#seismic toys

[p0orbaby]

sick lessi fic 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ clingy gf

taking care of that cutie

-

Alessia is splayed across your sofa like an artist’s rendering of human misery. Her hoodie—an oversized navy monstrosity with a faint Arsenal logo she swore she didn’t steal from Leah—clings to her like damp moss. The grey sweatpants are worse. They’re not hers, nor are they yours. They came from the pile of clothes you were supposed to donate three years ago but never did because you thought you might need them someday. This is the day. You resent the foresight.

She’s been coughing sporadically for the past fifteen minutes, which is to say, coughing exactly every 47 seconds. You know because you’ve been counting. Alessia calls it “a tickly throat.” You call it self-inflicted.

“Stop licking your lips. You’ll make them worse,” you say, watching her smear yet another layer of cherry ChapStick over the crime scene that is her mouth.

“I have to,” she whines, drawing out the words like a five-year-old begging for a toy. Her voice is raw, a strange mix of gravel and helium.

“You don’t. You really, really don’t”

She ignores you, opting instead to roll onto her stomach in a manner that could only be described as unnecessarily dramatic. Her head flops onto the throw pillow you bought at a John Lewis clearance sale. The tag is still attached.

“I think I’m dying,” she declares, muffled by the pillow.

“You’re not dying, Less. You’ve got a runny nose and a bad attitude” you deadpan, sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of her, a bowl of soup balanced precariously on your knee. It’s the tin stuff—Heinz, chicken, condensed. She hates it. It’s why you made it.

“It’s the flu,” she says. “I Googled it”

“You can’t even spell ‘flu’ properly when you text”

“That’s because I was using my thumbs.”

“You always use your thumbs.”

“Rude.” She huffs, tugging the blanket tighter around her. It’s your favourite one, the soft grey one you bought when you first moved in together. Now it smells faintly of menthol rub and despair.

“You know, my mum used to make me this lemon and ginger tea with honey when I was sick,” she says suddenly, wistful, like she’s narrating a nature documentary.

“I’m not your mum”

“She also used to rub Vicks on my chest,” she continues, undeterred.

“Still not your mum”

There’s a pause, her blue eyes narrowing at you. “You’re actually a terrible girlfriend”

“Debatable”

She sneezes. A full-body event. You flinch, watching in real-time as her face contorts, her nose scrunching, her eyes shutting like a malfunctioning robot. The sound is seismic. You wonder if the neighbours heard it.

“Bless me,” she says automatically.

“No”

She sniffles pathetically, then gestures weakly towards the coffee table. “Can you hand me a tissue?”

You glance at the tissue box—one metre away from her outstretched hand. “No. Work for it”

Her lips twitch, the faintest flicker of a smile, but it vanishes as she rolls onto her side. “Why are you like this?”

You shrug, finishing the last spoonful of her soup. It’s cold now, congealed in a way that makes you feel vaguely ill. You wonder if this is what marriage will look like—fighting over tissues, stealing each other’s soup, and coexisting in a quiet ballet of passive-aggressive care.

As you scrape the bowl clean, Alessia shifts again, her head now hanging off the side of the sofa like some deranged bat.

“You’re so lucky I love you”

I know,” you reply, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead. She’s warm—not feverish, just Alessia warm.

For a moment, there’s quiet. She shifts again, her head now resting on the arm of the sofa, her eyes fluttering shut. You stand to pull the blanket up higher around her shoulders and tuck it in gently.

And just before you leave the room, she murmurs, soft and sleepy, “Love you”

You smile to yourself, the words lingering in the air like a balm. “Love you too, Less”

[kittyball23]

Before you saw Trolls Band Together, what were your predictions when you first saw the trailers??

Ohhhhh boy, I had a lot of predictions! 😆

Most of them were compiled as oneshots in my Trolls 3.0 fic (posted on AO3, Fanfiction.net, and Wattpad) Some of them never made the cut and stayed living in my head, but I’ll be glad to share the ideas from both right here 😊

At the beginning of the movie, I knew there was most likely going to be a prologue, since Trolls and Trolls World Tour both started off this way. I had figured it would either start with Velvet and Veneer actually kidnapping Floyd, or with a musical number by the band (which of course is what ended up happening)

I had thought that the argument/breakup was a result of everybody getting on each others’ nerves, instead of their anger directed towards one of them in particular, in that case, John Dory

I thought that perhaps John Dory and Floyd had reunited at the time that Velvet and Veneer had captured Floyd. Like, say JD and Floyd were singing, the duo heard them, and intended to catch them both so they could have one Troll each, but only managed to swipe Floyd, where JD escaped, promising his bro that he would come back with the other bros as backup to save him (Kinda think along the lines of Toy Story 4, where Forky and Woody tried to make their escape from Gabby Gabby)

I thought that there would be little flashbacks and stuff of the bros in their teenage years scattered throughout the movie (in particular, Floyd and Branch flashbacks, and further their bonding)

I was hoping there would be almost-kisses between Branch and Poppy also scattered throughout the movie (I would’ve been going bonkers collecting screencaps of those) and maybe a scene where Broppy had a mini-date or something and the bros (JD, Bruce, and Clay) harmonized and set the mood for them (think along the lines of Rio’s bus ride scene)

I thought that maybe there would be a scene where Branch chose to give himself up to save Floyd, switching places with him so that his bro could be free of the diamond, but he would be trapped there instead

I thought that maybe the fight scene would be this magical, song-battle thing with Velvet and Veneer’s negative energy battling against the Trolls’ positive energy (think Equestria Girls: Rainbow Rocks’ climax)

I hoped that there would be an implication to Viva getting together with one of the bros (particularly, Clay, since she has already known him for years and they seem to have a good friendship)

One of my BIGGEST wishes was for the Broppy wedding! Like I have mentioned in a couple other posts, Branch’s “let’s go get married!” is what – as Bruce put it – created a seismic shift in my brain 😂 I was pining so much of my hope for them to finally hook up with the marriage and the reception and the kisses and possibly even kiddos… but, I suppose we shall have to wait and see what the franchise’s future will bring us. I guess I’ll just way that I don’t think a Broppy wedding is ruled out completely

Anyway, those were some of the wild things I thought up 😆

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

@intertexts NHW ELEMENTALS !!!!!! this will be added onto later when i learn More Things. but i want 2 talk about them:

first of all. age from oldest to youngest: Magma -> Tide -> Whirlwind/Seismic (twins) -> Shockwave -> Elle. this is important 2 me.

they are all still clones, so this doesnt really matter, but this is the order they were made/"born" in. so for the sake of trying to make at least ONE aspect of their whole thing somewhat normal... they still see their family/sibling dynamic through the concept of older/younger siblings.

Magma and Tide specifically are different. They were each created individually to directly counter the first two endbringers. magma was built to go up against Behemoth (pyrokinesis, immunity to radiation, immunity to heat/lightning etc) (possible Brute/Blaster classification? ros help me out w the powers please ily) and tide was built to go up against Leviathan (ability to breathe underwater, hydrokinesis, increased mobility in water etc, possible Mover/Blaster? Mover/Shaker?) . I'm just starting Sting 26.2 right now as I type this so I'm gonna hold off on speaking to the actual LOGISTICS of the endbringer stuff until I learn more (and go insane abt it) but I've been almost toying with the idea of them actually having endbringer dna built into them? if that's even a thing? or DEPENDING on how cauldron makes their serums, using Behemoth and Leviathan as a base for their individual serums. I DUNNO. ILL FIGURE THAT ALL OUT LATER. WHATEVER GO MY SCARAB. anyway. obviously Dr. Lambert was used as like... the base? I guess? for their clones. we don't get to learn a wholeeeee lot about him in canon so for now I'm gonna say he's fully just an employee of cauldron. whatever.

so timeline wise, I'm thinking Behemoth existed for a couple years before magma was actually created. the endbringers were still a new threat, nobody knew how to deal with them yet. cauldron figures out cloning tech the year before Leviathan emerges. They make magma, he becomes a really important fixture in Behemoth fights, so how convenient is it when Leviathan emerges a few months later and all of the sudden magma's "brother" shows up for the second attack. since there was a long time between Leviathan and Simurgh, I think most of the rest of their siblings were actually created in that span of time. The mindset here is that... nobody knows cauldron exists, nobody knows cauldron creates capes, much less human cloning. the fact that two heroes show up with eerily similar abilities to the two endbringers draws a lot of eyes, and that's something they don't want. seismic, whirlwind and shockwave were created not as endbringer counters, but as damage control. it's a lot easier to believe a family of capes with elemental powers exist than it is to believe the wild crazy conspiracies about the connection between capes and endbringers.

tide and magma have a Lot of issues about being created as endbringer counters. that puts so much pressure on their heads and i think they feel every loss as. extremely personal and their own responsibility and if they had just done a little better they should have been able to stop it. I think the two of them started out really close, but as they matured and as their individual ways of dealing with these things started butting heads I think they drifted apart more than they wanted to. Magma, even though he was only around for a year or so longer, had been in more fights, suffered more losses, he was like... the guinea pig of this whole thing. all of the expectations fell onto him at first, and even now he's STILL seen as the leader of the elementals. He had that classic eldest daughter syndrome burnout and I think he becomes very... closed off and aloof about the whole business. he's not friendly. he's here to do his job and do it right and not spare anyone else's feelings. he hates that he was created as a tool but he's also accepted that thats What He Is . tide on the other hand. hoooough. man. tide. tide HATES that people are scared of them. the intimidation factor is great in a fight when the image of power is useful but in everyday life? that shit sucks! they already don't have civilian lives (or maybe they do? ros we should talk about this. do the elementals get 2 have lives outside of being capes. ugh), so everyone who knows him knows him as Tide. Tide, the one who saves people from Leviathan. Tide, the one who is expected (and REQUIRED) to be at every single endbringer attack, who has seen so much death and destruction and has felt hopeless so many times... he just wants to help people. being kind costs so much. I mean he'll pay it but goddamn. tide spends so much of his time and energy actively choosing to be kind and make himself Not Scary . I think out of all of them tide is the one who most wants to have a normal life. which I think is why he took to the position of being the wards' mentor so quickly and enthusiastically. if he can't have a normal life by fucking god he's gonna do his best to make sure these kids get to have at least a little bit of their childhood.

you may notice I did not talk about Elle or shockwaves death at all in this post that is on purpose because i HAVE NOT figured it out yet and I'm waiting until I get further into worm to work that out in my mind some more. anyway ending this on an extremely painful note i think tide and shockwave were really close because out of their siblings they were the two that actively went out of their way to push past their status as tools/weapons in a way that benefitted other people (whirlwind also did this but instead of helping people he got angry and spiteful and. started working for Overlord. so. yeah). also I think since shockwave was the youngest (and BEHAVED like the youngest) tide had a lot of those big brother "I need to make sure you don't go through the same things I did" feelings, moreso than he felt for seismic and whirlwind

[justforbooks]

Citizen: My Life After the White House by Bill Clinton

In this account of his years after leaving office, Clinton is a hyperactive and loquacious presence, helping out in disaster zones and pontificating about public service – but he reveals little about his private life

American presidents are supposed to renounce pomp and disappear into private life when their term ends. George Washington enjoyed sampling the whiskey produced by the distillery at his Virginia plantation, while George W Bush currently amuses himself by clearing underbrush on his Texas ranch. Bill Clinton, aged only 54 when he left office in 2001, spurned bucolic oblivion; as he says with scriptural solemnity: “I didn’t think my work here on Earth was finished just yet.” Although he calls his memoir Citizen to signal his reduced status, he admits to hankering after his years as a conqueror, with military bands that struck up Hail to the Chief as his personal anthem whenever he strode into a room.

Because the presidency has grown ever more undemocratically monarchical, Clinton toyed with a possible succession. His wife’s candidacy in 2016 offered him the prospect of returning to the White House as her First Gentleman, and his daughter, Chelsea, might have exotically extended the family line: in 2002 Muammar Gadaffi suggested marrying her to his son and thereby “launching a dynasty”. But Hillary lost to Trump, Chelsea nixed the proposal, and instead Clinton has incorporated himself. He set up the Clinton Foundation, kept it flush with his lecture fees and soon presided over an empire of eponymous acronyms - the CCI (Clinton Climate Initiative), the CDI (Clinton Development Initiative), the CGI (Clinton Global Initiative), the CHAI (Clinton Health Access Initiative), and so on to the end of the alphabet.

He is frank about his initial motive for keeping busy. “I had to start making money,” he admits, mostly to pay the legal bills accrued during the Republican attempt to impeach him over his entanglement with Monica Lewinsky. Yet for this hyperactive man, being busy is its own reward. In the first section of his book he hurls himself into disaster zones like an ambulance-chasing attorney, usually taking celebrities such as Oprah Winfrey or Sean Penn along for the adrenalised ride. “I volunteered to help,” he says after hearing about an earthquake in Gujurat. With the Asian tsunami he teasingly stands on ceremony: “My staff called the White House to say I wanted to help.”

On the ground he is generous with his presence, reporting that at an Indian hospital he “visited with the patients and families who wanted to say hello”. In a Rwandan village he and Chelsea helpfully mime the filtration process of murky water that would benefit “countless millions of poor people”. A Puerto Rican hurricane supplies “the most fun” when Lin-Manuel Miranda lays on a performance of Hamilton; George Clooney, despatched by Nespresso to encourage ruined coffee planters, joins the party. After a consoling sortie to the battered Maldives, Clinton resumes a triumphal junket “to China, Japan, South Korea and Taiwan to promote my autobiography”. Other countries expecting seismic upsets are tipped off about his likely availability: “I’ll show up if I can.”

Having shown up, Clinton can be counted on to speechify. Although he believes that “the world doesn’t need another talkfest”, he is unstoppably loquacious. With Kim Jong-il he picks over “the usual stilted talking points” and in Bosnia he delivers terse “remarks”. In Accra, however, boosted by loudspeakers at a rally in an open square, he holds forth to a million auditors, “the largest crowd I’ve ever addressed”. He mistakenly assumes that George HW Bush is equally gabby and obliges him “to talk too long to too many people” on one of their humanitarian tours; George W Bush, raising funds for yet another hurricane, astutely warns Clinton to be “short and sweet”. Only once is he both out-talked and unmanned. As a student at Oxford, invited to tea at a women’s college, he likens himself to the ball boy at a testicular tennis match, exhausted by “the verbal serves and volleys that flew across the net”.

Garrulous he may be, but Clinton is convivial without being confidential. On a mission to extricate two journalists held hostage in North Korea, he remembers to be diplomatically expressionless in the official photograph and even rehearses not smiling. This long book about himself has the same ultimately dreary impersonality. “We all experience good times and grief,” he says, shuttering his private life. He bridles when accused by an interviewer of not apologising personally to Monica Lewinsky: didn’t he express generalised regrets in a public forum during a meeting with “faith leaders” at the White House? It was not, he says, “my finest hour”, referring to the tetchy interview, not to his exploitation of an infatuated intern.

Autobiographical anecdotes are twisted into what Clinton calls “teachable moments”, as when his reminiscence of an outdoor toilet in his Arkansas boyhood, “attractive to snakes in the summer”, introduces a homily about “productive grassroots partnerships with business”. The snakes must have been real enough but the grass they slither in is merely metaphorical. A single specimen of candid unpolitical speech is brattishly uttered by the three-year-old Chelsea when introduced to George HW Bush at his home in Maine. “Where’s the bathroom?” she asks her host.

No wonder that Clinton, always on guard against intimate leakages, so enjoyed collaborating with James Patterson on two thrillers published in 2018 and 2021, in which successive US presidents shed their inhibitions and enjoy careers as action heroes: the first anonymously slips out of the White House to thwart a cyberterrorist, the second ventures to Libya to rescue his kidnapped daughter. Clinton warns that climate change will eject us into “a real-life sequel to the post-apocalyptic Road Warrior movies”, but that swashbuckling apparently appeals to him. Politics, by contrast, seems as deadly dull as the language he uses to describe it. America, he says, has gone “off the rails”, although responsible commentators try “to keep the train on the tracks”: is he angling for honorary membership of Aslef?

Handed a microphone, Clinton is eager to share “an overview of how I view the world”, although these omniscient surveys mostly consist of faded neoliberal truisms. At the end of his book, this overview of the world is replaced by an underview of the universe as he scrutinises “the far reaches of outer space” at a scientific observatory in Hawaii. The interstellar void seen through the telescope makes him ask, with a shudder that the banal phrasing fails to muffle: “What does it all mean in the grand scheme of things?” His foundation, its funds and its global good works suddenly shrivel, and Clinton rebukes those who pursue “worldly political power” with a misplaced messianic zeal.

Then a few lines later he resumes pontificating about public service, and after a possible glimpse of a “creator God” out there in the darkness, he concludes by insisting “I’m happy.” This was written before the recent election; I’ll bet he no longer feels quite so cosmically complacent.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[wildartsstuff]

Question(s) for you.

What do you think Pinocchio's exterior is made out of?

Virtually all of the Puppets we see throughout the game are made from either metal or porcelain. Pino, however is obviously much more advanced and looks convincingly human per a prolonged surface glance. Do you think he has actual synthetic skin and hair or is it an assortment of materials that are simply very good at mimicking it? From my research, I can't find any belle-epoque era materials that could have pulled this off.

The technology in Lies of P is clearly more advanced than ours but also firmly Victorian in foundation.

Another question is his eyes and how they work. A friend of mine proposed a theory that Pino actually just has glass eyes and that neither he or any other puppet in game actually uses their eyes for sight and instead use some form of artificial "seismic sense" to "see" by having their bodies be hyper sensitive to vibrations around them. I don't see much evidence for this as Pino does seem to actually use his eyes in-game but it's a cool theory especially since in reality, virtually all robots use motion sensors instead of any form of actual vision.

Thoughts?

You know, I thought about this ask for a LONG time because you indeed made research about what could be available at the time as synthetic skin and to be fair, Lies of P has many incoherence when is about time accurate things from the 19th century.

Spoilers ahead.

In Venigni’s quest after we meet Arlecchino ( answering to all the riddles correctly is required to meet him at the Alchemist island ) you exhaust all the dialogues with him, he gives you a doll that used to belong to Venigni as a child before his parents got brutally murdered by Arlecchino in person :

This toy is a reference to the film “A trip to the moon” made in 1902. The first film ever recorded was in 1888 and Venigni says in game that as a child, this toy was from his favourite film. The game takes place in 189X which is the end of the 19th century and this film is not SUPPOSED TO EXIST before 1902.

And you are probably wondering “What has this whole film to do with my question about P and the material of his skin?” The answer is simple : Krat is so technologically advanced that has predicted some of the 20th century technology 70-50 years prior. So, yeah, probably P’s skin is actually synthetic and we shouldn’t base ourselves on what was available in our world.

Now, I have to say, that after the bed ending scene, where you accept to give P’s heart to Geppetto, I can suppose that P and Carlo’s bodies are purely made of magic. Ergo is more like a magic source and the main reason why P looks like Carlo and vice versa, is because Carlo’s souls was inside of P’s P-Organ and basically gave him the looks on how Carlo looked like before dying. About the blue eyes and freakles I honestly have no clue where they could come from but in my own opinion everything about P is real externally but is just the magic of ergo itself making it feel and look real, because it would be impossible for Nameless Puppet to take the looks of Carlo if it wasn’t about soul and essence themselves.

P definitely can see through his eyes and they are not glass for sure. If it was more about senses I think the game would have told us how to use them ( sort of like Hyakkimaru’s from Dororo which I used to have a huge obsession with. This kinda reminded me of it lol )

So yeah, those are my answers. But at the end of the day is a fantasy-steampunk world. I honestly never ask myself those kind of question of what used to be accurate or available at the time when magic is involved. But I hope the wait was worth to know about what I think about! :)

[roamwithahungryheart]

(Going insane over Ted & Rebecca again so I decided to post the entirety of chapter 6 of One More Goodbye here because of reasons.)

The day began on a bright note. The sun finally peeked through the rain for the first time in a week, the birds singing in its warmth. Waking early, Rebecca rushed through her morning routine, rehearsing the words she wanted to say to Matthjs when she arrived in Amsterdam.

As she pulled her suitcase through the front door and slipped into the cab waiting outside, the sky began to turn grey. If her mother had been with her, she probably would have called this an omen. But Rebecca didn’t believe in that sort of thing. She trusted her gut. The most she was ever willing to admit was that her intuition was never wrong. She prided herself on her good instincts, and they were too strong to ignore this time.

Rebecca walked into Heathrow airport with deliberate slowness. Every step she took gave her more time to convince herself that this was the right thing to do.

On her way to the terminal, busy travelers weaved around her as she stopped to scan the departures board. She groaned as she caught sight of her flight number.

Flight Delayed.

Rebecca’s skeptical inclinations temporarily left her. Perhaps there was such a thing as a bad omen after all.

In an effort to keep herself together, she headed for the nearest coffee shop. She had been so preoccupied with making her flight on time that she skipped breakfast. Had it been an ordinary morning, she would have had a leisurely breakfast of tea and toast. Whenever she traveled, she only had time for coffee.

As she waited in the queue, she took a moment to admire the determination of the mothers herding their children through the gates. She considered whether to make a snide remark to the man in front of her who was loudly complaining about his order, however, the impulse left just as quickly as it came. She didn’t need aggravation from a stranger ruining her trip and her mood along with it. 

Then, in between sips of black coffee, she ran through the questions that she hoped seeing Matthjs would answer.

Was this enough? Was he enough? 

After all the time and effort she'd invested in their relationship (if she could even call it that), Rebecca never thought that it would be anything but wonderful. But that was in the beginning, when she was still wrapped up in the romantic idea of being with someone who’d rescued her. The reality had proven to be less than ideal. She didn’t think they would ever come this far. She never intended to. And yet, every time she drifted away, Matthjs had a strange way of drawing her back in. Sometimes she loved the uncertainty of it, but other times it made her stomach turn. The possibility that she had once again given too much of herself to someone who gave her too little in return gnawed away at her.

Snapping out of her fixation, Rebecca tracked her flight again.

She had to leave. 

Releasing the handle of her suitcase, she stood, intending to walk away. But she only managed a few steps before her feet were anchored to the floor. She felt a seismic shift take place deep within herself. Even her breathing changed. A jolt of electricity shot through her body, forcing her to turn around.

“Of all the airports in all the world…”

Rebecca exhaled softly. “Hello, Ted.”

In an instant, everything else fell away. 

He looked just as he did the day he left Richmond.

Rebecca explored every detail of him as subtly as she could, unable to tear herself away.

Ted had never been good at subtlety, and so she knew by the way their eyes toyed with each other that he was doing the same. 

Painfully aware that they were standing in complete silence, Rebecca took it upon herself to break the moment, even though she didn’t really know what to say next.

“Are you here for business or pleasure?” 

“Henry's birthday. We took a little trip to Manchester, stopped by the National Football Museum. Got one of them trophies they make at the gift shop, y'know? Henry Lasso - 'Man of the Match'. He had a blast.” He looped his thumbs through the straps of his backpack, adjusting it awkwardly. “Got a two and a half hour layover here though, which is why…”

“Sounds lovely.” Rebecca faltered then too. “Obviously apart from…waiting around in airports is hardly exciting.”

“Tell me about it.”

Rebecca watched his hands as he moved. There was no ring on his finger. She glanced a bit more intently to see if there were any tan lines where a ring may have been, but she couldn't detect any. 

“How’s Michelle?”

“She’s okay, yeah. Back there with the birthday boy showin’ off his gifts on FaceTime.” 

Rebecca expected to see Michelle sitting next to Henry. When she followed Ted’s eyeline, Henry was sitting alone, legs swinging back and forth as he talked animatedly on the phone.

“Ah, so you’re…”

The words left her mouth before she had a chance to stop them.

“D-I-V-O-R-C-E-D. Oh, yeah. One hundred percent. No take-backs. We were gonna share Henry’s birthday, but she wanted us to have some father-son bonding time, y’know?” He scratched his forehead, letting out a half-laugh. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m tellin’ ya all this.”

“It’s okay, Ted. How are things in Kansas? Nice to be home, I’m sure.”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” They locked eyes again then. “Although this is sorta home too.”

Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat.

“Shoot, I’m talkin’ your ear off here and you need to hop on a plane.” 

“Actually, I changed my mind. Would have been completely pointless anyway.”

“I hear ya.” Ted motioned to Henry. “Y’know, since y’aint goin’ anywhere, if you wanna come over here for some squished birthday cake and soda then by all means-”

“Thank you, but…you just enjoy time with your boy.” Rebecca grabbed her suitcase. “Tell him I said happy birthday.”

Ted’s eyes glistened. “Yes ma’am.” He gave her a small wave. “Good to see ya, Boss.”

“Good to see you too, Coach Lasso.”

[lucidicer]

drop this sunflower🌻 into the inboxes of the blogs that make you happy! lets spread a little sunshine ☀️

olli it has to be said… you’re an incredibly lovable guy and i think the absence of you is felt in a seismic way and it’s just the same with your presence. your personality is so charming and you’re inspiring and hilarious and just!! a really cool guy!! and i’m always happy to see you on here even when i have no idea what you’re talking about (who are these wrestlers fr) bc i care abt you and think you deserve nothing but the best!!! 🫂

if ihadnt just shed every tear in my body playing viddy game rn thiswouldve made me cry btw. literally feel all of this abt u stop it im goingto squeeze u in my fist. U R REALLY COOL GUY AND ALSO THE BEST wrestlers r just all my boy toys and my wifes

[p1325]

Here's the list of the mixes I used: Jennifer Lopez - If You Had My Love (Pablo Flores Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Waiting for Tonight (Hex's Momentous Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Feelin' So Good (Thunderpuss Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Let's Get Loud (Castle Hill Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Love Don't Cost A Thing (Full Intention Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Play (Thunderpuss Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Ain't It Funny (Almighty Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - I'm Real (Warren Clarke's Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Alive (Thunderpuss Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Jenny from the Block (Seismic Crew's Latin Disco Trip) Jennifer Lopez - I'm Glad (Paul Oakenfold Perfecto Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Get Right (Louie Vega Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, LL Cool J , Jermaine Dupri - Control Myself (Jason Nevin's Electrotek Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Que Hiciste (Offer Nissim Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Do It Well (Moto Blanco Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Hold It Don't Drop It (Moto Blanco Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Louboutins (Jody den Broeder & Warren Rigg Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, Pitbull - On The Floor (CCW Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - I'm Into You (Dave Aude Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Papi (Rosabel Vox Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Hypnotico (Alessio Silvestro Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, Pitbull - Dance Again (Toy Armada En El Sol Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, Flo Rida - Goin' In (Gustavo Scorpio Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, Pitbull - Live It Up (Edson Pride Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, French Montana - I Luh Ya Papi (Mike Cruz Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - First Love (Guy Schieman Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Booty (Luis Alvarado Shake That Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Ain't Your Mama (Barry Harris Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, Gente de Zona - Ni Tú Ni Yo (Extended Mix) Jennifer Lopez, Skrillex - Us (Unknown Remix) Jennifer Lopez - El Anillo (RafaEl Deejay Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, DJ Khaled, Cardi B - Dinero (Ronald Maximal & Javier Declara Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - Limitless (Unknown Tribal Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, French Montana - Medicine (DJ FUri DRUMS Circuit Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, Dayvi, V��ctor Cárdenas - Baila Conmigo (Chris Cox Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, Maluma - Pa Ti (Los Padres & Jay Mac Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - In The Morning (Macau Love Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez, Rauw Alejandro - Cambia el Paso (DJ FUri DRUMS EXtended House Club Mix) Jennifer Lopez - On My Way (Marry Me) [TELYKast Club Mix]

Jennifer Lopez - Can't Get Enough (Dario Xavier Club Mix)

#jenniferlopez #jlo #pop #house #fanvidfeed #viddingisart #megamix #house #remix #clubmix #djset

[stocky2016]

"Trespass"

"J'perds ma discrétion

Vraiment pas l'habitude,

Juste envie d'essayer

C'est comme une certitude" (Katy Perry's 'I kissed a Girl')

It took us both by total surprise

and only afterwards did we pause to surmise

How this innocent kiss had felt so different...

how such closeness invited unspoken "inference"

Yes we'd had a drink or two...

unwittingly freed up latent feelings - we thought we maybe knew...

But such unchartered excitement felt amazing

the closeness of the experience, totally unphasing.

It was "trespass" by any other name

but it turned out far more than some exploratory game

This intimacy certainly shook the earth seismically

leaving only one thing still to prove physically.

It was so gentle, sensual and powerfully different,

we no longer recognised its volatile significance

Every nerve in our bodies shouted

as hungry pairs of lips generously parted.

I no longer felt aware or even embarrassed

we danced and cuddled, and carefully surpassed

advances from some of the more predatory boys

whose end-game was treating us as "conquest toys".

© G.P.S. 17th February 2024

(Graphics courtesy of Google Images.)

[chiefbeifongcanrailme]

for linxzekou plssss

sfw 3, 4, 5

nswf: 1, 3, 5, 7, 9

Firstly, thank you so much for asking about my OC! Literally makes my day that you guys care so much🥺🥺

SFW:

3) Arguments headcanon:

I think their arguments often start off with something silly like Lin working too hard or Zek trying to do something nice that inadvertently goes awry. With them, unfortunately, their arguments can make mountains out of molehills, and given the current plot of Soul, Tenzin is a very strong contender in the calamity that's going to turn out of their relationship.

4) Playful/silly headcanon

Zek loves playing with Lin's hair. When she's lying in bed, half asleep, half planning her next day, Zek runs his fingers through her head, petting her slowly into slumber. Lin loves when he does this, but doesn't ever let him know how she tries to resist sleep just to enjoy his touch. He thinks her hair is soft, and he can't stop himself from loving her in his silly little way.

5) Night in headcanon

A night in typically involves cooking together, eating with some spunky jazz music playing in the background followed by dessert while listening to the probending match on the radio. They curl up together on the couch, Zek's fingers threading through her hair until she falls asleep in front of the warmth of the fireplace and the embrace of a firebender. He gives her a soft kiss on her cheek and whispers, "Bed?" and she simply hums in response as he carries her in, and together, they cuddle up under the sheets.

NSFW:

1) Positions/locations headcanon:

Zek absolutely loves holding Lin. His favorite position is sideways, with Lin's back against him so he has all the control in thrusting as well as drawing her closer and closer into his body. Lin likes to get on top of his lap for a ride while he's sitting with the newspaper or so. Naturally, the newspaper ends up on the floor, and Zek, on cloud nine.

Considering they only ever meet after their 50s, they aren't big on exciting locations as such. Between their bedroom, the couch, and the occasional passion-fueled rendezvous on the kitchen counter, they haven't quite had the need to look around for locations.

3) Favourite kinks/fantasies/toys:

Shibari? I'm only saying that because Zek's the captain of the ship and knows all the 1249082034802 different ways of tying a knot lmao. I think the use of bending may be a slightly prevalent feature of their sex life. Warm hands and metallic handcuffs make a good pairing. I'm not sure what kinda toys exist in the atla-verse during this time but I would say the equivalent of a vibrator may be invited to Lin and Zek's private parties.

5) Public play headcanon:

Oh, they're not into any kind of PDA. The last thing Lin wants is attention from the media for the wrong reasons or having her romantic life on full blast again so they keep a low profile. Zek respects this about her and makes sure to ensure privacy anytime they're heading out. With that being said, I doubt they engage in anything salacious in public, unless Lin has done a perimeter check using her seismic sense when the city is evacuated lol. Zek believes that they don't need that kinda excitement because their sex life is great as is, and would rather show her the best time in the privacy of their home than risk something out in the open.

7) Foreplay/turn-ons headcanon:

For Lin, massages are a huge turn-on. When Zek brings his warm hands on her shoulder, it's either going to relax her to sleep or have her fully ravage him in thanks. Zek likes to unravel her slowly: he's a gentleman like that, 'ladies first'. Kissing is a huge part of their foreplay since they're both great kissers and it quickly turns into a competition on who's going to have the other come undone with just their lips. Oral sex is also a huge plus. Zek loves giving more than receiving and Lin, well, Lin doesn't mind his preferences😉. Zek's scent is a huge turn-on for Lin and Lin's bare legs are a huge turn-on for Zek.

9) Who teases the other? Who’s more impatient? Who usually initiates?

Ugh this one's hard. I would say Zek's the one to initiate it with his "Oh honey, you look tired let me give you a little shoulder rub." He knows it's a hit or a miss, even though that's not always his intention. But then again, Lin's the one who turns her massage session into a sex and Zekou is just more than happy to comply. Oftentimes, Zek likes to tease her down there with his tongue, edging her along while she's looking for a release. In this circumstance, Zek's a tease and Lin's impatient, but when she's dressed up all sexy and pristine with buttons and bows and laces galore, Zek is wildly impatient and Lin enjoys watching her man all hot and bothered over lingerie.

Ask me about my headcanons!

[writemarcus]

In Conversation: Keelay Gipson with Marcus Scott

Keelay Gipson, an award-winning multi-disciplinary Afro-surrealist dramatist, activist, and teaching artist, knows what it means to battle your inner demons and come out the other side.

In June 2020, during the pandemic, Gipson’s mother, Gwendolyn, passed away. From the pangs of grief, Gipson began excavating and examining his life and journey as a storyteller. Born in Oklahoma City to a young, unwed mother, the prolific writer was adopted by a Black married couple from the Deep South who relocated and raised him in the idyllic suburbs of Tulsa. It was his mother that nourished his love of theater and the performing arts. Studying acting at Pace, and after a period of being relegated to roles of drug dealers, gang bangers, and sex workers, Gipson turned his focus to writing for the stage and advocating for Black people and Black lives through his work. This would eventually lead to a passionate drive as an activist, with Gipson eventually becoming a member of “We See You, White American Theater,” an anonymously-led coalition of artists that circulated a widely read set of demands for change during a cultural reckoning that saw seismic shifts in and out of the entertainment world.

Now, the award-winning scribe is on the verge of making his off-Broadway debut with the kitchen-sink drama demons., a poetic meditation on loss and legacy. The play, produced by The Bushwick Starr in association with JAG Productions, revolves around the Daimon family who have come together to bury their patriarch and exorcise the trauma passed down to them—but is it too late?

While speaking via FaceTime from his apartment in Brooklyn’s Flatbush neighborhood, Gipson was in the midst of rehearsals for DOT DOT DOT, a TheaterworksUSA musical commission based on the Creatrilogy trio of picture books by New York Times bestselling author Peter H. Reynolds, adapted with composer Sam Salmond. Below is our conversation about the glass ceiling, gatekeeping, and demons.

Marcus Scott (Rail): Can you describe the journey of going from actor to playwright?

Keelay Gipson: The journey from actor to playwright was really just me following the path of least resistance. I was a student in the Musical Theater program at Pace University (class of 2010) and didn’t find much success in booking roles in my time there. This was way before we were having these kinds of nuanced conversations surrounding race and representation in theater. So I began writing roles for myself to act. I would get folks together in an empty studio and we’d read my plays. Soon I stopped acting in them and would just listen to them. I found my voice while trying to give me and the other brown and Black folks an opportunity to be full artists during a time and in a program where that wasn’t happening.

Rail: How many plays have you written and where does demons. stand among them?

Gipson: I’ve written seven full length plays. demons. is the most recent. I began working on it in the summer of 2019 as part of a joint residency with New York Stage and Film and the Dramatist Guild Foundation.

Rail: While I have my theories—why is the name of your show called demons.?

Gipson: I grew up in a Southern Baptist household. The idea of demons. is something that has always been a part of my consciousness. As a child, I remember my dad telling stories about seeing exorcisms, and it always fascinated me. This idea that something other could be the cause of our afflictions, both mentally and physically. I wanted to toy with that idea. Honor the faith that I grew up with while reclaiming it on some level.

Rail: In a 2020 interview with JAGFest, you said “demons. was a play I wasn’t supposed to write, so I listened to the muse; I sat down and it came out of me.” Can you explain this?

Gipson: As I said, I was in residence with NYSAF and DGF at Vassar in the summer of 2019. I was there to work on another play of mine, The Red and the Black—which is a play about the rise of New Black Conservatism. I often have multiple projects going at one time. A play I’m “supposed to” be writing and a “procrastination play” [laughs]. demons. was the latter. Honestly, it was a thought experiment. I was moving squarely into my mid-thirties and I had seen friends lose parents, and I was trying to mentally prepare myself for what that might feel like. Little did I know, the play would be the precursor for my own experience with the death of a parent during the pandemic. I say, “it wasn’t the play I was supposed to write” but it was the play I needed to write.

Rail: So, what’s it about? What was the inspiration for your play demons.? I assume the loss of your mother.

Gipson: Yeah. So, the story follows a Black family after the death of their patriarch. And what I noticed in dealing with the aftermath of a death is that a lot of stuff comes up, right? So, demons. is an exploration through an Afro-surrealist lens of what comes up after the death of a family member, mainly of a parent. The things that you have to reckon with, things that maybe aren’t yours, but that you inherit. So, there’s this idea of inherited trauma, and especially with Black folks in America, what we pass down to our family members and what we leave behind when we’re no longer here. So, demons. is an exploration of all of those good things that death sort of unearths.

Rail: I followed your journey throughout the pandemic with regards to the loss. Once again, I'm very sorry for your loss, man.

Gipson: Thank you. I appreciate it.

Rail: What was your relation like to your mother?

Gipson: My mother was my biggest cheerleader. In high school, she was the president of the parent association for the drama program. She got the pass to come do a photo-call during the dress rehearsal; she would be there with her camera in the front row taking pictures, not for promotional use but for the scrapbook. Like, my mom was the one who was like, “Go to New York.” I went to New York a couple times in high school with my drama program and my mom came as a chaperone. We went and saw the shows that we saw with the theater department and then we went and saw our own shows. My mom, she loved theater and she was the one that—when we didn’t have the money and I didn’t know if I could come to New York to go to school—she pulled me aside and was like, “I’m gonna make this happen for you.” She was… she was everything.

Rail: So, you’re working on this play about Black conservatives—I think it’s hilarious cause both of us have written about Black conservatives during the pandemic, by the way—and you’ve got so many other things going on; you’re an advocate, or an “artivist” as you call yourself, being one of the figureheads behind We See You, White American Theater and the issues revolving around that, in tandem with the multiple projects you’re cultivating. So before we get into that aspect of your life, was it hard for you to kind of mentally go from one place to another place? Are you one of those writers where you have to be working on multiple projects or are you one of those writers where you can only work on one project at a time?

Gipson: I have never worked on just one project at a time. I think for me, I need something that’s completely opposite of the thing that I’m supposed to be doing. Like, if I have a commission that’s about a historical moment, then I’m gonna write something that’s wild and fanciful over here to like, break out of that—not monotony—but break out of the sort of structure that one wouldn't give me. So yeah, I’m often working on multiple things just to keep my brain limber.

Rail: That’s interesting. I see the link between The Red and the Black in your artivism, but what about this particular play with regards to it?

Gipson: This play kind of feels like a new era of my artistry. You know, I’ve written several plays that are about race, that are about Black folks dealing with race and racism, and not like, being beat down by it, but finding a way through; and I try to be honest in all of those works, but this play feels very much not a part of that pantheon. It feels like, to quote Toni Morrison, I’m taking the white person off of my shoulder. It’s not about race. It’s about Black folks. I wanna write about Blackness and all its complexity and not in relationship to whiteness or to racism. This feels like a new era of work for me, where it’s just about these Black folks in a room trying to figure out how they move forward after this thing devastates them. In the opening of the play, it says “a Black family and extremists.” Like, that’s what the play’s about. How do we relate to each other? The world sort of doesn’t come inside of the space in this play. It’s about Black folks in a space together figuring it out and not in relationship to society or the political landscape or 2022, 2023… it’s timeless in a way because death will always be true.

Rail: Let’s talk politics. Let’s get into it. There were many incidents over the last three years and many of those incidents in the industry in some way involved We See You, White American Theater. This collective has attracted the likes of Tony Award winners, the Academy Award winners, the Broadway Elite and those on the rise… What was the intention behind that? Was there a litmus for that?

Gipson: I think that during the pandemic, we had a lot of time, right? I’ll say that a lot of people had things in the pipeline and the industry was chugging along. There was no reason for it to change. It was working. Then everything stopped and we had time to look at the way that things are going. Look at our industry for real, holistically, and I think a lot of us brown and Black folks saw that it's not working, not for us, and it hasn't been for a long time. We’ve been tokenized. So, in working alongside those organizations and those movements, I was trying to galvanize other brown and Black folks who felt similarly that the industry wasn’t working for us and we could do better. Like, especially in the theater.

The theater is different than film and television because it’s people in a room breathing the same air, there are people sharing space, right? And I’ve always wondered how we can do better at sharing spaces with one another; and I’m all about community. The theater for me has always been a community-driven space. So, I wanted this community to mean what it says! I do think that it's business as usual a little bit again, which is not concerning because I think that the theater is working the way that it was designed to work. Much like a lot of things in our society. Yes, we can push back on it, but if we don’t imagine new models—like completely new models—then the old models that we’re trying to reform are always going to try to revert back to the way they were working. Cause that’s how they were built to work. So, the momentum of some of these things, like We See You… there are several organizations, I don’t want to just point to that one… but I wonder what their role is now because things kind of feel like they’re back to normal. I mean, the seven Broadway shows that were Black-led that came right out of the pandemic, that’s a great thing. But they all closed pretty early. Even with Ain't No Mo… it’s not working. So what?

It’s not us, it’s not the Black creatives. Right? It's because we know these things that we’re trying to make it better and it’s not getting better. So, it feels like it’s the model. I don't know, I think we need to imagine bigger than we are even doing now. I think we need to think magically, we’re theatremakers, right? We deal in magical thinking. I think we need to do that more when it comes to the theater because right now we’re just trying to polish a turd a little bit, it feels like. [Laughs] Like, we know it doesn’t work. And we had all of this time to try to make it work and it’s still not working. I think of the Cleveland Play House incident that just happened. And I’m like, “How, after all of this time of listening and learning, did we come to this moment?” So, we have to think magically. We need to think bigger than I think we even know.

Rail: For our readers, what are some things that we need to really look at? You mentioned the seven shows that opened on Broadway in the fall of 2021: Pass Over by Antoinette Chinonye Nwandu, Lackawanna Blues by Ruben Santiago-Hudson, Chicken & Biscuits by Douglas Lyons, Thoughts of a Colored Man by Keenan Scott II, Trouble in Mind by Alice Childress, Clyde’s by Lynn Nottage, and Skeleton Crew by Dominique Morisseau. Since that time, shows like Jordan E. Cooper’s Ain’t No Mo’, the Broadway transfer of the Asian-led musical K-Pop, MJ: The Musical (also penned by Nottage) and Adrienne Kennedy’s Ohio State Murders opened and closed on Broadway. Not to mention, Michael R. Jackson’s A Strange Loop.

Gipson: And it won every single award it could possibly win; you know what I mean?

Rail: What are some things that we can look at in general for the field? Because this is a global issue affecting Black, Brown and BIPOC people on both sides of the pond. Using a bit of magical thinking, what are some concepts, machinations or ideas that could work?

Gipson: I think it starts with audience cultivation. Honestly. I think outreach is a huge thing that theaters don’t know how to do because they rely on their subscriber base. That's the truth. The subscriber base we know is mostly older white folks who have disposable income. Millennials don’t have disposable income. And like, I'm sorry, but to get a package at one of these off-Broadway theaters, or to go to a night at the theater and get a good seat, it’s expensive. Right? So there needs to be outreach to people who can't spend a hundred dollars or five hundred dollars or a thousand dollars on a package for a season. And we need to make it cool. Honestly, theater is not cool. It’s only cool when it’s like the hottest ticket in town, right? Right? We need to figure out a way to make theater accessible to people younger than the Boomers and to Millennials that don’t have disposable income. And it’s not gonna happen with one or two nights of Affinity Nights. It’s gonna happen by putting people on late night shows! I don't know. I’m not like a marketing person but to me, it feels like there’s a disconnect between what the theater is talking about. Because once people come see these plays and get talking, that’s where the change will happen. But you gotta get people into the theater and from what I’ve seen, it’s the same people. And yes, there’s Affinity Nights, and so you can go to a Black Theater Night or an LGBTQ Theater Night and see your community. But the truth of the matter is we’re either seeing it for the second time, or it’s because it's your community, you’re finally seeing those people, but they were gonna come to the show anyway.

Rail: Ain’t that the truth. So, you are trying to appeal to a particular audience. How would you market demons.?

Gipson: I don't know. That's interesting because I couldn’t go to churches, I don't think, and market this show in the same way that like Ain’t No Mo’ might be able to. I’m a professor, so I’m going to try and get young people to see this show. Young Black people because this show’s kind of weird. I like weird stuff. Weird Black shows can be successful too. Shows that are weird and Black… there's a place for them. A Strange Loop is weird to me. I’m like, that's cool. Passing Strange, things like that. How can we take Black surrealism, things that are a little left of center, but talk about being Black in a way that is just as valid as something that’s a little more straightforward.

Rail: You’ve grown exponentially as an artist, mostly because of just the nature of the beast. Where do you think the next stage of Keelay Gipson is going?

Gipson: I hope it is still in the theater. Actually, I know it is. I think I'm working on some musicals. I know I’m working on some musicals. I’m working on a new history play about Tulsa (because I’m from Tulsa and I haven’t written about being from Tulsa and being Black from Tulsa, and I think I should do that). So musicals, a play about Tulsa and hopefully, a film or a TV show.

Rail: And if you could bring any family member to see this show, who would you bring?

Gipson: I would bring my mother. Yeah, I would bring my mother. I kind of regret—I’ve told her to wait so many times to, you know, just wait until it’s the real thing. “Don’t come to the reading, just wait till it’s the real thing.” So, I would want her to see the real thing.

Rail: Pleasure to finally meet you, Keelay.

Gipson: No, this was lovely. Thank you. Thank you.

The Bushwick Starr and The Connolly Theater demons. May 20–June 10, 2023 Brooklyn

Contributor

Marcus Scott

Marcus Scott is a New York City-based playwright, musical writer, opera librettist, and journalist. He has contributed to Time Out New York, American Theatre Magazine, Architectural Digest, The Brooklyn Rail, Elle, Essence, Out, Uptown, Trace, Hello Beautiful, Madame Noire and Playbill, among other publications. Follow Marcus on Instagram.

[bwhitex]

Ho, ho, ho, you fabulous Queer as folk!

This holiday season, toss out that old wish list. Instead of zoning in on what you think you want, why not fling the door wide open to the unexpected delights that might sashay your way? Make it your New Year’s pledge to be gloriously slutty and supremely open. Who knows? Oh, the age-old game of "hit it and quit it," where promises are as fleeting as shooting stars, and the morning-after plan is often no more than a fantasy! But what happens when the stars align and the fun turns out to be top-tier, chart-topping, and unforgettable? Suddenly, those little white lies you sprinkled like snowflakes might start a blizzard you hadn't planned for.

You see, even the most seasoned players in this game sometimes forget the human heart isn't just a toy in a game of emotional Jenga. When you're out there delivering the best "gifts" of the season and you strike gold, will you be ready for the encore that everyone craves after a blockbuster performance?

Because let's face it, we're all human. We have a knack for clinging to the sweet stuff and running miles from anything that hints at a sour note. And when we find someone who turns the bedroom into a Broadway hit, we're more likely to "encore" than "exit stage left."

So, before you don that Santa suit and promise a one-night wonderland, ponder this: What's your strategy for when the night turns into a hit that no one wants to end? Can you navigate the aftermath with the same finesse you used to charm your way into their... stockings?

Now, talking New Year's and all that jazz, let's be the gift that keeps on giving, shall we? A man, with not just a mood for feeling Jolly, but one who is a step ahead, and fully aware of the natural outcomes that come his top 10 best sexual encounters. It's time to craft a cunning plan for your carnal cravings, and ultimately finding the best satisfaction for that. Who knew you could be such a winner this year. When you embark on your next pleasure-seeking voyage, don't just bob along on the waves of desire—chart a course as if you're on the hunt for the best sex ever. And hey, let's not forget the aftershocks of such seismic pleasures. Because, let's face it, an earth-shattering romp can seriously shake up your views in the best possible way.

Out with the fibs of "Oh, I'm just here for a quick roll in the hay." We all know the tune changes when the hayride turns out to be a five-star thrill ride. Suddenly, you've got a stage-five clinger who can't get enough because, surprise, repeat performances are in high demand when the show's that good.

This season, let's sprinkle a little wisdom in our wake. Picture yourself as Santa's cheekiest elf, schooling the clueless on the subtle art of matching their loud words with their naughty actions.

Now, let's chat about the birds and the bees and the consequences, please. Think about the intricate dance of intimacy and impact this year. The better we get at understanding our own and others' emotional and cognitive quirks, the more holly and jolly the world becomes.

So, you suave Santas, get your act together. Be the man with a master plan for the thrills and spills of those close encounters. Great sex? It's an experience to be felt, a connection to be nurtured. It's not just about the "what" and "when," but the "how" and the "who" that makes Santa's sleigh ride dangerously exciting.

This year, do the community a solid: Shift from "looking for" to "who I hope to find" in your quest for those steamy escapades.

Gear up, Santa's squad. Have a game plan for the sweet aftermath of finding what you're after. Trust in the quest for greatness in the sack it's out there, and it's waiting for you. Don't sweat the small stuff; focus on the big picture like how you'll handle all that festive joy you're about to unwrap.

Wishing you a season filled with mischief, merriment, and a sleigh load of unforgettable adventures!

Xoxo

One of Santa’s sauciest sidekicks

[texshire-books]

Chosen by Sadie Stern - an excerpt.

Fiona

I can’t believe I’m masturbating. While that act is not unusual for me, what is unusual are the circumstances which have taken my hand between my legs tonight and compelled me to run my fingers through its slippery folds and rub myself to climax. Normally, I’d watch porn, sometimes a passage within a book will turn me on so much, the inevitable journey of my hands in a downward direction is the only end result. Never before have I felt this need after just a brief chance encounter with someone who has made an impression of seismic proportion. As I continue to rub myself, I’m thinking back to that moment earlier. I was visiting a new bookstore in town. Some might smile at my description. It’s just called Heaven and for some, certainly not all, that is precisely what it is. The windows are plain. Opaque coverings inside mask its contents. Most bookstores place their wares in full view, after all, what is a book store without…… books? Now we are down to semantics; the study of meaning. Inside, some might argue over genre, even content. The books and magazines on sale in Heaven are not for everyone and those I have purchased have been the normal material for the purpose of masturbation.

I was leaving. Unusually I’d not seen anything to rouse my ardour. My period was due and while I became horny over the week that followed, it was the days preceding that took the spring out of my step. I reached the door which opened just as I arrived. That was when I saw her. I looked up and there she was. Tall, five ten in her heels. Dark haired and sultry, elegant in a way that only good breeding can achieve. High class and obviously well connected. So why is she entering Heaven, hardly Waterstones, this a down market, seedy book joint favoured mostly by men seeking good wanking material for later. Our eyes met. Hers were a vivid green, like a cat. She smiled as those same eyes bored into mine, then her pink tongue appeared and ran itself along her top lip. She slowly nodded too, she approved of what she could see. I shivered as I realised, she had licked her lips, just as anyone would having savoured a juicy raw steak and wondered how long she dare place it under the grill before it was served up on a plate ready for a welcoming mouth. I had a place for that mouth and especially a searching tongue. That place was wet already from my searching of a different sort, words meant to arouse and those lay behind me in their millions as I stepped out of the bookshop and maintaining eye contact throughout.

She slid past, moving in the opposite direction. Within seconds the door would close and the same window coverings which also extended to the door would block her out of my view. She’d be gone, what then? I turned and looked while the door slowly closed; one last smile and the briefest of flicks of pinkness from what I imagined was a probing tongue. Then she really was gone. What now, I could hang around like a lost puppy. A stray? Wait to have a collar placed around my neck and be led home? I laughed, that only happened in the books I liked to read. My name is Fiona Jones, I am submissive. I am lesbian too; I’m twenty-one years of age and I have recently graduated from university. I’d love to stay and see what happened when the door opened and she re-emerged. I wondered if she’d carry a bag, whose weight would determine how many books she had purchased. The question would be, which books? I couldn’t stay, I had an interview the following day and I needed to prepare. I was highly aroused now, my panties, if you could call what a wore by that name, were sodden and these needed replacing too. I’d have the irresistible urge to masturbate but I’d leave that until bedtime when I could get my box of toys working. Thankfully I kept a good supply of batteries in the same box and tonight I knew they would be put to good use.

I’d seen the advertisement for a personal assistant in a magazine. It was a graphic design business and its chief executive Ginevra Calivari was seeking a new personal assistant. I was puzzled by the type of magazine her company, Unique had placed its advert, it suggested its intention was to find someone with a certain je ne sais quoi? Did I have that certain undefinable quality? I wrote off more in hope than expectation. A recent photo was required and I had one taken by a friend when I had attended a final graduation party which certainly met the required timescales. I guess I can best be described as chic, tiny and with elfin features framed by a short boyish hairstyle which suited my blonde hair. I wore a party dress which ended well above the knee. Much further and I might have exposed too much. You see, that dress was all I wore! I can’t believe it even now, I’d been selected, short listed for interview and it was tomorrow!

I’m in bed now and those mysterious green eyes are plaguing my thinking. My hand is in its normal place, my fingers working their magic between my legs. I’m wet, when am I ever not wet. I’ve always been highly sexual. From the earliest of age, I’d placed a mirror, propped against my headboard and I’d lain on my back with my knees raised and my legs well apart. I was fascinated by my split, hairless mound. I knew my pink lips spilled out without any assistance. But I’d pull back my folds and expose its pink sodden contents. Even at eight I’d get wet and I quickly found where to rub and create an extraordinary sensation. Who knows what a climax is at that age? I did! I saw this pink bud peering out of its hooded protective hiding place. I wondered what it was? I soon found out the moment I touched it. I found this almost electric shiver run up my spine which stopped immediately I removed my finger from its tip. Rubbing it and encircling it brought on another feeling altogether. I’d watched my mother cook; she said milk had to be watched intently and as it rose up the side of the pan, the trick was to take it off the heat to prevent it spilling over. I soon learned to tease myself, prolong that moment. I now know the term edging describes this. Then, when I knew the inevitable result of continuing would create a messy explosion, I’d stop and start again. My mother took me to the doctor concerned I’d developed late-stage bed wetting but I knew different. I learned to take a towel to bed and I was suddenly cured of my affliction.

My mirror exploration didn’t stop at my clitoris. I now know its name of course. I looked at its depths; there was a void which begged its own exploration and it was certainly getting plenty tonight as I worked my new phallic object in and out. In my early exploration I found another place too if I lifted my bottom higher and parted my cheeks. This was pink too but something considered a rather forbidden place. Wasn’t that it’s appeal though? Didn’t everyone go and see, even enter a place forbidden entry? I knew then I could only be attracted to such anatomy. I learned at convent school that boys were different. I learned a lot about sin, sinful actions, and especially sinful thoughts. I was in the shower one day and a girl stood nearby. I reached out and touched her. She screamed and the consequences were dramatic. I found myself held over a desk later a nun holding my wrists while another crouched down and held my ankles. My bottom was bared and I bit my lip and refused to scream while a thick strap was applied multiple times to my bottom. Later, another sin as a masturbated in bed, my still warm bottom signalling another pleasure had been discovered - pain!

[box0pals]

@cursedfortune wanted Majin B-21.

-

Vanessa was oddly calm in their Hakai Gear, adorned with a purple aura alongside of being in Ultra Ego, this battle had been drawn out slightly by the Majin, toying with the G.O.D Disciple in the timeline they were rampaging through: as their crane-like stance made the other begin to falter, Form Two: Jinsei proving more than a match as the two clashed once again in a seismic tremor that swept across the air and nearby surroundings with a chilling energy you could feel to your core; only to be repeated rapidly as the two entered a flurry of blows, the opponent soon staggered as 21 began to use their multi-pronged, finger beam attacks mid-strike to attack weak-points and pressure points that threw off their defensive stance. The enemy began heaving from them using a more advanced version of Jinsei, 21 amping up the pressure on their opponent, along with their tail-strikes delivering waves of pure destruction energy, coupled with their kicks in fluid movement had broke their guard completely like a well-calculated dervish. Seamlessly changing stance to a far more open, aggressive position, 21 mocking them now while going on the offensive with Form Four mixed with Form One, the enemy unable to defend, "Your practice of the Wakagaeri is laughable, you've only been making me stronger even while I'm fighting on your terms, slowly, mind you and to your advantage. You bore me."

Worn down and many of their tendons destroyed from Form Two, they were unable to keep up with 21 anymore in the pummeling onslaught. The Majin chuckling as they knee'd them in the gut, making them cough up blood, yet they didn't even have time for that as the monster's tail had grabbed and slammed them head first in a full-body flip as 21 just floated there and yawned as their tail retracted- though not before turning them into a chocolate truffle with a tail beam. Popping the now 'sweet-made enemy' into their mouth, muttering 'Hakai' to erase them as part of chewing them, pointing at Mortem. Ki sensing them to gauge the other, something inside of 21 made them revert to their most 'primal gear' at the other's presence.

Gear Switch: Absorption Gear.

"You there!!! You're the one I'm one looking for, you... you smell different!!!! You're not a fighter. I know you. You use magic. Or something like it. Never knew what to call it." While incorrect and their tone and mannerisms completely flipped, 21 did acknowledge they recognized that presence at least and was excited to see it.

[writer59january13]

Argh... the bane of daylight savings time – November 3rd 2024

Hour hands clock back sixty minutes of Autumn round about same of month every year, what a bummer, an inconvenient truth diverged from this chum purposelessly manipulating hold over yesteryear doth drum sensation of jet lag (an inconvenient truth

with earth in the balance) as if flying within time machine at warp speed from this station, where bumpy ride invariably finds me feeling ticked off and glum in no mood to rhyme, nor be leer re: cull juiced barely tantamount to gather scattered wits sin tide, and express mood as (a gardener sows what she/he reaps) hoe hum being fruitful to multiply seeds of life cached within scrotum abstaining from prophylactics to help beget new life within womb, how quickly nine months will zoom before daughter or son regaled after parturition

fortunate, this chronological seismic shift nada wide, ah assume

nonetheless, mein kampf cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics comb pluck hated off jangling black keys helplessly boom fancifully drifting and boring into quick ribald sand trap doom ming an inducement for emergency convoy, after

courtesy forensic anthropologist a greatful dead body he/she doth exhume conducting post mortem baptism of corpse sending lifeless subject down a flume when subsequently pitched from sea to figurative shining sea – gram ma mother earth glum, where live yik yak wired

vanguard Trulia tried optimism to hum

nonetheless, swallowed down cream mated behavioral sink her/his inert ashes boxed for mod urn eternity like talcum powder went – me mum bling bloviation, once worth matchless peerage, now pitched numb lee into morass of temporary confusion, where plumb

line delineating circadian rhythm offset, when athwart pilot rum

man strait ting and bickering with Lilliputians slum

bring within islets of langerhans defiantly thumb ming nose, where body, mind & soul weeknd viz a bully did cower hence mister clock,

who got hijacked 3600 seconds per hour experienced head, thorax and abdomen diminishing in power wrought indistinguishable Whitsuntide as sour grapes of wrath imposing ill fitting sea legs, which folded like a faulty tower crumbling skeletal carapace, resoundingly surrendered, and back slid vis a vis space/ time continuum did devour.

Black hole sun event horizon indeed kept lock step as das joint mill hoard

Sucker punched bandwagon of father time, whose riffs a silent chord nsync with atomic fractional second bored quirky shenanigans toying with chronometers counter point of view shifted to oppose this minute accord.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Fictober 24 - 22 and 23

Summary: Grunt's going through that special time in a young krogan's life where he just needs to kill something. Time to visit Tuchanka and the Shepard's recurring nightmare. Does killing a thresher maw count as exposure therapy?

---

He knew that Tuchanka was kind of a nuclear waste site, but… damn, hearing about it and actually being ass deep in it were two different things.

“Why are we doing this again?”

Bo’s tone was as flat as the planet itself as they glanced around the battle strewn ground. The remains of varren and klixen littered the arena, shot or blown to pieces by a combination of weapons and biotic ability. They had been tough, but possible.

“Because your son needed a puberty ritual to keep from killing everyone.” Alistair’s tone was just as dry as he reloaded his gun – he had found some ammo stashed away by a past participant. “And we were the only ones who could fill in as his krantt.”

He should’ve expected that much from Wrex after touching down planetside, but to be actually thrown into the ritual as a (willing?) participant was a completely separate matter. Bo he could see, but him? He wasn’t exactly krogan material, or so the many residents of the planet had sneered at him while he passed.

Bo was ok – she had headbutted someone to prove herself. He didn’t have the forehead for it.

“Shepard, hit the keystone so we can finish this.” Grunt was still sounding grumpy, but the look in his eye was enough to know he was ready for more. Hell, he seemed to be enjoying the carnage. Once again, not surprising – his hormones were probably at an all time high at that point – but it was still something that gave him pause.

Also, he might’ve been a little jealous. Second puberty was a long way off for him…

“Alright, get ready for whatever’s coming next.” He approached the console, the green button glowing amid the dust and fog. Soon his gauntlet was smashing against it, beginning what would hopefully be the last round.

Immediately, the ground began to shake in a way he knew all too well.

“Fuck, don’t tell me-“ Bo’s voice was tight. “Aw, fuck.”

Grunt was practically giddy as he took cover. “Feel that? Everything is shaking. I’m ready!”

His voice echoed that of the speaker, blaring the final message into the destroyed arena. “Now all krogan bear the genophage, our reward, our curse. It is a fight where the only goal is survival!”

Oh, he did not like the sound of that. If a krogan had to strive to survive, his gut was telling him it could be only one thing.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you’re all insane.”

His voice was drowned out by the cracking of ground as a specter from his nightmares began to writhe its way out of the ground. He ducked behind a pillar, heart pounding out of his chest as a cold sweat poured down his forehead.

A thresher maw. They had a fucking thresher maw.

“Finally, an opponent worth fighting!”

Grunt, ever eager, was already firing at it before it had even gotten its top half on the surface. Memory told Alistair all that would do was waste ammo. Bo was of a similar mind – she remained crouched in her hiding space, hands tight around her weapon. He thought he saw a shake, but that might’ve been from the seismic force of the maw rising.

“Grunt, don’t shoot at it until you see the mouth!”  He could only hope the hormone addled krogan could hear him. Their opponent – if he could even call it that – was taking its time to fully rise. Was it toying with them? The thought chilled his blood, but all he could do was wait.

At least his nephew stopped firing.

A few pregnant seconds passed, and then the roar started. Alistair caught the pincers waving in the air as the thresher maw emerged from the soil, bringing with it its terrible namesake, and rising high above their heads. He could only imagine it was at full power – when was the last time they had done this?

If only some other young, dumb krogan had weakened its armor first…

“Now shoot the damn thing!” Bo practically roared as she opened fire, emptying a clip almost immediately. Grunt followed suit, and soon Alistair was shooting as well. All the while, he watched for the sign he still saw in his nightmares.

Just like it did when he dreamed, it reared back.

“Take cover, it’s going to spit!”

He ducked even further behind the column he was hiding behind, heart pounding. The thresher maw reared back and spit a volley at acid towards them, sizzling with its potency. It hit his cover and began to drip down as it dissolved the metal, puddling at his feet. It was at that point that Alistair risked running to a nearby pile of collapsed wall, mind going blank as memories of Akuze flooded through him.

At least as he skidded into safety, he got to keep both his eyes. Even better, they got a second to breathe as the creature burrowed beneath the surface of Tuchanka, hiding from any further attacks.

“Al, we gotta hit it with biotics, our guns are doing shit to it!” Bo’s voice screamed into his earpiece, and he knew she was right. Biotics had been the only thing to save them back when their unit had perished, and even then it had been close.

Still, it was the only thing left.

“Hit it on three with your best shot! It’s going to surface again soon!”

Alistair could feel the energy bubbling beneath his skin. Unlike when he used barriers, his offensive abilities had a different tingle to them – almost unpleasant, as if his body wasn’t really built for it. But it didn’t matter – a barrier wasn’t going to help them then.

The maw could spit through it anyway – the scars he bore until he died were proof of that.

Thanks to their time together, there was no need to count aloud. Instead, Alistair and Bo unleashed their attacks simultaneously when the thresher maw popped out of the ground again. The air vibrated and pulsed as she released her shockwave, the attack thundering towards the creature with a rush of energy.

Meanwhile, his reave shot out at the same time, leaving his fingers tingling. Both hit the maw at about the same time, knocking it back and causing its armor to sizzle. As it did, his body felt lighter as the healing properties took effect, restoring his flagging strength by a small degree. There had to be some irony he took healing from a thresher maw, but his mind was reeling too much to make the connection.

Unsurprisingly, it burrowed under the ground again. Apparently, it didn’t like being hit.

“Shepard, you weakened it!” Grunt didn’t clarify who he was speaking to then, but it didn’t matter. Alistair had spent enough time studying thresher maws from the footage of Akuze to know it was a little slower, its armor pitted from the dual attack.

If they hit it with some cryo ammo while they waited for their energy to recharge, they could take it down.

Luckily, Bo was on the same wavelength. He heard the click as she shifted ammo, waiting for it to emerge. Grunt did the same, switching to his backup concussive shot. Unfortunately for him, he was the only one without special ammunition. It was just him and his gun, doing the best it could to keep up with the big guys.

“It’s coming!”

Bo was right on the credits. With another roar, the creature emerged south of their position, leaving them out in the open. The mother-son duo opened fire immediately, sprinting for cover as they shot at the maw. Alistair scrambled for new cover as well, emptying his clip as he slid into safety once more.

The thresher maw roared as parts of its body froze and was blown open at the same time. It was bleeding now, no doubt painting the ground with whatever it had inside it. Yet it still wasn’t dead as it writhed.

But it was getting there. One good shockwave and reave combo would be enough if they hit it in the right spot.

“Aim for the biggest hole, we can tear it in half!” Alistair grit his teeth as he prepared what would hopefully be his final offense. His head was swimming, but it didn’t matter. That thing was going to die if he had to fire himself into a coma.

Bo nodded, and soon she was glowing. Once again, there was no need for a countdown – they fired on a mix of instinct and training. Their paired attacks raced out towards the maw, catching it in its newly made weak point.

It screamed, and the blood flowed anew. Then it hit the ground hard enough to rattle his bones and nearly knock him off his feet. His heart skipped a beat, almost afraid it would spit again and take them all out. But then it disappeared beneath the surface with a final scream.

A few pregnant seconds passed… then nothing.

It was dead.

“Holy shit, we killed it.”

Bo had outright awe in her voice, and he had to admit he felt the same. Still, something didn’t feel right in the arena. Though there was no blinking button telling of a fourth round, the ground was soon covered in shadow.

It was a shuttle coming in.

“Good, we have company. I want more.”

Clearly, Grunt wasn’t exercising those hormones as much as Alistair had hoped. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he watched Uvenk and his men make it groundside. From their short encounter, he hadn’t liked the guy and seeing him there didn’t help matters.

“I swear, if he gets any closer.” Bo cocked her gun. “I still got ammo.”

Alistair held up his hand. “Maybe we can fix this, I know we can.”

He wasn’t sure why he had said that – maybe part of him had worried they had done something wrong by killing the thresher maw. After all, their objective had only been to survive the beast. Killing it was out of mission parameters.

Besides, they probably didn’t have an extra lying around… at least, he hoped not.

Uvenk approached, armed. Not a good sign. “You live, and you brought down the thresher maw. No one has done that in generations. Urdnot Wrex was the last.”

Leave it to Wrex to pull something like that off…

“My krantt gave me strength beyond my genes. Which are damned good.”

Grunt naturally had to fire back. Alistair had to wonder if he was only referring to half of his krantt there, but instead he checked his ammo to make sure he had enough to get through whatever was coming. After all, Uvenk hadn’t come alone. There were more than a few armored krogan making up his krantt, and they didn’t look friendly.

“What the fuck do you want Uvenk? We did your damn ritual.”

Bo had never been one to stand on ceremony – spit on it was more her style. Alistair didn’t have the energy to groan at that point. His biotics were recharging anyway, slower than usual thanks to his sugar dropping.

At least keep him talking until they were fully restored, jeez…

“He is a mistake, but a powerful one.” Uvenk shifted to Grunt. “His presence could shift the balance of the clans.”

Even from where he was standing, he could see his nephew bristle. “You spit on my father’s name, and on Shepards’! But now you stop ranting because I’m strong?”

“There would be restrictions. You could not breed. But you would be clan in name.”

Wow, what a generous offer. No doubt it came with plenty of other stipulations. Uvenk didn’t seem the giving type.

“It’s your call, Grunt, but I think you’re getting a raw deal.”  

His voice carried with the wind, but it was enough that the young krogan could hear it. Unsurprisingly, he had his fingers on the trigger and wasn’t about to let go. Apparently, he had made up his mind.

Just what he needed – a fight with krogan as a palate cleanser against a living nightmare. This ritual was just the gift that kept on giving.

---

Well, at least it was over.

Grunt knelt before the shaman, accepting his blessing. The other krogan had gathered around, already whispering about their feats on the battlefield. If the old one was to be believed, their names were about to live on in glory.

“Grunt, you are Urdnot. You may now own property, join the army, and apply to serve under a battlemaster.”

The young krogan picked up his head. “Shepard is my battlemaster.”

He had the feeling it was Bo Peep Shepard there. It was fair – she was the ideal of a non-krogan krogan.

Things petered out after that. Grunt got a new gun to go with his new name, and they were given leave to head back to the Normandy. Alistair was more than happy to leave Tuchanka behind as he trudged behind mother and son, both in high spirits.

“You did good, Grunt.”

“Heh, I know. You weren’t bad yourself, Shepard.”

Briefly, he glanced behind. “You either, Shepard. Didn’t know you had attacks in that puny body.”

“Gotta have something to get through basic.” Alistair rotated his shoulder – reave took it out of him. “Congrats, Urdnot Grunt.”

It was a good name for him, especially considering he was connected to Wrex. If anyone could steer the young krogan right, it would be him. Hell, the whole planet could use him as it sorted itself out.

Tuchanka was in good hands with him.

“Shepard, reports are coming in. Grunt has received multiple breeding requests.”

EDI’s electronic voice carried as they approached the Normandy. That only made the krogan even more pleased with himself, and it showed in how he walked. He deserved it after everything that had happened, even if it sounded a little weird.

“That a boy.” Bo slapped him in the side. “Just wait until after we save the galaxy, though. Gotta make it a safer place for your kids.”

Grunt seemed to sulk at that but nodded. “I won’t have much time for that if I’m following you around anyway.”

The AI wasn’t finished, however. Her voice carried into all their earpieces. “Also, three breeding requests have been received for Commander Bo Peep Shepard.”

…

Ok, he wasn’t even sure how that worked honestly. Had they come from horny male krogan wanting to see if human-krogan fusion was possible, or were they from eager lesbians in the crowd who had found attraction after her feats?

Did krogan have lesbians? They probably did… didn’t they hang out in all female groups?

Bo snorted at that. “If they’re women, it’ll be a maybe.”

“Unfortunately, they are all from male krogan citing her strength and capabilities.” Alistair swore he could hear Joker snickering in the background at that. “Finally, one breeding request has come in for Commander Alistair Shepard.”

That got him to freeze in place.

Grunt snorted with mirth at that, and Bo wasn’t much better. “Are you serious? Him?”

“One female krogan has requested him specifically for his biotics.”

  It was a good thing EDI couldn’t find amusement in that, because his face turned blood red under his helmet. Then his arm began to ache dully as Bo needled him in it with her elbow, the armor just making things worse.

“Hey, at least she has taste.”

“I don’t know whether to be confused considering I’m not exactly prime krogan material, or slightly euphoric that she thinks I can.” It was a little of column A, a little of column B. “Unfortunately, it’s going to be a no from me.”

Bo snorted again. “That’ll break her heart for sure. Where will she find another twink on Tuchanka?”

“Wherever your boys find their new girlfriend, maybe. It’s a big planet.”

No doubt Joker was loving this. He could hear the man chuckling as they stepped onto the Normandy and entered the airlock for decontamination. Grunt was definitely enjoying himself with his new name and new gun, so at least somebody was happy.

Maybe he’d finally be able to calm down to his previous levels of homicidal eagerness.

Still, one thought stuck in Alistair’s mind as they entered the Normandy and headed to their gear lockers. As he started to remove his helmet, he turned to face his sister.

“Hey, do you think killing a thresher maw counts as exposure therapy?”

Bo shot him a blank look as she stripped off her gauntlets. “I have no fucking clue, why?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Because I haven’t done my therapy homework yet.”

That got him launched across the bay, but at least he didn’t crash into anything. It had been worth it, just to see the look on her face. At any rate, he was going to argue it counted when he next met with his therapist.

After all, he had been spat at. According to Dr. Hunter, that was kind of a trauma point for him. But he could work on the specifics later. Right then, all he wanted to do was collapse in bed and hope he didn’t have to go back to Tuchanka anytime soon.

Next time, he was just going to take Garrus’ suggestion and drop Grunt off at Omega. Any sort of disease would be worth it compared to a thresher maw. Well… almost any. Krogans could get some nasty stuff between the genophage and their four testicles.

Did Dr. Chakwas even have the antibiotics for that? Probably not… so maybe the maw was the  safer choice.

…

Funny how those things work out sometimes.