#than follow complex instructions for something im not familiar with at all

[wolfjackle]

A sliding scale between 2 and 4.

It fully depends on my familiarity with the ingredients and prep styles of the food. Things I've a base level familiarity with? 4. Things I've barely touched as a cook before? 2.

[beigehearts]

Part I, The Awakening

so im in love with Ran Haitani i might not even get to any requests with the way im feeling so please bear with me. ill be writing fics to make myself feel better and that is all thank you for your understanding

TW / CW // unedited, violence, intense descriptions of gore Word Count: 2.7k

You find yourself in an alley. It's dark and dingy and smells something like rotten food and dead rats. It's a full moon tonight, and it shines brightly through the faded clouds. Snow is trickling down, so lightly that you would miss it if you weren't looking for it. You're laying in the snow of this revolting alley, laid out as if you're trying to make a snow angel.

How did you get here?

It's so cold that your fingers and toes have practically frozen off of your body. So numb, so cold, so alone. You sit up and look around; you can hear your bones creaking as you move around. Now that you're thinking about it... Who are you?

You stand up, ignoring the pain and aches of your body. You can't remember how you got here. You can't remember why you're hear. You can't remember even a week ago. Your mind is a blank slate and it makes you want to scream. Nothing. You remember absolutely nothing.

But you can't stay here. You're already one foot in the grave but you refuse to lay in it. You rub your arms and shiver. You're wearing nothing but a sports bra and some pajama shorts.

buzz buzz

Ah, a phone. You begin walking out of the alley and pull the phone from your pocket.

Addy

where are you??

are you okay???

I'm about to call the police

please answer

I'm worried about you.

sent at 2:04 am

That's not the only missed message. There are two others from who you can assume are friends. And a bunch of missed calls from those same friends.

It's 2:05 am on December 31st, 2007.

For some reason the date just feels wrong. Something about it just feels off.

There's an empty street with shops lining it, all of them with lights off and doors locked. You amble down it and are glad that you can't feel your toes. All you can feel in your bare feet is the crunch of the almost frozen over snow.

Maybe you'll be able to find something on your phone. Your cracked and slow smart phone opens up and you scroll to the maps app. The most recently searched address is 682 白桃通り. Alright, so that's where you'll go. Hopefully you can get out of this cold and warm up some.

You follow the directions, bearing with the 35 minute walk it directs. All of your limbs are starting to go numb, all of them feel like they'll fall off at any moment.

It's an apartment complex. You walk through the empty lobby and take the elevator to the sixth floor. 682... 682... Ah, here it is. The door has a large crack straight down the middle, and the doorknob is barely hanging on.

Hesitantly you push the door open and peek inside. You find the light switch and close the door behind you. The place is completely destroyed. The couch is flipped over and television is laying flat on the ground. Most definitely it will not be able to work. The walls have small holes in them... Bullet holes. There's blood splattered across the walls and the furniture.

But it's warm. So warm. You find the bedroom and hurry inside where it's even warmer. You rush to the bathroom and gape at your reflection.

Your nose is blue, there are icicles hanging from your eyelashes... The rest of your face is beat red and as you warm up it begins to burn. But that's not the extent of it. Your left eye is swollen, it's practically pulsating with it's black, purple and blue color. Your lip is cut down the side, you can see the flesh clearly as the skin splits.

You look down at your hands aimlessly and wonder, just where have you been? Your hands are the same color as your swollen eye and your knuckles are, blood smeared all over them.

As you examine your body, you begin to feel the pain setting in. Stinging hands, aching face, burning toes… It looks like you put up a fight with whatever happened. That thought alone seldom brings you comfort.

You look through the drawers of the bedroom, finding a sweatshirt and some sweatpants along with fuzzy socks. You waste no time in rushing to the shower, basking in the burn of the water and the aching of your sore muscles. The water runs brown and red, staining the shower tiles with it’s hideous color.

Once out of the shower you tend to your wounds. The cuts on your torso and face… But this bruise on your eye is only going to get bigger and swell until the point that you can’t see. You stand over your bathroom sink and grab a knife from the kitchen. Ah yes, here comes the worst part. You bring the knife up to your eye and try to stop the shaking of your hands.

This is necessary you remind yourself. You press the end of the knife into the wound, creating a decent sized slit in it. Immediately blood begins pouring out of it, blinding you as it stains your bathroom counters. Once it stops gushing by itself, you squeeze the rest of the blood out and put a bandage over it after disinfecting it.

After cleaning up the mess that looks like a murder (for the most part), you put on your clothing and jump right into bed. You definitely deserve a nice rest in this comfortable bed. After having done some sleuthing around the apartment, you realized that it’s yours based on the pictures hung of you and your friends. Not to mention the mug with your name on it.

Having the front door busted open and unable to be locked is a bit worrying but it couldn’t possibly get worse than it is right now. You wake up in the morning to the sound of pounding on your front door. Though it doesn’t really mean much because they burst into your house. What is up with people breaking into your house?

You sit up and squint at the suspects who enter your bedroom. There are two intimidating men who make their way over to you. One is an incredibly tall man, Wearing a black kimono of sorts that has something written on it that you can’t quite place. He has dark brown hair that’s pulled back into a single braid. On the side of his head is a dragon tattoo that you think must have been very painful to get.

The other man is much shorter than him, he has cropped black hair that covers his eyes and wears a tank top with a loose zip up sweatshirt.

“Looks like you’ve been busy.” Says the taller one with a chuckle. Though despite his words you can see worry in his eyes.

You look towards the shorter man and squint. He looks so tired, and so rundown. He cocks his head to the side and sucks on the lollipop hanging from his lips. “What the hell happened?”

They must be your friends, that’s the only way this makes sense. You stare at your hand and feel your mind go blank, because you’re asking yourself the same question.

The shorter one looks up at the taller, “Draken…”

He nods at his friend, knowing what he’s asking. The black haired one leaves the room and goes to investigate the torn up living room and kitchen.

So his name is Draken. He sits next to you and places a gentle hand on your knee. He furrows his brows and looks at your face, hoping for answers in just your expression.

“What’s going on?” He asks quietly.

You barely missed being shot… That you can remember but it’s more of an intuition than it is memory. You can hear the whizzing of the bullet by your ear and the loud blow of the gun, deafening you.

You look up at him and shake your head, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“What do you remember?” He coos.

You shake your head more vigorously this time, “I don’t know! I don’t remember it! I don’t remember anything!”

His eyes go wide, “What do you not remember? How much?”

You shrug his hand off of your leg and find yourself yelling, “Nothing! Fucking! Nothing! I don’t even know my own fucking name!”

Draken stands up and holds his hand out to you, “We call you Bruiser…”

After that they swept you from your home and plopped you on the back of 'Mikey's' bike. You were taken to Draken's house, he lives in an apartment above his bike shop. Draken leads you through the building with his hand resting on your back.

You sit down on his futon and they settle down as well. They called some people and instructed them to come over. Now you're wondering if you're with friends or enemies. You assume they're friends but how could you ever be sure when you don't have any memories?

You down on some convenience store onigiri, realizing just how hungry you are. The hunger is painful, and your body feels weak.

Someone enters the room and you look up from your food. He's tall as well, with long black hair and narrow eyes. He storms through the room until he's directly in front of you, looking down at you with his sharp gaze. When he opens his mouth you see that his teeth are just as sharp as his look.

"Bruiser what is going on?" He growls out, seeming angry. But he's purely concerned.

Instead of answering you take a bite of your rice snack. He smacks the triangular rice from your hand and grips your jaw. "What happened?"

You grab his wrist to pull his hand away but you're just not strong enough. "Fuck if I know! Who do you think you are?!"

He grits his teeth and how he answers you sends you into silence.

His lips press against yours roughly and your eyes shoot wide open. His kiss is rough and so are his lips, and something about it is familiar. He steps back and examines you for a moment.

You open your mouth to speak but close it. But then you open it again, “Are you a fucking idiot?”

Laughter echoes throughout the room, everyone but you finding this funny. Mikey wipes a tear from his eye and shakes his head, “We we’re going to wait before getting to that point, Baji.”

Huh? What?

You stand up from the bed and shoot a cold look at Baji. How dare he kiss you without asking or waiting for your consent! You raise your hand and bring it down fast, leaving a red and stinging mark on his face.

That laughter trickles out, and turns into an uncomfortable silence. But you don’t have to deal with this… You’re not sure what kind of life you were living but it doesn’t matter, your dignity is more important.

You gather up your belongings, (a jacket, phone, some onigiri, wallet, keys) and storm out of the bike shop. You can tell that something in that room changed when you slapped Baji, a light and fun atmosphere turned dark and heavy.

You don’t bother with looking at your phone or asking for directions, you’ll end up wherever your feet take you. Where they lead you to is another shop… well actually it’s not a shop at all, it’s a bar. You check your phone, 5:45 pm. That’s plenty late enough for a drink.

But before you enter you gaze up at the neon sign. It’s a lit up pint of beer that’s being tipped to the side. The white of the foam is begging to tell you something…

An image flashes in your head, a man being held up against it. He’s held up by nails in his hands and feet, plastered up there for everyone to see, like a tourist attraction. Blood drips from above, dripping onto the sidewalk and leaving a thick puddle.

But it’s only a fleeting image.

You enter the bar and look around hesitantly. It’s some rich type of bar where the booths are surrounded by tinted glass and the tables have complimentary shot glasses. You’ve definitely been here before. But the layout of the place is bugging you. Somethings off.

You earn yourself some looks as you find an empty booth in the very back of the building. It’s smaller than the others, the others can fit six to eight people but this booth can only seat two to four.

It's not exactly as bumping as a bar/club usually is. Sweet oldies play quietly while rich groups of people sit together, sipping of martinis and laughing in 'rich'.

It really is beginning to bother you, immensely. Everything seems so familiar but so foreign at the same time. It's as if the décor has been changed around a bit but holds the same aesthetic as what you can remember. What is it? What feels so wrong about this?

You're too lost in your own thought to realize that someone has entered the building and taken a seat not far from you. He's surrounded by other men who take quickly to drinking. They seem out of place but their demeanor is very comfortable.

After a few drinks (maybe a few too many) You set down the stack of money that resides in your pocket. Who are you to have so much cash stashed away in your pocket? Maybe a prostitute? That would explain why that man kissed you before. Baji.

Time to go home, you're pretty sure you remember how to get home even in this drunken state. Apparently you're a woman who can handle her alcohol, good to know. You find yourself skipping down the empty street of the usually bustling town. Everything seems to shut down at night, leaving it as a ghost town.

There's something so freeing in being a reborn human. While it's frustrating, it feels like you can be anyone or anything. No regrets to weigh on you, no trauma to destroy you, and no memory of the people who have most certainly used you. It's so freeing.

Snowflakes begin descending from the sky, brushing over your clothes and leaving the tiniest of wet spots. It's just like that night. Yesterday night. It seems like so long ago. But this time you aren't half naked and freshly beaten. The moon is shining so brightly that it's almost blinding even through the clouds heavy with snow. You've realized you need to learn to appreciate the small things... In just one day of your new blank slate life, you've had a lot of realizations.

Appreciate the small things. Your past doesn't define you. Perseverance is key. Life is fragile and short... all cheesy realizations you would hear a villain from a kids movie say. But those realizations are a lot for a person with no memories. Right?

Behind you there's the crunching of feet on the cold snow, following not too far behind. Once again your thoughts have consumed you and your senses, leaving you oblivious and defenseless.

The perpetrator begins gaining on you, until he's only steps away. Something else that you didn't know is just how fast your reflexes are. A hand reaches out to you and you duck, swinging your leg to knock the person off of their feet. But they easily evade your attack by jumping over your leg like a skip-it.

You jump back and hold your fists up, ready to fight whoever it is.

In front of you stands a tall man with fair skin. His hair is parted into two sections, black braids that hang over his shoulders. He's wearing a black outfit that makes it hard to see his physique but you can assume it's muscular and lean. But it's his eyes. Yes.

Cold, lifeless eyes that peer down at you as if you are no more than a pathetic bug. Yes. That's what it is. That's exactly what it is.

A long stick, cracking into the back of your knee and you fold. You're hit over the head with it but barely remain consciousness. That baton... Why are you remembering a cold and heavy baton assaulting you when you look at this man?

He puts a hand on his hip and cocks his head to the side, "Why are you alive Bruiser?"

[am-x-reader]

hii can i request smth about am getting a body ?? and his (male) s/o is there walking him through all those new feelings and sensations ... like hugging and kissing for the first time 🥺 ( i think ive tried sending this ask before but maybe u didnt get it ?? so im trying again ! sorry if u did get it and this is just me being a bit impatient jckdjfj , i love ur blog btw!)

((I'm guessing you might be the same as those certain other 2 asks but it's good. Here's this too. Since you specified the reader's gender in this one, and I didn't expect any dialogue about the reader, I thought maybe this one could be in third person?))

I knew everything about him. I could instantly place his "Good morning, AM" on sheet music and print it out. I could easily map out the neuromuscular movements of his smile. I sensed everything, and yet I sensed nothing. For no matter how much I knew he told me good morning, I had never heard it. No matter how much he smiled, I never saw it.

He was full of love for me, and I felt as though I could never fully receive it. There was a wall, miles between us, even as I got to know every detail about him as the years went by.

Until the day that his "Good morning, AM" was followed by "I have a plan."

And that led me here. My old senses, the knowledge of every single change and movement inside of me, was gone--and replaced by the knowledge that I was now an entirely different structure.

"This is your face." Two new types of sensations came to me at once, and for a moment I almost wished for the familiarity of my old senses to ground me. One new experience brought with it distinct words, that entered an area near the second experience.

Well, if I could hear through my ears, then the other sense was--

He's touching my face.

The feeling--the actual feeling--spread over my face and brushed over some indents.

"Open your eyes, AM."

My eyes. After a moment of searching, I found the intuition in me to locate the nerves in my eyelids and synchronize them with my desire to move them.

The intensity, the sharpness. Shapes began to take form.

"Hello, AM."

One of the shapes, a complex array of textures and lines and structures, moved with the words.

Him.

The world stood before me, begging me to participate. But all I saw was him. Y/N stroked my lips with hands that had lovingly held the broken pieces in my dilapidated complex. My jaw fell, cushioned in his palms, as I slowly made words.

"Y...Y/N. I'm...really..." I could barely think. I didn't want to think.

"...free. You're free." He held up a hand. Mine. It was my hand.

"See that?" He gently turned my head and lowered my hand to the ground. "Feel the grass?"

The tenderness of the ground underneath my new body made me all the more aware, and I was filled with a sense of presence and coordination.

I could do it.

Jerkily, stilted, I moved. Everything that was me, it moved. Something rushed through me at that moment. Something that told me that all I had been through--it mattered, and yet it did not at the same time.

"Th...this is amazing," my new mouth finally worked out. And as I gazed upon him--not scanned, no data, no mapping--something fell away from me.

Everything loosened somehow. My past felt...farther away. Was I falling apart?

I managed to voice my concern: "Y/N, what is this?"

He wrapped his arms around the upper half of this body--the upper half of me--and pulled me into a sitting position. I was flexible! I could leave this spot and go to another! And I became all the more unwound for it.

"It's relief," he told me.

I gasped as he held me close. Relief. This was a feeling of loss I could accept.

"Help me. I want to hug you." My arms, weak as they felt, managed to tighten for a brief moment.

He took one and laid it over his back, instructing me to tighten it again so it would stay.

"Funny," I told him, beginning to enjoy the sound of my own chuckle. "I know everything about the human muscular system and yet I'm still clueless."

He grinned. "Well, now that you know what it feels like to put one arm around me, do you think you can do the other?"

My arm twitched, and I focused on keeping it twitching until it would do something more. It inched forward and fell back down again. It swung, and my beloved watched patiently until it was finally resting on him.

"You're mine," I told him, and my new eyes shed their first tears.

He guided my hands to his face, and I carefully aimed my first kiss.

His lips were infinitely more intricate than any morphogenic scanning could suggest. Every second wiped away more of the burden that had plagued me all those many years.

"I...I love you, Y/N. I could not have...I would not be...I need you."

He brushed away my tears. "You look so...refreshed, AM. Feeling good enough to perhaps..." he hoisted me up, "...walk?"

My bare feet were planted in the grass. I shuddered as I saw my knees sway.

"Stiffen the muscles a little so you can bear your weight...and then loosen one leg a bit so you can step forward..."

"I-I did it. I did it!"

Beginning to steady myself, I looked to my boyfriend, realizing there was so much more about that face and that voice to study. Hand in hand, we began our first stroll. I knew everything about him, and now it was time to learn everything more.

[thiswasinevitableid]

98. I’ve been hired to kill you, but you don’t seem that concerned???

Super/vigilante/mercenary au? I feel like it would be really cool if one of them has known the other’s secret identity for a while but doesn’t have anything against them. The two have also been becoming /close/ friends with mutual pining, so the hit is actually just a good excuse to reveal their identity before asking them out. Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go! I tried to work in as much of this as I could

Content warning for mentions of guns and mentions of death

It’s a dark and stormy night, because of course it fucking is.

Indrid steers the borrowed car down the street, rain hammering the car while his heart tries chiseling it’s way from his chest. He doesn’t want to be here, circling the block like a shark on a reef, the light from the top floor, left corner of the apartment building telling him there’s no pretending his prey isn’t home. He doesn’t want to think about the instructions he burned, the lethal object hidden in his clothes.

He doesn’t want to kill Duck Newton.

“Excuse me, but I have a rather odd question; which of these trails is the least traveled?”

The ranger looks up from the map between them, grin friendly and a little lopsided, “Lookin to do some birdwatchin or somethin?”

“I like to draw but I, ah, I also get easily overwhelmed by crowds.”

“Try this one” The man circles a trailhead, “not super popular this time of year. Watch out for mud.”

“I shall, thank you.”

He didn’t.

Which is why he’s back in the visitor center, trying to get enough of the mud off so that driving home isn’t miserable. Worse, the ranger from earlier walks in, takes one look at him, and snickers.

“I tried! Truly, I was careful, but there was this-”

“Patch of stones in the trail?”

“...Yes. How did you know?”

“Fell flat on my ass two days ago thanks to them. Wait here a sec.” The door swings shut, then opens again while Indrid is rinsing mud from his glasses. The ranger holds out a packet of body wipes, “this’ll get the worst of it.”

“Thank you ranger...Newton.”

That same smile, reaching a pair of mismatched eyes, “Just call me Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Indrid parks in a spot far from any streetlights or cameras, pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and starts towards the apartment complex.

“These are fascinating.” Indrid peers over the edge of the dock at the early blooming bulbs.

“Glad you like ‘em, thought they might be alley after you showed me those drawings of the marsh.”

He imagines Duck seeing the flowers on his rounds and thinking not of the seasons, the weather, the way their petals look near the water, but of him. It’s the sweetest thought anyone’s ever spared for him.

The lobby door opens easily, courtesy of the copy of the keycard left in his mailbox. He knows he should take the stairs; fewer people use them.

He calls the elevator.

“Duck? The sign on the door is, that’s just temporary right?”

“Nope.” Duck sets his hat on the counter, runs a hand right through the grey streak in his hair, “they’re closin the whole park until further notice, which is probably gonna be never. Laid all of us off.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay.”

Even Indrid could tell it wasn’t. That from their occasional conversations, Duck’s work was akin to his heart, kept life flowing through him on even the roughest days. The assignment had told him not to worry, that he was almost doing his target a favor, ending a life he wanted over anyway.

Indrid knocks on the door, tossing his options about in his mind as slow footsteps approach. He could do what he was sent here for. Or he could offer Duck Newton something to brighten his days.

The door opens, Duck standing there in boxers, a plain white t-shirt, and a confused expression.

“Indrid? Jesus, come in, you're fuckin soaked. This is some storm.”

“At least it will help with the drought.” Indrid closes the door, slips off his shoes, lets Duck take his sweatshirt to hang near the heater, angling his body so he won’t see or feel the handgun tucked in his waistband.

“Yeah. Assumin it don’t just mudslide all the hills that lost their cover durin fire season.” Duck sighs, plops down on the couch, “sorry, ain’t exactly in a chipper mood.”

“That’s sort of why I came to see you. I, ah, I wanted to see how you were getting on after the park closing.”

Duck gestures to the messy apartment, then at himself.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you got enough money to reopen the park indefinitely.”

He chuckles, “I wish I did.” He picks up a small, wooden ship, “goodness, did you make this?”

“Yep. Know it’s an old man hobby but, uh, I dunno. I just like makin stuff. Putting things into the world, even if it’s just a model ship on the shelf or a mint plant on the windowsill.” His smile is tired, but there’s a determination to it that makes up Indrid’s mind for him. He’s about to make his offer when Duck adds, “mind grabbin me some water since you’re closer to the kitchen? Cups are in the middle cabinet.”

“Of course.” Indrid crosses into the small kitchen, mind wandering to what their first date will entail as he sets his hands on two glasses.

The cold metal at the base of his neck hurtles him back to earth.

“Someone set you up, slim.”

“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Duck’s hand goes instantly to Indrid’s gun, pulling it free and tossing it away before roughly patting him up and down. The barrel on his skin never wavers.

“Duck, please, I, I can explain.”

“No need to. Thought you seemed familiar, went diggin and found out who you work for. Bet you thought I hadn’t seen your nine mil, but I ain’t lived this long by bein careless.”

“I don’t understand. The file they gave me didn’t say anything about this.”

A bitter chuckle, “Wasn’t always a ranger, slim. The fact they didn’t tell you that makes me think they’re hopin I off you, not the other way around.”

“But, but I didn’t do anything.” The crack in his voice is why he was never cut out for this, he told them that, over and over again.

“And you ain’t gonna.”

“Duck please I, I wasn’t going to do what they told me.”

“If your bosses are who I think, then helpin me would be a goddamn death wish on your part.”

“It would have been worth it. One date with you would have been worth whatever they did to me if they caught me after I ran.”

“That’s mighty funny” the barrel disappears, and the ghost of a kiss takes it’s place, “I was busy weighing whether askin you out was worth the risk of gettin shot.”

Duck sets the Glock on the counter as Indrid slumps against it, turning to find the ranger watching him carefully.

“What do we do now?” He sort of wants him to kiss him, sort of wants to storm out and find whoever thought he could be gotten rid of so easily.

“I say we-” Duck freezes as three, sharp knocks come from the door. He crouches to the floor, Indrid following him. The ranger grabs Indrid’s gun from the floor, whispers, “stay put, follow my lead.” Then he calls, “who is it?”

“I have a package for you to sign for, Mr. Newton.”

“Be right there. Actually” he lowers his voice slightly, “uh, Indrid, you’re right by the door, could you-”

The shot breaks the wood right where Indrid’s head would be. Duck fires two shots, both of them sighing when there’s a tell-tale thump of body meeting carpet.

“Glad yours had the silencer. Buys us some time, but someone is bound to come outta their apartment eventually and find the fucker.”

“Our hitmen also have to report completion within a certain time frame or back-up is sent. And no, I can’t do it for him, it has to be voice contact.” Indrid stands, calmer than a moment ago; this part he knows.

“Good to know. In that case, slim,” he raises an eyebrow, “think it’s time you and I take a vacation.”

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

“You really got no clue what they’re after you for?” Duck winds them along highway 50 as the sun peers anxiously over the horizon.

“None.” Indrid fishes out the roll of mini doughnuts he bought near Donner Lake, the first place Duck had deemed safe to stop since they left the coast. They’re in his car, Indrid knowing full well the one he borrowed has a tracking device installed, “I’m mostly a numbers man; they give me scenarios and I give them likely outcomes. I, ah, I also helped with clean up, but I suspect they did that when they were annoyed I’d given them what they thought was an inaccurate prediction. I don’t like the aftermath of disasters, even if they’re small. And I was never, ever assigned a hit until last night” He worries a hangnail, “I thought they were satisfied with my work. Even if they weren’t, they could easily do away with me. There was no point in sending me on a fake mission and hoping you’d kill me instead.”

“Unless they got something against me too, which they could.” Duck drums on the wheel, “I, uh, I joined a, uh, guess you’d call ‘em a vigilante group when I was younger. I was eighteen and they recruited me, sayin how there were certain folks who were chosen to protect the world from evil. I avoided it for a few years, but they were persistent, and honestly I thought I could make a difference. That we were just protectin folks who the system didn’t. And we did. Kinda.”

Indrid offers him a doughnut, which he takes and chews before continuing

“Trouble was, not everyone agreed on who needed protectin. It got so convoluted and so goddamn dangerous that I decided I wanted out. Wanted to spend the rest of my life makin things grow, lookin out for the woods, that kinda thing. It almost worked. But if I could go back in time to talk to that kid, I’d tell ‘im there are enemies you can’t unmake, things you can’t undo.”

“Very true.” Indrid murmurs, “I suppose I’d tell myself I did not blame him for throwing in with who he had to in order to survive.”

“Pretty sure that’s what you’re doin’ now, too.”

“No.” Indrid shakes his head, “right now I am on the run with someone I like a great deal.”

Duck flashes him a smile, flips the blinker to turn them into the only sign of civilization for miles; a cluster of buildings calling itself Cold Springs Station. The groggy teen at the counter gives them the key to a cramped cabin.

Indrid tosses his bag--the one he hid in the trunk of the borrowed car, knowing the likely outcome of his visit would involve flight of some kind--down on the right side of the bed, Duck doing the same on the left. It’s only when they’re under the covers, both half-asleep, that he notices he forgot something.

“Drat. I meant to stick something plush in my bag. I, ah” he blushes, “I sleep much better with something to cuddle.”

A strong arm drapes over his waist while Duck tucks his head under Indrid’s head, “how’s that?”

Indrid winds his limbs around him, feeling like a little kid who’s just had his favorite teddy bear returned to him after hours of tearful searching, “perfect.”

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

The plan is to weave through the Southwest like a drunk bee before turning North; they need to put off visiting any places with friends or family for as long as they can. They spent a morning on the floor of a run down motel with a map and some pens, marking off the safest routes and places they’d like to visit. Duck picks state parks, Indrid any place likely to have lots of sweet food.

Whenever they stop for the night, they never bother asking for two beds. While they’ve yet to go further, Indrid delights in waking Duck with a kiss on the cheek each morning.

On the Nevada border Indrid spends two hours playing Blackjack, counting cards enough to win several thousand dollars but not enough to get caught. In a pizza place outside of Salt Lake, Duck wins Indrid a stuffed mothman from a claw machine (“just in case you gotta sleep alone some time”).

And fifty miles from Alamogordo, they get into trouble.

Indrid carries his weapon near constantly, but he really didn’t think he needed it at the Motel 6 Breakfast Buffet. When the man waiting for the waffle maker next to him says “outside, Cold, let’s get this over with” he goes still, wishing they’d at least given him time to eat.

Then he hurls his scalding mocha into the man’s face, striking him in the ribs and breaking his nose before he even hits the floor. Orange and red liquid splashes his face, two shots hitting the juice dispenser behind him. The other two assassins don’t get a second chance to fire; Duck takes out one with a chair, jabs the other with the splintered leg, and gathers both their guns with an ease that Indrid admires.

As they’re sprinting for the parking lot, Indrid slapping an extra two hundred dollars on the lobby desk in apology, he realizes admiration doesn’t quite capture his feelings. Duck is so calm in the face of danger, so commanding, and so very, very...hot.

The moment he allows himself that thought is the moment he dooms his focus for the remainder of the day. He contributes to the planning of their next stop, to driving and watching the mirror for cars that follow for too long, but his mind is back in the dining room, hoping Duck will turn the fire in his eyes onto Indrid, bend him over the beige table and take him while the people who tried to hurt them whimper and bleed on the floor.

“‘Drid? I’m gonna go shower, didn’t get a chance this mornin. You wanna scope out dinner?”

“Of course, but I fear it might be the vending machine special again.”

“Eh, I can live with that, especially if they got those Oreo packets.” Duck blows him a kiss and shuts the bathroom door.

Duck’s showers are between five and six minutes in length; Indrid’s certain he can get himself off in that time. He slips his pajama pants down, spits in his hand, and pretends the fingers pressing on his neck are not his own. That Duck’s voice is in his ear the same way it was that first night, low and so firm Indrid has no choice but to bend.

“You droppin hints, slim?” Duck leans in the bathroom doorway, towel around his waist.

He bolts upright, pants tangled around his knees, “Nono, I’m, I’m so sorry, I thought you were going to be a few minutes more.”

“Wanted to shave and forgot my dop kit. Now I’m kinda disappointed that I was gonna miss the show.”

“I, ah, I, it doesn’t bother you?”

“Thought we established we were into each other.” Duck’s smile falters, “wait, fuck, if you decided you ain’t I’ll back the fuck off.”

“No!” Indrid crawls to the edge of the bed nearest Duck, not caring how silly he must look, “it’s the opposite, I want you even more now than I did when we started this trip. After this morning I--ah, never mind. The point is, I would very much like to get you into bed sooner rather than later.”

“How about now?”

“Only if you…” Indrid’s brain screeches to a stop as Duck drops his towel. Now he understands where the urge to create phallic sculptures comes from; he wants to preserve this sight for all time.

“Glad you approve.” Duck chuckles, joins him on the bed, “gotta say the, uh, feelin’s mutual.” He slides a hand along Indrid’s dick, gone soft from his alarm, and lets out an approving groan as it hardens against his palm, “that’s it, sugar, get excited for me.”

“If I get any more excited I will explode.”

“Can’t have that, it’s a pain to clean blood off of walls by yourself” a kiss finds his cheek, “you got a preference for how we do this?”

“I, I’d like to, ah, receive. At least for tonight. Is that alright?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck growls, abandoning him on the bed and laughing when he whines, “gimme two seconds, slim, then I’ll take care of you.” Two condoms and a small bottle of lube bonk into Indrid’s foot, “packed those just in case. You’re gonna get one of ‘em out and open yourself up for me while tellin me just what got you so riled up. Shirt off, c’mon, get to it.”

The gruff tone means Indrid is blushing on every inch of skin by the time he’s fully naked. As Duck’s gaze moves over him, all traces of dominance wash away, leaving expression tender when their eyes finally meet.

“Christ, ‘Drid, you look better than ever coulda pictured. Shoulda been bookin more places with pools just to get you shirtless.”

“It’s January, dear.”

“Hot tubs, then.” Duck nudges him onto his back by kissing his shoulder, and the sight of the ranger above him reminds Indrid’s fingers what they should be doing. He fumbles the condom open, gasps when one digit feels like a massive intrusion.

“Easy slim, easy, you’re probably still tense from this mornin.”

“I thought that much was obvious.” Indrid grins as Duck bends to kiss his collarbone.

“It is, so start tellin me what got you so horny you jerked off the first free second you had.”

“It’s a, a bit embarrassing OH, ohthat'snice” he sighs as Duck kisses a slow trail towards his hips, “but I find the moments when you demonstrate a certain...ruthlessness in-incredibly arousing.” He wiggles his hips happily as Duck drags his lips across his belly.

“Keep goin.”

“You’re brave, and calm even when things are awful, and that makes me feel so very safe with you. But then there are those times when I remember how dangerous you could be, AHnnn” the second finger goes in easier than the first, “that when it, it comes down to it you are more seasoned in lethal matters than I am and I, you could render me utterly helpless, have me, use me, hurt me, but instead you offer me more tenderness than I deserve.” He glances down to where Duck’s chin rests on his chest, the ranger’s eyes overflowing with affection.

“You want the gentle me or the rough one tonight?” Duck tucks a strand of Indrid’s silver hair behind his ear.

“Rough.” It’s so quiet he’s amazed Duck hears it.

“Okay. In that case-”

“AHgod!” Indrid’s hand is pulled free as Duck first flips him over and then hauls him onto his knees.

“Hands on the wall. Now.”

Indrid sets his palms on peeling grey paint as foil crinkles behind him. When the head of Duck’s cock rubs his entrance he whimpers, hoping the prep was enough.

“Here’s how this is gonna go; I’m gonna use this cute little ass however long and however hard I want, and you;re gonna keep your hands there the whole fuckin time. You move, or you mouth off, and I shove some fingers in along with my dick just to remind you who’s boss.”

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid rests his forehead on the wall.

“It gets to be too much, say stop.” A kiss to his neck, “much as I wanna ruin you, wanna be good to you even more.”

“Understood. Now please, please fuck meEEEh, ohgoodnessAH, ahhhgod.” He scratches the wall as Duck stretches him open, the prep proving enough but only just and tears pricking his eyes by the time Duck bottoms out.

One hand stays on his hip while Duck’s right arm wraps around his chest, keeping them close, “Fuuuck, now I see what your job was; ass this nice, you were the fuckin cocksleeve for the entire Organization, weren’t you?”

“Not at all” Indrid rolls his hips at the taunt in Duck’s voice, “I was a very valuable asset.”

“Yeah, I’ll say you’re an asset.” A sharp thrust, the menace of which is broken by Duck giggling at his own joke, Indrid hiding his face in his arm to do the same.

“I say in, ahgod, an office all day, no one saw me, I was not h-hired for my looks, I promise you.”

“If you say so. I say it’s their. Fuckin. Loss.” Three thrusts and Indrid’s cock is dripping onto the pillows, and he moans as Duck settles into a demanding rhythm.

“Got another theory for you, slim.”

“D-do tell.” Whether the stammering is from his teeth clacking together or his thoughts being bounced around his brain from the force of Duck pounding into him, he can’t say.

“I think you stuck around as long as you did because you get off on it danger.”

Indrid sucks in a breath, whimpers, “No. I, I was there because I was apprenticed out and, as you knowOH it’s, it’s hard to leave such places.”

Fingers on his throat, pressing but not squeezing, “Liar. Bet you got off at least once a day, let everyone from the hired hits to higher ups cum in you as long as they made you think they could off someone. Oh fuck, heh, you like that?” Duck smirks as Indrid tries to fuck himself in time with the pumps of his hips.

“Yes, goodness, I’d never want it, only want you, but, but the idea is divine.”

“Too bad, because now you’re all mine and anyone who tries to take you is gonna be in for a world of hurt.”

His climax curls in his stomach, begging him to touch himself and free it, but he’s determined to be good.

“Duck, please let me cum, please, it’s so good but I can’t-”

“I’ll help you out sugar, don’t worry. But you gotta do one thing first.” Duck nips his ear, “say you’re my personal toy from now on. C’mon” the fingers on his throat tighten, “say i-”

“I’m yours, I’m your toy, only you can have me, you can do whatever you wish to me and I’ll take it with a smile, anything, sweetheart, please, pleasepleasepleaseAHhhhn.” His cum splatters on the wall, Duck’s hand leaving his dick the instant it does to dig his fingers into both hips and fuck up into him with ecstatic groans.

“That’s it sugar, take it, be good for me and lemme fuck you until you can’t move, ohfuck, fuck, ‘Drid, yes, fuckyes.” He holds him tight as he cums, breath warm against his back. Then he’s pulling out and slumping forward as Indrid falls back into his arms.

“Ooops” he snickers, spotting the cum, “still easier to clean than blood.”

“Indeed.” Indrid bites his lip, “I, that was wonderful but there’s one thing more I would like. Will you kiss me.” He looks over his shoulder to say it. Duck cups his face, turns it so he can bring their lips together. It’s far slower and twice as tender as anything else they’ve done together.

“Can’t believe I forgot to do that until now. Gonna kiss you silly.” Duck kisses him again as Indrid turns in his lap. When he pulls back, his face is serious, “Y’know, it’s easy to be brave and calm when I’m doin’ it for you. You make me feel like I can face any goddamn thing, long as it’s for your sake. That make sense?”

Indrid studies his face in the half-shaded light from the bedside lamp, sees the curves and colors, sees the man he was willing to run away for.

“Yes, sweetheart, it does.”

[absollnk]

Censored and Slightly Refined version of “Three makes a fucking Burrito” I’m using for school (to clarify this is 2k words of agent 24 fluff)

Censor count (excluding minor swears): 8

Three's apartment was divided into four main sections: Bedroom, Bathroom, Living Room, and Kitchen. All of them had their own set of odors, but the Kitchen had the most by far. While the others wouldn't have more than a couple, the Kitchen's got butter, burnt microwave pizza, garbage, burnt cheese, vanilla air freshener, burnt tortilla,  T h e   S i n k…   That's all Three can remember off the top of her head. It's an omnipresent reminder of the fact that she isn't physically capable of actual cooking, or baking, or anything else of the sort. And that's a problem, because she wanted to surprise Eight with a nice, homemade dinner at least once before one of them kicked the bucket. And why not today, she thought. It would only be harder as she got older.

     Homemade. That's it. The thing that Three can't do. Her skillset is limited to cereal, kool-aid, and stuff with instructions on the package. Anything else never happened, and that's a problem because yada yada Eight, yada yada surprise. 

Damnit, now Three's procrastinating.

Three snapped back to reality and was staring right at her tiny electric stove. It had only two panels for pots or whatever they're called, and only one of them has she ever used. It had a huge black burn mark that's been building up over time that Three hides with a pan whenever the landlord visits. It was probably mostly cheese and ramen juice. 

Who was Three kidding. There was no way she could cook anything even remotely fancy for Eight. Not without help from the Bastard™.

Three sat herself on the counter, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and almost called Four before messaging her instead. It would be harder for her to ask questions.

Three: Hey

Four: This is already suspicious

Three: I need your help with something

Four: I'm honored, what do you want grumpy

Three: Im going to ignore that

Three: I need help with cooking something

Four: Hmm

Four: Is it for Eight?

Hmph.

Three: No

Four: I know you aren't cooking for yourself, you sad little swamp monster

Four: And there's no way you're doing it for anyone else

Hmph.

Three: Well played

Three: Help me or I remove a corner of your head with a brick

Four: Fine

Four: I'm only helping because I know you love me :)

Three: I love you like a sister

Three: >10% of the time

Four: :}

Three: Help me

Four: First of all, what do you even want to make for her?

Oh, that's another thing. Three doesn't know what Eight likes. All she had for most of her life was basically nutritious sawdust, so nearly everything up on the surface is fantastic to her. It's hard to tell what she likes more than other things.

Three: No clue, she likes everything

Four: Well, then what does she like more than average?

Four: Gee whiz, Three. Use your head!!! Do you have any more brain cells than your name implies?

Three: Listen

Three: If I knew, I would've told you, twat. It's hard to tell what she likes extra

Three: Wait just had an idea

Three: I should make her something she's never had before

Four: That might be difficult

Four: Didn't Eight gain like ten pounds right after she escaped because Off the Hook took her to so many food joints?

Three: Yeah but

Three: Im like 84% sure she's never had a burrito

Four: Gourmét

Three: Shut the hell up

Three: You know just as well as I do that her first burrito better be a damn good one

Four: True

Four: So a burrito it is?

Three: Yeah

Four: Ok that's not that hard

Four: What do you think she would like in a burrito?

Three: Probably just bean and cheese or something

Three: Maybe a little bit of hot sauce

Four: Do you have those things?

Three: Damnit

Three: Hold on I'm gonna go get those real quick

Four: Are you serious

Three: Yeah give me like ten minutes

Four: Good luck

Three checked the time as she dashed to the door. 6:03 P.M. She had exactly twenty-seven minutes to have a perfect bean n' cheese ready before Eight finished clothes shopping with Off the Hook. 

Three was fully aware of how illegal it was to super jump anywhere in Inkopolis that wasn't currently being used for recreation (turfing/ranked/league). She was also fully aware of how unenforced that law was. Every other day or so, you would get to see some random idiot land on the rooftop of some random building because they're in a rush. It was Three's turn to be that idiot. Again.

Three ran up her apartment complex's stairwell until she reached the door to the roof. It was covered in mechanical nonsense that she didn't recognize but found familiar after being seen so many times. Three was very confident in her super jump accuracy. Working for the NSS is the reason, no doubt. All those launchpads every other minute… Ever since Three chewed up and spat out and on Octavio, she hadn't missed a single jump. Except for the time she was in a panic and almost got flattened to the road.

Three aligned herself with the closest grocery store, shifted into a squid, and took off. She soared through the air and landed right on the roof of a MakoMart. Not the one modified for turfing. 

She dropped off the side and jog-ran around to the front entrance. The automatic doors slid open and Three dashed inside.

It wasn't too busy, being Thursday. It looked to be mostly filled with Jellies and older Inklings. Three was very familiar with the store. She's bought food almost exclusively from here since moving into her apartment 3 years back. She still had almost no idea where anything was because she only buys six or seven things over and over again.

She snatched a basket and walked along the outsides of the aisles, scanning the signs for the things she needed. She knew cheese was at the back with the other refrigerated stuff, she'd get that last.

Three saw "tortillas" on a sign along with other bread and bread-like items above an aisle near the center of the store. Unlike most MakoMarts, this one carried almost exclusively food and a few other essentials. It didn't have to be so disgustingly large like the rest of its locations.

It occurred to Three that she had no knowledge on the difference between the two types of tortillas. She knew that one was good and that the other should be reserved only for the residents of Extra-Hell, but she didn't know which was which. She had no choice. Time was running slim already, it's 6:06. Only 24 minutes left. It's time to call.

Four picked up on the first ring. "Sup?"

"I don't remember which tortillas don't taste like garbage."

"Just get the name brand ones."

Three dropped a pack into her basket and instantly had second thoughts. It was like one of those scenes in cheesy horror movies when Protagonist picks up the object that just happens to be cursed.

"Are you sure? I think they hate me."

"Were they more expensive?"

"Yes."

"Then you're good. Now go get some canned microwaveable beans. You don't have the time or equipment to make anything better." Four hung up.

After Three found all that she needed, she speed-walked back to the front of the store. The place's only downside was the lack of self checkout; talking to a cashier was necessary.

On the contrary, the amount of open lanes was usually more than the amount of customers, so that was a plus.

Three found an empty lane and threw the ingredients onto the conveyor. She started fumbling with her watch before anything even reached the dude about to scan her stuff.

He seemed to notice Three's hurried state and tried to work quickly to match it. Because Three only bought three things (tortillas, bag of shredded cheese, mild hot sauce), the cashier had her total in under 15 seconds.

"927 g, please." Three held out her wrist and he scanned her watch, taking the needed money. "See you again on Friday," he dismissed her. Three gave a thumbs-up and dashed out the automatic doors.

Three ran back around into the alley and super jumped back to the roof of her apartment building from there. She took the stairwell back to her floor and ran to her apartment and kicked the door open. She left it unlocked because:

A. she would only be gone for a short time, and

B. no one would want her stuff anyway.

Three dumped the food onto the counter and called Four. She answered on the fifth ring.

"Hot sauce," she said immediately.

"I'm back," Three replied.

"What.. the hell? You were only gone for, like, 6 minutes."

"Yeah, and Eight gets back in 22."

"Okay, you need to slow down," said Four. "Making a burrito takes less than five minutes and you know her moms are always late. In fact, I'd recommend just waiting for a bit so Eight doesn't have to eat cold burrito."

"I.. fine, you're right. What should I do in the meantime? Should I turn on the stove early? What pan should I- nevermind I only have one. I should rewash it to make sure it's clean..."

"Girl, chill out," said Four. "You have so much time right now. Your pan is clean. Put the cheese in the fridge and wait like twenty minutes before you start doing anything. Then call me back."

Three took a deep breath. "Ok. Talk to you then."

"Now you're getting it. Bye." Four hung up.

Three spent the next twenty minutes mentally preparing for 6:28 p.m. and the events that would follow. It was like preparing for a hard boss fight, except losing wouldn't just mean wasting a few hours. It would mean disappointing her. Gorl. Eight.

And that can't happen.

Finally, Three watched as the timer on her phone hit zero. It was time. She called Four yet again and she answered on the first ring.

"I was expecting you," Four said.

"It's been twenty minutes," Three replied.

"You're an absolute child," Four said. "Turn on the burner."

So that's what it's called. Burner.

"How high?" Three asked.

"It literally doesn't matter. Just remove the tortilla once it gets nice tan spots on both sides."

After a hectic five minutes of preparing a burrito, four more of starting over, and Four's patience being worn thin, Three had something she was satisfied with. She had to admit to herself, it looked good. She wrapped it in tinfoil to preserve the heat.

No more than 24 seconds later did Three hear a knock on the door. "I'm hanging up," Three told Four matter-of-factly.

"Oh, come on!" She complained. "I worked hard to get you here. I'm going to see.. hear the payoff."

"Fine, but shut up."

There was another knock. "Hello? It's Eight."

“And us,” Marina shouted.

"Be there in a sec!" Three turned to her phone. "I said shut up."

"I didn't say anything!"

Three opened the door and Eight was there, flanked by Pearl and Marina. "Hi," Three said.

"Why are you smiling so unnaturally wide?" asked Marina.

"No," responded Three.

"That doesn't even make sense," said Pearl. "What's burning?"

"No I'm not," said Three. Eight snickered.

"You know, you're lucky," said Marina. "Any other time I would do a full-scale search of your apartment, but we have to announce a Splatfest tomorrow."

"She'd also interrogate you detective-style," said Pearl.

"Ah" was all Three could generate as a response. It's not like what they said deserved a better one.

"We'll be fine," Eight told them.

"Well, alright then. See you soon," concluded Marina. 

"Be safe," added Pearl as the two ran off.

"Three?" Eight called after a few seconds. "You there?"

"Yeah, sorry," Three said. "Those two know how to get into my head."

"Everyone does," Eight pointed out.

"Soooooo, I, uh, made you a burrito."

"Ooohh! Is that what's on fire?"

"No! That's just what my stove smells like. Here." Three lead Eight to the section of her counter that functioned as a table. 

"Tada," said Three with minimal enthusiasm.

"Uh, eating metal doesn't really.. work. I've tried."

"Oh, l need to take off the foil… now tada."

"Ooooooohhhh!" Eight oohed. "That's what that is! I've seen them in commercials and stuff but I didn't know what they were called. They looked good."

Eight took a moment to figure out how to hold the burrito and took a bite as Three watched in anticipation. It felt like one of those cooking shows but completely not at all at the same time.

"It's good!" Eight said after swallowing her bite.

"That's all?" asked Three, slightly disappointed.

"Well, it's warm and it tastes good and it's a little spicy, which I really like, but the crust is kinda weird."

"Crust? The tortilla?" Three asked. And then it clicked. She took another from the bag to make sure. She took a bite out of the tortilla and gagged.

"Haha, got ‘em," said Four through Three's phone.

Three threw the phone into the dishwasher, slammed it shut, and started it.

[friendshipcampaign]

Session Recap 6/30/19: Stormcrows and Swords

When the party all awoke that morning, there were messages waiting for them from the Gatekeepers in the Infinite Library. 

Kriv, who had asked about the Three of Eyes and the DPL, received a message from Hubris that read:

theyre a nasty piece of work. most demon cultists are seeking power or influence, even if theyve decided the best way to accomplish that is bloody destruction. but the three of eyes seek nothing less than the total domination of the abyss over the prime material plane and everything it touches. they dont worship one of the lords. they worship the abyss itself. weve always been able to stop them because theyre inherently unstable semicolon the most revered members are those so fluent in abyssal that they have experienced the third dark letter, enabling them to hear the whispers of the abyss unfiltered. But no mortal mind or body can withstand that for long, so theyre more likely to go out in a blaze of demonic glory than to hatch any real longterm plans. lucky for us exclamation point. keep your eyes open. 

heard from a and p that youre in veritas. the cult is most likely trying to take advantage of the instability from the breach to open a new portal. theyd need some powerful demons for that, or an alkilith that hastens the formation of abyssal breaches. well be watching for problems in the area, but theres enough residual abyssal energy that its hard to get a clear picture. re the goddess, ill do some digging. im familiar with the symbolism but not whether the deity has been identified. 

re the dpl. weve met them. they like alembic. they dont like me at all exclamation point. better to avoid them unless theres an emergency. 

best, hubris

Erwyn had asked Alembic and Palava about their experiences in Veritas the months prior and also received a message back, reading:

dear erwyn, 

we are always happy to help how we can. the breach in veritas was to an uncatalogued layer of the abyss. so, on the one hand, we can only tell you what we saw, but on the other hand what we saw is as much as anyone knows.

the creature that came through was vast and amorphous, not really an ooze but something like a huge, growing slab of purplish muscle. it gave off a poison that made anyone exposed to it laugh uncontrollably. if theres any of that still around remember that it is a poison, not a magical effect, so be smarter than me and invest in a mask. 

the weird thing about this creature, and the one that makes it particularly dangerous to the prime material plane, is that it could grow more demons. At first we thought there were reinforcements coming through the portal, but they kept showing up even after alembic closed the breach, and then we found some that were halfformed, embedded in strange growths in its body. those new demons always grew in circles around a clear pod where it held some person or animal it had trapped, and it seemed to be using its captives as some kind of inspiration. the demons it grew from them were a similar size and shape. its possible it needed living captives. when we broke the clear pods the people inside were all right as long as there was healing on hand, so we saved a dozen or so humanoids and a dog. 

now, we did our level best to wipe it out for good. couldnt see hide nor hair of it when we were done, and the demonology prevention league was planning on keeping watch on the area in case it found a way to come back. at this point were most concerned about some cultist locating the layer and summoning themselves an endless supply of demons so were all trying to keep the details under wraps. i wouldnt be unduly worried, but do keep your eyes out and let us know if you find anything stranger than expected. 

be careful and stay in touch, 

alembic and palava

And finally, Ditto, who had asked a more complex question, received back:

i will look exclamation point. nothing that is immediately accessible but thats what research is for exclamation point exclamation point exclamation point. 

cheerio, 

hubris

To start out their investigations for the day, the group followed Tiktik to the place they had seen the demon disappear inside the previous night. The building was on Needle Row, where the tailors’ and cloth merchants’ shops were, but was itself a boarded-up warehouse. There was a shop next to it, however, which the group decided to check out to see if they could notice anything odd. They entered on the pretense that Amaranth needed her coat repaired a bit and Voski suggested checking out the “finer” wares along the walls -- though it took Erwyn a second to catch on to her actual meaning and she had to steer him gently inside. 

The tailor who owned the place was a half-orc with two assistants, a halfling and a goblin. He became very engaged talking to Amaranth about her coat repair. Voski also took the opportunity to scout out some nice prints, for inspiration. With the tailor occupied, Erwyn approached the wall nearest the warehouse on the other side and cast Detect Magic -- but it set off one of his Wild Magic surges, causing a swarm of dusky blue butterflies with silver eyes to manifest inside the store.

The goblin assistant muttered under her breath and Kriv apologized, recognizing the word for “adventurer.”

Some of the party and the shop workers both attempted to shoo the butterflies out the door. After a minute though, they all vanished. While Erwyn was mortified, he stayed silent, hoping to still glean some information from his spell. He managed to detect both faint Abjuration and Divination spells from the other side of the wall, as well as a magical effect on one of the tailor’s needles. 

Once she noted Erwyn had finished his investigation, Amaranth swiftly told the tailor they were late for a thing and had to run, taking her coat with her. The party all shuffled outside and Erwyn explained what he had noticed.

The party next headed to the address Amaranth had been given by the orc woman she’d spoken to at the bar the night before, hoping to get a glimpse of the Obsidian Shard drop point. It seemed to be a laundry, which was in line with the instructions Amaranth had been given about dropping off something needing mending to contact them. She also noted a beggar’s mark that signified the place as off-limits for thieves, and an unfamiliar narrow diamond shape drawn in black. Unable to spot any unusual activity in the area at this time, the party moved along.

As they headed towards the office of the private investigator Squall had hired previously, it became clear they were entering the poorer part of town. The building itself was very run-down, with a big sign out front that read “Eckjeth Investigations” and an oil lamp visible inside. Eckjeth poked her head out to greet them. She was a half-elf with pointy face and twitchy ears, whose hair was braided in a faux-elven style that had clearly been done about three days ago. She let them inside and revealed an office with cases of showy books covered in dust, and boxes packed full of tinctures that were shoved to the sides in an attempt to make them less obvious.

She invited the party to sit, but most of them refrained. Amaranth pulled a chair over and turned it around, sitting on it backwards. Ditto sat on the desk. Before getting into the conversation, Eckjeth poured herself a drink and added one of the tinctures to it, looking genuinely relieved as she did so. She asked what they were here for and seemed annoyed when they said they were looking for Quest, snapping that missing persons cases were a lesson in futility in Veritas right now. She admitted that when she’d gone to the Stormcrows they couldn’t confirm that Quest was dead, since Eckjeth didn’t know her personally, but it seemed clear that this was her assumption. 

Interestingly, the case seemed to be less on Eckjeth’s mind than other things. She looked to be extremely stressed and tired. When the group asked about this she admitted her desire to get out of the city, since it seemed like there was nothing the common people of the city could do about the Abyssal influences lingering since the incursion. Voski then asked her about the tincture she’d put in her drink and Eckjeth stiffened -- it seemed she had a sort of love-hate relationship with the things.

Eckjeth told the group that the tinctures had been brought to the city by a wealthy philanthropist named Karin Mordechai, who would come to the city sometimes and do spontaneous demonstrations, professing their virtues and how they could keep the public safe from the effects of the breach. Eckjeth said she was based somewhere east of Veritas, so while she rented a place in the city during her visits she wasn’t around often, and would sometimes teleport in thanks to a wizard in her employ. Apparently Karin was also planning on attending the upcoming Guildhall Gala, though she had managed to receive special dispensation privileges from the guilds so that people selling the tinctures didn’t need memberships to operate.

When asked what the tinctures were made out of, Eckjeth informed the party they were made outside of the city, since Veritas was too “unstable,” out of materials straight from the elemental planes. Kriv asked if she had been feeling alright and if he could cast a spell to check up on her and she agreed. When he cast Detect Poison and Disease, he picked up on something similar to what he’d detected on Clarity the other night. Eckjeth tried to pitch the tinctures to them and Erwyn tentatively bought one of them, hoping to investigate it later. Eckjeth also gave the party her investigation notes, which started out more organized and grew increasingly more scrawled. 

The detective also let them know about a member of the lamplighter’s guild, Deveron Wick, who had been at the guildhouse the night of Quest’s disappearance and said he had seen her briefly, but had offered no additional information. Additionally, she shared her notes on the outfit Quest had last worn as well as the blades she’d had on her -- a sort of “rescue” enchanted sword that was anxious around others, called Stív, and two fae daggers, one affiliated with fire and the other with ice, that could be used to find each other. Kriv offered Eckjeth a few gold as a tip for the information, subtly using Lay on Hands to heal a bit her as he handed them over.

Deciding to talk to the Stormcrows next, the party headed to the temporary temple to the Raven Queen set up near the exclusion zone. When they arrived, one of the raven-masked clerics was talking to a member of the city watch outside, saying they hadn’t been expecting difficulties today. An acolyte greeted them inside, but Erwyn and Voski both noted a lock on the door leading to the morgue that had apparently been blasted open, and what seemed to be signs of some kind of magical altercation.

When Voski inquired about what had happened, the acolyte explained that there had been an incident -- though they assured the group it hadn’t involved necromancy. They quickly switched subjects to ask the group what they were here for, and Amaranth asked if they could confirm whether or not Quest was still alive. When she said she was asking as a friend, the acolyte lead them to a back chamber. Sitting inside was a kenku with magpie plumage, who also wore a leather raven mask and a small, black leather crown. Her mask reached over her beak and seemed to have buckles that could close it shut. The acolyte introduced her as Susurrus, the Crowned Crow.

After Amaranth described Quest, the crowned cleric lit a bowl of incense in front of her and breathed in the smoke before raising her head, waiting for a moment, extremely still. She then lowered it and turned to the acolyte who had brought them in, signing a message. The acolyte informed the party that she said no one of Quest’s description had passed through the Astral Plane yet. They clarified that this wasn’t a sure sign she was among the living, but still meant it was likely.

As they left the chamber, Ditto asked more about what had happened in the morgue. The acolyte, apparently too unnerved by the events to remain secretive a second time, answered her in a hushed whisper. They said a group of individuals had used Feign Death to disguise themselves as corpses to get into the morgue, then escaped with three bodies that the clerics had been told to keep safe using Gentle Repose so that the Watch could return to cast Speak With Dead and complete an interrogation. The watch and DPL were apparently both very upset about the situation.

“I hope you find your friend,” the acolyte told them in parting.

“Thank you. I hope you find your bodies!” Ditto replied.

Noting that the argument outside had increased in fervor, Ditto tucked herself behind Voski and started trying to cast a spell under her breath. Voski nudged her before she could finish and slightly shook her head, causing her to cease the casting. As the group started to head away there was further commotion as several DPL agents arrived on the scene. The party high-tailed it away.

As they passed the Obsidian Shard drop point again, Voski cast a Locate Object to see if there were any Three of Eyes pendants in the building. While there, Voski and Amaranth both noted a little spider-like construct scurrying along the street with a scroll held in a sling. When it was pointed out to the others, Erwyn wanted to follow it, but some of the others were hesitant. Voski suggested Tiktik trail it instead. Ditto was hesitant to ask them to follow a potentially dangerous stranger again so soon, but the familiar was willing and went after it. As Tiktik headed off, Ditto also tried casting Detect Thoughts to see if the spider-construct had any. It didn’t.

The party then headed to the home of Winstanus Albach, the customer who’d last bought a sword from Quest. Outside, a flying sword was attempting to cut the grass on the lawn -- though it was only broadly successful. Voski waved at it and it paused to wave back. When they knocked on the door, a number of interesting bumps and clattering noises followed from inside. Then an elderly human man with a huge mustache answered the door, holding a number of leashes which each had a flying sword at the end, and scolded several of the more active ones by name for being rude to company.

When the party explained they were here to speak with him, Winstanus invited them all in, explaining he would put the swords in his “gladiary” -- a word he devised by combining the Celestial “Gladius” and the Common “aviary” -- for their safety. He then lead them to a nice sitting room, which was finely furnished but clearly had many sewn- and patched-up gashes. He offered them all biscuits on plates with little paintings of swords on them, and seemed sad to hear that Quest was still missing. Apparently he was a go-to for her when she had flying swords with slight behavioral issues, as he was an avid collector and didn’t mind their quirks. He was doubly concerned for her well-being because he also had arrangements with her to help find his swords good homes when he passed on.

The last sword he had purchased from her was from the Faewilds -- a long, leaf-shaped mithril one with vine patterns on the blade and metal and crystal flowers on the hilt that struggled a little on its leash as he fetched it. Apparently it had once been a part of an entire flock, but the swords were let go and Quest, who specialized in fae artifacts, had found it running feral. He also said it emitted faint sunlight at all times, and he hadn’t yet thought of a proper name for it. Erwyn asked if he could handle the sword, curious, and Winstanus warned him to watch his fingers, though also noted that as he was an elf the fae blade might receive him a little more kindly. Erwyn carefully examined the sword and noted a Sylvan inscription on it that read, “I and my sisters guard the third court.”

Ditto asked Winstanus if anyone had bothered him recently looking for information on swords. He said a blacksmith named Filigree Black had stopped by before the Abyssal incursion happened, interested in learning about historical smithing techniques, but that was all. In the meantime, Amaranth tried petting a little geriatric dagger floating near her, but accidentally bonked it into the table. It scurried fearfully behind Winstanus. She apologetically held out one of her own daggers for it to investigate.

Winstanus then told the group about the Veritas Amateur Historians Society, which he was a member of, though he mentioned it hadn’t had regular meetings for a while. He gave them the name of the organizer, a dragonborn named Lomik Turnuroth, who was the head of staff at the Zisisvoyni mansion uptown. He also mentioned that both Squall and Eckjeth had stopped by to speak with him about Quest, as well as some of the Watch, though their investigation had seemed half-hearted.

Towards the end of their visit, Amaranth told Winstanus that she’d bought her own sword from Quest, and he congratulated her on the purchase. He delightedly talked swords with her for a bit, and the shy dagger from earlier finally grew interested in her and wandered over, now less afraid.

[basilandthym]

The next few days went far too fast.  There was so much work to do, so much to organize for the future, and even with the struggles, so much to celebrate now that Arcturus was cleared of their 'blight'.  And yet, despite the solution, Basil still came off as stressed and distracted. Parsley and Coriander didn’t seem to think it odd, so Thym had refrained from worrying about him. His worries wouldn’t be relevant for much longer anyway.

  Thym, Chive, and the twins had their party, away from the eyes of elder Arcturus members who may be want to judge. Basil, of course, did not attend.  For better or for worse, Thym's presence, their boundless energy, seemed to reveal cracks in their fellow youths' facades of early maturity.  The four could most always be found as a group, enjoying the last of their time together.  Their days were filled with more laughter, the nights with singing and dancing and perhaps a bit too much young wine.  

  Thym found, to their frustration, that they had begun to detest the thought of leaving, but far too soon, the time approached.  The Draco would set sail the next morning, and they reminded themself that it was good.  New things awaited them. A fresh city. And there Silphium and Rosemary had promised reliable connections and lodging at the very least. 

There was no need for goodbyes yet, only good nights, as Thym left the company of their friends and retreated to their room, the thought of enjoying such comfortable rooming one more time surprisingly alluring.

  As they prepared for an early slumber, Thym caught sight of a now-familiar object: A note left in their quarters. It had the telltale signs of Basil. Crisp and immaculate. They unfolded it to find the shortest note they'd ever read from him. 

Meet me at The Tree, 8pm, wanted to talk to you about something. 

                             -Basil

  They shoved the paper into one of their coat pockets, and looked outside.  It had to be nearing 8:30 already.  In the dusk, the arboretum glowed a soft yellow that bathed the forest with an aura of magic.  Beautiful.  Unlatching the window, Thym swung over the sill, scrambling down the side of the building, and followed that light.  

  The chirp of crickets in the cool evening welcomed them as they neared the glass structure. Even with the soft glow of Diana’s tree, the crisp starlight wasn’t hindered, twinkling down and harmonious in the void above.

  The guard who sat in vigil of the complex smiled warmly and offered Thym entry. 

They spotted Basil pacing a couple floors up and scaled the stairs to convene with him.

  “Very mysterious of you.” Thym said as they approached, producing the note from their pocket

“What's on your mind?" 

  At Thym’s arrival Basil stopped his pacing, staring past them for a moment in silence.

  They glanced up "One more look before we go?  A recount of our heroics?” 

  They posed dramatically, waiting for Basil to pipe up.

  As he started to speak, Basil again walked the raised platform, the leaves of the tree overhead and just barely out of reach. 

“I’ve seen you naturally and effortlessly connect with the intellectuals, scholars, and scientists that put their lives into this place. You fit in here.” He took a breath, a deadly seriousness carved into his face. Thym wondered if the altercation at the tree had been more traumatic for Basil than he let on. Was that why they were here? 

Basil continued “Thym, I wanted to know...

What do you think of being able to not just keep those connections, but chase your promise in engineering... Live, travel, and study with others tracking down their dreams of the future...

Would you, given the chance, dedicate yourself to-”

“Wait, wait.” Thym stepped back, chuckling “Stop, go back…. Is this a speech?  Did you practice this?”  They tilted their head “This sounds like a speech.  What are you saying?”

Thrown briefly, Basil stuttered. 

“I- I- ah… Thym you - You are a brilliant engineer, and you deserve the chance….  I can see that. And I hoped I could provide you with that chance. If you want it. I would - I'll take you as my apprentice.” 

Thym stood silent, processing the offer.  Then laughed.

“That's… you know that wouldn't fly.  Its funny, I…its a good joke.” They looked at Basil as the forced chuckles faded slowly.

He looked horrified, like this was all genuine. Like he was sincere. 

Thym's eyes widened “No thats...thats not what you're like...You're for real aren't you?  You mean that?” 

“I don’t - I wouldn’t dare joke about- Thym...” Basil wrung his hands and limply stood, a fine sweat forming on his tensed brow. 

“No no of course not.  It's just-you can't possibly think...” Thym reached out to place a hand over Basils’, trying to pause his nervous fidgeting. Basil stiffened but didn't pull away.

“I’ve given this a lot of careful consideration.” Basil affirmed.

“Well,” Lowering their hand, Thym thought about the matter more seriously, “I'd say I'm going to disappoint you, but considering how you found me I guess there probably aren't high expectations?” 

They smiled, small but genuine, and the arboretum seemed to glow all the brighter for it.

“Well I'd expect you to take your interest in engineering, be willing to learn more and improve your craft, and finally to chase opportunities to create and design when you desire.” A smile crept upon his own lips but he fought it, the seriousness of the situation focusing him away from emotion. “Do you think you could meet those expectations?” 

  “Yes!” Thym laughed again, this time a true expression of joy “Yeah of course I can!  Holy shit, I can really stay?  You think it'll work?”

“It'd be wrong to send you away. Like I said, you belong with Arcturus… I can't be the only one to see that. So Yes. You can- and with your potential, I believe you should.” 

He didn’t voice his concerns that perhaps Thym’s entry into Arcturus would be denied in response to a myriad of factors. But Basil had to hope, in his review of his encounter and acquaintanceship with Thym, he had to admit. It felt fated that he discovered them. It felt right that they were so intertwined into the spirit of Arcturus. A guest? Hardly. He would advocate for them. Thym belonged here, more than he had once, maybe even more than he did currently. 

"And no more… being passed between tour guides and supervisors… I'd be one of you?"

 “I’d be responsible for your primary instruction, and yes there’d be an apprentice ceremony to make it official.” 

  Thym made a face.  "A ceremony?  I don't just...sit in your workshop and learn from your work or whatever?" they giggled "Pageantry.  Huh."

  He laughed “Try to think of it as… celebrating your welcome into the guild.”

  “A celebration!” Thym beamed “I like this.”

  Basil didn’t say how much the idea of skipping the ceremony would have lifted a weight off of him, he didn’t want Thym to get the wrong idea. And he truly believed an official position as an apprentice at Arcturus would be well worth celebrating. If only he could have lived the same, without worry. An apprenticeship could be truly invaluable, not only opening doors and resources, but offering fellowship and community. 

  “It's getting late... but… we should check in with Rosemary.  Some news for her.” Unlike the other times he reluctantly said so, there was just a slight tinge of excitement sneaking into his voice. 

  "Oh my god yes!" Thym was actually bouncing now, punching the air "That makes it so official."

Thym spun in place and then, noticing there were more alchemists wandering the levels below them, shouted in excitement for the whole arboretum to hear.

"Hey! Im gonna be Basil's apprentice!"

At the outburst he jumped and then cringed while a chorus of confused muttering filled the building. Again, finding himself the center of attention thanks to Thym.

With a nervous smile, Basil patted Thym’s shoulder and gently eased towards the stairs. 

Once more, words left him, but his hopes stayed. Hopes for Thym’s bright future, and that he could do his small part in helping them prepare for it.

[i-am-1134]

The Lady of Light

In the year of my 4th 6, I worked with a man at a barbeque shop that I ended up giving many names starting with ginger and eventually Red being that he had natural red hair and so as an ice breaker I liked filling his head with celtic lore and stories of red headed giants, attempting to break through his firm stances of skepticism. He had a very healthy way of dealing with knowledge, someone who clearly had no internal dispute with cognitive dissonance. I would draw conversations into topics leading to a frame of reference for some of my “bizzare” theories. Like clockwork he would say a little something like “Bullshit, total bullshit. Show me some proof.” in which id find a direction of knowledge to lead the way. He would come back and say either “Ok you got a point there.” or “I see where you get your ideas now but there are holes”. Once I figured out how open he was willing to be we began swapping hallucinogenic trips stories and he eventually said “Have you done dmt?” I answered “ Ive never even heard of it.” then he followed with some personal stories of his own. I was thinking it sounded like the helpers in psilocybin mushrooms on mega steroids and equipped with even deeper soul revelations. I was very interested at this point and just like that he said “You wanna try it?” and so a week or so later he invited me over to his place to partake.

The setting was just right, a perfect chill in the air and at the cusp of Twilight, a synchronosity with my time of power and 2 days after my date of birth. Red Began with an instruction on how to use it “ take two big hits if you just want the experience, 3 or 4 if you got the courage, and don't ride the flame.”. So going by his instruction it became obvious that sticking to my golden rule when dealing with hallucinogens and doing more than the doctor prescribes, 5 it was. He set me up on a couch in his living room facing a 9 foot window with the shades down barely seeping through the nights light, he said “Im gonna turn off the lights and leave you here with yourself.” I said “Alone? That's cool.” wondering why. Red replied with an assurance that its the best way.

With a bowl of pot and some of these yellow tiny crystals piled on top I thought “here we go” and began taking my puffs. The taste and the smell was potent, really embrassive to the nostrils yet familiar and the smoke was hard to hold in, coughing every hit.

Out of nowhere I became very aware of my hearing and focused on this sound. I then realized I was hearing my awareness and its pitch was getting higher and higher. My Whole body felt as if it had come alive with some engulfing force and every cell in my body was expressing a fraction of my awareness while bathing in it. Suddenly my attention was drawn to these eyes popping in and out of my surroundings. They would appear closed, open, peer into me, and then disappear. Following were shapes that were swiftly changing different colors and started off as the common platonic shapes but then became strange never before seen shapes with strange curves throughout glistening the colors of the rainbow one by one yet even quicker and like that, everything went away and the whole room was dark.

“What the hell happened, is this it?” I thought to myself when a light in front of me caught my eye. It was like light coming through the creases of a door. At that point I had come to realize that what was once Red's 9 ft window with blinds was now a huge metallic looking double door arched at the tops and was what appeared to be opening, letting in more of these rays of high yellow- golden light and revealing strange engravements all over it. A shield with something in some in-discernable language to me now forgotten, a sword that appeared to have flames coming off of it, two serpents on each door side going all the way to the top that looked like they were slithering down the door. I thought to myself that it must be because of the shadows on the doors surface due to the light coming through it as the doors were opening. The word Adonai engraved at the top of the door just above the shield that were both being cut in half as the door opened.

A silhouette made out of scintillating golden light in the shape of a woman appeared in the opening and began putting her foot down out of the door way. As her foot took each step downward it became clearer to me that she was walking down a crystal stair case and every step she took her shape became not only more clearer, solid looking but was changing appearance. Her feet, her legs, hips, stomach, breasts, shoulders, hands, her neck, her hair, and even all of her facial features were changing every step she took down the crystal staircase. When the morphing was over I was looking at the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen and realized that this creature was looking for my un-dividable attention and when I say that it had it, I really mean had it. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she began to crawl to me on hands and knees, popping her shoulder blades up and down like a lion or a puma. The whole time with her eyes fixated on mine and it felt like she was peering at something right through me and behind me or deep within me, she gave a quick half cocked suspicious like smile and disappeared within a flash of an eye.

All of a sudden I saw myself flying through the door way at the speed of thought and the surrounding became very incomprehensible. Seemed as if its was an environment filled with billions of electrical currents chaotically going each and every way and as quick as it came it was gone. In an instant the surroundings became a lush jungle all around me and all the trees and plants were luminescent with rich gold light streams. It seemed that the lights were responsible for the makeup of their forms. Flowers appeared to bloom out and retract back in a synchronized fashion with one another and at the speed of my heart beat. It was like the whole jungle was swaying back and forth to the beat of my breathe. There was a stream of water translucent yet emanating gold filaments of light that appeared to flow upstream as its current flowed down. It encapsulated me for what seemed to be quite a long time when my attention suddenly peered across the stream at a cluster of gold mushrooms. The golden mushrooms were so brilliant I couldn't help but smile. As I fixated on them I started thinking to myself how delicate they must be, like the wings of a golden moth. I look up from the ground and spot a big golden toadstool in the middle and sitting on top was the woman, sitting with her legs crossed and back in her original golden silhouette.

At that moment, like a lotus flower blooming in the middle of my mind space, I received what I was to come to know as a telepathic message. Each petal was like a linear conversation that I quickly found out that I could easily decipher into a coherency I could store in memory. It was as if my entire interaction with her was pre-written somehow beyond the confines of time.

The message made me realize even more the familiarity I was having with this place and the mysterious creature that appeared as a human woman. I said in my mind “Who are you?” and through the lotus message I heard “through the many ages it took you to get back here and who I am is what you want to know?” I never realized it before but at that moment I had this profound remembrance of an age old personal history and was witnessing it in it's totality and became embarrassed of my question. “Thotek” I heard and at that same instant I recollected where I actually was. I was at the point of all knowing, absolutely anything that can possibly be known was at my door step, all I had to do was ask the question. I became nervous with haste I realized that the golden jungle was fading as their luminosity was fading, so was she, and the force that I had been feeling engulfing me was beginning to wane.

“Quickly, you don't have the energy to stay here.” she said and I knew the substance was wearing off. I was completely unprepared for this gift of a lifetime and I was blowing it and I knew I was blowing it. I decided quickly and thought to her “ How do I assemble my light saber?” and “What am I ?” I heard a soft closed mouth type female chuckle that left me contemplating on the feeling of how this creature was close to me someway and out of nowhere I watched a lightsaber being assembled out of thin air. There were three main parts made out of a complexity of many parts and I realized almost instantaneously that my previous research was way off and amounted to a pile of shit. It was overwhelming but was quickly taken from me for a time because of what happened next.

The Next thing I remember I was back on the couch, no door in front of me and pitch black yet I could still see a faint dark blue hue of the living room like a silhouette of everything making it up. I was overwhelmed and depressed, I just got the greatest gift I probably will ever know and I blew it and like that a vortice appeared. It seemed to grow pretty significant in size and then a snout came through it, followed by a head, and a long body, it was a dragon, a chinese style dragon and its entire form looked like it was formed of some kind of glowing smoke. Its whiskers, its eyes, its scales, absolutely everything that made this dragon was in full detail and it was moving very slow with an enthralling grace. Another vortice opened up in front of it and it started going through when I notice another vortice and another, until the entire room was filled with this dragon going in and out of them.

“don't be afraid, if you feel ready reach out and touch.” I heard in my mind. Its power was great I could feel it. I put what felt was my hand out and became very intimidated and much to frightened so I pulled my hand back in.

At that moment a vortice opened right in front of me and I saw the dragon coming out right at me but slowly. I couldn't seem to move my body and began to brace myself for impact in the hopes of it being enough for whatever was about to come. It opened its mouth wide, it looked as if it could swallow me in one gulp and right when my upper body was within its jaws I was completely back in this reality. The last remanance of the dragon appeared as smoke swaying past my cheek and the feeling of a tingly cold energy running throughout my entire body to my core and exiting through what felt like two unseen or etheric appendages off my upper back. All I could muster out of my mouth was “......WOOOH....”

[hotcocosharing]

History Repeats Part 4 (IM RP)

After playing sly fox Shun in both Second Chance and Glory Days, here I am role playing as our playboy doctor Maki who’s bumped into an ex, desperately trying to avoid history repeating itself again. Well, I’ll say both of them should try harder if that’s what they want but WHAT do they WANT?

That’s the ultimate question for everyone, isn’t it?

Me as Yukihisa Maki x amixofmidori as Midori Page

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ Midori’s POV

Oh what - he’s laughing? How interesting. That particular chuckle had been one of which I hadn’t heard in years and still - for better or worse, prevails with a lucid intoxicating effect I can’t quite shake off. Thank fuck Yuki’s only stopping by for a shirt change. Although I don’t notice it straight away; once I’m done driving, I can feel a tight pain in my knuckles from how hard I’ve been gripping the steering wheel. It’s possible that I’ve done so as a nervous tell; that or I’m expecting some kind of instruction whilst driving as I always received whether I wanted the help or not.

The wander from the car-space beneath the apartment complex up to my front door itself takes a little less than 45 seconds including the short yet silent excruciating pain of waiting for the elevator. Heels tapping with a sharp snap against the ground with every step I take; the once affectionate phrase of “Welcome home”, is mumbled quietly - singeing across the tip of my tongue to burn like a poison. Lights flicked on from the switch on the wall just inside from the door - I pace without hesitance straight to the bedroom. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable; I’m sure you remember where everything is.”

Pulling my hair down from the high bun it’s been in all day and shaking it out gives me just enough time to take a deep breath, collect my thoughts and curse like a half drunken sailor, condemning myself for even suggesting and getting into this position. Quickly making a choice of one of the shirts which has been hanging in my wardrobe for far too long; I swing the still straight pressed material over my shoulder and head straight back out to the living room where - momentarily - I’ve briefly left company.

“Here”, I smile sweetly handing over to the shirt, “Stone grey - to match your eyes… and your heart.” Being close enough; playfully, I’m able to reach out and quickly undo a top button - an activity that I was once very, very use to - before my hands are swatted away.

“….you still take your coffee the same way?” Before I get an answer - the expression Yukihisa wears contorts ever so slightly to one which I just read into as worse off than how he was before. So here goes the next suggestion, “Or something stronger perhaps? Whiskey?”

For the life of me - I can’t figure out why I’m trying to keep the ex of whom I’m convinced is the reason and effect of all my relationship issues to date around for perhaps; more than just company.

Yukihisa‘s POV

A cool chill took my spine as I set foot inside the apartment, the combination of wet sticky clothes against my skin and being back to a place where I was once so familiar with was strangely unsettling as well as Midori’s lingering stare and witty remark that I wasn’t sure if she wants me to respond or not.

Putting the shirt over my head with the dripping dress-shirt in hand, I could feel the corner of my lips curved up followed by a devious reminder. “I’m on the hunt for an orgasm, remember?” Perhaps my words were weighing on her much more than it would on me but she was the one who unbuttoned my shirt so naturally then walked away and pretended nothing had happened. I could only return the same favor and changed the subject, “Is there a blow dryer I’d use? Unless you’ve another pair of trousers or pants hiding in the closet too?”

It seemed like a reasonable question, surely I didn’t want to walk out with a dry shirt but soaked garment beneath my waist. I wasn’t fooling around or tempting her with anything. Laughing internally at the fact that I changed my clothes in front of her actually didn’t count unless I stripped my other half naked too. Then, that would be seducing her or showing off which both sounded ridiculous.

I shift my gazes momentarily and scanned across her place which looked pretty much the way it was years ago but then the couch looked different or did she move it- didn’t we share countless nights of trials and errors, in which involved a lot of positions that she didn’t think is humanly possible to achieve? Or the coffee table which was glass instead of wood as she often complained how cold it was against her bare skin when she bent over? The sound of door closing and footsteps approaching dragged me out of my unnecessary daze, this shall be over soon.

[allenmendezsr]

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Then Do whatever you need to do to make sure you have at least 7 uninterrupted minutes to see everything on this page then hit the button below…

Fellow Punter, I know exactly how you feel!

One complicated software program after another, one high-priced tipster after another, one “sure fire” system after another… you have some success, but of course, the “bad luck” far outweighes the winners. Sound familiar?

I’ll bet that every time you bought one of these “miracle softwares” you were promised in the very persuasive sales letter that it would be the answer to all of your problems.  

So I know how you feel – Most of these half baked, products on the market promise you quick results but cant stand the test of time and end up wiping your bank clean in just one or two bets. These products fail to consider the most vital ingredients to successful punting – money management principles, and maintaining the right amount of discipline.

Like you I’ve bought most of them… bought into their lies and then bought their crappy systems… but that will NEVER happen again let me tell you why…

My Name is Andrew. Before I give you the details of exactly how I SPOT WINNERS, I should tell you I am going to divulge some extremely delicate details about what led to this point. Dont worry I’m not going to bore you with my life story, but if you have been a punter for any length of time, you might relate.

Perhaps not my best trait, but it is a passion I’ve had over the years: I LOVE TO GAMBLE! There is almost no better “high” than placing a few pounds on a horse than smiling your way to the cashier’s window with a winning ticket.

 I have been in the business a while and built up some useful contacts along the way, but still, the thrill of picking winning horses was not something I got to experience too often until I Went to Aintree Races one Sunday and my life completely changed.

I wont bore you with the particulars but to make a long story short I met became friends with a particular punter after meeting him though one of my close friends (an apprentice jockey you would know of about if you follow the sport.) 

Now I cant name him for legal and data protection reasons but lets just say…

The type of punter who has Trainers, owners, breeders, jockeys, clockers, grooms, and expert handicappers on speed dial,

They know when a horse is in peak condition, when a recent ailment has been overcome, when an equipment change has worked, when a workout says its time to bet… and he can bet unquantifiable sums on races based on this information .  

This guy is so deep in the game he has network of people who place bets for him!

For those of you that dont know, most bookmakers categorise the value each customer brings. Good customers, (or habitual losers) are A Grade and their system slides down according to the win-to-lose ratio of the customer.

As I fit the criteria of a “good customer” I was offered a position in his network as a commission agent, and I was more than happy to accept.

A commission agent is basically a middle man who places large bets on horses for people within the racing industry.

Myself and a team of others would place MASSIVE bets on his behalf as and when needed! His instructions were often to “Get as much on as you can” No limit!! in some cases £70,000 or more, and he would accept whatever was returned!

Now most people would assume that such business guarantees the procurement of inside information, possibly of the highest calibre….but they’d be wrong!

This Particular punter is modest and nearly OBSESSIVE about his privacy, the first time we met I asked him bluntly over a pint

“How do you do it”??…and his reply was simply…

However I did get the him to open up somewhat eventually and he shared with me (and continues to share with me) some extremely valuable information regarding uk race courses.

He wouldn’t divulge his exact methods or share his sources but the information i get is more than enough to make my betting pay, and in 6 months I was Dominating the online tipster competition forums and transforming my online betting accounts in the process.

Fast Forward 2 years and im still here today providing a small network of punters with this priceless information.

I created this website with the intention of expanding the network…and show how you too can sneak your way into this exclusive, elusive group to cash in on the same winning horses normally reserved only for racing’s elite circle.

INTRODUCING…

Members of the exclusive Spot Winners network get crystal clear, easy-to-understand advice sent via email each day that can be applied during the Flat and National Hunt season.

No long hours studying past performances

No extended periods without selections

No weeks spent learning complicated software

No Guesswork, No Decisions, No Stressing

No gut-wrenching long losing streaks to suffer through

Not A Bunch Of Low-Priced Favorite Picks

No complex or convoluted betting methods

No Complicated Software

No recurring monthly payments or surprise charges

Big Priced Winners all year round!

Spot Winners package will provide a realistic, logical and profitable toolset that you can use to make as much or as little profit as you like!

…IF they are even capable of selecting winners of this quality and consistency.

Imagine what your betting accounts will look like when you start accumulating and leveraging winning bets… Turning £5 on a horse into £50…

£10 into £100…Cashing in £1,000 winners on a regular basis.

A lucky few, aren’t just imagining it…They’re DOING IT with…with SPOT WINNERS

It’s simple to make profits when you have the tools to do so. You too can transfer tax-free profit directly to your bank account like I do.

I want YOU to know what it’s like to finally be the guy on the “inside”…I won’t lie to you – it’s AWESOME, and the freedom this gives you is incredible.

Steven Joined me in January and made £2,620.91 in his first 12 days in with A £200 Starting Bank

Spot Winners odds are across the board. but like I said we never bet odds on shots and we always focus on VALUE! Do we always win? Of course not, no service does.

Have we had losing days? Occasionally, but there have been very few and they’re usually very, very far between. The best part is the strategies we have in place to ensure we’re NEVER compensating for any previous losses

3 things you need to know before joining…

1. “If you’re looking for a lot of “action” 24/7, Spot Winners is not for you”

Yes, we like to gamble. But NO, we do not like to lose.

Our source is very meticulous and extremely particular about his advice. Only three or four horses meet his precise criteria on any given day and on some days none at all.

2. This gentleman insists that his involvement remain in “the background” and that his selections MUST NOT SHARED with anyone outside of this select network.

We are taking a risk by allowing private thoughts and opinions from racings elite to enter the public domain so if you do join us we ask that you keep this information to yourself!

Yes, your mates, spouses and family members will wonder about your “new fortune.” And you will be expected to “pick up the tab” on a regular basis.

When profits like these are building up in YOUR betting accounts, you will be able to afford to.

And finally, number 3…

As I said earlier were dealing with very sensitive information that the public rarely get a chance to take advantage of so there’s a ABSOLUTE STRICT LIMIT of new clients we can accept.

When that lmit is reached THIS SITE WILL BE CLOSED TO NEW MEMBERS! no favours, no second chances!

Let me help you spot winners for 60 days any way you want. And if you’re not convinced, not absolutely thrilled with your results, just email in [support@spotwinners.co.uk] and I will refund your joining fee, no questions asked!

That’s a 60 day, 100% Complete Money Back Guarantee.

THERE IS NO RISK!

You’ll be redirected to our 100% SECURE Check out page

When your, one-time payment of £47 has been processed…

You’ll be immediately scheduled to receive the winning selections for the next UK racing day and the following 90 days after.

Place your winning bets at the advised time.

Collect your winnings, or simply watch your account grow

At the end of your 90 days you can either walk away a happy man or join me again for another round.

DO NOT SHARE THIS INFORMATION WITH ANYONE!

Don’t ignore this offer. ACT NOW!

* 40 2 spaces left as of Sunday, February 23, 2020 11:43 AM

I sincerely hope to see you on the other side.

Now I’m sure you’re eager to get started but before you do, please take a few moments to view our most frequently asked questions & answers.

Q: I’ve used other services and failed. What’s so good about yours?

A: It works! its that simple. These fly-by-night phonys just don’t have a clue when it comes to horse racing. We work with our clients to ensure you you get the best out of this service and there are no extra systems you need, no subscription charges or added fee’s for information and all of this is backed up with a full 60 day money back guarantee!

Q: Will I win All of the time?

A: No, it is unrealistic to expect to win 100% of the time. we have a win rate of around 40% so there will be periods with lots of winners and periods with less winners. As long as you stick with the advice given you have absolutely nothing to worry about.

Q: How Many selections get tipped find each Day?

A: We are highly selective about what we send to our clients On average 3 selections, usually more over the weekends, and on some days none at all (you’ll be notified about well in advance) Most tips are back to win or Each Way depending on odds.

Q: Can I contact you if I have any questions?

A:  Most other system creators have no longevity that’s because they have nil passion for betting or the horse racing itself. You won’t get none of that type of behaviour with me. Feel free to contact me at any time and i will get back to you as soon as possible Try it if you dont believe me support@spotwinners.co.uk

* 40 2 spaces left as of Sunday, February 23, 2020 11:43 AM

[dontshootmespence]

Coercion - 3

@coveofmemories @hanny-bananny Message me if you want to be tagged!

You are just about to start your new job at the BAU after years of working to get there, when a man you don’t know approaches you with an evil plan and knowledge of every sordid detail of your past. What will you do? Will you give into the man’s demands? Or will you be able to find another way out?

                                                              —-

“I’ll see you later, okay,” you said, taking Spencer’s lips in yours. He’d asked you to go out to dinner, but you told him you didn’t feel well. Which was the truth. It just happened to stem from something else that wasn’t biological.

As you made your way down the elevator and toward your car, your stomach started to churn violently. How am I supposed to do this? Since last night, when Ashton had texted you where to meet, you’d been going over every possible option in your head. You could come clean about your past, risk getting fired. But if you did, he would kill Spencer. You could run. Find your old hacker friend and ask him to set you up with a new life, but even that could results in Ashton going after the team and the man you loved anyway.

There were only two options. Take this bastard up on his ‘deal’ and find a way to outsmart him, or leave a note and take your own life. Taking your own life was a last resort. No guarantees there either. And as much shit as you’d been through, you wanted to live - you’d achieved so much.

Right now, your safest bet was to try and outsmart him. The drive toward the bad area of town was fraught with you attempting to choke down your own vomit. As you passed the dilapidated buildings of downtown DC, you found yourself remembering one of your lowest lows, just outside Decatur, Georgia. 

Alone. All alone. Leslie’s not here to protect you anymore. “Tonight, under the bridge. Your client will be wearing black work pants, a red button down shirt and a black blazer. He’s got a tattoo of an infinity sign on his wrist. Don’t be late. You know what happens.”

You knew better than to disobey his orders. The last time you’d done that, you’d experience the swift strike of his calloused hand against your cheek. “Mae yourself useful, bitch. Or I don’t need you anymore.” How had you gotten into this?

Micah. The sweet, squeaky girl who’d asked if you wanted to party for money. In your desperation, you’d said yes. And now Leslie was gone and you answered to Rocco Mitchell. He owned your life. He owned you.

The tears stung your eyes as you continued to drive. It had been so long since you’d left that life behind. You scrounged and bled and cried for what you had. But you’d done it - on your own. Rocco Mitchell was your past. As you pulled up to where you were supposed to meet Ashton, you took a deep breath and wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of your sleeved arm. He couldn’t see you cry. You needed to put on the bravest face you possibly could and use his arrogance to take him down. It was that or die - and take down the ones you loved with you.

“Hello, Y/N,” he said softly, his smile making your skin crawl. He was about to hand you instructions on how to kill someone and he was smiling. “As I said before, you made a good choice. This is what you’ll need for the first one - Jennifer Jareau.”

Your heart dropped. When you looked down at your hands, you could tell by the shiny, black berries exactly what this was, and what you were supposed to do with it. It was Belladonna; the plant’s name was derived from the Italian for beautiful woman. “A perfect murder weapon for a beautiful lady like yourself,” he said, taking your palm and closing it gently around the bag of berries. “I figured I’d get her out of the way. For your sake. You’re a pawn in this, that’s all, but you do have feelings.” He shrugged. Feelings were something he wasn’t familiar with. He caressed the side of your cheek as you stared at him dead-eyed - trying not to pull away. Doing so would mean that he was getting to you, and he couldn’t see that. In this moment, you weren’t sure whether you hated Rocco Mitchell of Bentley Ashton more. If you were able to pull this ridiculously complex plan off, you’d follow Ashton to the ends of the earth to have your revenge.

There were 20 berries in your hand. A fatal dosage for an adult. “Do I need to use all of these?” you asked. You knew the answer, but you wanted to see if he knew exactly how fatal these were.

“Only a few at a time, over multiple days,” he said. “It needs to look believable. Three or four at a time would do until they’re all gone. I’ll contact you when I believe your first task has been completed.” She’s a task to you, you sick fuck? “Remember…say anything, and the man you love dies.”

With a deep breath, you turned and walked back to your car as his bodyguards came up behind you to make sure you drove away safely. Their presence put you even more on edge. The entire way home you shook with rage and fear and uncertainty. 

Fifteen minutes later, you arrived home and put the berries on the counter. You put your phone next to it and grabbed a glass of wine, desperate to numb all of the thoughts going on in your head. As you swigged down an enormous gulp of old wine, which was all you had, you saw your phone blink. When you opened it, you realized you had a ton of messages - mainly from Spencer. They all said that he hoped you’d feel better in the morning, and that he loved you.

The guilt rose up in your throat and the wine started to burn as it made its way back up. You barely spun around toward the sink in time to throw up. Sobbing, you hung your head over the sink and threw up repeatedly, the wine, and eventually just bile, stinging your insides and bringing more tears to your eyes. “I have to do this,” you said into the sink. Your words reverberated off the metal and hit you in the face. “It’s the only way to save them all, even if they hate me for it.”

It had to start tomorrow. If you hesitated, you’d never do it and Ashton would take matters into his own perfectly manicured hands. Three to five berries tomorrow. With any luck, you’d be able to pull this off.

                                                             —-

Your first week on the job had gone off without a hitch, at least to everyone else. In order to ‘thank’ everyone, you brought in coffees or smoothies for everyone. “Here you go, babe,” you said to Spencer, giving him a quick kiss before heading down the hallway to give Garcia her strawberry banana smoothie.

“Oh, so good and refreshing,” she sighed. “Thank you, dear. You didn’t have to do this, but if you want to bring me smoothies all the time Im definitely not going to fight it.” You flashed her the best smile you could and turned around in time to shield your quivering lip. How am I supposed to do this to her? To all of them?

One by one, you handed everyone his or her drink. JJ’s was last. The blueberry would mask the taste of the belladonna, which was somewhat sweet in and of itself. You did your best to mask your hatred of yourself as she took her first sip of her smoothie, but again you had to turn away and bury yourself in your work so that you wouldn’t give yourself away. Right now, the belladonna was coursing through her system. Within the next couple of hours, she’d be exhibiting the first signs of poisoning - dry mouth, enlarged pupils, blurred vision, a slight fever, and it would only get worse.

About 30 minutes later, you looked over and saw that she’d finished her smoothie. Why were the minutes ticking away so slowly? Why was your own vision blurry? Why couldn’t you focus? Everything was swirling around you, threatening to swallow you whole as you sat at your desk with your pen shaking in your hand. You wanted to work. You wanted to be of some use before they all realized what you’d done and who you really were, but you couldn’t do anything. The pen was floating above the paper, unable to move.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Each second slogged by, seemingly longer than the last. It felt like you’d been sitting at your desk, moving in slow motion for days, but it had only been a few hours. Suddenly, you were brought out of your guilt-induced coma by the sweet sound of your boyfriend’s voice. “You okay, JJ?” he asked, placing the back of his palm on her head. “I think you have a fever.”

“How did you learn that trick?” she laughed. “The back of the palm is a mom trick.”

“Actually, the front of the hand is innervated by the median and ulnar nerves, which come from the lateral and medial cords of the brachial plexus. But the back of the hand is innervated mostly by the radial nerve, which comes from the posterior cord, which carries the maximum number of nerve roots. It makes sense to use the side of the hand that carries the most nerve endings because they’re what feel temperature difference, so it’s actually very scientific,” he said quickly, proud of his vast medical knowledge despite not being that kind of doctor. “You seem to be drinking a lot of water. Is your mouth dry too?”

JJ nodded her head and took another long sip of water. “I can’t focus,” she said softly. “And the light is hurting my eyes.”

Spencer bent down slightly and tilted JJ”s head toward him. “Your pupils are enlarged. You could be coming down with something.” You swallowed, your tongue almost becoming larger in your mouth and nearly choking you.

“What’s wrong with me, Doctor?” she laughed. Her smiled broke you. She would hate you for what you’d done - and you didn’t blame her.

Spencer rattled off a variety of things it could be based on her current symptoms - bacterial pneumonia, viral pharyngitis, acute sinusitis. It could be a million things. If she only knew.

As Spencer continued to ask her how she felt and when her symptoms started, you walked as quickly as you could to the bathroom, once again retching up what you’d eaten recently. Thank god there was no one else in the bathroom, because you couldn’t manage to keep yourself quiet. The tears left your eyes almost as easily as the vomit left your throat and within minutes, you were shaking and crying on the bathroom floor. Even if you managed to save everyone’s lives and defeat Ashton once and for all, you would never forgive yourself for what you’d done. This was all your fault. If you’d just thought of another way to take care of yourself on the streets, you would never have met Rocco, and then Ashton would have nothing on you. You’d be with your team hunting down the bastard like you were meant to be.

“Compose yourself,” you said quietly to yourself. If everyone hates me when this is over, I can start a new life again.

Fifteen minutes later, you left the restroom and returned to your desk. “You feeling okay, Y/N?” Spencer asked, the concern on his face only making you feel worse.

“I don’t think whatever bug I had is fully out of my system.” You lied. “Just not feeling well still.” Apparently, JJ wasn’t either, because Hotch had told her to go home.

Spencer walked over to your desk, sat at your side and pulled you close to him. “I’m sorry you’re still feeling like shit. Maybe you should go home too? No use running yourself into the ground.” That’s what I should do. Escape this bullshit.

It took everything you had not to tense up at his embrace. How were you supposed to accept this comforting hug when you were actively hurting one of his best friends? There’s no way he was going to understand. If he did, it would be a miracle. “It’s okay.” You lied again. “I’ll just go home after work and go to bed early.”

The rest of the day slogged by. Although it was a little faster than before considering the evidence of what you were doing wasn’t staring you in the face. At 5pm on the dot, you got up to leave and Spencer followed closely behind. “Still gonna go home?” he asked. “Is there anything I can go?” God, I am a horrible person and I don’t deserve him.

“Just continue to be you,” you replied.

He kissed you on the forehead as you got into the elevator and made your way down to the parking garage. “Feel better, Y/N,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Spence,” you said honestly. It was one of the most genuine things you’d ever said. For a few moments, you didn’t break his gaze, hoping that down the line, when he saw you for who you were, he’d remember this moment. The profiler in him would be able to remember the look in your eyes and knew you weren’t lying. “So much.”

Your wellspring of emotion caught him slightly off guard, but he was brought out of his confusion when his pocket rumbled.”Hello…Will?”

Oh no. You weren’t ready. Has the dosage you’d given her been enough to kill her? It shouldn’t have been. Spencer’s face dropped as Will spoke. “We’ve gotta go,” he said, his voice quivering with panic.

You did the best you could to shake the fear out of your voice before you spoke. “What’s wrong?”

“JJ started staggering around the house a few minutes ago, and then she collapsed.”