclaimers: I'm close friends with Sarah, was involved in some of the early playtests, and might end up doing a stretch goal for the game. So, I am of course wildly biased in Sarah's favour. Still, even if I wasn't, I figure this'd be my jam.

TL,DR: This game is really really good, back the kickstarter. For more details, read on.

The Basics:

Violet Core is set in the Nemesis System, an alternate scifi version of the solar system. The game follows the lives of spacers cut off from their home planet, Cerulea, as they face an oncoming disaster as escalating waves of comet-storms hit the system and everything starts to come apart.

Our characters are mech pilots for one of three factions of spacers - The Reach, The Homebound, and The Cosmic Embrace - each with their own perspective on what to do about the looming disaster. It's generally agreed that they need to escape, but where to and how is a source of conflict.

All three factions and their approaches have their merits. Although the Reach are positioned as more heirarchical and organised than the other two, all three are clearly scrappy tenacious punk-ish survivors who've been rejected and exiled to space by the dickhead bourgoisie of their home planet, Cerulea.

Luckily, you get to pilot X-10s, giant personalised mechs powered by a mysterious psycho-active (psychic?) crysteline core. This lets you get up to all the various activities you just pictured when I said that.

Tonally, it's Sarah Carapace through-and-through. Everything is purple and blocky, with CRT monitors and snaking cables and spray-paint. Riot Grrl mashed up with retro scifi mashed up with cosmic weirdness.

On The Humble D4

The game uses the oddity of dice - the humble D4 - as its main dice, with D8s scattered in here and there. It's a choice I really like, giving the game a feel that's a little angular and off-centre. It's a simple choice, but it does a lot to set it apart. I can't sum this up better than Sarah does, so I'll just quote her:

d4s are the most cursed of all dice.

They are awkward to roll.

They are pointy and can/will stab you.

Femininity is pointy, painful and powerful and so are these odd little polyhedrons.

Also, There is no standardised style for d4s. When you roll them, the result is the number displayed upright, either on the top or bottom. It varies from die to die.

Which I think gives you a good sense of the tone of the whole game, y'know?

The game cares about dice as physical objects deeply. Players can use the emotional connections between their characters to donate bonus dice to another character's rolls: the game suggests that when you do, you should pass her your physical dice, and use the motion of how you do it (including potentially how your hand touches hers as you hand them over) as a way of expressing the connections between characters, which is a fucking genius bit of design.

Anyway. Who do you play as?

Some sort of dykey space-gal x-10 pilot. To define who you are, you pick three things: the faction you belong to, your pilot type, and the X-10 you pilot. I'll go over each in quick succession.

Your faction determines your political alliance and likely goals, and the culture you grew up in, and each faction has access to a different set of X-10s. You pick between:

The Reach: the most organised and strict faction, and the oldest. Strict, heirarchical, and high-tech. You play here if you want to have a good The Man to chafe against, or to be that The Man for somebody else. The Reach are working on engineering humanity to be able to survive the coming disaster and thrive in space, and building a vast engine - the Overlock - to enable this.

The Homebound: the most rough-and-ready faction. A large population of working-class gals, and with too few resources to go around. They're working on repairing a giant machine, The Sling, to transport their people to another star system and flee the coming disaster. Unfortunately, The Sling and The Overlock are both adaptations of the same machine...

The Cosmic Embrace: the weirdo faction. The smallest, most mystic, and overall hippy-est. Short on space, people, and resources, but not on idealism and enthusiasm. They're poking the weird shit of the setting, and getting results. A little culty. In the playtest I was in, I played Cosmic Embrace, obviously.

Notably, you can have PCs all be in the same faction, or be split between them. If split, there's lines of conflict, but also room for alliances and subterfuge. PCs can, and might well, switch faction in play.

As well as your faction, you pick your pilot type. There's three broad types of pilots you can be:

Genebuilt, artificially created super-pilots with custom genetics to make them good in space. Divided into two rough types; the Violet Kind (for if you were a successful project, and inhereted mysterious abilities) or the Rat Bitch (for if you... weren't, and mostly just inhereted emotional issues). There's some interesting space to play with the idea of nature vs nurture here, or with the pressure of expectation.

Baseliners, aka normal humans who haven't been genetically engineered or tinkered with. Again, divided into two types; the Shining Star (for if you're keeping up with the best through sheer talent and training) and the Baseline Breaker (for if you're a normal person getting by with determination and adaptability.

And then, lastly, the Returned. People who died - or nearly died - and were brought back. The character creation section only mentions one sort of Rebuilt - the Returned, who have been remade by the power of humans science - but hints that other sorts might exist. And indeed they do, tied to the mysteries of the setting.

I ended up playing a Rat Bitch, who'd seen her best buddy get horribly fucked up in a training exercise and gone awol. It was great fun.

Lastly, your X-10. Each faction has three models of X-10, divided by function: Warriors to be brutal front-line fighters, Rogues to be mobile scout-types, and Witches that do weird shit and fight at range. Out of these, each faction has its own version of each of these archetypes. Some X-10 models are pretty common and mass-produced (like the Ogress, the Reach's warrior-frame), and some are rare or even unique (like the Hag, the homebound's rare and experimental Witch type that can fuck with time and space).

Each X-10 has its own Violet Core, the psychoactive crystal that's at the heart of the mech and gives the game it's name. Thoughts from the violet core filter through to the pilot, and visa versa. If you pilot a Hag for long, you'll start thinking Haggish thoughts, and your own emotions will start to seep into the core. It can get real strange real fast.

Each type of X-10 feels and plays extremely differently, in a way I personally found made your choice of frame a reflection of your pilot's personality. My pilot ended up in a Mermaid - the Cosmic Embrace's version of a Witch frame - that had the ability to shift space around it (her?), and 'swim' out of the normal world into sub-space. Which brings me to...

The Spaces & The Mysteries

As well as the material, mundane world - what Violet Core terms 'top-space' - there are two other spaces that exist.

Sub-space is a serene, empty (is it?) realm that lies below top-space. You can dive into sub-space in the right X-10s, and explore. Time and space are wierd and fluid here. If you dive deeply, you find... things. If you dive too deep, you might not come back the same, or at all. There are mysteries down there. Remember I mentioned there are other types of Returned you might become? Yeah. Remember those Violet Cores that power your X-10s? They're made from something called 'the fingers' found deep down in sub-space. Who's fingers? You see where I'm going with this.

There's also The Violet Realm. This is the psycho-sphere, the realm of dreams and emotions and mystical experiences. The violet core of your X-10 links you to the Violet Realm. You can meditate to experience it, to commune with what's within...

This is a setting with mysteries. There are things to explore, forces and powers beneath the surface. I won't elaborate. Partly because I don't want to spoil the discovery for you, and partly because I don't want to read it all and spoil myself before I can play this again. What I will say is that the bits I did read ahead on give you a lot to explore, and are explained in a way that make how they tie into the wider setting and plot. It's all coming together into something impressive.

Personally, as a player of rpgs (larp and ttrpg) I really enjoy settings which present you with mysteries and mysticism, which let you explore the underlying nature of this universe in ways that are at times rational and at times intuitive or mystical. It's an itch few other ttrpgs have scratched for me. Lacuna and Orpheus were, until now, games that achieved what I wanted; now I get to add a third game to the list in Violet Core.

In case it wasn't clear, this is high praise. This is extremely high praise.

Mechanics

I'm going to assume you're already sold. If you aren't, let me make a statement:

I'm mad I didn't think of these game mechanics.

The core engine is pools of d4s, in a way I believe is drawn from forged in the dark. However, unlike FitD, I really like how VC handles its rolls. Particularly - as I mentioned above - the way players can pull on the connections between PCs to offer each other dice, and the way this affects the game.

The core is pretty simple but has nuance. There are PbtA-style moves - things like Negotiate, or Hurt, or Shield - that trigger when you do a particular thing. You roll, and get a codified result based on the result. When you roll, you get a number of dice depending on how you're going about it. In person, you use your talents; things like Making Out and Using Your Head. In your X-10, you use the X-10's talents, things like Synchronising and Drawing Near. An example: You're piloting a Mermaid, and you see your friend (piloting an Ogress) is about to be struck by spiraling comet shards. To save her, you dive across to pull her out of top-space and into sub-space with you, dipping out of the material world to avoid the hazard. Since pulling somebody into Sub-space with your X-10 is Draw Near, you roll as many d4s as your Draw Near pool, and count how many hits you get. Since you're trying to protect somebody, you take that result and look at the Shield move to see what happens.

It's a simple core that's then built on with more detail, giving it a lot of room for nuance and expression.

Further, there's a neat little system for tracking the emotional connections between PCs and how they escalate over time. As they escalate, you pick statements to describe how you feel, pinning down the nature of the relationship, that will get deeper and more intense the further in you get. And the further in you get, the more potent it is when you hand another player your dice to assist her PC.

In play its such a neat, deep, evocative system that it made me really mad I didn't think of it myself. It's basically perfect.

Sorties, in which our cosmic purple space robots punch each other

Up front. Although your in giant space-mechs with giant space-weapons, combat isn't meant to be lethal and horrid. It's intense, and gritty, and emotional raw, but in the way that a bloody-knuckled fist-fight is, not in the way that a shootout is.

Fights aren't war. They're personal.

There's a lot of dancing metaphors in how the fights are described. You might be sparring or actually seriously going after each other, but either way, a fight is an interplay between two characters at their most intense. That thing where a fight scene serves the same purpose as a musical number? Yeah, that.

So. Each fight between X-10s is a Sortie. A sortie is divided into a series of steps, and at each step you pick an option for how you're fighting;

Lead, to be agressive

Sway, to be fluid and fucky

Follow, to be evasive

Sway hits follow, Follow hits lead, Lead hits sway. Its a rock-paper-scissors cycle. (If you get two Leads, both hit, and if you get two follows or sways, both miss.)

When you hit, you can trigger one of the moves as a result. It can get ugly and painful. It could concievably get vulnerable and emotional.

Critically, you have a limited pool of lead/sway/follow actions (depending on your X-10), that get used up as you use them in steps. IE: if you're piloting a Witch, you can use Sway twice and Lead & Follow once. So, you can count what you're opponent's used up, and predict their moves based on what they've got left. In really long sorties, once you've only got one option left to you, it resets.

A sortie is a sort of dance as you maneuver for the advantageous position, use that to fuck with your oponent, and get your fists bruised.

Damage to your X-10 can bleed through to you. Contact between two X-10s can bleed through to their pilots. Things can get strange, particularly when there's Witch X-10s involved.

I'm gonna quote the book again here:

Not all pilots fight to win. Some pilots fight to hurt.

The Gay Bits

As you might have realised by now, it's a really fucking sapphic game. Not as a focus, but in the way where all our PCs are assumed to be some sort of dykey queer type because that's just the kinda tone we're going for.

To misquote Sarah's fellow aussie: "This is my book motherfucker, they'll walk be lesbians if I tell them to".

Pulling It All Together

Tonally, it's a fucking slam dunk. The world bleeds with a very specific atmosphere, a sort of dykey grungey weirdness that draws on old late-80s to early-90s mecha anime, and Heaven Will Be Mine, and weird scifi.

The writing has a really strong voice. Sarah doesn't write like a typical clinical dispassionate ttrpg text, she writes like Sarah. There's little witicisms, emotional bits, slang. It reads like somebody passionately explaining how to play in person.

There's a lot of snippets of in-character text - chat logs, reports, records, recordings - that give you a sense of the sort of people in this world.

The art is all fucking gorgeous. Mostly Sarah art, with some guest spots.

It is extremely purple, so purple its even in the name.

In conclusion:

Listen I am wildly biased because I've been friends with Sarah for yonks, but even if I wasn't I'd be incredibly enthusiastic about this game because:

a) it seems to have been carefully fine-tuned to hit my tastes.

b) it's really fucking good. Really fucking good.

It's an idiosyncratic personal work that also has a huge cosmic scope to it. It fucks around with the medium of dice-based ttrpgs in interesting ways. It's gorgeously written. It's got a setting that makes me want to dive in and explore it.

You should go back the kickstarter when it goes live, and tell your friends about it, and I am not kidding. If this game isn't a wild success there is something wrong with indie ttrpgs. The kickstarter is here, I believe it's due to go live in a couple of days.

If any bloggers are interested in getting a preview copy of their own, hit me up and I can hit up Sarah and we can sort things out.

[ryanmarshallryan]

The Foodie Genie

Vincent had purchased a vintage cookie jar from an odd little antique booth at a local county fair. He thought it would be a perfect thing to put his homemade cookies in, which he always kept a batch of dough ready to make on hand, as they were his favorite, and perfect to bring out when hosting guests.

He did not expect it, though, when it began to smoke as he tried to clean it at home. Sparks flew out of it as he dropped it into his sink. Somehow unshattered, but still spewing sparks and purple colored smoke, he heard it make a squelching sound as if someone was prying their hand out of the cookie jar but it was suctioned in.

A great big figure of semi-transparent man jolted up out of the cookie jar and smacked its head into the ceiling.

“Years of hitting my head in my tiny little jar, to finally being released to hit my head again. Go figure,” said the being.

Vincent surveyed its impressive height, its massive belly, its bald head and goatee, and the way its legs seemed to swirl away into almost smoke.

“All right then, let’s get to it, I am Xavier, Genie for the Foodies, great to meet you,” Xavier held out a comically large hand, Vincent stared at it in surprise, “And your name is?”

“Vincent,” he blurted out, “Vincent’s my name, but you - what are you?”

“A genie. You got ears right?” Xavier said as it leaned back in the air, crossed its arms which accentuated its belly forward a bit.

“Of a cookie jar? I’m confused.”

“I could do the whole song and dance introduction, but I don’t want to overwhelm the already overwhelmed.” Xavier stated, magicking a large cushioned chair, and motioning Vincent into it. “You see, I’m a special kind of genie. A previous wish-giver was a foodie if I ever saw one, and made it so I can only grant wishes of a specific nature. For example, any food you could desire I could produce.”

Just then a whole feast of roast duck, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and more appeared with a pop in front of Vincent. Then in another moment all vanished, and was replaced with a buffet style platter filled with noodles and meats and rolls and veggies, and again vanished and was replaced with a vat of ice cream, steaming in the hot room.

“You get the picture, I can help you experience the rarest of delicacies too… and every once in a while I get someone who wants to become a rare delicacy themself, if you know what I mean.” Xavier raised his eyebrows, and watched as Vincent looked intrigued. “The one who wished I could only grant food related wishes, used his last wish to have me even swallow him whole! He wanted to experience first hand what it would be like to be food,” Xavier, floated upside down and let his large belly hang down and show how massive it is. It seemed to grow and inflate until it was pushing up against Vincent’s face.

In a flash of smoke Vincent suddenly had a gut the size of a yoga ball, and the genie was back to normal.

“Or I can give you more room, so that any meal you desire you’ll be able to finish, and have room for seconds…” Xavier snapped and Vincent’s belly swelled to the size of a compact car, “Thirds… fourths… you get the picture.”

In another puff of smoke the room filled with jello and Vincent felt himself floating in the giant mass and heard a muffled shouting from Xavier say “Or if you’d like to play with your food, I’m sure we could have a fun swim.” Another puff of smoke and Vincent was as small as a soup spoon, looking up at a dollhouse sized castle made of graham crackers and gingerbread. The candy door of it swung open and Xavier popped out, “Come on in, and consider a wish. You get three. No more. No less.”

Vincent entered the graham cracker castle, grabbed a chunk of chocolate that was by the door and nibbled on it. Xavier let him up a staircase made of cake, into a hall with a long table. They sat down and Xavier asked again what wish Vincent would begin with.

Vincent thought for a while. He supposed his wishes didn’t matter as much as a normal genie’s might. He didn’t think the world would collapse if he wished for a fridge with unlimited eclairs or something.

“I wish I had a fridge that could summon any food I desire when I opened it.”

“I can work with that,” said Xavier. A flash of smoke and they were normal sized, sitting on the kitchen floor. The genie gestured behind Vincent who turned to see a purple fridge replacing his old one. He opened it to find his favorite smoothie sitting on the center rack.

“Cool!” Vincent exclaimed, picking up the smoothie, closing the door and opening it again to find a plate of kebab waiting for him as well, “I didn’t even realize I wanted that. Thanks!”

Vincent drank and ate as he considered another wish. How could a wish regarding food be helpful for both himself and others? Maybe he could wish to change the taste of anything he ate to something he loved. That’d make shoving down the burnt stuff his friend made more bearable, even enjoyable. Or perhaps he could wish to not have any allergy to food or poison: to digest anything. But what if he wanted to heat something but not digest it?  “I wish I could change the shape of my gut at will, so if I want to eat a whole roast pig I could do it in one sitting, but then be able to change my gut’s size back to another size to fit my clothes.”

“Hmm that’s an interesting one. Many ways that one could be used without relation to food so it’d be tricky to see if my powers would allow. I think I can grant it, but only if the primary body part you are changing shape is that of your gut and digestive system.”

Vincent felt a surge of energy through him like an electric charge. He looked down at his gut and imagined it ballooning to the size of a watermelon. It did so. He opened the fridge and found a cantaloupe waiting for him, and he stretched open his mouth to an impossible size and fit the melon in easily, swallowing it down if it were a small round candy. He felt his gut with his hands, feeling the soft flesh and the hard melon underneath layers of it. He imagined that his gut would be packed with thick fat to pad the melon inside. He watched as his layers of fat grew thicker and thicker until his gut could easily fit a human inside and have enough fat padding no one would notice a difference in shape. 

“Wow, genie, you outdid yourself with this one. I think my friend Henry is gonna get a kick out of this,” Vincent said, turning back to the fridge. This time, when he opened it, the racks were gone and in their place was a full size human being, looking utterly bewildered at their being in a refrigerator. 

“Hello? Vincent? How on earth - I was just in the library. How did I get here?” said the man in the fridge, stepping out of it into the kitchen, “And who’s this? Or what is this?” he said, gesturing to the genie.

“I know you’ve got a million questions but I’d like to try something if you’re still interested,” Vincent said, “Remember when you told me about those funny fantasies you like to muse about when you’re - well you know what I mean?”

Henry looked between the genie and Vincent, and began to notice their large bellies, “What - ?”

“Wanna make it a reality for a bit? I can let you out later. Like this,” Vincent’s stomach changed shape and the melon popped out of his mouth, good as new. 

Henry looked surprised, but interested. “Wow, you swallowed that whole?”

“And you’re next, Henry,” Vincent said, with a gleam of devilishness in his smile. He glanced down on Henry and saw he wasn’t the only one changing shape. With one quick swoop, Vincent grabbed Henry by the shoulders, and threw him head first into his rapidly stretching mouth, sending him down into his belly, which was swelling to the size of a large couch again. Henry seemed to be quite content with this experience, not even struggling to slide down into his friend's belly.

The genie started clapping, “Oh my, what a show! You’ve got the hang of it quite quickly! But I must warn you, you must make three wishes by the time the clock strikes the hour mark, or all of your wishes will be revoked! And if that happens, your friend might be stuck in there for good with no magical stretching maw to let him back out.”

“The hour mark? Isn’t that like Cinderella and stuff? Why’s there a time limit?” Vincent asked, rubbing his gut and mildly distracted by the lump of Henry inside.

“Someone tried to wait to give me a final wish for 30 years and I got fed up and got special permission to start setting time limits.”

“Oh, I suppose that makes sense,” Vincent said absent mindedly, turning to the clock which read 3:59pm. Sudden panic filled him and he jostled his belly, sending Henry bouncing around. “One minute!”

“30 seconds actually,” said Xavier, not stressed about it.

Vincent’s mind went blank with shock as he tried to think of something good. He gave up and went with something that intrigued him earlier, “You said you ate one of the previous wisher people? That could be interesting I suppose to know what it’s like for Henry. I wish you would swallow me whole for a bit, then let me out before I get digested!”

Xavier looked excited and coy, “Really? Me eat you? I haven’t eaten in years,” the genie said, blushing. He clapped his hands and the room filled with smoke, and suddenly the two of them were steaming in a warm vat of hot fudge together. Xavier leaned in close, “I like a little flavor. But what would suit you best? Hmm…” The genie snapped its fingers and the vat of hot fudge turned to chicken soup… then to a birthday cake… then to a pool filled with chicken parm and pasta… then suddenly Vincent found himself sandwiched between two human sized slices of seeded bread, with an assortment of stuffing, cranberry sauce, turkey and lettuce and tomato. “Just want to say thank you for being a great wish-giver,” said the genie.

Vincent’s eyes grew wide as Xavier’s mouth stretched to the size of a door. Vincent felt air rush past his face as the genie’s throat seemed to start vacuuming the air around them down inside it. The sandwich lurched forward and Vincent watched as the giant mouth came closer and closer and he began falling into it, feeling the wet, mushy expanse of the back of the genie’s throat, and the tight squeeze down its esophagus. He fell what felt like ten feet down a tight, slimy tunnel of saliva, and landed in an opening chamber of stomach juices that tingled his skin. He felt around the giant stomach and felt it shrinking. He began with space to move around, but by the time it stopped shrinking he could barely move his chest to breathe. He hoped Henry was doing alright in his own belly, though his empathy was not deep when he felt Henry’s elbows and knees jabbing directly into his bladder and lungs. He felt the stomach walls around him knead his body, squeezing and contracting, as acid trickled down his sweaty face. He felt like he was dissolving into soup, felt like he could no longer tell where his fat belly ended and the one he was in began.

He began to fade into unconsciousness when, in a puff of purple smoke, he felt all stress upon his body relinquish as if he had been let go of from the tightest, sweatiest hug ever. He landed softly, seated on the ground of his kitchen. He looked around but did not see the genie anywhere. Xavier had gone. He felt a bit groggy. Perhaps he had passed out on the kitchen floor. Had it all been a dream? 

His answer came at once.

“Hey, bud, I’m having a great time… but you might wanna swallow some antacids, or let me out soon… unless you're hoping to make me permanently belly fat, of course, but this stomach acid is getting stronger.”

Vincent turned to the fridge. It was still purple. “Cool,” he whispered to himself. He looked up where the genie had been floating a while before and mouthed a silent “thank you.”

“Vincent? You there? I’m kinda digesting in here.” Henry called with a forced-casual tone showing signs of mild panic.

“Oh, right!” Vincent said, opening the fridge to find antacids and threw the whole unopened bottle in his mouth and right down into his belly.

A while later, after stretching his throat and mouth to let Henry out, the pair of them sat at the table, sharing some cookies. They sat in silence for awhile, enjoying each other’s company and processing what had happened.

“So I’m thinking, maybe I can come over for dinner again next week?” Henry said.

“To be dinner? Or share dinner?” Vincent joked.

“Why not both?” They shared a smile.

[butterphii]

Autumn

TW: Extreme, and I mean CRAZY fluff, dad Joel/step-mom Reader, alcohol consumption, scary movie/gore reference, lots of cuteness

This is for the fall challenge by @jolapeno and @goodwithcheese! So excited to write. I chose: Joel Miller and pumpkin carving. Hope you all enjoy! 🧡🍂

--------------------Joel Miller--------------------

You accidentally dropped your pumpkin on the table, causing Sarah to jump. "Ahh! Jesus, man!" She whined, fist pounding repeatedly into your shoulder as you laughed. Raising your hands, you said, "I didn't mean to, girl. Your dad couldn't carry it for me." You smiled. Joel stuck up his middle finger in the other room, grabbing the knives you'd be using.

Rolling up the sleeves on your sweater, you grabbed bowls to put the pumpkin guts in. "Sarah, do you wanna help me make pumpkin seeds later? Maybe pumpkin rolls?" You asked, grabbing the knives from Joel and leading him into the dining room where you set up. "Totally. Remember, I got a date tonight, though." She replied, grabbing a knife and cutting the top off.

Joel stopped in his tracks, he looked frozen. "You got a..what?" He asked, seemingly angry but you knew he wasn't actually. Sarah giggled. "I'm going on a date with Alex. He's taking me to a movie, then he's gonna take me home after watching the sunset." You smiled at Joel, mouth not speaking but eyes just saying: Joel, please, just let her have fun.

"Ok. Just be careful. Don't do anything stupid." He looked at you, seeing the smile spread across your face. He grinned back, eyes a little angry but nothing else seemed to be the problem. You grabbed your phone, searching for a Halloween playlist and when you and Sarah heard the first beat, you knew it was the Monster Mash.

Reaching out your hand, you said, "Care to dance?" A chuckled slipped from Joel's lips, watching you two. "Why of course!" Sarah replied in a British accent.

You took her hand, pulling her up and holding her other hand and just moving around all 'willy nilly', as Joel would say. He rolled his eyes and grabbed a random Sharpie, drawing what he wanted to carve on his pumpkin. You were still dancing when you heard him cap the marker and stand up with a soft grunt. You closed your eyes, feeling his hands wrap around your waist from the back, fingers spreading against your stomach.

"Hey, baby." You beamed. "Hey, darlin'." He replied, kissing your temple, holding you while you continued to dance and Sarah fake gagged. "Get a room!" She growled. Joel flipped his middle finger again as he kissed your face all over, ending on kissing your lips. Sarah groaned loudly.

You all eventually sat down and finally started carving. You ended up with a little kitty cat face, Joel made a classic, yet crooked, jack-o-lantern, and Sarah made what she called a "pimp-kin". It was some stupid guy with a beard and a leopard print hat and a drawn on fur jacket. It made Joel really upset, but you couldn't stop laughing.

Happily, you all placed the pumpkins down on the front porch, the Austin weather not very cool, but it was still nice. You put fake candles inside each one, taking a picture with Joel and Sarah behind them. You made Sarah take another one with you and Joel kissing. She moved her arms, motioning she was throwing up.

Joel nudged her arm, pushing her onto the ground. He guffawed, hardy and loud. It made you happy to see him happy. It made him happy to see both of his girls happy. "I love you, Joel." You giggled. "Love you too, babydoll." He showed his crooked grin, the smile spreading his nose out across his face. You kissed him with your own smile and watched Sarah roll her eyes again before stepping inside in front of you.

[leviathanlazarus]

Make It Better

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Josh Kiszka

Word Count: ~2900

Warnings: slash & smut, people!! Blowjobs! Also some blood (non-sexual). 18+ only~

Inspired by Danny kissing Josh's hand during the Cleveland show (and what a show that was!) and, of course, Halloween. Hope you enjoy ;)

---

“You sure you wanna start carving them now?” Danny asked Josh, who was gleefully cradling two pumpkins in his arms from the porch. Danny was holding the front door open for him, letting the crisp, cold breeze momentarily waft into the house. 

“Jake and Sam can do theirs whenever,” Josh answered. He heard–and felt–Danny following his steps as he went through the hall and into the dining room. With a little huff, he set the pumpkins down on the ratty old tablecloth they’d both laid out for the event. “It’s not our fault they’re stuck on interview duty today.”

“I don’t know,” Danny remarked, leaning against a chair. “Carving pumpkins seems like just as much work. Maybe more.”

Josh looked up with a little smile. “This is supposed to be fun, Daniel. Come on, where’s your Halloween spirit?”

Danny sat down, spinning one of the pumpkins around in front of himself. “Play ‘Monster Mash’ and I’ll get into it.” 

Josh laughed. “Sure, fine by me.” He started to sing the words, mimicking the silly voice of the original song, as he meandered into the kitchen, phone in hand. Soon enough the real thing was playing from a speaker, hopefully truly getting Danny to perk up–whenever Sam was out of the picture even for a little while, it was like a little of Danny’s energy was gone with him. Josh could relate though. Whenever his twin was absent, he felt a little emptiness in the pit of his stomach. But he was happy to have some one-on-one time with Danny. That didn’t happen very often. Not to mention none of them had actually carved pumpkins since they were literal children–this was going to be fun.

“What’s yours going to be?” he asked as Danny sliced the top off his pumpkin, Josh following suit with an enthusiastic sawing motion. Using knives was always a good time as far as he was concerned. 

“I was thinking of trying to make it look like Sam’s drunk face,” Danny told him with a laugh. “But I don’t know if I have the skills. We’ll see.”

Josh laughed too. “That’s a good idea. Maybe I should make my pumpkin look like Jake’s guitar face.” 

“Put these two pumpkins together and it’s basically Jake’s ass,” Danny said, smirking to himself; Josh cackled in return. He wasn’t exactly wrong. Then Danny stood up and leaned over the table, hand disappearing into the pumpkin. “Ugh, this feels disgusting. Why the fuck are we doing this again?”

Josh did the same and, yeah, it was pretty gross. So cold and slimy, the seeds slippery between his fingers. “We’re bonding,” he reminded Danny, who was still so immersed in the pumpkin guts that Josh wasn’t even sure what he’d said had been registered. He and Danny slopped handfuls of pumpkin guts onto a platter together, as in sync as they all were on stage.

“Sam will probably want the seeds,” Danny said, reaching back in as the Ghostbusters theme started playing. 

“Good. Nothing left to waste,” Josh replied, beginning to feel very focused on the task at hand himself. He really was going to try to carve Jake’s guitar face into the pumpkin. “We can compost the rest.”

Danny was even more quiet than usual, he quickly noticed, and Josh didn’t think it was just because they were immersed in jack-o-lantern carving. He wanted to ask about it–was there something bothering him? Was he just really not into this? Josh’s sudden onslaught of anxious thoughts broke his concentration and as he was bringing the knife down in a steep curve, it slipped and, in the blink of an eye, bright red blood was shining on the blade, down his hand and across the orange pumpkin. 

“Oh shit!” Danny jumped to action, wiping his hands on a towel as he rushed over to Josh, who was so stunned by his mishap that he was just staring at the shockingly grisly wound. “Wait a minute,” Danny instructed, disappearing into the kitchen for a moment. When he returned, he was standing over Josh and wrapping his hand in a clean towel. 

“Oops,” Josh said, then hissed, suddenly conscious of the deep sting from the cut. “Ouch!” What a stupid thing to do, he thought, because not only did he ruin his hand, he ruined the pumpkin.

“Jeez, Josh, this looks bad,” Danny said, holding the dish towel around Josh’s bleeding hand snugly. “Do you think you need stitches?”

Josh waved that idea away with his uninjured hand. “No, no, I’m sure it’s fine. Let me see.”

Danny sighed. “Let’s go to the bathroom. We need to clean this.” 

So Josh let his friend take the lead. He sat down on the edge of the tub while Danny grabbed yet another towel, one of the black ones with little ghosts threaded in white that he and Jake had picked out just for this season, and wet it in the sink. Danny dropped to his knees in front of him and carefully unraveled the bloody towel from his hand, winching even more than Josh did as it happened. 

“See,” Josh began when his wound was revealed–a deep, long slash down the side of his hand, extending from the bottom of his thumb to just above his wrist. “I don’t need stitches.” 

“Okay, maybe not, but this looks bad,” Danny said softly. Josh was enamored with how tender he was. Maybe in another life, Danny would have been a doctor. Josh could see that. He sighed again, dabbing with the warm, wet towel. “Do you have any hydrogen peroxide here?” 

Josh tensed. “That’ll make it hurt more.”

“Just for a second. It’ll disinfect it,” Danny assured him, then took Josh’s other hand and pressed it over the towel. “Hold that.” He swiveled on his knees to open the cabinet beneath the sink–if nothing else, this allowed Josh a nice view of Danny bent over on his knees, ass in the air while he did his best to rescue Josh from a nasty infection. “Got it,” Danny proclaimed, shuffling back with a brown bottle in one hand and a bag of cotton balls in the other. He sat there frowning for a moment before saying, “We need bandages, too. Not the small ones. I gotta wrap it in something.”

“Maybe in the drawer?” Josh suggested, realizing he knew very little about the contents of his own bathroom. 

“Aha,” Danny said victoriously, tossing the roll of gauze at Josh’s feet. He sat right in front of him, opening the hydrogen peroxide and wetting a cotton ball with it. When he looked up, Josh’s heart fluttered at how genuinely apologetic and hurt Danny looked on his behalf. “Alright, yeah, it’s gonna sting. But it’s gonna help.” He took the wet towel away from Josh’s hand and held that bloody hand in his own. “Okay?”

Josh nodded. Danny doing this made it seem less daunting–he didn’t consider himself very afraid of anything, but physical pain was something he, like most people, always wanted to avoid. Causing himself further pain wasn’t something he was ever inclined to do. But Danny was gentle and reassuring, rubbing Josh’s wrist with his thumb as he dabbed the cut with the hydrogen peroxide, and just that small, simple, sweet action diminished some of the angry stinging that came with it. Then, with a dry part of the ghost towel, Danny dabbed some more until Josh’s hand felt dry again. Next came the gauze, which he wrapped carefully and skillfully around the wound, leaving Josh patched up as best either of them could do. Well, Josh thought, he actually didn’t do anything but sit there. 

“Better?” Danny asked, sitting back, resting his hands on Josh’s knees.

Josh thought about that question for a moment. Then he lifted his bandaged hand up to Danny’s face: “A kiss would make it better.” He was confident Danny would do it, and he did, but the way it happened made Josh’s breath catch in his lungs. Danny gingerly held his wrist, held it so delicately like he was made of glass, and the press of his lips was just as gentle and soft but so full of intent. It wasn’t a quick, silly gag to appease Josh. It was an earnest, lingering, passionate little kiss, and Josh felt faint for a moment.

“Now are you better?” Danny asked, still holding Josh’s hand.

“Yes, thank you, Danny,” Josh said, cheeks burning. He was also sure he now looked very flustered and he felt even more out of sorts when Danny straightened up, moving in close, and gave him a kiss on his forehead. 

“You scared me. Maybe you shouldn’t be around knives,” Danny told him, who was still too flabbergasted to laugh at the absurdity of that. Instead, Josh tried something he’d never done before, something that did actually scare him–he brought his good hand to the side of Danny’s face and leaned forward to kiss him right on the lips. Thankfully, Danny reciprocated, humming softly into the kiss and moving in even closer, their chests touching. 

Josh was the one to pull away, giggling with nervous energy. Maybe an excuse wasn’t necessary–in fact, he was still positive it wasn’t–but he said, “I don’t think my insurance covers this, so will that help?”

Danny smiled, his own face a little flushed. “I always wanna kiss you regardless of personal injuries.”

“Really?” Josh squeaked. Was that why he’d been so quiet earlier? Did Danny think about him like that when they were alone?

“Sure do.” In a feat of strength that baffled Josh, Danny began to get up, scooping him into his arms and carrying him out of the bathroom. Josh hooked one arm around Danny’s shoulders on the journey, heart pounding at this revelation. What exactly was happening here? Then Danny set him down on the couch and placed a bag of the candy they’d been sharing earlier in his lap. He sat down next to him, staying close and, with a gesture at the bag, said, “Doctor’s orders.” 

“Whatever you say, Dr. Danny,” Josh replied, popping a Dum Dum in his mouth, though he really wanted to do something else with his mouth. He paused when Danny cuddled up against him, pulling Josh’s legs over his own and looping his arm around his waist. 

“Wanna watch a scary movie?” Danny proposed, but the look in his eyes was saying something else. Josh was sure of it. 

“No, what the fuck!” Josh exclaimed, riled up and excited now that he knew Danny was so agreeable to him. He grabbed Danny’s shirt, drawing him further in, as he tossed the bag of candy to the floor with his other hand. “For fuck’s sake–I wanna make out with you.”

Another smile, but then Danny grabbed Josh’s wrist and slowly brought his bandaged hand down. “Just be careful of that,” he said, and Josh was about to protest, but then Danny was taking the sucker from Josh’s mouth and replacing it with his lips, then a little tongue, then a little teeth. 

Josh had thought about what it would be like to kiss Danny before. He was convinced there weren’t many people who encountered his beloved drummer that hadn’t. But actually doing it exceeded all of those brief fantasies–Danny was simply a good kisser. A great kisser, with a perfect mixture of tenderness and lust, matching Josh’s pace when it was easy and slowing him down when Josh got too hard and fast with it. Josh followed the doctor’s orders and was mindful of his hand, keeping it at his side and using the other to touch all over Danny’s upper body, feeling the heat and muscle beneath the pesky t-shirt while Danny’s own explored Josh’s body in tandem.

When Danny’s hand found his bulge, his cock growing harder with each kiss, a quiet moan slipped from Josh’s lips and over Danny’s. Danny moved back just enough to look down at his own hand cupping Josh’s dick through his pants, fingers gripping his length despite the barrier. Josh looked down too, already breathing hard, and wiggled his hips in encouragement. 

Meeting his gaze, Danny asked, “Can I go down on you?”

“What?” Josh asked, flabbergasted once more. They’d gone from carving pumpkins to sucking dick, apparently. What a world. 

Danny kissed him again before he asked, using the same explicit words Josh had been thinking, “Can I suck your dick?”

After he gave the green light, Josh learned that Danny was not only a good kisser but really good at giving head–a delightful, surreal surprise. Bare from the waist down, he squirmed and whimpered while Danny’s lips wrapped around his cock and his hands squeezed his thighs, spreading his legs wide enough to sink between. He made sure to keep his injured hand resting over his head, but his other was going wild in Danny’s hair, fingers tangling in the curls, brushing over his scalp, urging him to keep doing his magic. 

“Oh wow,” Josh said, eyes widening at the sight of Danny fumbling with his own fly to get his dick out. Josh almost asked to touch it himself, but Danny swallowed hard around him and he forgot that words existed at all. Danny was rocking his hips back and forth while he licked and sucked and jerked him off; Josh lifted his leg up higher to press it between Danny’s own, and then Danny dropped his hand to quite literally begin humping Josh’s leg. 

Wet sounds emanated from Danny’s hand while he stroked him, popping off to breathe. “Shit,” he muttered, resting his cheek on Josh’s stomach. “I thought about this, too.”

Josh gasped, astounded by these dreamy confessions. His hips bucked; he pushed his leg up harder against Danny’s cock. “More, Danny, please,” he pleaded, fitfully fussing with Danny’s hair again. “Suck me off. Let me come in your mouth.”

With brightly flushed cheeks, Danny took another breath and carried on, the hand on Josh’s belly pressing down hard as he sank down. Josh groaned loudly, eyes closed while his head tilted back against the arm of the couch, so close. When his hips bucked again, Danny gagged, Josh yelped and his fingers tightened in those curls as he shot right into the back of Danny’s throat. It left him exhausted but still determined, and Danny hadn’t come yet–before he lost any more energy, he pulled Danny, who was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, up by his shirt. 

“Whoa there!” Danny wiggled as Josh yanked him to his knees beside his own face. It was a bit of a tough angle, Josh had to admit, but he just grabbed Danny’s ass to pull him forward while he wrapped his lips around him. Eyes closed while he centered his focus, Josh then felt Danny’s gentle touch on his wounded hand, bringing it down. “Careful,” his drummer warned, the word soft but the voice delivering it rough. 

Josh nodded, which made the head of Danny’s cock jump to the back of his throat. Stifling his own gag by squeezing Danny’s ass harder, Josh made good use of his mouth, trying to get Danny down as much as he could while those lovely, strong, kind hands messed around with his now equally disheveled curls. 

“Fuck yeah, that feels good,” Danny said breathlessly, ending the sentence with a surprising whine, which made Josh look up. Danny looked down at him and his lips parted like he was surprised, eyes growing bigger and brighter while he stared into Josh’s. “Oh my god, yeah, keep looking at me. So pretty, Josh, holy fuck–” If Danny was going to say anything else, it was lost in a strangled moan as he threw his head back, and Josh grunted with useless surprise as slick warmth coated his tongue.

After a few seconds, Josh freed him, flopping back onto the couch. “Woof.”

Danny did the same, lying halfway on top of the back of the couch, his lower body pressed against Josh’s. “Hell yeah, woof. Wow.” He closed his eyes and sank down further, resting his head on Josh’s stomach with apparently no intention of moving despite Josh’s dick still being out. Oh well, Josh decided, and started to idly play with Danny’s hair. 

He was snapped out of his beautiful daze when he looked over at the clock on the wall. “What time are Jake and Sam supposed to be back?”

“I don’t remember,” Danny said, sounding like he was on his way to unconsciousness. 

“We should finish the pumpkins,” Josh said, very glad they decided to do this. If he hadn’t cut his hand trying to carve his own twin into one, would Danny have ever made a move?

“You can’t, Josh. Your hand,” Danny reminded him.

Josh huffed. “I can do it. I’ll be careful.” He tapped Danny’s temple and added, “Maybe you could help me?”

“Alright, I’ll help,” Danny said, lifting himself up. Before Josh had the chance to outwardly question where all of this was going in a larger sense, Danny captured him in another hot, heartwarming kiss. 

Josh giggled when Danny broke away and just looked at him. “So–should we keep this to ourselves? It might be too scary to share with Jake and Sam.”

Danny stood and extended a hand to help Josh up before he got his jeans back up. “Nah,” he said, smirking, which made Josh smile even wider. “Let’s tell ‘em. I think they can handle it.” 

---

Tagging: @sparrowofrhiannon @clairesjointshurt @starbuggie @bizzielisteningtogreta

If you want to be tagged in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me <3

You can also find my fics on AO3 (theLazarus) or wattpad (BananaJubilee)

[mamashenanigans]

SURPRISE I come baring KudoxYoichi fruit!!!

Yes! This is the first scene from the next chapter of Urges!

This second chapter is all about Yoichi meeting Kudo and Bruce, but the majority of it will be from AFO’s perspective. This first scene is the only one from Yoichi’s perspective this chapter or, at least, that’s the current plan. Who knows with me, though. I might end up doing a back and forth perspective for this chapter. I’m still feeling it out. Regardless, Kudo and Bruce are brought into the picture and AFO isn’t too thrilled about sharing his brother nor watching him want to give to these complete strangers. Cue awkward first meetings, horror from Kudo and Bruce, and an inevitable “bring your boyfriend to family dinner” scene that will either be hilarious or downright creepy!

This first scene is quite cute and therefore includes a meet cute, but keep in mind what kind of writer I am! Once it switches to AFO, things are going to get weird and creepy.

Anywhooooo, read it below and let me know what you think! If you haven’t read Urges, please do and maybe leave a kudo and/or comment to help me get through my day of grooming dogs. There are only so many times you can shave a doggy butthole before you need a little cheering up! 😝

(The first time I tried to post this, my tumblr app decided to make me look like a fool and double pasted. This is a new post)

“Ugh!”

Yoichi dropped his overflowing basket to the floor as he scoured through the products on the shelves. This particular grocer was a favorite of his as it didn’t just stock Japanese necessities, but also ingredients from other countries. When it opened, he had been over the moon, bugging his brother incessantly about how amazing the selection is.

Per usual, Big Brother was more concerned about how the haul would help him and didn’t care much for Yoichi’s fervent ramblings over his love for the place. The younger twin couldn’t help his excitement nor the chance to tease his brother over the elder most likely never setting foot in the place. That always earned him a hard scowl or a shove to the shoulder. Normally both.

He’d tell himself that it wasn’t his fault his brother rarely deigned to leave the house unless it involved business, but that would be partly a lie. Okay, maybe an entire lie. He sorta, probably, definitely was the cause for his twin’s physicality at this point, however, Yoichi didn’t like to dwell on it especially now that the brothers had come to an understanding about the needs of the other.

Still, this grocery run had become exhausting.

The night prior, the twins had been watching a cooking competition show. Actually, Yoichi had been binging different food related shows all day now that most pre-meta streaming services had finally returned.

Big Brother had started teasing him early in the day, but his annoyance grew every time he found Yoichi glued to the screen, eyes huge, and papers with recipe ideas strewn across the coffee table and couch. The older brother eventually picked up his smaller twin(he didn’t even bother using a meta ability) and took him into the kitchen, setting him on his feet and dramatically motioning to all the advanced appliances.

“How about you pretend you’re on a cooking show and make me something to eat!”

After sticking his tongue out at his brother’s retreating back, Yoichi had hollered, “I totally could be on a cooking show and I’d win!”

His brother’s deep voice answered, “We all have dreams we’ll never attain, dear brother!”

Yoichi was already yawning once they had sat down to eat their frustration-induced dinner, but perked up when he found a new competition show. He almost broke the remote with how hard and quickly he mashed the buttons, and he could feel his brother roll his eyes.

“Really? You aren’t tired of this drivel?”

”Never!”

Once they were done eating, well, once Yoichi was done eating, he couldn’t stop himself from excitedly talking about all the recipes he would love to make.

And that was his first mistake.

His brother grinned at him and pulled Yoichi in close; their eyes locked.

”Hmm, I heard you say a certain dish I would just love to enjoy tomorrow night. If you can make it.”

Yoichi glared at his brother and sat up straight. He crossed his arms. “I can make anything, Big Brother!”

”Oh, really? Then I’m sure you’ll have no trouble making me Tonkatsu ramen!”

Yoichi’s eyes bugged out and he stuttered, “Wh-what?! You, you, dammit, you know I never cut corners! What the hell! That’s going to take me, take me—”

”All. Day.” Big Brother pulled back and held his stomach as he let out a boisterous laugh. Yoichi seethed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

”Please, we’ve always been together. You know damn well when I’m kidding. I’m just helping you realize your dream of being on ‘what’s his face’s show!”

”That face is THE Gordon Ramsey and you know that!”

Big Brother tutted and flapped his fingers. “Yes, yes, the British one that yells. I must admit I respect his gumption. Went right back to that Hell show before America even got back on its feet.”

”It’s Hell’s Kitchen. You know that.”

”Mmmhmm.”

”Ahhhh,” Yoichi screeched and pulled at his hair, “the only way I can do it right is to go right now and get everything! You know it takes over a day, don’t you? I’m going to have to have the broth cooking tonight, it has to stay on the stove overnight, cook more during the day, then it—ugh! Big Brother, I swear, if I didn’t know, explicitly from you saying it all the time, that you’d ‘stop death from taking me’, I’d think you want me to keel over!”

Big Brother just stared at him, a humor twinkling in his eyes and an annoying grin on his face. “Well, I have faith in you, my little twin.”

Yoichi jumped to his feet, gave his brother one last glare, and then grabbed his things. His muttering didn’t subside even after he left and especially when his brother called out, “Don’t take forever and bring me something sweet back!”

Even though Yoichi had returned as fast as he could, his brother still complained he was gone too long. It didn’t help matters that he decided to state as such when Yoichi was still standing in the hall with his arms full of grocery bags and his white locks in a state of disarray.

His rush ended up biting him in the ass the next day once he realized he had completely forgotten the pork belly for the chashu. Luckily, it didn’t take anywhere near as long as the rest of the meal to prepare, but that meant he was now back at the store to buy it. However, Yoichi wasn’t one to ever just buy one thing. Perhaps it was him being spoiled by his brother’s money or his mind working in overdrive to come up with more ways to give. All he knew was that he was fairly certain he was out of paprika. And onion powder. And…maybe 3, or 5, or more ingredients.

Before he knew it, his basket was so full that he felt heavily encumbered. With it on the floor now, he was able to more expertly parse through the delicate glass bottles that lined the shelves.

“Where is it? There it is! No, no, that one doesn’t look good. Is there another brand? I wonder…”

Unbeknownst to Yoichi, another customer had taken to looking through the snacks nearby, which ended up being quite fruitoutus when—

“Oh, shit!”

One of the expensive glass bottles fell from the shelf and Yoichi embarrassingly missed catching it twice before it was caught by a calloused hand.

“Yo, may want to be a little more careful.”

Yoichi hastily grabbed the bottle from the stranger and went to apologize (maybe a bow or two?) but went rigid once he finally set eyes on the man that had saved him from having to profusely apologize to the store owner.

“Um, I…I” Yoichi didn’t have words. He couldn’t say he had felt this emotion before that was blossoming in his chest. It wasn’t like when his urges took over, but definitely danced with the feeling he’d have when taking advantage of the plethora of options on the internet. The kind he was always ready to hide from his brother’s discerning eyes with a quick switch to another window on his laptop.

The man that had saved him from public embarrassment gave him a questioning look. His hair was spiked and a lovely shade of orange. His eyes were red (like Big Brother’s) but not quite the same shade nor intensity, and his skin spoke of a life of hard work. The stranger’s clothes looked like they were chosen in a rush and Yoichi easily found every tear and stain.

He was nothing like the men he enjoyed pleasuring himself to in the dead of night after sneaking out of his and his brother’s shared bed.

Ruggedly handsome. Yes, that’s what he was.

“Uh, you okay there, champ?”

”Oh, uh, yeah, yeah! I’m just dandy!”

”Ah…huh.”

Crap! Yoichi! You are ruining this!

”I, uh, sorry! I just haven’t, um, seen you here before!”

”So, you keep a record of everyone that shops here?”

Yoichi’s face went red and he hurriedly shook his head ‘no’.

“Whoa, there! I’m just kidding!”

”Yes! I just meant that, well, I come here a lot. And by a lot I mean, like, almost everyday, so I was just a little surprised is all…”

”Right. Anyway, it looks like you owe me now. Saved you from having to deal with that grumpy old guy at the front.”

”I heard that, you hooligan!” A gruff voice spoke over the loudspeaker.

”Damn. This place is really nice, isn’t it? Even has a good ‘ol timer to watch me on the cameras like a damn hawk.”

Yoichi laughed and not in a cute way like he wanted. It came out more like it would from his brother.

His brother. Well, that killed the mood.

”Um, thanks for being my hero!”

Good one, Yoichi. Great job. Totally not stupid.

“Heh. Hero, aye? Never heard that one before. Just call me Kudo.”

Yoichi felt a warmth grow within him and not where he’d normally feel his urges. No, much lower.

“I’m, uh, Yoichi.”

”Well, Yoichi, it was good to meet you, but I’d prefer the next time to not include almost destroying pricey merchandise, okay?”

Next time?!

”Yo, Kudo!” A blue haired man near the front with his hair pulled back called out.

Kudo turned slightly to look at him and Yoichi noticed how the other man cocked his head at a stranger checking out. Maybe another friend?

”Well, looks like I need to be going.” Kudo put back the bag of snacks he was holding and turned to leave, but Yoichi stopped him. “Why did you put that back? I can help if you need it! I’ll buy it for you!” The words flew out of his mouth before his brain could catch up. He wasn’t especially adept at speaking with people other than Big Brother. It had always been just them and surviving, but even now that they were comfortable and no longer had to scrap on the streets, Yoichi never had ventured far with finding friends.

“Uh, yeah, no, dude. It’s all good. Something came up, that’s all. Maybe I’ll see you around again, who knows?”

Kudo walked away towards the blue-haired man and they exchanged some words then followed the stranger that had just paid out the door.

“You two better buy something next time! I’m running a business! Not a hostel!” The old man behind the counter yelled.

Yoichi stood there for a few minutes mulling over the strange encounter he just went through.

Oh, god! He just had a meet-cute! His closed smile took over his face and he was partly convinced little hearts must be bursting around his head.

There would definitely be a “next time” as the handsome, not-quite-put-together clothes wearing, orange haired man named Kudo said.

Yoichi’s phone went off interrupting his semi-lustful thoughts. He took a peak and groaned. A text from his Big Brother on the screen.

BigBro: “What the hell is taking you so long? Weren’t you just getting pork? What’s going on—”

Yoichi growled and put his phone back in his pocket.

Great. Of course, his Big Brother would be the one to kill this amazing mood he was having.

But still…

Next time.

[iguessyouwonderwhereivebeen]

attention posting as I mindlessly munch of dark chocolate covered almonds, it’s that 2pm lull where the disdain and annoyance of logging on to my laptop at 9am on a Monday to do a job I no longer feel excited about is met with the anxiety and dread of all the looming tasks I have to get done today and this week. A lot going on this week including a spontaneous weekend trip to Santa Monica (I’m leaving Thursday night) that I need to pack and prep for. Today at 4pm I have a face time call planned with my friend from college who currently lives London. I haven’t talked to her in ages so I’m going to catch her up on my plans to move. Also feeling generally discouraged by the lack of traction my listing has gotten since I’ve put my apartment up for rent. I updated the listings on both sites today with more pictures and lowered the rent so that the garage parking is listed separately as an additional cost. I hope this gets me in touch with more prospective tenants. Please little hungry flies looking for new housing, come to my sweet honey listing.. it’s also hard because I put so much love and care into my home I don’t want to sell it short and want to make sure it goes to the right, responsible person.. I broke the news that I’m planning on leaving Chicago to my parents yesterday after I took them out to dinner, they took it hard but were supportive overall. Then my ex called me and I called him back and the conversation left me hurt and disappointed but ultimately reaffirmed my decision. Change is so scary and hard but even the last two months have resulted in a lot of growth for me, like I’ve finally taken action and taken the first steps to accomplish some things I’ve been wanting to do for years. So I think it’s good, even tho it’s been hard, and I’m cautiously hopeful and optimistic that the projects that have begun and what has already been set in motion and has taken flight will result in a favorable outcome 🧿🪬 also wearing cou cou intimate undies today and I love them, wore the new woven white heals I thrifted for the first time this weekend to run errands, got a little blister but it was a good first go. Going on a run, groceries, laundry and a face mask are also on my itinerary today. Tomorrow for dinner I’m going to make buttermilk marinated roasted chicken with fennel and carrots, mashed potatoes with a huge green leaf salad and I can’t wait 

[garglyswoof]

:D Ahhh, prompt prompt prompt - how about a mash up, vampires meet kastle?? :D

She found out about it purely by chance. Some part of her had been thinking of life in Vermont that day, the skies in New York the same sheet metal grey as the dreariest of days in Fagan Corners. Her thoughts drifted enough for her to battle with her phone in a losing effort that ended with her searching the surprisingly online tiny local paper. She’d trawled through the articles, smiling at the news of 4H Club awards and greased pig races. There was a comfort in these reminders of her small town history, and when she hit the obituaries section she continued out of morbid curiosity. Was old Mrs. Wilkie still alive? Stern in her housecoat, fuzzy slippers, and ever-present broom like some modern-aged witch? How about the bank president who had tried to buy coke from her? Sure, it was a college town, but it was also a small town and most people didn’t ever get out. She had certainly felt trapped. 

“Former Penny’s Place owner Paxton Page…” The words crept into her brain slowly, as if reluctant to enter. She dropped her phone, her hand rising to stifle the sharp intake of breath.

Dad.

Things willfully ignored; things pushed back, hidden, and thought drowned rose to the surface, crested, and broke. She slid down to the floor, her hand shaking and still cupped over her mouth as if to hold it all in.

--------------

The drive was a long one and she went alone with her thoughts. She knew Foggy would have dropped everything to come along, and part of her still wished she’d asked, but…. this was better. She’d face this alone rather than explaining, though she owed Foggy the truth soon. She just wasn’t…she wanted a little more time, ok? From Kevin to Allied to almost dying in a prison to Fisk to now, Karen hadn’t had much good in her life, and Foggy and Matt, when he was tempered by apologies and guilt, were good.

Sometimes your heart makes judgments that aren’t logical, fueled by something just on the edge of your vision, just out of reach. In hindsight it’s why she latched on to them so quickly, something in her recognizing something in them. Enough to have her paying Matt’s bills when he’d vanished for months, enough to have her jumping right in as a strangely happy unpaid employee of Murdock and Nelson. Her heart panged at the memory of those first days, replete with casseroles and more flan than she could possibly eat in a week. Stretching the dollars to keep them afloat, the sound of Matt’s text to speech software and Foggy’s muffled curses whenever he tried to fill out forms on the ancient typewriter and failed miserably.

A flash of brake lights ahead jolted her out of her reverie and into the present, barrelling down the highway directly to a place she’d been forced to leave behind. Dad.

One hand gripped the wheel tighter, to prevent the shake, and the other hit the console in frustrated grief. Her phone jostled in its cubby from the motion and she wet her lips as she glanced at the screen, a picture of her and Foggy at Rosie’s, making bunny ears over what they’d thought was Matt’s oblivious face. Heh.  She still loved it. If anything it made her realize that Matt had loved it too.

Damn it. “Call Foggy”

“Mmpf? Karen?” His voice sounded far away, muffled.

“Did i wake you?”

“Yes but it’s ok because apparently,” she heard the sheets rustle, “ I am lying in a puddle of my own drool and it’s clearly time to flip.”

Karen smiled, her cheeks stinging with the stretch of it. “Late night at Rosie’s?”

“I’ll have you know I also frequent high class establishments.”  A pause. “But then I went to Rosie’s. We missed you there.” His voice was losing the grittiness of sleep and she could tell he must be upright now, imagined his hair stuck up in 10 different directions like it did after a face first desk nap.

“Yeah I uh, I went to bed early. I’m driving to Vermont.”

“What’s in Vermont?” Karen could hear the subtle eagerness in his voice and her heart panged with it. She really hadn’t told them much about her life, and she vowed to change it.

“Grew up there. Needed to take care of some family stuff.” She’d failed her first chance to open up, clearly, and tried to make it less obvious. “Dumb paperwork!” Even though she was driving she closed her eyes for a brief moment from the awkwardness of it.

Foggy was quiet for a moment, his voice soft when he spoke. “Well be safe, Karen. You back soon?”

“Yeah.” Her throat was closing up and she had to end the call soon. “Just, let’s hang out when I get back? Sunday maybe?”

“Of course.” Still soft, still accepting. Still more than she deserved.

----------------------------------------------

The town was bright with spring green as her old Cherokee rumbled onto Main Street. She passed the hardware store, sun-faded display from her childhood still advertising weedkiller, the old barrel she’d always tried to climb on top of anchoring the door open. Many shops were closed, and she saw that most of them had town curfew signs plastered in the windows. When had that started up, she wondered.

She wasn’t immune to nostalgia, obviously, or she’d never… her heart clenched with the reality of what she was here for, and she turned on Sycamore, right on Laurel, her blinker clacking loudly. There were a lot of church signs up, not something she remembered from last time she was here. Not…not signs saying “St Luke’s Lutheran Church” either, these were like that weird stretch of road Marcie had talked about on I-70 outside Kansas, where every other billboard was Hellfire and Brimstone. 

THE DEVIL WILL TAKE YOU

FAGAN CORNERS IS DAMNED

She thought it strange, but when she crested the hill the diner was a shock piled on top of another. The sign was bright and clean, Sue’s Vittles, and she felt the rage rise up in her, an urge to tear it down, before she came to her senses. It wouldn’t just… have sat there forever. The town had to move on. She wondered when her dad had lost it, and how far in debt he’d taken Penny's Place. She wondered if she could have saved it.

She knew she could have, if he’d let her.

The return home tour continued on, her eyes rimmed with red now, wet with tears both shed and not. She had never felt so alone in her life. She drove three miles in the wrong direction to avoid the bridge and tried to think of what she was doing here even as she pulled into the town cemetery. She knew he’d be buried next to mom, and pulled a small bouquet of peonies out of the passenger seat as the engine settled, ticking. 

There was a new stone next to her moms, and she knelt, tracing the letters with her fingers. Paxton Page. She remembered her and Kevin making fun, popping the syllables, “Paxton and Penny Page” before they’d dissolve into giggles. Everything she thought of made her heart ache.

She sat there for hours, talking to her mom, saying what she couldn’t say to her dad. That she’d thought herself beyond redemption until Father Lantom had gotten through to her, that she still did, sometimes. She told her mom about Foggy and Matt, and then she told her about Frank. God, she’d needed this. She knew her mom would understand, more than anyone, about seeing through to the heart of people. She wondered where Frank was, wished she knew, wished she had some way of contacting him. Despite their last meeting and her anger towards him, she would never let go, not really. 

“Sometimes, just someone makes you feel safe, at least when you’re with them. And then when you’re not… I don’t know.” She shifted, sitting back on her haunches and idly rubbing a peony petal between her fingers.  

“Me and Frank. Wrong place, wrong time, maybe that’s what it will always be for us.” She said, staring at her mother’s name, carved in stone.

The gravestone stared back, mute, as the light dimmed and she ached with the silence. Evening fell quick in this neck of the woods, without the conflagration of light that made up the city. She shivered in the fall of the spring evening, her throat aching with tears spent but feeling better in the spending of them.

She leaned over the gravestones one last time, peonies settled at the base, and said goodbye.

Gathering her things she startled at the sound of a footfall, the first time she’d heard any noise since she’d settled in. It was hard to see in the fading light, but the man standing at the hood of her car looked like no one she knew, though she waved anyway, small town and all. He didn’t wave back and she shrugged and rounded the back of her car, warily eyeing him as she slipped behind the wheel, the curfew signs flashing in her mind.

Was there some sort of crime ring? Her brain ticked as she started her engine and the man stepped away from the Jeep, a dark slick of a smile caught in the headlights. Karen felt a frisson of fear and pulled away back onto the gravel, eyes in the rearview as she turned down the lanes that led to -

A closed gate, though she remembered from illicit midnights with friends that it was like a fence gate, unbolted and something she could lift and swing out. Karen reached into her purse and felt the comforting weight of her gun slip into her palm. The man wasn’t in her rearview mirror, but it was too dark to tell where he was. She put the Jeep in park and left it running, sliding quickly out of the seat and lifting the gate latch, spinning around and slipping her other hand up to grip the gun two-handed. It was no use, the darkness was complete, no lights to break up the dim beyond the Jeep's headlights, and she rounded the vehicle, shoulders tense, her mind racing, her -

A hand across her mouth, an arm across her chest, pulling her arms down and pointing the gun at the ground. She screamed behind the clamped hand, stamped her foot where she thought the man’s instep would be, snaked a hand up and smashed her elbow backward, hearing a satisfying grunt as the blow landed. She spun away from the arm banded across her middle, trying to transfer the gun to her now free hand, but he was too fast. Her wrist wrenched back, pain shooting up it, the gun falling to the gravel below. 

She could see him now, his hair dark, unkempt, his face attractive if it weren’t for the gleam of satisfaction in his gaze, if not for the - oh god oh god she’d known they were real Matt and Foggy had made fun of her but she’d known it and oh god she fought she kept fighting she had to escape, her arms thrashing, trying to duck and use his weight against him, but nothing shook that iron bar of an arm loose from her chest and the smile descended and with it those fangs, sharp and oh god she closed her eyes she let them slip closed because maybe this was redemption, this was closure, maybe this was…

----------------------------------------

ONE MONTH LATER

The city reeked of hot dogs. Hot dogs approaching rancid as the last of the summer sun baked the scent of an overturned delivery truck’s escapees into the street. Frank’s nose wrinkled with the stench as he ducked into an alleyway. The smell of piss here wasn’t much better, but Frank wasn’t here to avoid smells, knocking hard on an unmarked door. He waited, knocked again, heard an irritated voice shout back at him, accent thick even through the door.

“Don’t expect a delivery til -”

Frank lodged his foot in before the man could pull the door closed, stepping in and locking the man in a headlock with an athlete’s grace. 

“Get the fuck off -”

“Shut the fuck up.” Frank squeezed tighter, feeling the trachea beneath his arm. 

The man floundered feebly, choked gasps ragged as he lost the air to function. Frank maneuvered him into an office close to the door, pulling out some duct tape and lashing him to the chair, gagging him for good measure. 

The warehouse would be empty this late in the day - Frank had been monitoring it for weeks. Still, he let the captive’s head loll as Frank pushed out of the office and scanned the warehouse, moving low to the ground in a room clearing pattern ingrained into his bones. Clear. He checked the warehouse door, ensuring it was locked, and placed a nearby bucket of loose hardware on the lip of the door’s bottom edge, advance warning should someone decide to open it.

He circled back through the warehouse, eyes still darting about, up to the loft, behind the stacked crates, his footsteps less than a whisper on the concrete as he circled back to the office, unfolding a chair and straddling it, arms propped on the headrest, waiting for the man to awaken.

He did with a start, his eyes bulging and curses muffled behind the tape. 

“I’m just here for a few questions Aron,” Frank said, watching as the man’s eyes widened at the use of his name. “Word on the street is that your little Albanian enterprise here is bigger than Rudaj ever was,” Frank said. “Something about a secret weapon, huh?”

Aron’s eyes narrowed. You didn’t live long if you weren’t able to face a little questioning, and something in Frank’s demeanor told him that Aron held all the cards here. Frank needed to flip the program. 

He looked up, spotted the beam he’d seen in blueprints, and rummaged through his bag for some rope, tossing it over the beam before knotting one end through a set of shelves and forming a noose in the other. He slipped it around Aron's neck, patting the man on the cheek with a smile, before hoisting the man up to his feet, looping the slack in the shelves.

He removed the tape at his mouth then, deftly avoiding the spit and rolling his eyes at Aaron’s Balkan curses. “So what can you tell me?”

Silence, and once again a discomfiting smile spread across Aron’s face. Frank hated when they were difficult. He pulled the rope, reknotted it. Aron's back was rigid now, spine stretched as far as it could to lessen the pressure, breath harsh in the closed space of the office.

“If you don’t already know,” Aron smiled despite his struggle to breathe, “There’s no harm in telling you. You’ll be dead within a matter of hours.”

“Yeh? Good to know.” 

“Even if you are the Punisher.” A ragged breath. “Yes your reputation precedes you. It also means nothing.”

Aron’s idle threats were wearing thin. “Okay.” A tug at the rope. 

“Superhumans.” Aron rattled out. “Stronger than you. Faster than you.” His eyes glittered. “They’ll drain you dry.” He coughed, and Frank caught what it was trying to cover. A shift in the eyes to a point over his shoulder. Frank ducked and rolled and heard the swish of air above his head, shot back with an elbow and caught air himself. A faint footfall, a flap of fabric, where the fuck was this guy?

Fast. Too fast. Impossibly fast, Frank thought as he was thrown out of the room, his head cracking on the wall outside. He shook it off even as he was moving, realizing he needed to put distance between him and the threat. He vaulted into the main warehouse, analyzing the terrain, potential weapons. Superhuman. Drain me dry, huh? He knew he had only seconds, ducked behind a crate and backed against a wall where pallets stood leaning. A flash of movement and Frank heard laughter as the heel of a hand smashed against his ribs. Broken, he had a moment to consider while the other hand closed around his throat.. Pain and rage clouded his vision and he knew he had one chance, one chance or it was all over. 

In hindsight he’d probably wonder if it was worth the choice, but for now survival instincts kicked in and he cracked a plank off the pallet behind him and brought it up with all of his strength, trying not to breathe in to avoid the pain dulling the blow. His assailant’s grip on his throat proved his downfall, removing the advantage of speed. The plank hit its mark, the adrenaline and training allow the jagged edges to pierce through skin and muscle, through ribs. A high-pitched keening, terrible in its inhuman sound, issued from the assailant’s throat, and Frank watched features swim in and out of view. Pale skin, a jagged scar cutting across a pair of thinned lips. A mouth split in pain, and there, there - he couldn’t be sure but he also knew it couldn’t be anything else - incisors long and sharp. 

The hand tightened on his throat briefly, muscles trying to continue past the ceasing of life, and the vampire in front of him dropped to the floor, wheedling noise still issuing from its throat, fading now with the dying of light in his eyes. The eyes, Frank thought, were the worst. Sclera shot through with red, but so human. Equal in death, the light gone. He fought his failing consciousness, he needed to get out of here before more showed up. He knew that face. Knew him from the papers, when he was human. The Albanians leg up on gang activities needed no more explanation than this, he thought as every inhale felt like ground glass in his bruised throat, his chest.

He stumbled back towards the office, lurched through the doorway to the shocked face of the mobster who still stood, throat noosed. Frank tugged at the rope anchored to the shelving and looped it a few more times with the rest of his strength, ignoring Aron’s choked breaths and gasps.

--------------------

Lana almost killed him when he returned. The pit bull / boxer mix hadn’t yet learned to not jump up, and her paws on his chest earned a pained grunt.

“Fuck. Down, Lana. I need you to be a good girl, please.” She tilted her head at him, boxer jowls flopping. He couldn’t help smiling through his pain. Pushing past her into the small kitchen, he grabbed a steak out of the freezer and some aspirin and eased himself down on the couch, steak pressed against his ribs. 

This was as close to home as he’d had in a long while, this warehouse unit in Queens. Secure enough with Micro’s help - he still couldn’t call him David. David was for the married guy, with kids, that Frank shouldn’t be bothering. The separation helped. His chest panged again, but not from pain this time, as he thought of those he’d lost in his unceasing war. Curtis had let him go. David wanted nothing to do with him. Karen -

Karen had disappeared off the face of the earth a month ago and it was driving him crazy. If he knew where she was, if he just knew, then she was safe. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with a grimace as Lana’s tail thwacked against the couch cushions, her brows alternating as she looked up at Frank, face nestled in her paws.

He found her last byline - a little over a month ago - a report on the growing presence of Eastern European crime families, actually. It…didn’t seem enough of a report for her to be targeted but who knows what she had gotten into. He knew her, she was persistent beyond what was safe. Karen wouldn’t let go. 

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want her to, despite his claims otherwise. 

So where was she? He slid a palm down his face, frustrated.

He checked his sources, found nothing. Reaching over his shoulder with difficulty - you forget that the simplest of actions is immeasurably harder when you’ve got a broken rib - he flipped on the police scanner. He and Lana listened for news of vampires, caught no mentions, nothing unexplained. The warehouse he’d invaded was off the radar, so he had some time before that would be circling around the airwaves, at least police ones. The steak was partially thawed now, so he tossed it in the dog bowl where Lana inhaled it as if it were her only meal in weeks.

Where was she?

-----

TWO WEEKS LATER

The Albanians were still expanding their empire, despite the setback at the warehouse. Frank wondered how many vampires there were. It clearly wasn’t an epidemic, which he’d feared initially but understood now - hard to keep power when you’re just spreading the source of that power around. Frank was on the streets, ribs starting to heal but deep breaths still causing sharp twists. He knew he needed more time. He also knew he didn’t have it. 

He had to find her, and so he was here in Hell’s Kitchen, eyeing the neon Rosie’s sign as he approached, it flickered Ro ie' tonight, the esses flickering in and out. He didn’t want Red catching him out here, instead hoping his friend would be the first to leave. It was a flip of the coin whether Murdock would find a way to turn him in, that high-and-mighty morality of his a ticking time bomb, Frank thought. 

His eyes shifted from the flickering sign as a voice called out. 

“Spare some change?”

That voice...he'd know it anywhere. “You’re alive, oh god I thought -”

Karen laughed, blanket wrapped over her telltale locks, ball cap pulled low over her brow. “Nice to see you too, Frank.” She reached out a hand, as if to take change from him, and pressed a folded paper into his grip. He held on a beat too long, her grip cold in his own, taking in the details of her face, what he could anyway. He ducked down to catch her eyes and her own darted away. 

“Not now, ok?”

He nodded and walked away, waiting until he was back in the warehouse to open the paper. The smile spread unbidden across his face.

Grand Ferry Park. You know where. 1 hour.

She sure had a sense of drama, he thought, thinking of a time long past, jokes of hipsters and her hair a bright flag in the breeze off the water. He thought of the softness of her cheek, and when he took a deep breath this time he didn’t even notice the pain.

-----------------

Lana was losing her mind, and not in a good way. He’d brought her with him, knowing Karen loved dogs, but she was having none of this meeting. This sweetheart of a dog had her hackles raised, growl low and deep as Karen put up her hands and squeezed her eyes shut, as if pained.

“What is wrong with you, girl?” He knelt down beside Lana, hand tight at her collar and glancing up apologetically at Karen. “Sorry, she’s the calmest dog usually, I thought you might like to see her.”

Karen slowly lowered to the ground, her hand held out. “Do you have a treat I can give her? Maybe that will help.”

“Yeh, sure.” He tossed her a packet from his bag and she opened it, shaking out some near where she knelt. Lana licked her chops but still growled low in her throat, if a bit more of a confused growl.

“Here, what’s her name?” A glance up at Frank as he responded. He noticed her hand shaking. “Lana, sweet girl. Got a treat for you!”

Frank encouraged Lana when she looked up at him, her expression almost hilariously human and clearly saying “you trust this lady??” The dog edged forward, tentative, and snatched the treat from the ground where Karen had placed it, backing up but calming her growl. 

“Well, progress at least.” 

Her smile was just as he’d remembered. 

“Where have you been, Karen?”

A flash in her eyes. “Didn’t know you kept tabs on me, Frank. You seemed pretty clear about me staying away.”

It hit him like a blow he deserved, and he fought for a response and lost. There was nothing he could say, he knew that, but he still wanted to try. It came to him in as he saw her eyes damp and hard, but still not hiding the hope behind them.

“I’ll always want you to be safe, Karen.”

She scoffed at that and stood up. “It’s a bit late for that.” 

“What, what is it, what happened to you? Do I need to punch Red’s light’s out?”

Karen laughed at this, bitter and so unlike her it closed his throat. He did this.

“Just…stop, Frank. I need you to listen.” A barge horn sounded in the distance as if to punctuate her words and her brows eased, just a little, at the humor of it. “I’m…” She stepped closer, Lana alert at the motion, and cupped his face in a hand. “I know the Albanians are after you. The vampire you killed was one of their sires from the old country. I don’t even - Only you, Frank. Older vampires are so strong, you had a one in a million chance.” She shook her head at this, as if still disbelieving.

“How do you know?” he asked, leaning into her touch, cold yet still a comfort. He searched her eyes, gripped Lana’s collar a little tighter.

“I know, because I’m one of them.” 

He tore away from her, the motion and the tension in him sending Lana into a fit of barking, her muzzle flecked with spittle. He couldn’t - he heard that high-pitched keen in his head, tried to reconcile it with the expression on Karen’s face. He pulled his Beretta out, trained it on Karen’s anguished face, looked around for bystanders. He backed away towards the railing bracketing the East River. If he needed to he’d escape in the water. But Lana…

He’d let down his guard, bringing her here. Letting himself dream and hope and wish and here was Karen and goddamn she looked beautiful, her eyes bright and hair streaming in the wind off the river and he could not reconcile the pieces.

His voice was a shadow of itself when it rasped from his mouth. “Explain, Karen. Tell me you’re not a monster. Tell me -” he stopped, unable to say more. 

He saw her eyes close and the resoluteness stiffen her spine. Hope bloomed in his chest. She…she was still her. Her stubbornness, her implacable will.

“I’m not a monster, in the same way you aren’t.”

He worked his jaw, thinking, eyes casting about, settling on anything but her now. Her words were ones he’d normally deny in his heart, but it seemed the stakes had shifted, and his gut reactions fell flat in the face of the fact that Karen Page was here, and she was a vampire.

“Guess that’s why Lana’s losing her mind,” he said finally.

Karen laughed at that and goddamn if it still didn’t make his heart flip with the sound. What was wrong with him. 

“Look I -” she started, uncertain. “I was bitten a month ago in Vermont.” She noticed his quizzical expression. “My Dad, he…I saw his obituary in the paper, so I drove up there. The town was riddled with vamps, some offshoot of the Albanians taking root in Fagan Corners of all places. They’ve locked it down since, but lucky for me!” She lifted her hands, her tone mocking. “Not my favorite trip ever. One star.” She joked, and cast her eyes down when it fell flat.

“Came back and have been feeding off criminals. Not like they're hard to find in this town. Frank -” She caught his gaze in her own. “I wanted to see you, wanted to see you and…I don't think anything can stop them, not anything human." She stopped, searched his eyes.

He wasn’t sure if she found what she was looking for but somehow knew what her next words would be all the same. Still, he let the pause linger. It was a moment, one to let go in. If there was anyone he trusted, it was her, goddamn, and maybe...maybe it was finally time to show that.

She inhaled then, and he idly wondered if that was force of habit or if vampires needed oxygen. He breathed a breath of his own, rib aching with the effort, and drew closer, sliding his hand into the silk of her hair, fingers sifting through it. He looked at her then, full on, not letting his gaze wander, not letting himself look away. He nodded then, an answer to the questions in her eyes, and bared his neck to her.

also on ao3

[reader1238765]

Alastor x Reader

Chapter one:

One

i swallow

Two

breathing heavily

Three

Sweat drips down my temple

Four.

"Action!"

I smirk up at the camera as multiple men jump onto me.

I make all my prettiest faces.

Make all my prettiest sounds.

"That's it pretty girl"

Disgust riddles my body and I almost slip up.

I spit on his chest and giggle up at him as my arms are bound above my head.

He makes a disgusting noise.

I make an even worse one.

"Cut!"

I drop all my acts and all my trained motions.

"What the fuck was that Lemonie?"

I roll my eyes and roll out of the bed.

"What? Wasn't slutty enough? Or was it that you wanted it more innocent this time?"

"Oh please you don't want to start a fight with me right now. Do it right or don't do it at all and you know what happened when you don't do it at all. Don't you?" Valentino growls through his teeth.

I snarl and go back to my positions.

~

"Tough shoot?" Olivia

Oh Olivia Olivia Olivia.

Your all I breath for

Or... actually

"Ugh. 10"

"10?"

"10."

"Ahhh gotcha" she shrugs and hands me a coffee.

Her bedroom is a perfect palace of pink with her perfect heart mirrors and doors of wood and chains.

She's a very good actress.

I lay on her perfect palace pink bed with a heart headboard.

The tips of the roses sitting in a glass on her nightstand shake softly with the pacing of her soft bunny feet.

"Anyway doll I gotta head out for a shoot so I'll text ya later?"

Her long ears bop behind her as she skips out of the room.

The white fluff of her hair runs down her back, not quite to her butt but right above her little bunny tail.

"Bye Lonna!"

Lonna. Lonna Lonna Lonna.

I hate that name.

The name on my contract the name of my soul.

The very name that got me into this mess.

~

A simple bedroom with cotton pillows and bright hopes and dreams of vibrant colours.

Mashed browns and whites and greys, maybe some ivory, maybe some cloudy blue.

Nothing more than an estate of blandness.

"Lemonie!!!! Into the studio now."

Valentino's grading voice, like when people try to open a bottle with their teeth.

"What" I walk into the purple studio, heels clicking like the slapping of a whip.

"What the fuck is this Velvette? I told u to hashtag it and put as many as you could" Valentino is shoving an iPhone in Velvettes face, mad about something.

"Hashtags are thirsty. I won't be apart of that, do it yourself if u want to ruin your brand fuckface" she claps back and shows herself off.

Valentino's angry red eyes meet mine. Boy am I in for a day...

Walking around the V's skyscraper is like walking around a fire pit. Ash and all.

You have to balance enough to not fall in, but you have to act natural enough so it doesn't seem like you're trying.

The people sitting around the campfire would laugh if they saw you worried about a silly little flame.

A flame that could grow much bigger, a master of deception. A little flame that could secretly take down the entire world if given the chance.

The plain tiles, slick and shiny as always, reflect my bare feet dancing around, heels in hand, headphones berating my head.

I hum along, singing a word every now and then.

My green skin glistens with sweat, my equally just as green hair, down across my shoulders and to the floor.

(See end of chapter for picture of character) (you can change if u want)

I nod my head to the tune, Eyes closed.

"Lemonie what the fuck are you doing?"

I pause. My eyes open. And pretty wide too. Wide enough to see the smirk on Vox's face.

And the 7foot tall red demon he stands beside.

The harrowing smile plastered on his face seems permanent. His eyes just as wide as mine looking at me with curiosity.

"Uh" I look between Vox and the macabre demon beside him.

The demon blinks at me but the rest of him doesn't move an inch.

"Get the fuck out of here" Vox scoffs and I go on my merry way.

The tall demons engrossing glowing red eyes trail me as I leave the room.

Back to my boring little bedroom.

Ivory bed set and grey set walls. All plain and boring.

See, apparently I wasn't a good enough actor to put in bedroom requests.

A knock at my door peaks my interest and I open wide.

Wide enough for the world to see me.

Wide enough for my privatest parts to be plastered all over the city on billboards and jackasses trucks.

Wide enough for the camera to take just one more photo.

"Wider Lemonie" Valentino barks and I comply.

Nothing like contract work for a Saturday night.

"God fucking damn it Lemonie if you don't split your entire fucking pussy for this screen I swear to god I will do it for you" Valentino vociferates and I again try to please his needs.

I roll my eyes and besides my obvious concern for my own body I split.

As big and pretty as I can. Just for my Vali-Poo

"Valentino. My office now" Vox bursts in, giving me no more than a once over before pulling Valentino aside.

I take my opportunity to break and close my legs, grabbing a robe and holding it closer than any childhood toy i ever owned.

"Hey toots! Been waiting to see your face around here" Angel stumbles into the studio as I'm standing from the bed.

"Hey Angie" I smile and welcome him with open arms into a pretty shitty but well needed hug.

"Hey uh I got a favor to ask of u baby cakes I hope you don't mind"

"What's up?"

"So uh I got this friend and uh... so basically you know that hotel I'm staying at?"

"Yea?" I raise a brow expectantly

"Well... the owner, Charlie, is havin' a tough time recruiting people for her whole cause or whatever and I know that you want out of here.. so uh. You can come crash there for a bit? It's all free baby"

My red eyes dart between his and ponder.

"Like... just show up? And.. live there?"

"Yeah! It'll be fun, whadaya say?"

"Uh.. um. Well. How does Valentino feel about that?"

"Well you still gotta come and work.. but yk you don't have to be here your whole life and you can actually live.. even though ur... dead"

"Well."

Months and years and lifetimes worth of torture flood my brain and take my soul into a whorl wind of memories and hopes of freedom.

My first few months of the contract I begged that it wouldn't last forever but deep down I knew it would be till I wouldn't make him money anymore, then he would kill me and I would be free.

Even though I won't be free now... he could forget about me? But no. How could he forget when the name Lonna is plastered on one of his contracts.

He could be madder.. he could leave me alone.. he could punish me more than he ever has before...

I could be free.

"I'm in"

READ MORE ON WATTPAD

Third chapter coming soon! 👹👹

[sgt-scottymoreau]

Minor Setback - CIAJ

Summary: Patience is a virtue they say, but for a long can someone remain patient when everything seems to stay still? Soap is about to face the consequence of impatient. Ghost just want him to stay alive and no be reckless for once. On her side, Scotty try to help them all while struggeling with more feelings.

Warning: None

Words: 4.6k // Part1 - Part 2 // AO3 // Masterlist

A/N: I made some sketches/design drawing about this AU, I'll post them later!

Since that day, Scotty had been slightly more avoidant of Soap. Talking about what happened that night was out of the question. It wasn’t the fight in itself or the butterflies she had in her stomach for hours afterwards when she was in bed rethinking of their closeness. His hand on hers, his muscles twitching as he kept her pinned on the mat. That she could handle and accept. It was the idea, a crazy one, that he would see her as a potential third pilot. It was out of the question to be in control of the metal monster ever again. On top of this, she was already against the idea of letting one person her head, two? Never! Every time Soap would start even mentioning the possibility of drifting, she stopped him right here and there. 

“Do you want me to tell him to stay away?” Ghost proposed.

“No!” Scotty replied, planting her fork in the mash potato. “I don’t want him to be away. I just need him to let go of the idea that I would be somehow able to drift with you. Like… I'm a mechanic for fuck sake, I probably got lucky that night.” 

Bullshit. Ghost knew it was. He didn’t see the fight nor fought himself, but how Soap described it, it was obvious to him as well. Difference is he knew she had her reason to want to stay secretive and would let her. He was the same. “Talking of which, how are the tryouts going?” 

“Not so well. We have good candidates that are on standby for a potential three person drift. Soap’s condition is improving but… I don’t want to risk anything yet.” Ghost chewed on his food, jaw tense at the idea that it could all go wrong. “We are discussing maybe having Price or Gaz to see if the cadets can handle the new system.”

“That sounds like a good option. We finally finished removing all the interior of Tanker’s Conn-Pod. Tomorrow we should start rebuilding the motion center. It seems all is falling into place.” They both agreed on that. The more concrete some part of the project looked, the more hope they had that it would workout. 

Later that day, Soap was at the infirmary, sat on the bed, waiting for his brain scan result. It has been four weeks since the last one. Almost two months since the fatal accident. Fidgeting with his fingers, head down, he only hoped for the best. The doctor entered the room with the pictures and placed them on the light board. He pointed out a few parts with a smile. Soap was on a good slope. However, the doctor still restricted him to no Drift. The Scotsman held down the few swears and rage that was boiling inside him. If he was doing better, why did he still have to stay on the bench? He did his best to keep a positive attitude all the time, but this kind of news really took him down. He was so frustrated with himself. He left the wing ready to punch a wall. It was easy to say that he wasn’t ready yet, but what if he was? If they never connected him to the Neural Handshake again, no one will ever know. Obviously, they all preferred to play it safe. Soap was done playing safe.

Two days after his irrational decision, Soap wandered on the maintenance bay asking if anyone had seen Scotty around. Other technicians pointed to the cockpit. He found, deep inside what seemed to be the new skeleton of the motion system. He called her over. Scotty lifted her head and waved at him. She would be back up in a minute. A quick wielding work, climbed through the scaffolding and she was at his level. “What do you want?” 

“I was passing by and I was wondering if you would like to walk with me.” He smiled. Scotty frowned.

“Walking? Where? In town? Here?”

“Here. Well not here here, but around the dome… Look I just want someone to talk to that is not Ghost.”

“Oh, how come?”

Soap shrugged without really having any reasons. He just wanted to. Scotty told him that it was fine, she needed to get changed first. Her uniform was full of grease and not very comfortable to walk in after she just spent ten hours in it. That wasn’t a problem. They made a quick stop to her quarter and went on with a small stroll in the building. She mindlessly followed him, listening to what he had to say, commenting on some points, and kept him updated with her predictions when Tanker would be ready. The casual thing. She should have paid more attention to where he was dragging her because when the computer screens came into vision, Scotty’s mind went on high alert. Next to them stood a mock-up version of what was inside the Jaegers’s Conn-Pod on a much smaller scale. Soap closed and locked the door behind them. She turned around to look at him. “Soap, what the fuck do you have in mind?”

“Everyone tells me I’m not ready, now is not the time, it could be dangerous.” Soap walked to the computer and started to type some commands in it. “I say, I am.”

“No! This is a terrible idea!” He didn’t listen to her, grabbed the helmet on the stand and handed it to her. Scotty grabbed it still under shock. “Soap, don’t do this!”

“It’s alright! I’m not doing it alone.”

It hit her. He was planning to drift with her. Scotty placed the helmet back on the hook. “No, no, no! I’m not doing this, you are not doing. We are not! I won’t let you.”

“Too afraid to have someone in your head?”

“No! … Yes! That’s not the point! What if something bad happened to you?”

Soap chuckled, placing the helmet on his head. Felt a little tight, it has been a while. Scotty was having none of it. She headed back to the door, unlocked it but a hand grabbed her arm. Soap plunged his blue eyes in hers, pleading his case. Just this time, just once. If anything went bad, he would accept that he was not ready. She was upset and torn between the fact that he was right. There was no way to know till he jumped in the simulator. On the other hand, things could go terribly wrong. Soap promised that all would be fine. That and whatever he will find in the drift, he wouldn’t mention. She bit her lip. “Ok.” She let out.

Scotty walked back to the simulator, placed the helmet on her head. Soap had his confident smile, reassuring her that it would be ok. Scotty was not so sure about it. He pressed the button to start the countdown. 5… 4… 3… Scotty focused her mind on nothing. It was hard, but maybe she would be able to keep everything under control. 2… 1… The familiar sensation of falling back, to be absorbed into another dimension. Pulled through this strange tunnel and pushed back with such force. A farm with a family… Warm day in a land surrounded by green on top of a hill… Kids running on the football field towards the goal… These were Soap’s memories. 

Rainy days jumping in puddles… A father running to his kids in an army uniform… The smell of flowers on a new spring day… Her memories.

Scotty was pushed back to reality, her vision adjusting back to the room around them. Nausea caught her by the throat, she quickly took a few deep breaths. Her head felt heavy, like someone was crushing it strongly between their hands. She had forgotten how it was let someone inside. Slowly, she turned her head to check on Soap. He was standing, his eyes focused in front of him. His hands were holding on to the center panel between them. He pushed himself up, a little more steadily. They looked at each other and for a moment, they felt it. They connected. A quick glance at the screen in front of her, their waves were synchronized and stable. Despite the pounding against her skull, Scotty saw it. He looked sweaty, short of breath and shaking. A sharp pain pierced both of them in the chest.

The crushing of the jaw against the metal structure, the sensation of weightlessness, his back hitting the door lock, his head being almost impaled by a rode, a very sharp pain… 

The weightlessness… her hand desperately reached for the life pod ejection in vain… Johan called out for her to brace for impact… Sudden deceleration…

Blackness covered her mind for a second. Scotty grabbed on the upper panel in front of her, her eyes frantically looking at the screen. They were misaligned and the neural load was horrific! A loud thud resonated on her right. Her hand slammed the emergency button. The simulation stopped right away. In a frenzy, she removed the helmet, ran to the entrance door, slammed on the intercom to call out for help and returned to Soap. She took off the helmet, throwing it away without any care. She placed his head on her lap. His nose was bleeding, he was shaking. “Oh no no, Soap, come on! John please!” She panicked, tears in her eyes.

“How the fuck could you!” He shouted, fist clenched. Price was between him and the poor mechanic who was still crying. Price knew Ghost wouldn’t get physical, it wasn’t his style but better safe than sorry.

“I’m sorry! I told him it was a bad idea! I tried to stop him!” She cried back for the hundred times. Gaz was keeping her up, hands on her shoulders. Since he knew her it was the first time he saw so distressed. 

“You didn’t try hard enough! Fucking hell! That’s all your fault!” 

“Enough!” Price’s voice boomed in the room. These two were causing such a scene that no medical personnel dared to approach the group. “Simon, I want you to take a breath and calm down. This is not her fault, not entirely, let Soap explain himself when he wakes up.”

This only eased up the tension temporarily. Scotty didn’t blame Ghost for being angry at her. She should have put her foot down and refused firmly to go on with Soap’s idea. She should have left the room and told anyone about his dangerous plan. In retrospect, it made sense when Soap told her he didn’t want Ghost around. The Brit would have stopped him quickly. However he couldn’t put all the blame on her. How was Scotty supposed to know he would have a seizure! When the doctor came back once again in the room and asked who had let this happen, Ghost didn’t hesitate to point at her. The doctor shook his head, disappointed, yet barring good news. No further damage to the brain, he had been lucky. He allowed the team to go in the room.

Soap was looking out the window. The sun was setting in the distance with a beautiful mirroring image on the ocean. Lethargic, his head turned towards the door as his friends stepped in. Even from afar, Soap could tell that Ghost was pissed. The way he walked to his side, oh he was in for some chewing. “What the fuck where you thinking!” His tone was firm but never rose up. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“Of course not.” Soap’s voice was weak. He was still recovering. “But I’m tired of people telling me I can’t do anything when I know I can. Simon, it worked!”

“Like hell it did. Look at you. Look where you are for fuck sake!”

Soap’s hands clenched on the bed sheets. “This is just a minor setback. It was my first time back into the simulator. It will be better next time.”

“There won't be a next time Mr. MacTavish.” The Marshal entered the room, hands behind his back, posture fully straight and a strict look. As soon as the news reached that one of his rangers found himself again at the infirmary in an almost critical state, of course he would come in person. “You are grounded. The modification on Bravo Tanker will remain active, but you. Even if your condition gets better, you are forbidden to pilot till I say so. Did I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Soap mumbled under his breath. The Marshal then demanded Price and Gaz to follow him, they had to discuss possible deployment plans now that it seemed like his second main Jaeger will be staying in the garage for a little longer. Scotty was uneasy, uncertain what to do. Ghost and Soap were looking at each other in silence. Maybe it was better to give them some room. Without a word, she turned around ready to leave, but someone grabbed her upper arm. The amber eyes pierced her brown one with intensity. Ghost asked her to stay, he wanted to talk. All three of them. He sat her on the bed and he watched both, very disappointed. At least his rage was gone. Soap’s eyes avoided his, focused on his legs hidden under the blanket. “It worked.” He let out after a few minutes of silence.

“It did not, Johnny. If it had you wouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not talking about me jumping in the simulator, Simon. I’m talking about her.”

Scotty’s head perked up. He was pointing at her with a weak smile. “What worked?” She asked, confused.

“We were stable. We drifted, we were on the same length… till that stupid memory came back. I threw us off.” It was impossible to forget the sensation, how real it was. Scotty felt what Soap did as if she had been in the cockpit. That fraction of seconds where it all played was the reason she had been accidently also thrown off the rail as well. Maybe after all, it was partially her fault if Soap found himself in the infirmary again? “I have a question. Who is Johan?”

She tensed up at the name. Her hands crisped on her knees, head looking down. Of course, if she saw his memories, he saw hers. So he saw the one that made her lose all control before his seizure. “My… My old co-pilot… I used to pilot, yes.” 

The lack of reaction on their part made her guess they figured this much even before. Obviously, if he was asking he saw everything and knew. Scotty didn’t remember the last time she openly talked about what happened that day. Soap connected the dots; this is what had upset her after their fight. He lived that memory and understood why she kept it secret. Scotty decided to let it all out. She explained how they had been deployed to protect the coast near Dunkerque. One massive category three who gave them more trouble than expected. It found a way to be too close from the beach and they had to evacuate anyone in a three kilometer radius. Roughly similar to what happened to Bravo Tanker, their Jaeger integrity has been compromised. They received back up but it was far too late. The kaiju used its heavy tail to slam one last attack as it turned to face its new opponent. The tail hit directly in the structure of the neck already heavily damaged. This hit was enough to decapitate the poor mecha. The sensation of free fall grabbed them by the stomach. During the long seconds of it, they tried to use their life pod, hoping this would absorb the shock better. The Conn-Pod came crashing on the shore, seventy-six meters below. When she regained awareness of everything around her, she had a broken arm, half hanging from her station. Everything else was broken; spark bursting from loose cables, metal pieces bent, broken, sharpened. With much effort, Scotty manually removed the harness holding her and fell against the broken visor of the mecha; their window to the world. Which in itself was quite a fall and she landed on her bad arm. She cried out in pain. A weak voice called for her. Ignoring her injury, the pilot pushed herself up to see where it came from. The vision she found forever scarred her. Johan was there, laying on the sand, a pipe lodged in his neck. Blood gurgled from his mouth as he desperately tried to reach out for her. His eyes filled with fear. Scotty kneeled next to him frantically trying to save him, but what could she do? He was lucky… or unlucky that the pipe didn’t reach all the way to the back. He would have died instantly. He weakly reached for her hand and in a twisted turn of event, they realized they were still connected to each other. His fear and pain was hers, hers his. She felt him slowly drifting away, thinking of his wife and kids at home. Tell them I love them please. Tell them I’ll always watch over them. Then it all stopped. No more fear nor pain. Not more breath nor warm. Silent and cold. His hand slipped from hers, the life in his eyes faded into a glassy look.

“The kaiju had been taken care of in the meantime and the medical team was able to evacuate us. But it was too late. He had been dead for ten minutes. I was incapable of saving him.” Tears rolled down her cheeks again. She wiped them quickly. The two men remained speechless; they didn’t know what to say. Yet they understood why she refused the pilot again. After that, she struggled hard with survivor guilt to the point she wasn’t capable of letting go. Every simulation was a failure because of this memory which haunted her every waking moment of the day. So she gave up and took a job as J-tech. Ghost sat next  to her, his hand reached to rest on her leg as a comforting gesture. Soap’s fingers brushed on her hand and held her. All her pain and sadness was suddenly replaced by confusion. Scotty knew they wanted to show support by these gestures, however her brain had all the wrong signals. Why were we doing this? Was there something more behind it?

“I’m sorry to hear.” Ghost let out. Their eyes met for a second; for someone who was pissed at her not even twenty minutes ago he showed so much kindness in his gaze.

“Thanks for sharing it with us.” Soap reassured. “We understand if you don't want to pilot, but you looked pretty good at it.”

She smiled, understanding his meaning. He also caught a glimpse of her fights. “I’ll never pilot again.”

“You should really reconsider.”

Two weeks laters, after almost ten hours shift over another one, none stop working between days and nights, fighting logistics to make sure all parts would be on time and in good conditions, the new interior was done. Bravo Tanker was officially ready to welcome three pilots onboard. Some touch up where needed, especially in the calibration system. They had to make sure that each pilot would share an equal amount of load. They tried different test runs on how the Jaeger would react to certain percentages input; so far every test came back with good results. To the whole crew it meant everything, their hard work, had paid off. The true test would be so to see in action and not some simulation, but everyone was quite happy. 

Soap had learned his lesson and accepted once and for all to stay patient. Because of his permanent grounding, the Marshal had put the recruiting on hold. He wouldn’t accept reckless behavior without consequences. The Scotsman kept it to the minimum, physical training only in moderation. Despite all that, he did find a new training partner. 

Scotty kept her word; no piloting. However with the truth out, she felt lighter, a burden lifted and more open to return to some old habits. She wasn’t afraid anymore to be in the Kwoon room. Not that she ever had been that much, but it always felt like someone would know her secret. Only her superiors were aware of her past rank. This allowed Ghost to feel what Soap had.

They trained together four times in that period. Each time, it was the same. The same connection, same dance, same feeling. Depending on the martial art they chose that session, it often ended in a tie or with one winner, but the score was so close. The fencing sword stopped right under his chin. “4-3. I won!” She grinned out of breath. Ghost admitted his defeat. His arms dropped on each side, exhausted by the intense workout. He walked away to get some water. Soap handed a towel to Scotty. An idea crossed his mind. 

“I dare you to jump on him.” He whispered.

“What? Why?”

“Oh you know, a surprise attack. Let's see if he can predict that.”

Hmm what did she have to lose? The mat tempered her steps so it was easy to sneak close. With a small run-up, she launched herself. Ghost looked over his shoulder, turned just enough to grab on her wrist, flung her above him. Scotty’s back hit the mat roughly, she deserved that. He took the opportunity to sit on her. “He will get you in trouble every time, love. Stop listening to him.” He smirked behind the mask.

The smile on her face dropped. “Love?”

“Don’t like it? I thought I could try since you and Soap seem to be so keen on pet names.”

“Uh.. No, no it’s fine.” Her cheeks burned. These two! She really wished she could know what game they were playing because she was getting more and more mixed signals. Maybe she should tell them the truth? Maybe, some day.

The next day, the kaiju alert rang through the building. 

Ghost and Soap were talking with the Marshal as it happened. The man told them to follow him to the LOCCENT. Being grounded didn’t mean they couldn’t follow what was happening. Arriving in the room, the Marshal was quickly greeted by a woman who looked scared. With reason. The reading on the screen showed the category of the monster. The first ever Category Four in the region. From the data they had from other ones that showed up around the world, these were thought bastard. The Marshal had to consider his options. His strongest Jaeger was inoperative. But his newer teams were now fully capable alone. One Jaeger would be too little, two acceptable, three safest. Three out of five. If anything happened to all of them, he lost more than half his defense. They wouldn’t be able to protect the coast effectively. 

“Bravo Brawler, Vulcan Striker, Fury Hunter get ready for deployment.” He ordered through the intercom. 

The three Jaegers were quickly dispatched to the last known location of the beast. From there it went from bad to worse. This kaiju was taller and larger than the mechas, it was robust and strong. It barely took him five minutes to destroy one Jaeger. Fury Hunter, the last of the Mark-3 the Shatterdome hosted. It was too slow to react. The kaiju’s carapace made any regular blow almost ineffective. Bravo Brawler tried the missile but missed the target by a few meters as it squirmed away. One moment of inattention was all it needed to strike on another Jaeger taking her down.

In the LOCCENT tension was rising by the minute. The Marshal kept his composure despite his mind being crushed when the second announcement came up. He just lost two Jaegers. Four pilots, dead. Soap was restless, arms crossed, bouncing on his heels. He knew what had to be done. They couldn’t waste more time or life. His eyes went to the Marshal then to Ghost who had the same expression through his balaclava. His eyes spoke of the anxiety that was crippling on everyone's minds. “You have to let us assist!” The Scotsman spoke up.

“No. If you steps in-”

“If we don’t do anything, Price and Gaz are going to die!” He cut off the Marshal. “By the time you make your decision, this Kaiju will have reached the shore and killed us. Either way, there’s a chance I die!”

“Johnny, we are not going!” Ghost intervened. “We don’t even have our third pilot!”

“Yes we do! Scotty is the perfect match and you know it!”

“Ms. Moreau?” The Marshal was confused. “She is a J-tech.”

“She was a pilot and she is the only one who can help us right now!”

“Soap, we can risk-”

“Give me a break, Ghost! We have to try or more people will die! If I die, at least I tried and didn’t stay still doing nothing!”

Ghost’s expression hardened. His reasoning was right. They had to make a choice now.

Scotty was in the Conn-Pod refining some tuning on the calibration system. Heavy stepfoot echoed around. Suddenly, more technicians poured inside. She froze up for a moment. What was going on? A tech told her to follow him to the Drivesuit Room, this only added to her confusion. In the room, she was greeted by an already fully suited and armored Ghost and Soap. It has been ages since they wore the ‘uniform’. “Can anyone tell me what is going on?”

“Suit up.” Soap smiled, throwing a suit to her. 

She awkwardly catched it, totally taken aback by the situation. Suit up? Hold on! They weren’t going to go fight this new category four were they? With her? Ghost noticed her moment of hesitation. “No time to waste Scotty. Price and Gaz need us, come on.”

“I-I can’t! I can’t pilot again.” Tears blurred her vision. Too many emotions took her by the throat in a second. Soap held her by the shoulders.

“It’s going to be alright. We will be there for you, we will support you.” He gave her a pat and jogged towards the Conn-Pod, too excited to be back in the action. Ghost stopped next to her. He lifted her chin, whipped a tear with his thumb.

“You can trust us. Also, you know there’s no way we can change his mind now so better indulge him. Even if it kills him…” 

Scotty was left alone, suit in hands and stunned by the gesture Ghost made. She looked at the circuit prints on it, the fabric felt like an old dream under her fingertips. She could push through and save the day or she could back down but this would mean the death of so many, including people she deeply cared about? No. This war had taken too much already and it was time she stopped playing cowards. In record speed, she changed from her technician clothes to the full armor of a pilot. It was heavier than she remembered, not that she minded at the moment. She walked determined to join up with the other two. They had a smile on their face as she walked in, helmet under her arm. Ghost took his place on the right as usual, Soap setting up his side on the left. This was their regular formation. Scotty stopped him. 

“Let us handle the load, you take the third seat.” She said in a tone that left no room for talk back. “We are the strong base, you are at the top. For now we are your support, just like a triangle.”

“Now it is not the time for a shape lecture.” Ghost chuckled. 

All three pilots locked themselves to their respective harness. Everything secured and held in place, it was time to plunge. The onboard AI made the countdown. 15 seconds to Neural Handshake. Scotty took a deep breath, it was time to see if all their efforts in the previous months were worth it. 5…4…3…2…1 Neural Handshake initiated.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #280

Brain Curds are lightly edited daily writing - usually flash fiction and sometimes terrible on purpose.

The following material is classified - unless you've read the rest of Government Man here on Tumblr!

The CIA food court was decorated corner to corner with festive adornment, and tables were pushed together into buffet lines with ham, turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, casseroles, cider, and (Government Man’s favorite) heavily spiked eggnog.

He poured another tiny glass of it from the oversized ladle, spilling some on the side that he gleefully licked up. Government Woman came to his side and squeezed his arm.

“Hello, Government Man.”

“Hello, Government Woman.”

“Do you know what I would like for Christmas?”

“I do not.”

She motioned up to the ceiling, where a sprig of mistletoe hung, swaying slightly with the breeze of the climate control system. Government Man looked at it, then at her, then at it, then at her again, then at the mistletoe a final time. He reached up and snapped it off the bit of thread which attached it to the rafters.

“Here you go, Government Woman. I am always happy to help you reach things that are too high up.”

He then walked away, leaving Government Woman perplexed and (besides the bit of plant) empty-handed.

~

Boss Man sat in his office in the dark with a bottle of whiskey. This Christmas was not his idea of a holiday. There was nobody waiting for him at home, or at the office, or at that pizza place he liked so much. He was alone.

A knock came to the door. “Come in,” Boss Man slurred, but in the drunk way and not the offensive way.

Government Boy poked his head in. “Why are you not celebrating at the Christmas party, Boss Man?”

Boss Man sighed. “You would not understand, Government Boy.”

The boy closed the door behind him and plopped himself into the seat on the other side of the desk. “Try me.”

Boss Man looked at the photo of Government Woman on his desk. “Have you ever had a crush, Government Boy?”

“Not really. There is nobody around who is my age.”

“Ah. Perhaps we should do something about that. Anyway… the heart is a fragile thing, soothed by the contents of a bottle.”

“Boss Man, if that is true… you should really be drinking water.”

~

Government Man Alpha was enthralled by the moving pictures on Postal Fred’s television.

“So this, you say, is a ‘cartoon’?”

“Yep,” Postal Fred replied. “It’s called Frosty the Snowman. They made it in the sixties.”

“You mean during the time of The Bay of Pigs?”

“Uh… No, I think it was a little later than that.”

“And how did they make this snow person move around?”

“They just drew a lot of different drawings, I guess. Probably sent ‘em through the good ol’ United States Postal Service, too.” Fred looked at his USPS flag on the wall with great pride. “That was our golden age, before the advent of email.”

“Hm…” Alpha admired the artistry. “Are there more of these ‘cartoons’ in existence?”

“Oh, boy, you bet! There’s like a hundred different ones! Or at least a dozen. Maybe a score. That’s twenty, right?”

Alpha smiled. “Will you show me?”

Please comment, reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed - I'd love to know what you think! See you again tomorrow.

[horatios-mom]

💕 for the teadoc of ur choice!

A love headcanon! <3

But how could I choose just one character!! Also since it's so vague the vibes kind of change from char to char. (Bambi-Paige under the cut!)

Annisa

She hasn't realized it yet, but Annisa's chronically bad at telling early platonic and romantic feelings apart. She typically assumes it's a feeling of friendship, and gets over the confusion pretty fast anyways, but add in how lonely she's been lately, and, well.........

Bambi (by special request <33)

Bambi's “early” stages of crushing have really changed alongside her! When she was a kid/younger teen, she went through all the motions she thought you were supposed to go through: writing "Mrs. Bambi [X]" over and over, giggling over "sucessful" games of MASH with her friends, changing her perfume to match her crush's favourite to make herself more appealing, and so on.

When she first started crushing on Chloe, she found her real reaction wasn't quiiiite so picture-perfect! While she still put in extra effort with her appearance, she didn’t want to change anything about herself. Instead, she focused on how she could be the one to make Chloe feel good about herself. She took the time to get to know her so her compliments would land better, laughed at her jokes, and embellished their conversations with shy little touches at the right moments. But the jealousy, oh the jealousy… she hated it, but the rare occasions Chloe would turn her attention to someone else felt like being stabbed. It drove her to want to make Chloe jealous in return, which she hated too (she would’ve questioned who she was in those moments, if she’d stopped to think).

Then, during season 4, there was the addition of frustration at the speed of things. The touchiness grew less innocent, and the jealousy persisted. I think that, even though it wasn’t a new crush in late 2025 when she was sick, or early 2026 when she recovered, there were fresh feelings of the wistful kind. It was almost all yearning and no action. She was still as touchy as Chloe would let her be, but she wasn’t so jealous, she didn’t try so hard to get her attention - she was just… sad.

Daniel

Daniel loves pretty similarly to how a (feral-to-tame) cat loves. At first, he's very flighty and fearful and might need someone to be a biiiit pushy to break down his walls. Then, he likes to be around those he loves, but in his own space most of the time. He's big on giving gifts, especially if it's food. He may not groom someone directly, but he's always carrying a lint roller. Despite enjoying the quiet and being rather quiet himself, he'll seek out ✨unnecessary✨ conversation with those he loves. And finally, in his limited relationship experience, once he trusts a partner deeply enough, he can be surprisingly cuddly! (He doesn't really get platonically-cuddly, but Chloe and Bambi could probably convince him) (only one person’s gotten close enough to know if his behaviour lines up any further!)

Lola

Lola's right about her type... when it comes to short-term relationships! She has trouble actually envisioning her future, and with it, what kind of partner would suit her best in the long-run. She’s got a big problem of wanting everything and everyone. She might think she wants a mean girl or someone to give her an outpouring of praise, but it bores her over time. She can’t handle being the one getting simped over or someone not growing softer with her if it’s her committed relationship, even if her crush-delirium doesn’t exactly let her see that. What does she actually need? Well, that’s what she’s trying to figure out.

Mads

Mads does really well when she can express her love as worship. So much so that she’s been able to get over a couple of her own deep-seated insecurities when a loved one has had the same or similar. It doesn’t always work, but it does help.

Manny

Manny will be at least partially saved from his irradiated zombification by the power of love!

Moss

Moss and their siblings never had a lot of friends growing up, and each had their own reasons why their moms were worried about those potential friends having the right intentions. So, when one of the MacLeod kids gets close enough to bring a friend home, and that friend gets both moms’ approval, they’re fully embraced as a part of the family, in whatever sense they may need it. An invitation to family camping trips, having someone to show up for parent-teacher conferences, or just having a saved seat at the table. Moss sees the Kirbys and Annisa as an indisputable part of their family (and hopefully soon Leaf will be too)!

Paige

Paige was pretty equally raised by her parents and both sets of grandparents. When she was little, and her teachers still got the kids to make crafts for Mother’s and Father’s Day, Paige always managed to get incredibly stressed out! When it was a card or cheap craft, she’d rush herself to make 3 copies (tears) and then they wouldn’t look as good as everyone else’s (more tears). If it was a more expensive or limited craft and her teachers only let her do one, she wouldn’t know who to pick to make it for (again, tears). Those crafts always got dedicated to all 3 adults, so they occasionally joke about how they’d never be able to move into separate homes - it’s true that they’d fight too much over who got to keep what!

Bonus: the main siblings!

Ajay

Ajay may try to be the cool, calm, and collected older brother Lola can look up to, but they’re more similar than he’d care to admit. He may not act on many of his impulsive desires, but even before Evelyn flirted with him for the first time, he was tempted to run away to St. John’s to be closer to her. If she’d seriously asked him to - even when they were barely casual - he’s not sure he would’ve been able to say no.

Esther

Though they’re now well-known for their love of bunnies, Esther’s first loves were flowers and photography. Before their schedule was packed to the brim with after school activities, they spent most of their time being watched by Paige’s nonna, who always encouraged the kids to get their hands dirty and help her garden grow. They developed a special interest in flowers in particular, and always bugged their parents for more gardening books or plants for their own yard. They near-obsessively documented their flowers in the early years, and once they hit their teen years, began taking more artistic shots as well. After Paige graduated high school, Esther gave up on photography. They didn’t have a ton of spare time for the hobby anymore. Besides, Esther was being pushed into the identities of “Daniel’s little sibling” and “Paige’s friend” by the show, and photography had become known as Paige’s “thing”. They didn’t need more of their identity being attributed to someone else.

[soulofapatrick]

The Desire in the Pages - Tommy Miller x Reader

Summary: Part two of Words in the Dust 

Words: 1.7K

Warning: Smut (p in v); fingering; fluff

Notes: I am aliveeee, just had major motivation block for all my writing

Y/N’s POV 

The urgency in our kisses becomes palpable, fuelled by the raw and primal desire that consumes us both. The books scattering haphazardly on the floor serving as a testament to the insatiable hunger for each other, passion eclipsing any concern for the surrounding world. 

With an intoxicating mix of desperation and longing, I guide Tommy towards the table, my heart pounding in my chest. I position myself on its surface, creating a space that invites him to join me, to indulge in the depths of our desire. As I spread my legs slightly, the heat between my thighs intensifies, an undeniable ache that demands to be quenched. I pull him in closer, his body melding with mine, his lips hungrily seeking mine once again. The taste of him, mingled with the intoxicating adrenaline that courses through my veins, is a heady concoction that drives me wild with desire. 

Tommy’s resistance fades, his dark eyes filling with a primal hunger that matches my own. The murmured concern about the books is overshadowed by the fiery intensity of our connection. Our lips crash together, a collision of need and passion that sets the room ablaze. Each touch, each caress, ignites a fiery trail of sensation along our skin. I lose myself in everything Tommy when his touch becomes more demanding, his fingers leaving a trail of tingling sensations along my skin. The rough pads of his fingertips explore the landscape of my hips, igniting a hunger that drives us both to the edge of sanity. My shirt becoming an obstacle, a barrier that hinders, and with a surge of raw desire, Tommy practically rips the fabric, exposing my bare skin to his hungry gaze. 

My hands yank at his hair almost painfully, mashing his lips back to mine in a fierce exchange of reverent longing and pent-up passion. They’re hot and heavy, fuelled by a desire that knows no bounds, our lips moulding together with an intensity I’ve never had before. A gasp drawn from me as his fingers trail along the sensitive skin of my back, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through me, blunt nails digging into flesh as his hips rock into mine. It creates a delicious friction that has me arching closer to Tommy, my hands finding his jacket and shoving it off his shoulders. 

His shirt soon follows, my hands finding he well defined muscles and abs below and running my hands across them, trying to paint a picture in my head but Tommy’s pulling away from me. A low chuckle escaping his lips when I let out a sound of protest before he’s lifting my hips to pull my jeans and panties down in one quick and desperate motion before he’s unbuckling his belt and his jeans are around his ankles, barely giving me time to take him in.

Tommy’s shirt hangs loosely on his broad shoulders, unbuttoned and revealing the sculptured contours of his chest and abdomen, the air crackling with anticipation. Beads of sweat glisten on his sun kissed skin, reflecting in the dim light of the abandoned bookshop, adding a sheen of sensuality to his already captivating form. 

The sight of him, exposed and vulnerable, evokes a rush of emotions within me. Desire coursing though my veins, intensifying the hunger for him. His tousled curls framing his face, dampened by the heat of the shop and anticipation, adding a touch of dishevelled allure to his rugged features. 

His chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, veins tracing intricate patterns beneath his skin, pulsing with anticipation. The flicker of desire in his cognac eyes matches the fever that burns deep within me and has my thighs trying to close around his hips, drawing the dirtiest smirk to his pretty pink lips as he knows what he’s doing to me. He’s standing just out of reach, back enough for me to touch him and see him but not close enough to pull him closer and I want to scream with how much I need him. 

He’s huge, curved and the tip red and angry, leaking precum and making me ache between the legs for him even more as I know he’s going to stretch me out like no other has before. He’s girthy and twitches when I lean further back on the table, spreading my legs further, and drawing a low sound from Tommy’s throat. Dark curls encircle the base, course and untamed but perfectly Tommy and fuck, I need him right now or I might cry. 

“T-Tom,” My voice cracks with desire and his features seem to soften, taking a step closer and his large hands are gripping my hips, pulling me to the edge of the table as if he’s going to take the plunge but instead two of those fantasy-inducing fingers trace through my folds. They gather my slick on my fingers before teasing my entrance, thumb moving to rub circles against my clit, making my body jolt with shock and sudden pleasure. Before I can whine about needing more two fingers intrude and my head lulls back, body trying to adjust as it’s been a while since anything really. 

“Shit sugar, you’re squeezing my fingers so tight.” His breath comes out in gasps as if he’s getting off on fingering me and the way he drags me into a dirty kiss I’d say he is which just adds to my own pleasure. He curls his fingers deep inside me, thumb speeding up against my aching clit, already knowing how to make my body sing for him, “This what you want sweet girl?” 

“Fuckkkk Tommy… S-shit, need you.” I’m choking out, voice a whimper as I rock my hips down onto his fingers, meeting his thrusts. My hands are reaching for him and he complies, my hand finding the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck as I yank him down into a dirty kiss. My lips parting under his, welcoming him eagerly as our tongues slide together in a slow and sensual dance, his thumb quickening on my clit as my legs begin shaking as the pleasure builds. I’m whimpering and moaning into his mouth, my hands tugging at his soft curls and his kisses become deep and demanding. His hands speed up until my nails are digging into the back of his neck and forearm, my back arching off the table and my head flies back as an orgasm ricochets around my body, leaving me shaking and crying out his name so loud it echoes around the bookshop. 

I feel numb for a few moments as I come down from my high, Tommy taking this opportunity to sheaf himself inside me, a guttural sound rumbling in his chest as he tries to hold still enough for me to adjust by the sudden intrusion. I’m wrapping my legs around his hips and digging my heels into the small of his back, pushing him in even further than I thought possible, the tip brushing my cervix and a whimper is escaping my throat. 

“T-Tom.” I’m begging and it doesn’t take much for him to give in, setting a slow but almost bruising pace that I know I will be feeling for the next few days. The taste of whiskey on his lips is sweet and intoxicating and adding to the heightened pleasure of him hitting that spongey spot every time. One of his hands slips between me and the table, guiding my back into a arch before it trails up my stomach to grope at my breasts, rubbing the bud of one between his finger and thumb, adding to the pleasure. It’s so intoxicating and I feel so drunk on it, somewhat still on the high from my previous orgasm. 

I can feel every bump and ridge against my fluttering walls, my thighs tightening around his back, nails digging into the back of his neck and forearm as he draws me into another kiss. All hot and dirty, panting into each other’s mouth as grunts and moans escape us in the safety of the bookshop. His nose nuzzling my jaw and as he whispers sweet nothings, lips ghosting my neck, lips soft and breath hot. It’s hot and heavy, slow and sensual, and I can feel that coil in my stomach ready to snap.

My walls are clenching around him, his hips beginning to stutter and he’s urging me to untangle my legs from around his waist but the change in angle hits too perfect and my back is arching further than I thought possible. My head falls back as a sound escapes my throat and my whole body tenses and convulses from the most powerful orgasm of my life. 

“Shit, fuck, I’m gonna, Y/N… I’m gonna-“ Hot spurts of coat my insides and I know we should be worried but neither of us can care anymore as we ride out our highs. His fingertips caressing my cheek as he watches me, chests heaving and glazed eyes. The table cool and calming under my sweat soaked back. 

“Ummm… your radio was on the whole time.” A voice comes from Tommy’s jeans and we share a panicked look. The sudden interruption breaks the spell we were under, our gazes shifting to the source of the sound. A small radio Tommy brings every time he leaves Jackson, forgotten in the chaos of our passion, emits a booming laughter than can only be Joel. 

Tommy looks panicked, wanting to scramble for the radio but he pauses, takes a deep breath and helps me unhook my spent and shaking legs from around his waist before he’s shimmying his jeans and boxers back up his thick thighs. Once they’re buttoned up he grabs his radio, speaking one word into it before silencing it, “Asshole.”

With a final, lingering touch of his hand against my cheek, we gather ourselves, Tommy lending me his shirt and just putting his jacket on. I can’t help but wonder if this will happen again, will we come back here? Will we ever get together again? Will we be different around each other? Will we-

“Stop thinking Sweet Girl, I’m yours.” 

---------------

The Last of Us Masterlist

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[statementlou]

Hi there! Hope you are well.

Would you mind explaining my stupid brain the joke behind Parmageddon?

I have been checking all the shit posts and fandom discourse too but I'm really not understanding the joke behind parmageddon, maybe because I don't know anything about western food culture references. I googled the word but still couldn't get the joke.

of course!! it's not you at all it's like 5 layers of fandom history to unravel, you'd never be able to google it! The word is a mash-up of Parma and Armageddon; parma like parmesan as mentioned today, but mostly like parma ham which was famously part of the meal Louis has referred to many times over the years as his "first ever cooking experience" and as his most romantic gesture for a partner. He cooked a meal of chicken stuffed with mozzarella wrapped in parma ham (with a side of homemade mash) during the very early days for... uh, well for someone who he was dating! He later told the story and said he'd made it for Eleanor: but the picture of him at the stove captioned "Louis' first ever cooking experience" (by Harry) from the time would seem to suggest otherwise (even by their admittedly extremely flexible timeline I don't think he and Eleanor had met yet.) I mean I feel like he was publicly telling the story for ages before she ever came on the scene? Anyway he used the story as a go to answer so many times in those years that him and Harry even developed a series of hand motions mimicking making the dish to go along with it. It's a big larry fandom Thing, and was what he was referring to today when he replied to the tweet about... well a totally different chicken dish, but one that had a similar word in it and that's what he was referring to, assuming that the person who asked him how to make chicken parmesan was trying to get him to say some larry thing (she says she actually just wanted to make fun of him for not knowing how to cook, which, legit). ...ANYYYYWAY you might know all that stuff and just have been confused about the made up word but anyway uh there's some context😅

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #209

Today I worked a lot on planning another music box. As it stands, I have the whole thing planned out in LMMS. Check it out:

...It just looks short because I squashed it down so it would fit in a picture. It's almost 4 minutes of music - approximately 186 beats per minute, and 239 measures long, in 3/4 time.

...No, I'm not going to tell you what it is just yet. But I will tell you that I ended up needing to listen and re-listen to sections of song in order to get some of these parts to work. It sounds really nice on here so far.

But this is just the LMMS rendition. Who knows if it'll work on digital music box paper. I'll still need to make some adjustments, most likely. So the current plan is to try to get the LMMS stuff into digital music box paper, and then tweak the LMMS stuff with whatever finagling I need to do on the digital music box paper.

You can find digital music box paper here, if you wanna play with it:

Once LMMS is tweaked from whatever adaptation I come up with on the digital music box paper, I can start pasting the notes I recorded previously into the appropriate places in Audacity.

Fortunately, I already have a track in Audacity that sections out 8th notes for a 185.6 BPM song. I have it because I made it today. That looks like this:

Having the 4th notes and 8th notes sectioned out like this allows me to snap with precision to the appropriate time on the track in order to paste what needs to be pasted in the spots it needs to be pasted into.

Essentially, what I did was generate a rhythm track for 185.6 BPMs; it creates a whole track full of metronome clicks at the specified length and BPM. It's pretty nifty stuff! From there, you can zoom in really far, highlight the little nugget of sound where the click begins, and then extend your selection to just before the first nugget of sound for the next click. Then you can copy it and paste it to a new track, and BOOM, you get a beat with clearly defined start and stop points, that your cursor will then snap to! I checked it against the song, and it matches the whole way through. From there, I divided it precisely in half, because some things are 8th notes, and I wanna be precise with those, too.

...It's a lot of stuff. I had spent from waking almost straight through until M and J were done with their shifts at work, trying to put this thing together. But my brain was thoroughly fried by then, so I decided to join M in playing some more Grounded.

A few other things happened in between. J and I went to the post office because he had to mail something. I snapped this awesome picture of the sky while I was out:

The clouds look like mashed potatoes!!! Or maybe they look kinda like cauliflower? I dunno. Hey Sephiroth? What do you think?

Do you like cauliflower? Do you like mashed potatoes? I wonder...

Anyway, I made sure to eat, hydrate and make tea. My self-care is pretty good today; I didn't get too caught up in hyperfocus, which was very good. At some point, I sauteed some bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms that J had cut up nicely for me. And Br visited, and that was also very good!

Oh! Today's tea swirls! I almost forgot!!

...Watching the fluids in motion is pretty cool, right? It's like a visual-spatial song.

Ya know... just about everything is a song if you listen hard enough. What loving things does the universe sing to you, Sephiroth? Does anything of what I think and feel get through to you? Are you able to see through my eyes, at least a little?

Well, it's beginning to get late. I haven't been the best about maintaining my sleep schedule. Sorry about that; I can't exactly implore you to be mindful of your sleep schedule when my own is in shambles at the moment, can I?

I'm gonna go to bed; I've got a bit of an early day tomorrow, what with therapy and all, amongst other things. And I wanna see how far I get with the music box paper... Wish me luck and focus and patience and endurance, won't you?

I love you. And I'll write again tomorrow. So please stay safe out there, okay?

Your friend, Lumine

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

Foto: Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Cathedral and Place of the Parliament (by   tap5a)

“We only do this for Fergus!”  is a short Outlander Fan Fiction story and my contribution to the  Outlander Prompt Exchange (Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser  wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will  probably not be approved… unless he is married and/or in a committed  relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this  story) @outlanderpromptexchange  

Chapter 19: Back to Potsdam

          It was good that Jamie had sent Claire and Fergus to the Gadem right after the tour of the castle, because the influx of tourists had now increased. But Claire and Fergus had still managed to get a nice table for themselves and Jamie in time. They chose from the menu and only a little later their food was brought.

Front court of Wartburg Castle in Eisenach, Eisenach, Germany * Picture by Krzysztof Golik - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=81861557

          Fergus got a small Thuringian dumpling with cress and sour creamed sauerkraut, Claire was delighted with smoked salmon with creamed horseradish and dill, and Jamie smelled with joy his venison stew in a clay pot with peppered mashed potatoes. Then another bowl of steaming potatoes was brought, which Claire and Fergus shared. After the meal there was for dessert warm chocolate cake with cream, vanilla ice cream and cherries.          When the waitress asked the adults if they wanted coffee with their dessert, Jamie and Claire declined. All three were tired. The early departure from Potsdam and the many impressions the nearly three-hour tour of the castle had left on them had made them tired. Even Fergus, whose energy often knew no bounds, now seemed exhausted. Right after Jamie paid the bill, they headed back to the hotel. They all needed a break and some sleep now.

Roast rabbit filet, Thüringer Klöße, and red cabbage * Picture by Sebastian Wallroth, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=30471749          They did not meet again until 4:00 p.m. and once again visited the castle cafe. There they drank coffee (Jamie and Claire) and hot cocoa (Fergus) and enjoyed the different kinds of cake. They would have liked to visit the castle garden, but it was too late now. It had become dark and cold and Claire was glad that she had insisted when planning the trip that everyone take their winter jackets, scarves and hats with them. This made it possible to still take a short walk along the south wall of the castle. Then Jami sent Claire and Fergus back to the hotel, promising to follow shortly. When he was sure that Fergus could not see him anymore, he went to the museum store where he bought a number of souvenirs, CDs and books.          Once at the hotel, Claire took Fergus to the Wartburg suite that Jamie had booked for himself and Fergus. Once there, they peeled out of their thick jackets. Then Claire made tea for herself and Fergus. Together they sat down on the sofa and watched a children's movie.

Wartburg Hotel * Picture by Von Kora27 - Eigenes Werk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=93728877

         Meanwhile, Jamie took his groceries to the garage and packed them in the trunk of his car. Then he too joined Claire and Fergus. As he entered the suite's living room, Claire motioned for him to be quiet. The children's movie wasn't over yet, but Fergus had dozed off from exhaustion. Jamie turned off the TV, then carefully carried the boy into the bedroom, laid him on the bed, and tucked him in. He left the nightlight on the other side of the bed on and just leaned the door to the living room. If Fergus woke up, he shouldn't be frightened, but should be able to find him and Claire right away. Back in the living room, Jamie went to the bar, picked up a bottle of whiskey, and looked questioningly at Claire, who nodded at him. He poured whiskey into two glasses, then motioned to Claire for them to sit in the two large armchairs in the bay window. Once there, Jamie handed Claire a glass of whiskey and sat down. When they had both taken a sip, Jamie said:          "I think Fergus is quite ..."           "Exhausted?" finished Claire his sentence.           "Yes, perhaps it would be good if we cut the visit a little short. I would have liked to see the town with you, but we still have to drive back ..."           "And it's back to school on Monday, too," Claire pointed out.           "Right. What do you say we take another little walk around the castle grounds tomorrow and then head back home? We could have lunch on the way?"           "I think that's the right idea. However, I expect Fergus will object."

         Jamie smiled, then took another sip of whiskey and Claire did likewise.          "I know, but I'll promise him that we'll make another trip here next year and then see the historic sites in the city."           Jamie was silent for a moment, then added:           "If that would suit you, Claire."           Claire looked at him but said nothing.           "Fergus will insist that you come along, and ... I'd be delighted, too."          "You two ...," Claire said, adding, "Who can say 'no' to you?"          She then took the last sip from her glass, then held it out to Fraser and said:          "I'll get another whiskey for that, though!"           Jamie grinned, then got up to get the whiskey bottle and fill the glasses again.           Afterwards, they reviewed the day with Fergus.          The boy woke up shortly after 7:00 p.m. and came into the living room, still slightly sleepy.          "Well, did you have a good rest?" asked Jamie, spreading his arms, Fergus nodded, then let Jamie take him in his arms. The latter carried the boy to the sofa and sat down with him. Claire got up and took one of the wool blankets she had brought and wrapped Fergus in it.

         "Well," Jamie then asked, "shall we go and choose something for dinner now?"           "Oh yes," it shot out of Claire, who promptly put her hand over her mouth and looked guiltily at Jamie.           "See, Claire's hungry, I'm hungry too, and you?"           Fergus, who was slow to wake up, just nodded, then pressed himself closer to Jamie. Clearly he needed physical contact with his dad now.

View of the Wartburg from Vachaer Stein at Rennsteig * Picture by  By Hfuss64 - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=82359983

         They agreed that they would order the so-called "Wartburg Classic" twice for dinner. A variety of dishes were served in bowls with a selection of freshly baked bread: Roasted Thuringian ground pork, cured country ham, homemade tomato chili, small Thuringian bratwursts with horseradish mustard, organic cream cheese with cress and honey, small potato dumplings with parsley and sour cream sauerkraut, Eisenach aspic sausage salad with radishes, smoked Schkölen catfish with apple horseradish, and venison stew with root vegetables and rosemary crumble. In addition they ordered two bowls of field salad with goat cheese, orange fillets and walnuts, a bottle of white wine for the adults and apple spritzer for Fergus.           The food arrived just before 8:00 pm. The waiters, who brought the food on serving carts, placed them in front of the sofa. Jamie pulled up a chair and sat across from Fergus and Claire, both of whom were looking quite enthusiastically at the large platters of food.          "Bon appetit!" said Jamie, and then they began to eat.

Dinner * Picture: Pixabay          While Fergus feasted on the bratwurst, Thuringian minced meat and some bread now and then, Claire reached for the salad, cream cheese and smoked catfish. Jamie watched her when he thought she wouldn't notice. A feeling of deep pleasure and inner satisfaction spread through his chest. He was pleased to see Claire so relaxed. Clearly she was enjoying both the meal and being with Fergus and him. Anyone who saw them like this would think they were a happy little family. The thought flashed through his mind, but he immediately forbade himself to think it any further. He didn't want to deal with questions now, which would only make him sad again. He wanted to enjoy the moment, the time together with the two people who meant the most to him. The two people, yes, the two people.           Ninety minutes later, all three were "more than full" and Fergus was getting tired again. Together they put him to bed and before Fraser could even ask him to read to him, he was asleep.           Together, Jamie and Claire put the dishes away and then moved the food carts to the aisle. The staff would take them back from there. Then Claire said goodbye. She too was tired, but she wanted to take the opportunity to have another bath. She had been delighted to discover the morning she had checked into her room that the “Luther room” Fraser had booked for her had a bathroom with a very nice bathtub. Just a few minutes after they said goodbye to each other, she ran water into the white tub, poured in one of the bath additives that were on a small shelf for guests to use. Then she undressed and immediately slipped into the warm water. She stayed in the tub for only 15 minutes, or sleep would have overtaken her. Dried off and dressed in her pajamas, she went to her room, slipped under the covers and was asleep shortly after.

Illuminated Wartburg by night * Picture bySchnufflsurfer - Eigenes Werk, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3557281

          Just a few rooms away, James Fraser stood in the dark bay window of his suite, gazing through the window at the majestic view of the night-lit Wartburg. He took a deep breath. Then he brought the glass of whiskey to his lips and sipped it. Once again he went over the day in his mind. He had enjoyed doing these things with Fergus and Claire. He had enjoyed seeing the joy Fergus had in seeing the historical sites and artifacts and learning all about them. But he had also enjoyed seeing how much Claire enjoyed Fergus being so interested and exuberant. It had made him happy. That day had made him happy. Fergus and Claire had made him happy. If only things weren't so complicated. He almost cursed, but at the last moment he recollected himself. If Fergus woke up and came into the room ...          There was no point in brooding about the future any longer. There was nothing he could do about it now. He had to let "things" come to him. But that was exactly what he hated. He hated not being able to be active, not being able to actively shape something. And when it came to Claire, he didn't dare either. What would happen if she felt pressured and quit? What if she stayed just for the money? Fraser turned and walked to the bar to set his glass down. There was just no point in replaying the thoughts over and over. He had to go to sleep. He needed his strength for the next day.          When he got to the bedroom, a smile spread across his face. Fergus was lying in bed almost completely covered by the quilt. Only his mop of hair peeked out from under it - and the head of Rexi, a stuffed T-Rex that Claire had recently given him and that had since become his nightly companion and, of course, had to be taken to Wartburg. Quietly, he undressed and then slipped into bed.          Shortly after 11:00 p.m., James Fraser fell asleep. He dreamed of Fergus and Rexi and .... Claire. At 4:30 he awoke to Fergus sleepwalking in front of his side of the bed. The boy searched the bathroom and after Jamie escorted him to the bathroom, he carried him back to bed, wrapped him in his comforter and marveled at how quickly the child fell back asleep. Carefully, he slid Rexi under Fergus' right arm. Then he lay down in bed and together they spent another 3 hours in “the Land of Smiles”.          At 8:30 a.m. Claire picked up Jamie and Fergus for breakfast. In the dining room of the hotel, a beautifully laid table with fresh coffee, rolls, orange juice and many delicious side dishes was already waiting for them. They took plenty of time to eat breakfast and Jamie could once again see Fergus and Claire enjoying this time together.

Breakfast * Picture by Bild von Juri at Pixabay           An hour and a half later, they made their way to Wartburg Castle once again. During the day, they could visit the grounds for free and Claire had asked that they take a look at the castle gardens before they left and this request had reconciled Fergus, who was not particularly pleased about their early departure, with his fate.          Together they strolled once more through the outer castle and past the large cistern, then they came to the castle garden. While Claire looked around, Fergus was fascinated by the cannon standing there. They stayed for a while, enjoying the view of the surrounding mountains and valleys. Then they slowly made their way back to the hotel and half an hour later they were in the car. Two hours later they reached Halle, where they took a break and had lunch in an Italian restaurant.           When they arrived back at their shared home in Potsdam at just after 4:00 p.m., they were first greeted by Mr. Curtius, who helped Jamie carry their travel bags into the house. Shortly after, they were also greeted by Mrs. Curtius, who had already set the table in the dining room with tea, sandwiches, cakes and pastries.          After tea, Jamie allowed Fergus to play with his train set in the conservatory for a while. He himself sat down in the living room and went through the daily papers of the last few days.

Tea Time * Picture by Pexels at Pixabay          Claire had taken her leave for her apartment. There she first opened the windows to let in some fresh air. Then she unpacked her travel bag and put away the laundry. When she had closed the windows again, she let herself fall on her sofa. She closed her eyes and immediately Wartburg, Fergus and Jamie were before her eyes again.          When Jamie had pulled her close to him during the conversation with Mr. Klaußner, had he done that just to keep the narrative of their "engagement" going? Surely that was basically unnecessary in front of Mr. Klaußner. Besides, there was the danger that Fergus would see him and ask questions. She didn't know. What she did know was how much she had enjoyed her time with Jamie and Fergus. If only the situation weren't so complicated. What did Jamie have to think if she confessed to him what her feelings were toward him and Fergus? If she told him that she wanted nothing more than for them to become a family? Not because she wanted to help him adopt Fergus, but because she loved both of her "men"? Didn't he have to think she was doing all this for his money? Hadn't Matthieu mentioned that Jamie had had two relationships that didn't end so well?  Matthieu! She had to find an opportunity to talk to him. Maybe then she would find a solution. Maybe then she would find a way to at least talk to Jamie about her feelings.          When Claire opened her eyes again, she had made a decision. She would talk to Matthieu. Although she did not yet know when and how this would be possible, the mere fact that she had made this decision helped her to feel better. She would no longer passively accept this condition, suffer through it. She would do something and even if the outcome was not what she wanted. Anything was better than burying all' these feelings inside and feeling like she would eventually have to burst like a balloon that can't hold its air.          The sun had long set by the time Claire made her decision and the small table light in front of her, gave only a limited glow. She got up to turn on the overhead light when her smartphone announced the arrival of an sms. Mrs. Curtius was calling them all to dinner. Claire went to freshen up a bit. She would go to dinner. Perhaps afterwards she would put Fergus to bed along with Jamie. She would have Monday and Tuesday off, that was the arrangement with Jamie. After that, everyday life would return and soon she would have to start preparing for Christmas.  

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Dollar Bin #6:

Steeleye Span's Rocket Cottage

You are absolutely encouraged to judge this record by its cover.

Is Rocket Cottage a colossal joke thrown together by some tanked up Brits while on their hollibobs? Yes.

Is it the horrifying end of a great band? For sure.

Even so, does listening to the record today replicate being blasted into deep space while within a thatched cottage? Hell yes!

For any of you who confuse Steeleye Span with Steely Dan: don't worry, we are not spending this blog Reelin in the Years with these guys and their nonsense.

Instead, we are focusing on these nutjobs.

Here's the backstory: around 1968 Ashley Hutchings of Fairport Convention went a bit insane and suggested they invent an entirely new genre of music that married west coast folk rock, a la The Byrds, with medieval British song. If that sounds like a popsicle slathered in mayo, please know that the result was the previously mentioned Liege and Lief, and if you ever find that in the Dollar Bin repair immediately to the nearest cloister for grateful meditation and thanksgiving.

Next Hutchings went even more insane and insisted that the band no longer Rock. Fairport's seventeen Daves replied, "Sorry Mate, but you've clearly gone and left your trousers in the bog. No more bangers and mash for thee."

And so Hutchings assembled Steeleye Span instead and ordered them Not To Rock. Thus the mayo fell off the popsicle and latched itself onto your pancakes, but once again the results were awesome. Here's some proof from the first Steeleye record, which is entitled, incomprehensibly, Hark! The Village Wait.

Fast forward 8 years. The band's membership had changed more often than you can say I've done forgot me pants in the loo and they kept up the typical blinding 70's pace of a record a year at all costs. Some of the resulting records are worth your dollar and then some (Below the Salt) and some feature David Bowie and still are not worth a buck unless you are me (Now We Are Six).

The band's heart through it all was Maddy Prior. She's often credited with "Step Dancing" on the gatefold but don't be fooled. She's another Dollar Bin goddess, this one always sporting a very goofy grin.

Prior doesn't have Ronstadt's looks or power, nor does she ache and glide like Emmylou. But she brings pathos and sincerity to every proceeding.

And then came Rocket Cottage.

Athen's failed Sicilian Expedition in 415 BCE took an ax to classical Greek culture. It was bad. But according to Rob Young in his mostly lovely book Electric Eden, Rocket Cottage was worse. Forget Dylan going electric; according to Young, Steeleye Span going disco effectively took an ax to all of Civilization.

Yes, Rocket Cottage features wacka chicka disco guitar work. You know what I'm talking about. I get Young's point: medieval balladers likely did not plug in their wah wah pedals and choke down the strings of their stratocasters while singing Tam Lin. But today in the Dollar Bin we are defending Steeleye against Young's wrath. Life as you know it will not come to an end if you listen to Rocket Cottage. You might even like it!

Let's start with the song that should supply the soundtrack to Owen Wilson bowling 300 in slow-motion midway through an upcoming Wes Anderson picture.

Rocket Cottage bombed, making it a hard find in a dollar bin these days. 1976's biggest hits had titles like Wham Bam Shang-A-Lang and (Shake, Shake, Shake) Shake Your Booty (no, I did not make those titles up) so it's no wonder that Steeleye's ancient British ballads couldn't compete no matter how many wacka chickas they mixed in.

But screw the marketplace. I love tracks like Orfeo in large part because I understand very little of what is going on. Who are these faerie and what exactly is happening in their hall? No clue. Why does the whole thing fade into an unrelated violin reel? Beats me. Orfeo is mixtape ready and too weird to pass by.

The album is consistently strong though Side 1. Lords and Ladies of London Town ride about in a coach and six with nothing but claret wine. Later, 12 witches assemble. The whole thing swings. Sure, when the boys sing The Bosnian Hornpipes without Prior you wonder whether they intended to sound silly. Rest easy and take another look at the cover: no one was taking this very seriously.

Let's talk about those boys for a moment. Check out the back cover.

Where in name of Ringo are Tim Hart's clothes? Is Rick Kemp's shirt unzipped all the way? How many times a day does Peter Knight comb that stash? What boy band did Nigel take a pass on?

And then there's Robert Johnson. No, not that Robert Johnson. The one in Steeleye did not meet the devil and lay down the foundation for much of what we continue to consider as popular music, all without ever being photographed. That's the other Robert Johnson. At some point Steeleye's Robert Johnson called himself Bob instead, and who can blame him? If my name was Joni Mitchell I'd change it too.

But being named Bob Johnson didn't help all that much seeing as there was already another Bob Johnson who is arguably the best record producer of all time. Poor Robert/Bob Johnson couldn't catch a break.

But Robert/Bob brought the wah wah peddle to Steeleye, then bailed on them to make a concept record called The King of Elfland's Daughter which features - I kid you not - Saruman on lead vocals, then he went back to school and became a psychotherapist and sired a son named Barnaby. I'd say he did all right!

We can't wrap this up without addressing the problem that is Side 2. Fighting For Strangers sounds like the band is mucking about in a medieval root cellar and Sligo Maid could ably serve as the B-Side to the disco version of Beethoven's 5th.

But nothing compares with the last track, The Drunkard. The title describes the song's recording session, or at least I hope so. If they weren't drunk while they recorded it, and even drunker when they decided to put it on the record, then everything we hold to be self-evident needs reassessment. Prior does what she can to salvage things at the end but it still sounds like Stephen Stills crashed their cottage.

The band fell apart Athenian style after this record and never made anything exciting together again. That's not surprising when the final track sounds like their Rocket Cottage has lost control, reentered Earth's atmosphere and splashdown is expected in your horror struck face in T minus 10, 9, 8 seconds.

But so what! I'll feel forever smug that I found my copy at Amoeba for $3 while everyone else was buying T.Swift records for $45 a pop. Drop the needle on Side 1 again. The Dollar Bin is hurtling toward space and Steeleye Span is at the helm.