#that i found in solo queue

[captain-of-legend-iii]

Based on something that happened to a coworker of mine. Ft. Agent 4 (Clementine), Captain (Opal), and Agent 8 (Lavender).

[anipgarden]

Cheaply Starting Seeds

This is my fourth post in a series I’ll be making on how to increase biodiversity on a budget! I’m not an expert--just an enthusiast--but I hope something you find here helps! 

Having a high-quality seed-starting setup can feel like an ultimate but distant dream. An entire shelf--an entire room, even, filled with grow lights and plant trays in the optimal setup to make tons of plants? Tons of garden tools, each with a diverse and dedicated purpose? That’s just not an option for some of us. But that doesn’t mean we can’t get started at a low cost!

Seed Starting Set-Ups

Speaking from a somewhat biased Floridian perspective, I’ve had great success starting seeds outside! My usual set-up is on a rarely-used outdoor patio table that’s moved to a sunny spot in the yard, but I’ve even grown seeds in solo cups on sidewalks, or directly in the ground, with great results! 

Some seeds grow best when they go through a cold period before germinating, while other seeds aren’t affected much by it and just wait for warm weather. As such, a viable option is to sow your seeds in late fall, let winter roll by, and wait until the seeds sprout on their own come spring! I would try and mark off where you planted said seeds, so you don’t lose track of them and accidentally dig them up.

Alternatively, if you want to get started while it's cold outside, a popular option I've seen is to grow in milk jugs! There's a lot of different ways to do it--everyone has their preference--but if you're already drinking things like milk or juice or sweet tea, and you're going to get jugs at some point in time--why not use them for gardening?

An easy way to clear up a section of lawn to create open gardening space is by using a sheet mulching or lasagna gardening method (though I like to call it the Cardboard Snuff-Out). Place cardboard or newspaper down in fall/winter to mark out where you want to garden. Layer compostable materials like grass clippings and wood chips on top of it, or potting soil/bagged compost. It’ll decompose over Winter into an organically rich bed that’ll have killed the grass and weeds underneath it. You don’t have to break out any tools and sweat over it come spring, and the cardboard itself will slowly decompose as well!

Though it's often recommended to plant things directly into the ground to decrease watering needs and increase nutritional independence, there’s plenty of reasons you may not be able to. Whether you’re renting, living in a place without a yard, or even just can’t or don’t want to break ground in a yard, you can still help biodiversity by growing in pots. Some plants have rather extensive root systems and aren’t well suited for pots, but there are still plenty of options available for plants that’ll boost biodiversity, be beautiful to look at, and grow just fine in pots! A recommendation is to get a larger pot, if you’re able, as it’ll hold onto more water and need watering less often. Not only are potted plants great for providing food for insects, but they can be shelter for other creatures too--there’s been a good few times I’ve moved a pot and found a frog or toad living underneath it.

If you don’t have room for pots on the ground, you could consider using hanging pots or window boxes! These can be great and easily-maintained options to provide food and habitat for insects and birds in an urban living situation like apartments or townhouses, but they can also be a fun way to add even more habitat to an already-robust home garden. You can even make an entire mini habitat in a window box or pot! I can personally say I’ve seen tons of pollinators visit my yearly hanging basket garden that consists of about five to seven plants, and I’ve always loved the idea of having a window box for blooms right out my window. Just make sure that it’s safe--make sure they’re securely fixed, and that whatever they’re hanging from can handle their weight when they’re freshly watered and loaded with plants. 

If you want to start indoors, you don’t necessarily need grow lights or heat mats (though it will make things a bit easier.) I’ve successfully grown milkweed, peppers, tomatoes, zucchinis, and even sprouted lemon seeds in college dorm rooms, and kept tomato and pepper plants in a dorm room on a sunny windowsill. For the most part, you need a nice and sunny window, some kind of container, and a source of heat (in my case, I used anything from a space heater to the warmth of my laptop running nearby. If you don’t have any sunny windows, or enough windowsill space to start plants on, its possible to obtain cheaper grow lights. One year, my mom bought me some gooseneck grow lights that could clip onto things for cheap off of Amazon. (Fair warning, though, they did light up my entire room in purple. I lived alone that year (covid year, my roomies bailed), so it was fine, but it was kind of trippy,)

Another year, when I was in an apartment on my own, I bought a grow light modeled like a normal light bulb from the lightbulb aisle in Lowe’s and put it in my desk lamp. Growing seeds indoors can make them grow fast and leggy, so it’ll help if you can keep a desk fan on them so they focus on growing strong instead of tall and fast.

If you’re fortunate enough to have a friend with a nice set up, you could see if they’re willing to let you borrow some of their space to start your own plants as well! My set-up in college was by no means High Class, but I was still more than willing to start seeds for my friends who asked!

Containers for Seed Starting

So now that we’ve talked starting seeds indoors and out, we need to address what to start them in. It’s important that whatever you’re using has drainage holes, and be large enough to support your plant (starting something like milkweed or a squash in a tiny little pot won’t yield great results). Fortunately, there are options here!

If you’re looking to buy pots, Dollar Tree will sell some small plastic pots for cheap in the spring! They’re kind of thin, and won’t last forever, but they’re great for a few uses and don’t cost a lot of money. Something that’s a bit more pricey but are longer-lasting, in my experience, are the Burpee SuperSeed trays. They come in different sizes, but I’m fond of the 16-cell trays--they have silicone bottoms and are made of a nice solid plastic with a tray to hold water, so they hold up for a long time and are easy to clean and reuse!

Burpee seed tray, my beloved.

What’s better than a cheap pot? Free ones, and there’s plenty of options there! I’ve seen people use toilet paper or paper towel rolls as pots by folding the bottoms in and have it work well for them! I think this method would work best if you had some kind of tray to keep them moist, because mine dried out fast last time I tried this method. I’ve also seen people make pots out of newspaper with a few different methods, and the people who use this method love it--apparently, the roots pass through the paper easier and it decomposes faster when buried, so you can just transplant the whole pot and avoid any kind of transplanting shock. If you don’t have any newspaper on hand, you can likely ask your friends or neighbors! 

I’ve gotten lots of mileage from reusing old containers by poking a few holes in the bottom with knives or scissors--just be careful while you’re doing it! I, personally, am more likely to use an already-used solo cup for it--they’re a nice size, so they hold a good amount of soil and moisture and give the seedling a good amount of root space. I tend to write the plant information on the side of the cup in sharpie marker, or on an index card in pen. I’ve also heard of people making use of egg cartons, fruit containers, yogurt cups, milk cartons, soda bottles--the more you start thinking about what you could easily poke a hole in, the more options start coming around!

This photo may be from 2018, but I'll still regularly reuse cups like this! They're also great for cuttings!

As you start planning to move your seedlings into the ground and preparing planting sites, you’ll likely need a few tools to do it! How do you get these? You may be able to borrow some tools from a neighbor! As long as you make sure to return them in good condition, depending on how friendly your neighbors are, they might be totally fine with you borrowing their tools for awhile. If you don’t want to take that route, there may be a tool library you can borrow from, or a mutual aid group that can loan you tools for awhile. Either way, borrowing tools is cheaper than buying them--though, if you do have to buy tools, cheap hand-tools from Walmart or the dollar store work just fine. They’ll even last a good while if they’re taken care of when not in use! I've even seen places like Ross sell some tools and pots in spring!

Spotted in a Walmart gardening section by the registers, 2023.

Of course, your mileage may vary with these. I genuinely cannot think of the last time my house got a newspaper, and as I've mentioned I don't have to worry about snow. Similarly, maybe you don't use plastic cups when you can help it, or don't have a particular affinity for eggs and yogurt. Maybe there isn't a tool library in your area--I sure don't know if there is in mine--but it could still be worth poking around and asking a neighbor!

That's the end of this post! My next post is gonna be about ways to support your plants for cheap--we're gonna be talking compost, mulch, and trellises. Until then, I hope this advice was helpful! Feel free to reply with any questions, your success stories, or anything you think I may have forgotten to add in!

[tritoch]

the warrior of light as a game-breaking force of violence

there's a moment, relatively early in dawntrail, that establishes succinctly how out of place the warrior of light (as the savior of eorzea and main character of four successive final fantasy game plots) is in what is essentially the story of fresh new final fantasy protagonist wuk lamat. and it sets up quite nicely how the framework of fantasy video game conflict pulls the warrior of light forever towards violence as the expansion goes on.

spoilers through 7.0 follow

consider wuk lamat's kidnapping and rescue. bakool ja ja holds his blade to wuk lamat's throat, taunting you. his lackeys line up against your party in neat little ranks suspiciously reminiscent of a classic final fantasy encounter screen.

and it simply does not matter to the warrior of light. you stride right through their combat setup because you are beyond that by now. the warrior of light has absolutely no respect for the "we are about to do ATB combat" lineup. the camera even jumps the line for you in one continuous rotating shot, crossing the axis of action as though to emphasize through the disruption of visual convention how far outside the game's boundaries you are.

this is how far you are above the problems of dawntrail's first half. you cannot even be bound by the normal rules of cinematography and video game combat. everyone else here lined up for a good old-fashioned scrap and the warrior of light said haha nope actually. i'm going to stroll through here like a god of war astride this tiny battlefield. your henchmen cannot even raise a hand to me. i don't even have to engage in violence directly anymore. my mere presence is enough.

in fact, not only can bakool ja ja's henchmen not raise a hand to you, he's not even worthy of your direct intervention. he kidnaps wuk lamat and steals her keystones and frees valigarmanda and kidnaps hunmu rruk and none of it warrants the warrior of light so much as raising a finger. he's wuk lamat's recurring villain, that's not your problem. you're just here to take in the scenery.

zoraal ja spends his whole life aspiring to be thought of as his father's equal and a worthy successor to the dawnservant as the "resilient son." all it takes for gulool ja ja to acknowledge you as a warrior on his level is like a five minute sparring match. the acknowledgement from gulool ja ja that zoraal ja hungered for his whole life and would eventually go full cyborg supervillain to get via regicide is something the warrior of light receives casually in a throwaway line after their level 93 solo duty on the way to more important plot conversations.

it really seems for a second, in the first half of dawntrail, like you are strong enough and the problems simple enough for this to be a clean and easy adventure. bakool ja ja? power of friendship'd. mamook? successfully reintegrated, no worries about the crimes against humanity. rite of succession? handily won. nothing can stop you. even duty finder queue times have been conquered: you can do all your duties with trusts now.

all of which only makes it better when the second half has sphene ask you and wuk lamat directly: could your strength have been enough to save alexandria? could you have found a different way?

i know some people get very annoyed we don't intervene in the gulool ja ja fight. now personally i think if you see arthur and mordred squaring up it's rude to intervene, but beyond that, it simply wouldn't have mattered. by the time zoraal ja's forces arrived in tuliyollal, alexandria and tural were already on a collision course and doomed to conflict. your hands alone could never have averted this conflict. sphene was always bound to do what she did—and certainly a gulool ja ja without his reason would not be any more inclined to peace than wuk lamat and koana were.

there's a great little moment just before living memory where estinien, champion at reading the room, is like "okay so if thancred and i stay here that frees up you up, aibou, to do what you do best and save the world and have epic fights. woo!!!" and immediately afterwards you basically have to apologize to alisaie because part of the sort of unspoken premise of this whole trip in the first place was that you were, finally, not going to plunge into mortal peril to save the world. you were finally going to take it easy. you were finally done with that. and she has to sort of ruefully be like nah it's fine bro. i was trying to get you to take it easy and not do insane risky world-saving violence. but y'know these things (interdimensional invasions) happen.

by the time you reach the very last trial, all pretense that the warrior of light could have ever been beyond these problems has vanished. you were, very emphatically, not strong enough to hold onto all that was dear without sacrifice. gulool ja ja and otis and cahciua died. yyasulani was irreversibly changed, physically colonized and culturally decimated by another dimension. you systematically shut down each part of living memory, and all its friendly, charming, loving ghosts, with your own hands. with your own clicks.

not even the vaunted strength of the warrior of light is enough to overcome sphene's inexorable logic of conflict. and so, in the end, she plucks you out of the crowd and says, explicitly for reasons of your strength, that you are going to have to do a boss fight now. you are going to have to kill her and you are going to have to do it in a proper 8-on-1 trial, and she forces you to affirmatively state that you understand you're going to kill her.

did you think you were above it all? did you think you could get away from here with your weapon undrawn, with your hands clean? that for you and you alone the logic of conflict comes undone? wrong. wrong. wrong.

your strength cannot redeem you, says sphene. your friends cannot make these sacrifices for you. if you would play the hero then you must play the hero. no half-measures.

back to the duty finder with ye.

[solesnati]

@starfaithed​ sent:    "Don't mind me, just enjoying the view." (from Han)

        AN AMUSED HUFF LEFT HIM AS HE SET THE CRATE DOWN next to the rest,    the pile was steadily getting smaller as the droids grabbed what they needed to continue the building on the temple.      Luke wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand as he took a moment to brief once his load was gone.      sure,    he could’ve used the Force to move the crates,    but there was a certain satisfaction of using his hands that he enjoyed.      besides,    deep down there was still a farmer in him that thought that if his hands weren’t getting dirty,    he wasn’t doing it right.       ❝      you know,    you could help me move these instead of standing there watching me struggle?      ❞

[greyturned]

@gonegalactic​ sent:    ❛   night terrors .   hold  my  muse  after  they  wake  up  from  a  nightmare . -han, you pick when a meme i can’t find         /         accepting if you can find it

        HIS ROOM HAD SETTLED IN AN ICY FOG,    at least,    that was how it was perceived by the sleeping man,    who shivered in his cot on the Falcon from both the chill and the terror that gripped him in his slumber.      nightmares were not an uncommon experience for him,    he’d had them all his life and they’d never wavered in their intensity,    if anything,    they’d seemed to have gotten worse.      especially now,    after he’d left the First Order and abandoned his path,    abandoned his grandfather’s mission.      it was like the dark side of the Force and Darth Vader himself were punishing the young man for this betrayal.

        Ben twitched in his sleep,    a violent thing that rattled the bed.      his brows had pulled tightly together and sweat had started to gather on his forehead and bare chest despite the freezing chill,    the faint lights from the machinery in the room glistening off of pale skin.      his grip on the blankets around him was like death’s hold,    harsh and unforgiving as his mind attacked him with violent,    angry visages.      Snoke’s enraged voice,    the disappointed and equally enraged mechanical hiss of his grandfather,    and another voice he barely recognized but had no name to that was so haunting,    it seized him with fear.

        his mind turned to the cliffs his former master had brought him too on a few occasions,    the very cliffs that mauled his back and left deep scars that he would carry with him for the rest of his life because he was a second too slow.      like then,    he lay suspended over the gaping maw below,    thousands of razor sharp rocks pointed up at him,    like teeth waiting to sink into the monster’s prey.      an invisible hold held him above the waiting beast,    squeezing him so hard he could feel every bone strain and fracture as he choked on his own tongue.      pain laced up his spine as lightning started to dance along his skin,    unbeknownst to him,    in the waking world he’d let out a pained yell that woke the other occupants of the ship.

        back in the hellscape of his mind,    a voice hissed in his ear.      you think you can escape this?      there’s not a corner of the galaxy where i won’t find you,    boy.      you are mine,    as you have been since the moment you were born.      this treachery will not go unpunished.      you thought you knew pain before?      your torment has only BEGUN.

        suddenly,    there was nothing holding him anymore.      Ben entered a freefall that he could not save himself from this time.      the beast below opened wide,    ready to tear into his flesh and rip it from the bone.      Ben cried out as those fangs dug into him and ravaged,    a pressure building in his ears as the voice screamed:      YOU CAN’T RUN FROM US,    SOLO.

        the pressure popped,    and so did a couple of the lights that were now on as he tore himself out of that nightmare and back into the living world.      the creak of metal as his power pushed out and threatened to bend continued for a moment as his heart raced,    eyes jerking wildly around his room as he tried to reorient himself into reality.      as it settled,    a hand fell gently onto his shoulder and pulled a wince from the young man before he realized who it belonged to,    his chest heaving with each breath as those wild eyes found his father.

        ❝      . . .      Dad?      ❞        Ben gasped,    not sure if he could believe his eyes in that moment.      it doesn’t dawn on him that it’s perhaps the first time he’s called the other man that since he returned home with him all those weeks ago,    he’s still too far gone to notice or think of anything other than the fact that he is safe.      for now.

        Ben doesn’t fight it as the older man pulls him into an embrace,    his head instead falling onto his shoulder,    hair slick with sweat sticking to his face.      his breath still uneven and ragged,    Ben squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to chase away the images and voices from his nightmare,    and the unsettling feeling that something was coming for him.

[artificial-transmutations]

Give in to the Midnight Grind

Milo could hear the thumbing bass from inside his patrol car, as he parked in front of the seedy club. It was hardly the first time the neighbors complained about the excessive noise, but it was the first time for Milo to be sent here, and also his first time going alone.

Usually, young officers like Milo - or Miles Dawson, as it read on his uniform - didn't go anywhere alone, but as it happened, his designated partner for the evening had called in sick. Milo had volunteered to go by himself, since he wanted to prove that he could be trusted to go solo. And, asking a club to turn down the music was hardly a dangerous task.

He checked his uniform again in the patrol car's rear mirror and adjusted his collar one final time. It was important to look professional, after all.

Once he was satisfied with the result, Milo exited the car and locked it before approaching the club entrance.

"The Midnight Grind" was hardly one of the most prestigious clubs in town, and the rundown facade certainly didn't do it any favors. However, that didn't seem to stop the long line of people wanting to enter. The long line of men, Milo corrected himself. Either the nightclub was very bad at attracting female customers or it was a gay club. Considering the provocative name and the leather-clad bouncer, Milo strongly suspected the latter.

Of course, gay nightclubs weren't illegal, and Milo didn't plan on causing any trouble. It was a bit uncomfortable for him, since he was straight, but then again, Milo wasn't here to party, he was only here to tell them to keep the volume down.

When he approached the bouncer, he put on his most winning smile and nodded to the burly bald man with the many tattoos.

"Good evening, Sir. I would like to speak to the management of this establishment."

The bouncer shot him a scrutinizing look and then looked back to his patrol car. Milo had expected his uniform to be enough proof for his official capacity, but perhaps, it wasn't entirely unusual for patrons to show up in a similar outfit.

"Badge." The bouncer grumbled in a voice so deep that it sounded like rocks grinding against each other.

"Oh, of course. One second."

Milo was a bit embarrassed that he hadn't thought of showing his ID earlier and brought out his official badge, still shiny and new. He showed it to the bouncer, who studied it carefully, before nodding and stepping aside, mumbling something into his radio.

"They will send someone to the entrance. Wait here."

"Thank you, sir."

Milo felt uneasy due to the looks of the men waiting in line, but none of them seemed to be particularly hostile, so Milo just smiled politely. A few of the men even seemed to check him out and one or two even winked, which Milo chose to ignore.

Finally, after several awkward minutes, another guy came out. This one was a bit younger, but also dressed in a skintight leather harness, a pair of tight jeans and combat boots. Milo's eyes wandered across his exposed skin, the tattooed chest and the piercings, but the guy didn't seem to notice and smiled widely.

"Officer? My name is Adam. The boss will see you now. Follow me."

Milo felt relief wash over him and was grateful that he could finally escape the hungry looks of the people in the queue, as he followed the young man.

Inside, the music was even louder, and Milo found himself surrounded by half-naked bodies, dancing, drinking and occasionally even making out. It was a bit of an uncomfortable sight for him, but at least the music drowned out any moaning or panting. Still, Milo considered it the best idea to just look straight ahead, avoiding any eye contact.

Adam led him to a set of stairs that went up and to a small balcony overlooking the dance floor. There, a muscular man with a neatly trimmed beard, a full sleeve tattoo and a tight black shirt was sitting on a comfortable looking sofa, smoking a cigar. His legs were spread wide, and he was clearly wearing a pair of skin-tight leather pants that did a very bad job of hiding his bulge. Well, they probably weren't designed to *hide* anything.

Adam said something, but Milo couldn't understand what was being said, so Adam repeated himself.

"The boss will see you now, Officer."

The "boss" regarded Milo from head to toe, which didn't help him feel more comfortable. To escape the situation, Milo began to speak, loud enough to be heard over the blaring and thumbing music.

"Good evening, Sir. I am Milo - I mean, Miles Dawson, Officer, actually, from the city police force and..."

Damn, he needed more routine for that, Milo thought as he stumbled over his words, but the muscular man cut him off.

"It's okay, Officer Milo. Sit down."

Milo didn't feel too comfortable being addressed by his nickname, especially not by this man, but at least he called him 'officer'. Milo gladly sat down opposite of the other man, who took another drag of his cigar.

"Thank you. What is your name, Sir?"

"You can call me 'boss'. Everyone does."

That of course wasn't according to protocol, but again, Milo didn't want to cause any trouble. In his opinion, the police were there to be as kind and helpful as possible, servants of the public more than anything else.

"Alright, Mr. ...Boss. I am here on behalf of the city police because..."

"Would you like something to drink?"

The boss asked and blew a cloud of smoke right into Milo's face, who tried to avoid breathing in the thick smoke and coughing.

"Uhm, no, thank you. I'm on duty."

"A little bit of alcohol won't hurt you, officer. But have it your way. A virgin cocktail, then?"

Again, Milo didn't want to be rude and simply nodded, smiling. If there was no alcohol involved, it wasn't against the rules.

The boss snapped his fingers, and a half-naked waiter came with a large and colorful drink, putting it down in front of Milo. The straw was formed like an erect penis. Of course. But under no circumstances, Milo wanted to come off as homophobic, so he took a small sip from the obscene straw before clearing his voice.

"Anyway, as I said, the city police were contacted by the neighbors because the music here is very loud. Now, I'm not trying to cause any trouble. We all know how it is when you have a party and have some fun, but I have to ask you to tone it just a bit."

Surprisingly enough, the boss nodded.

"I understand, Officer. Of course, we don't want to cause trouble either. I guess we got carried away a bit, some music is best enjoyed loudly. But whom am I telling that? I see you found a liking to the music as well."

Milo followed his gaze to his own leg and was surprised to see it bobbing to the rhythm. When did that happen? He didn't remember deciding to do that.

"Ah, yes, it's very catchy."

Embarrassed by his lack of control, he took another big sip from the sweet drink.

"Isn't it? But as it happens, we might have to close early today, anyway."

"Why is that?", Milo asked, before he could stop himself.

The boss shrugged his shoulder. "We're short staffed. The flu. Our stripper for today called in sick."

Milo's gaze wandered over the dancing crowd and stopped at the exclusively male dancers in the cages slightly above the dance floor, moving their sweaty bodies to the beat of the music while wearing only skimpy glittering underwear.

"Do you like what you see?" asked the boss, as he took another drag from his cigar.

"What? Oh, no, haha. I mean, sure, you have a great establam... a great club."

Damn, Milo's thoughts felt like they were moving through cotton candy, probably because of the bad air in here. A bit of ventila... a few fans wouldn't hurt, especially since the boss was still smoking his cigar.

"I see, I'm just asking because of your massive boner." The boss said casually.

Milo looked down, and indeed, a prominent tent was visible in his trousers, stretching the fabric uncomfortably.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I... I have no idea how that happened."

"Relax Milo. I'm not judging. If you like the show, feel free to watch some more."

The voice of the boss sounded reassuring, and Milo took another sip, as his eyes returned to the dancers. They did look pretty hot, he had to admit, and for a moment or two, Milo let his mind wander. What would it be like to dance on a pole like that? To show his body, to flaunt his muscles and to show off his cock and his ass, to grind on a pole like he was riding a dick...

Wait, what was he thinking? He wasn't like that at all! He wasn't a dancer, and he wasn't gay. He wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Are you alright, Milo?" asked the boss, still with a smirk on his face and the cigar in his mouth.

"If you feel uncomfortable, you can take off that jacket of yours, if you like."

Something about this felt wrong, but the boss was right. It was awfully hot. So, he took off his jacket, which helped a bit. Still, his mouth felt dry, so he drank some more cocktail.

"You should also loosen that tie. Don't want you to feel constrained."

Again, Milo did as the boss suggested, feeling more comfortable with every step of the process. The tie had really been a bit too tight. He was just about to unbutton his shirt, when the boss interrupted.

"Wait a moment, man. Finish your drink and follow me."

"Where to?", Milo asked, but the boss was already getting up and walking towards the other end of the balcony, to a door.

"Just relax. You are going to like it."

The boss was right, Milo was thinking too much. And thinking was hard, even harder than his cock was right now. Milo finished his cocktail and got up. The bulge was very prominent in his pants, bigger than Milo ever remembered seeing. For a moment, he looked for a way to hide it, but since nothing came to his foggy mind and the boss was already waiting for him, Milo decided not to care. After all, most of the guys in this club were probably hard, down on the dance floor.

The door led to a small stairway, going down and a narrow corridor after that. Milo had to duck when passing the doorframe, which confused him even more, but he couldn't really tell why. The music was even louder here, and the boss stopped in front of a glittering curtain.

"There, you can take your shirt off out there." He said and gave Milo a thumbs up.

Out there? Confused, Milo stumbled through the curtain into a sea of bright light. For a moment, the music stopped, and Milo was able to hear the voice of the boss coming from all the speakers.

"Give a warm welcome to tonight's star! Here is Macho Dawgson for you, "The Meat" himself. And there's a reason he is called that way..."

After that, a new, driving beat set in and the confusion in Macho's head cleared somewhat. What was he doing again...? Right, he wanted to get out of his shirt.

The uniform shirt was awfully tight, as Macho unbuttoned one button after the other. His body was still moving to the beat, beyond his control, but he didn't mind.

Finally, the shirt came off, and Macho twirled it around his finger for a while before throwing it into the bright light, where cheering sounds reacted to it.

For a split second, Macho looked down on himself. Was that really him? He was way fitter than he used to be, like he visited the gym regularly.

But why did that surprise him, really? He basically lived in the gym, all paid for by the boss. Again, the confusion cleared up some more and Macho started moving to the beat again, thrusting his hips and flaunting his muscles.

The crowd cheered. Of course they did. Macho could hardly keep himself from snorting. He was their fucking god, their idol, the perfect specimen of a man, and they knew it. All those fat, or skinny or otherwise pathetic dudes down there worshipped him, and they better should.

The music got faster and louder, and the dancing crowd was cheering and whistling. Macho felt their hungry eyes on his body, his abs, his pecs, his arms, his crotch. Yeah, there was a reason why they called him "The meat", and that reason was bulging out his uniform pants proudly. But before he got to the main course, he wanted to tease those losers some more.

Macho turned around and let his impressive back muscles work. Of course, he knew that his ass also was a sight to behold, but it was just for teasing. Macho was, of course, a top through and through. After the show, he would be surrounded by willing cocksuckers, who offered every hole in their bodies, begging to be bred, and Macho would make sure three or four of them got their reward tonight.

He ripped open the zipper and wiggled his ass until the pants were hanging low on his hips, and the tight underwear underneath revealed his ass crack. Yeah, Macho knew what he was doing. That's what he lived for: Gym, sex and dancing. He was a god, and he fucking knew it.

Time for the finale. Macho swirled around again and, with a strong motion, ripped off the fake police pants, revealing his stuffed-to-the-brim underwear that shadowed every other man's equipment. Other strippers often wore prosthetics to look bigger, but Macho didn't need that. The bulge in his shorts highlighted his dick and balls in a way that promised only one thing: Size.

The crowd went wild, and the music reached a climax. With a final roar, Macho pulled on his underwear now, ripping it apart and letting his giant meat spring free, enjoying the admiration and jealousy that branded against the stage.

Fuck yeah. Macho loved his job.

If you enjoyed the story and want to support my writing, check out my tip jar! There are also a few more versions of Miles/Macho!

[gilverrwrites]

Call me Tim

Tim Drake/Reader, 2K

[Say his name, P2] AN: I did not expect part 1 to be se well recieved, here hoping part 2 was worth the wait! CWs: Breach of trust, teasing, semi-public foreplay, mildly stalker-ish behaviour on Tims part.

Tim had always told himself that fucking his fans was not a thing for him. Not a kink. Bernard was different, he just had so much passion. He would have been into him regardless of whatever he was fixated on.

Then you happened.

Ever since he’s been telling himself that it was coincidence, not causation. And again, he liked you before he found out you’d spent your formative years kissing cutouts of him. Well, he doesn’t know that part for sure, but he liked to imagine it. Point being; your adolescent crush on him was not the driving force behind his attraction to you.

But as he found himself plotting ways to naturally bump into you as Tim Drake-Wayne, it was becoming increasingly harder to deny that he maybe was, a little bit, kind of into it.

Hitting you up online? Too out of the blue.

Turning up at your house? Way too much.

Then one night the perfect opportunity arose. He’d overheard you making plans to meet some friends at an uptown bar later that week. He wasn’t scheduled to patrol that night. Despite the logical part of his brain telling him it was a creepy move, he just couldn’t pass up the chance. Red Robin had to be so cautious around you, but if you hit it off with Tim he could let a little loose around you.

That’s how he’s ended up sitting on the table adjacent to yours, listening in on your private conversation and praying you wouldn’t recognise him before he was ready.

“So have you guys ever had someone ask you to call them by a different name when you’re… you know?” He nearly coughs on his drink, sitting bolt upright as though it will help him hear better. He trusts you not to spill on who the guy is. You’d had that conversation already, but he wants to hear you say Tim again.

“What like ‘Daddy’? Yeah, my ex was into that.”

“No.” Your voice has grown so quiet, laced with a sheepish laugh just like the morning you’d confessed about your crush to him. God, he wishes he could turn around and look at your face. He’d bet you’re all flustered. “Like, another actual man’s name?”

“No, hon. That’s weird.”

“Who’s the guy? Whose name?”

“You don’t know him.” You shut down the first question. He bets your fidgeting, looking at anything other than your friends as you consider your next words cafeully. “But he wanted me to call him Tim. As in, Tim Drake.”

“That’s really weird. Did he know you used to be down bad for him?”

He knows it's mean to turn around now, and worse, risky. Liable to scare you away but it’s so worth it to see the five stages of grief cross your face in the span of 3 seconds when you notice him. You're like a starstruck deer in the headlights as the word “yeah” dies on your lips. If he cupped your cheeks right now, he's certain the heat would burn away any remnants of his fingerprints.

The whole table falls silent as one by one, your friend’s clue into the situation. If it weren’t for their sickly amused smiles, and the foley of the bar, you’d think the world has stopped turning. You wish the world would stop turning.

He’s staring at you with an almost impish smile and your fight, flight, or freeze kicks in. You opt for stuttering “I have to piss!” As you abruptly leave the table.

I have to piss. You just bumped into The Tim Drake, and the first things he heard from your mouth were that you’d called his name while hooking up with someone, and I have to piss.   

The queue to the solo bathroom in this place is always long, and usually you’d be annoyed but tonight you’re grateful for the extra time to compose yourself, or you would be if you apparently hadn’t been followed.

“So, is he your boyfriend?” Where the fuck had he come from? You hadn’t seen him approach at all.

“He’s…” Not, not your boyfriend. You see each other at least weekly, sometimes you cook for him, and he often brings you gifts. However, you’ve never had that conversation, you don’t even know who he is under the mask. You don’t have his phone number. Despite multiple sexual encounters, you hadn’t even seen him naked. Now that you think about it, there’s a definite power imbalance in whatever you have. “Why?”

You’re much more defensive of his teasing than you are with Red Robin. Understandable, you didn’t really know Tim, and he’s really hit you out of left field. This is all turning out a bit crueller than he’d intended, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Your apprehension tonight is as tempting as your timidness had been last time. It’s like he’s trying to seduce you on hard mode.

“Just tryin’ to find out if it would be appropriate to buy you a drink, maybe ask you to dance?” He sounds off. Not like he does in the TV interviews and podcasts you’d heard him on, but still familiar. It’s hard to focus on, however, because he’s standing so close. Close enough for you to smell the fresh sweetness of his aftershave, for you to see the features you’ve been fantasising about up close.

“This place doesn’t have a dance floor.”

“We could go to another place.”

“Oh no buddy, I’m not going to any secondary locations.” He can’t help the smile that crosses his lips. You remembered his safety tip. He just hopes it reads as anything other than prideful to you right now. “Don’t think for a second just cause you heard what you heard that I’m gonna fall all over you.”

“Buddy? You can call me Tim.” The obvious innuendo has you cracking a genuine smile. Your nerves are still apparent from the way you're tapping your fingers against your thigh, and your refusal to make meaningful eye contact with him but he’s chipping at your walls. There's four people waiting ahead, and he wonders if he can breach your shields completely before it's your turn. “Or if it makes you feel better you could call me whatever that other guy’s name is.”

“Is this how you get people to sleep with you? You tease them relentlessly until they give up just so you’ll go away when it’s over?”

“Ouch.” You have a point, he’s never behaved like this before. He’s always been a self-confessed smartass, but you just bring out something especially brazen within him. Something wicked. He’s being a jerk, but you’re chewing your lips and sneaking awed glances at him, which implies you’re more into it than you’d admit. “Am I not what you expected?”

He probably would live up to your expectations had this been your real first meeting. If he wasn’t already comfortable around you, he’d be enamoured by your appearance, too skittish to match your keen whit or ask about your hobbies, not when you look at him with those eyes. If anything, the typical Tim Drake persona might even bore you by rambling on about detective novels or WayneTech.

“You’re why people say you should never meet your heroes.”

“Okay, fine.” Maybe he had gotten a bit carried away messing with you. “Can I just ask you one more thing, and then I’ll go away, or buy you a drink? Whatever you want.”

Your eyes drift up to the ceiling as you consider his offer. It’s not an uncommon tick for people to have, but it’s certainly more endearing when you do it. Eventually, you nod, conceding to him and offering real, esrnest eye contact. You’re still willing to hear out your favourite celebrity, and a pang of guilt at once again abusing his authority thrums through his chest.

It doesn’t stop him from asking, however. “What clued this guy into your crush on me?”

“Pictures.” You frown, still not breaking eye contact. Something is different. The nervous energy you’ve been emanating since he’d followed you to the line has subsided, replaced by something tantalisingly self-assured.

“Pictures of what?”

He tries to pry but you give him nothing.

“Of you.”

“What kind of pictures.”

The answers here don’t matter to him anyway, he already knows. He’s just trying to segue into a specific set of questions.

“Just, pictures.”

“How ambiguous.” Here’s his chance to try and satisfy that burning fantasy. “Did you practice kissing on them?”

“What? No.” Your tense shoulders say otherwise. “Why would you even ask that?”

“I don’t know.” Perfect. He gives his best noncommittal shrug before leaning in closer, balancing his weight on the wall behind you until the distance between your bodies is closed. He can still pick up hints of your body wash, but it’s washed out but the smell of a parfum that he wishes he could spray on his pillows at night. “Thought I’d offer you the real thing to compare.”

Your response isn’t what he’s expected, but it is what he’s hoped. Your lips press softly against the corner of his lips, and he can’t stop from locking a hand on your hip, not to force anything further, but to stop you from backing away. Although, the wall he has you partly confined against has been doing a pretty good job thus far.

He needn’t bother, however, because it doesn’t take long for you to grow more confident. This is the moment he’s been waiting for.

His mouth parts at the first sign of your tongue and you eagerly explore his mouth. He tastes like IPA, hoppy and warm. Your hands boldly play across his chest, until you fist the fabric of his shirt and tug him closer, deepening the kiss until he moans into your open mouth.

Your sudden boldness is doing things for him. Head spinney, dick hard things. Thoughtlessly, he ruts his hips, rubbing his clothes cock against your lower abdomen until you pull away with a laugh. It’s his turn to be nervous. You’re looking at him with something fierce and canny.

“Excuse me.” A clearly unamused man interjects himself between your embrace to point at the bathroom. “Are you waiting?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tim is surprised by your chipper poise, as you smile politely at the man. He’s even more surprised when you hook your fingers into the give of his leather belt and proceed to drag him with you into the cubicle, locking him inside with you as you offer thanks to the stranger.

“What are you doing?”

“Comparing with the real thing.”  You grace him with another, hard kiss, backing him against the door. Your tongue is hot against his already heated skin as you hurriedly work it along his jaw and neck. He remembers how you’d looked when you’d first noticed him earlier and wonders if his burning face looks equally as nonplussed as he lets you have your way with him against the bathroom door.

He hisses when you plunge your fingers below his belt once more, this time unbuckling it. You’ve fucking cracked, he must have broken something in your brain. There’ll be exaggerated stories about this all over the Gotham Globe’s home page tomorrow. Hell, if he cares though.

“You’ve changed your tune.” He comments, bucking his hips, helping you free him from his boxers. Your fingers lock around his base, and it throbs at finally being touched by you. He’s wanted so badly to fuck you for months but as Red Robin, he’s had to be careful, had to put his guard up which had resulted in a very altruistic sex life. But Tim Drake could fuck you. Right here, right now, Tim Drake-Wayne would fuck whatever hole you’d give him and the thought of it has him losing composure fast.

Your lips lock in one last frenzied kiss before you drop to your knees, and you look like an Angel sent from hell, looking up at him from beneath his reddened cock, with heady eyes and salacious smile.

“So, Red.” Shit. His heart skips a beat. Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s not sure what gave him away, but he doesn’t have a chance to care before you spit on his dick and start to pump with a deliberate rhythmic pace that has his head rolling back against the door. He’s not sure if he wishes he’d never done this at all, or if he’d done it sooner. “What name should I use tonight?”

[ay4tou]

window neighbor | suna rintarou x reader

summary: it's hard gaining peace in a big world like this. especially when gaming. (un)fortunately, your insomniac neighbor doesn't keep his windows closed.

author's note: finally filling my haikyuu agenda (´ ε ` ) hehehe this took me a bit longer than i expected it to be (i was inspired by this) | masterlist

It’s 3 a.m. again. Your gaming chair is creaking as you lean back, groaning at your monitor. The match was supposed to be easy. An easy solo queue before bed.

But no. Your team decided to collectively forget how to play, and now you’re stuck babysitting four digital liabilities.

“Who the hell even runs into the enemy ult?” you mutter, smashing the keyboard with enough aggression to scare your poor keys. “What the fuck, man?! I swear, if I get matched with them again, I’m deleting this damn game.”

Your teammate dies (again), and you groan, turning your chair toward the kitchen for a midnight snack. But just as you stand up, you catch a familiar flicker of light from the window across the street.

There he is. Su...Sinu? Sina? Sona?

What was his name again?

He's also in his kitchen right now, of course. Your kitchen and room windows are directly across from each other, and they somehow always manage to be awake at the same ungodly hour as you. It also doesn't help that your neighbor has huge windows.

You squint. Tonight, he's hunched over a laptop, casually eating a bowl of cereal. You try to ignore the man, opening the fridge and grabbing a soda. But as you crack it open, you glance up again, just to check if he's noticed you.

He did.

Suna glances up lazily from their laptop, spoon halfway to their mouth. He meets your gaze, raises an eyebrow, and then smirks.

"Who the hell smirks in this situation?" You muttered to yourself.

You narrow your eyes and point at him accusingly through the window, mouthing, Why are you always awake?

He shrugs, as if to say, Why are you always awake?

The first time you noticed him, he was sitting in the kitchen at 2 a.m., wearing headphones and yelling at their screen.

Someone else raging at online games in the dead of night, just like you.

You thought it was hilarious.

But then you started noticing him every night. And not just gaming, he was always up to something ridiculous. You've even seen him build a gaming setup on the kitchen counter one night.

You weren’t proud of how often you found yourself glancing at his window. But in your defense, he started it. He'd catch your eye mid-game, smirk, and go back to the game like nothing happened.

Finally, one night, you’ve had enough.

Instead of grabbing your usual notebook for yet another passive-aggressive window message, you decide to try something new. You march into your bedroom, grab a neon sticky note, and write:

“Tired of staring? Join the game.”

You slap it onto the window and stepped back, arms crossed. Across the street, he notices immediately. He blinks at the note, squints to read it, and then gives you a thumbs-up.

You wait. You were unsure that he was serious until you see him disappear from his kitchen. A moment later, a notification comes up from your laptop. It’s a friend request. Finally.

[37/50] SunaRin wants to be friends.

Oh. His name was Suna.

You stare at the screen, heart thumping, before accepting. A message pops up almost instantly:

SunaRin: sup

SunaRin: wow r u a whale

SunaRin: ok lets see if ure as good as you pretend to be

Oh, it’s on.

The first game is chaos.

He’s reckless, diving headfirst into the 1v1, and somehow always coming out on top. Meanwhile, you’re scrambling to keep up, muttering curses under your breath as he racks up points.

y/n: can you like stop for a sec holy shit

SunaRin: lol not when im winning you loser

y/n: ???

You groan audibly, but when you glance out the window, you can’t help but notice the smug grin he flashes your way.

It just makes your blood boil.

The few days you've been playing with each other has been a roller coaster of anger, victory, and way too much caffeine.

But one day, your neighbor's usual antics suddenly stop.

You’re mid-game when his usual banter stops. He goes quiet, and his character stands still. You glance out the window to see him leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling with a frustrated expression.

y/n: whats your deal

SunaRin: im bored

SunaRin: lets do something else

y/n: wdym something else

A second later, your phone buzzes. It’s a message from him.

“I’m tired of staring at your kitchen window. Meet me outside in 10.”

Your first instinct is to ignore it. This is weird. This is out of bounds. But curiosity... and maybe something else you don’t want to admit wins out.

Ten minutes later, you’re standing awkwardly in front of your building, wondering if you’ve been pranked. But then you see him walking toward you, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, looking as weird as ever.

“Wow,” he says, stopping in front of you. “You actually showed up. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You cross your arms. “What’s this about? I was about to win that match, by the way.”

“Sure you were.” He grins, and for the first time, it doesn’t look smug. It looks nice.

“I figured we’ve spent so much time trash-talking each other, we might as well do it in person.”

“What? You dragged me outside just to insult me face-to-face?” you say, but there’s no real bite in your tone.

“Hmm, pretty much." he replies. “That, and I figured it’s about time I got to know my favorite neighbor.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. But don’t think this means I’m buying coffee.”

“Oh, you’ll be buying it eventually,” he says, already walking toward the café down the street. “I’m just giving you a head start before I destroy you in tomorrow’s rematch.”

You follow, shaking your head but laughing under your breath. Turns out, losing a little sleep isn’t so bad when a new friend makes it worthwhile.

[corrodedcoffinfest]

Corroded Coffin Fest Pop-Up: Good Fortune

As we head into 2025, let's all look for a little Good Fortune where we find it. All entries must be posted on January 1st, 2025.

Your prompts come from this group of fortunes I collected and saved from fortune cookies. Use either side of the slip to find your inspiration:

(A text version of the fortune prompts can be found under the cut at the bottom!)

You may interpret these fortunes into prompts in any way you'd like, as long as you've focused on one or more members of Corroded Coffin. Use the fortune, use the word, use a lucky number, or if you're extra ambitious, use a full slip: Fortune, word & a lucky number! It's all up to you. Just read the guidelines below and have fun!

GUIDELINES:

Please tag us here at @corrodedcoffinfest when you post your entries so we can reblog them!

Ring in the new year with a fic word count between 250-2025 words. I'll use wordcounter.net to check your word count before reblogging. You'll get a comment from this blog with a "🥠" when it's been checked and added to the queue.

Submissions can be connected to other prompts from the pop-up, but they should still be able to stand alone.

Feel free to use the ao3 collection after you've been reblogged here!

All submissions should include which fortune you've used, any pairings featured, a rating and any content warnings (CW) or tags that you think are appropriate. All explicit material needs be under a cut. All ships are welcome, as long as they include at least one member of Corroded Coffin: Eddie, Jeff, Gareth & Freak. Please put the prompt you are fulfilling as well, just to keep things straightforward. A sample could look something like this:

Prompt #4: Your example will inspire others. | Word Count: 1986 | Rating: T | POV: Gareth | Relationships: None | CW: None | Tags: Corroded Coffin, Famous, On the Road

For the artists! Art is definitely welcome! Any entries for the prompts must be Corroded Coffin focused, using any combination of the guys, together or solo. Of course, other characters can be included, too! But you need to have at least one of the CC band members in it for it to count for this pop-up event. Thank you!

Please submit your entries between 12:00 AM EST and 11:59 PM EST on January 1st, 2025.

Good luck! 🥠

Text versions of the prompts:

#1 - Your love of music will be an important part of your life | November | Lucky Numbers: 6, 47, 17, 56, 51, 55

#2 - You have a heart of gold. | Neck | Lucky Numbers: 33, 21, 2, 19, 4, 53

#3 - It is sometimes better to travel hopefully than to arrive. | Family | Lucky Numbers: 55, 41, 32, 54, 28, 5

#4 - Your example will inspire others. | Mayor | Lucky Numbers: 39, 34, 4, 44, 5, 52

#5 - Adventure can be a real happiness. | Quench one's thirst | Lucky Numbers: 44, 50, 10, 19. 56, 23

#6 - Everyone feels lucky for having you as a friend. | Strawberry | Lucky Numbers: 1, 8, 56, 25, 19, 30

#7 - A single kind word can keep one warm for years. | Mouth | Lucky Numbers: 48, 13, 46, 27, 31, 18

#8 - Your mind is filled with new ideas, explore them. | Supervisor | Lucky Numbers: 4, 33, 38, 18, 54, 20

[sitkowski]

this place is haunted ( vinny mauro x f!reader )

pairing: vinny mauro x f!reader

cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ mentions of sex work, rough sex, sex tapes, rough oral sex (m receiving), vaginal fingering, choking, face slapping, unprotected vaginal sex, spooky shit is happening (or is it?), character death (???), just trust me on this one.

word count: 2.9k

author's notes: so i found this on my drive, written for someone else but never given so i turned the oc into a reader insert. consider this an extra halloween thing. title comes from "undead ahead 2", divider by @saradika-graphics

this fic is being dropped into the queue!

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups

“I’m sorry, you want to what?”

Rolling your eyes in the mirror’s reflection, you turn around to look at your boyfriend. “You heard me.”

“I did hear you,” Vinny nods. “It sounds like you just told me you want me to rail you in a haunted house. On film.”

You can see the smirk on his face, knows that he’s just messing with you for the fun of it. He knows what you do for a living, and has never had any problems participating in it. “It’ll be good content for Halloween. And we don’t have to meet everyone else at the cabin until the day after tomorrow.”

“Babe, you don’t have to sell me on anything. You kinda had me at railin’ you—”

You laugh and slap at his shoulder. “I didn’t say it like that! I said that we should check out one of those abandoned locations and film a little something.”

“So it’s either my kind of haunted house,” his eyebrows raise. “Or yours.”

“Well I mean if you wanna invite Justin and Rick along, I’m sure I wouldn’t mind.”

“So you want a gangbang for Halloween?” Vinny hums thoughtfully, before shaking his head. “Nah, Rick’s tattoos are too noticeable and I kinda like the idea of being the only one you fuck on camera.”

You’ve been doing this for a while now, long before you and Vinny ever knew each other. Back then, it was just you doing solo stuff. He knew that you’d been posting stuff online when you started dating, he never once asked you to give it up. You were together nearly two years before he got involved with it. You always kept his face out of it, and it was easy for him to be anonymous when he didn’t have any tattoos. If the band knew, no one said, it was probably his best kept secret..

“I even got a very cute costume,” you say. You see the interest spark in his eyes.

“Please say slutty ghost,” Vinny crosses his fingers and you reach out to swat him again. He catches your hand this time, twisting it behind your back. “Hey now, be nice.”

“Or what?” you challenge, and he lets go of you only to slap your ass hard. “Ow, dick!”

“What do you think of going to Frick’s Lock? They close before dark, but I can get us in.”

The idea of filming a scene in an abandoned nuclear ghost town is pretty appealing, You can admit that. You’ve been there on one of the day tours and know that doing a night shoot could work, the place is just run down enough to give off the spooky, haunted vibe you want.

“You think we’ll see some ghosts?” you ask teasingly, knowing that despite the set up, it’s always a possibility. And both you and Vinny believe in that sort of thing.

“You never know,” he says, before slapping you ass again. “Okay, you find your cute little costume and get your shit together, I’ll set it all up.”

“Thank you baby,” you smile and kiss him. “You always give me the best presents.”

The drive into Frick’s Lock is silent and dark. You’ve got a bag with everything in it you need, and Vinny brought his camera and a few lights. Typically when it’s nothing but a couples scene, it’s just the two of you filming anyways. You’ve done this sort of thing before, filming in a location besides your apartment. But it’s the first time that you’ve chosen a spot so public, and for Halloween no less. Vinny’s hand slides over your upper thigh as he drives, and you bite your bottom lip in anticipation.

The place is creepy at night. You can admit that. You have to drive down a few thin, winding roads before they reach the small row of abandoned shacks. You didn’t ask how Vinny got you in here after closing. You didn’t need to know. You have a specific window of time you're allowed to use. When he stops the car and turns off the headlights, there’s just enough moonlight for you to be able to see to get into the building without using the flashlights on your phones.

It’s just one room that you walk into, the walls are grimy and moldy, the floor scattered with leaves and dirt. You know that some of it is for dramatic effect for the tours, but mostly it’s because whoever is responsible for the upkeep just doesn’t care. You sit down your bag and let Vinny work on the lighting so that they’ll at least be able to see, along with a handful of candles that you brought along. You take a picture of the room once he’s out of the camera’s view, so that you can post it on your social media to hype people up.

You show the post to Vinny before you make it, as always. Despite it being your thing, he always gets a say in things you post that involve him. Snagging your phone from your hand, he switches it over to the camera again. “Give ‘em a little peek, sweets.”

Your costume is in the bag, and you’ve got no problem changing right there. Outside, there’s a loud screech that makes both of you jump. Something moves past the window and you hear the flapping of wings. Just an owl, you assume. You take off your jacket and then your shoes, shirt and jeans, adding them to the growing pile.

The outfit you put on isn’t so much a costume, just a thin strapped short black dress and fishnets. You’d done your makeup and hair before you left the house, but you smear your eyeliner some, even though it’ll all be a mess later. You brought different boots than the shoes you wore in, and you let Vinny help you into them. He stays crouching down at your feet, fiddling with the camera settings before snapping the picture.

“Pretty little goth girl took a wrong turn in the woods on Halloween, hm?” he asks. You blow him a kiss before making the post and then passing the phone to him for the pov shots.

The only other thing you brought with you was a sleeping bag to toss on the floor so you don’t end up with splinters. He spreads it out on the floor for you.

A loud scraping rattle startles you both, and it’s followed by a low hum. Vinny gets up, glancing out one of the grimy windows. 

“Is there power here?” you ask.

“There aren’t any light switches, so I doubt it. Maybe it was a water pump or something for one of the other buildings,” he shrugs and takes off his own leather jacket, tossing it aside before setting up the camera in the right place.

Air seeping in through the windows makes the flames flicker ominously, but you ignore it. You give Vinny a look as you hit the button for the camera and he smirks, hooking an arm around your waist and hauling you against him. “Ready to play?” you ask.

“Trick or treat.” he murmurs before he kisses you, and you laugh against his mouth.

There’s no sound in the room but the hissing of the candle flames and the slick slide of your lips. Vinny’s hands grip your hips hard, bunching up the skirt of your dress a little. You moan quietly against his mouth, reaching between you to rub your hand along the front of his jeans. You can feel him getting hard for you and you flick her tongue against his as you squeeze gently. When he pulls back, he slips on the mask that he brought with him, usually you just film it from an angle where his face doesn’t show, but the room has no furniture and a lot of the both of you will be in frame for this.

The floor is not forgiving on your knees, and you can feel the wood snagging your fishnets as you kneel in front of him and wrap your hand over his belt buckle. When you raise your eyes to him, you’re met with your phone’s camera, and you bite your bottom lip.

“You're gonna be a good girl for me?” Vinny asks. His mask muffles his voice enough that you probably wouldn’t recognize it as his on film. 

You undo his belt and the button on his jeans, pulling the zipper down torturously slowly. You give him wide, innocent eyes. “I’m always a good girl.”

Vinny laughs and it makes you grin as you shoves his jeans down, followed by his boxers. His free hand winds into your hair as you take his cock into your hand, licking up the underside slowly before pulling back and taking him into your mouth. He moans quietly and you hum around him.  You take him deeper, letting him hit the back of her throat. The noises you make are obscene to your own ears, echoing around the room. Vinny’s fingers yank on your hair, moving your head back and forth for you. Tears slip from your eyes as you gag, grabbing onto his thighs to balance herself. you keep your eyes upturned to the phone’s camera, knowing that your face is already a mess.

Outside, there’s the sound of snapping branches and rustling. you pull off Vinny’s cock, coughing and wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. “What was that?”

“Probably a raccoon,” Vinny shrugs. “Maybe a ghost.”

“Ha ha,” You roll your eyes. “Wanna invite the ghost in for a threesome?”

The hand still in your hair twists viciously and you whimper, trying not to smile. He lets go of your hair only to wrap his fingers around his cock, stroking slowly, tapping the tip against your mouth. You open up and stick out your tongue, licking him teasingly. You can’t see his face behind the mask or the camera lens, but you know the way he’s probably looking at you better than anything. Shuffling back a bit, you move until you’re kneeling on the sleeping bag, and crook your finger at him.

You sit back and spread your legs, the hem of your skirt riding up our thighs. Vinny kneels between them, giving you a little slap on the outside of your thigh as a sign for you to spread them wider. There’s nothing beneath your fishnets and his free hand slips between your legs, fingers teasing into you through the holes. You moan and rock against his hand, trying to get him to put his fingers deeper. But he’s just warming you up and after a few minutes, he pulls away. Ignoring your frustrated whine, he reaches up and slaps your cheek before pushing those fingers into your mouth roughly. 

You reach down and tear the fishnets open, Vinny moving the phone just enough to catch it. you can hear him laughing at you behind the mask, and you’d flip him off or say something nasty, but there’s that noise again outside.

“Seriously,” you mumble breathlessly, “I think something’s out there.”

Vinny turns the phone towards the window, “I don’t hear anything.”

Maybe it’s just your imagination. Maybe it’s actually some animal out there wandering through the woods. You’re the one who wanted to do this here. Ignoring the paranoia you feel, you spit on your fingers and reach between you, wrapping your hand around Vinny’s cock and stroking him. He brings all of his attention back to you, and you preen for the camera, eyes turned down to watch as you roll your hips down onto him.

He groans above you as he bottoms out, and you absently think of investing in some sort of stand for your phone because you want him closer like you can usually get him. Instead, you just hook one of your legs around the back of his thigh, and let him push you down flat on your back. His hand pulls at the top of your dress impatiently and you giggle, wriggling out of the straps, leaving the dress bunched around your waist. You bite down on your own tongue so you don't say his name.

His hand clamps around your neck, not squeezing, just holding you down, and you feel the sting of tears in your eyes. You grind against him harder, sharp noises escaping your throat when his thrusts get rougher. Even with the mask, you know that he’s waiting for you to either give him the signal to slow down, or to encourage him for more. You wrap a hand around his wrist, keeping him there.

A thud outside startles you both and you yelp, pushing up on your elbows. “Something is out there!” you insist loudly.

Vinny finally relents, pulling out and fixing his clothes. He saves your footage to your encrypted cloud and gets up, pushing up his mask and walking towards the door. You scramble up, hurrying to get back into the clothes you brought with you. The mood is decidedly ruined, and you walk around the room to blow out the candles before shutting off the camera.

When you follow him outside, it’s quiet other than the sound of crickets chirping. The temperature had dropped while you were inside, and the sweat had barely dried on your skin when you’d yanked on your clothes. Vinny walks around to the other side of the building and you trail him, stumbling a little in the tall grass.

“I told you, there’s nothing out here babe—”

His words cut off, turning into a wet, choking sound. All you see is him at first, until your eyes adjust more and you see the man in the mask standing there. Vinny’s body falls to the ground in front of him, and then you see the knife, covered in blood. You scream, stumbling backwards. Your eyes bounce from Vinny laying motionless in the grass to the man slowly advancing on you. His mask is similar to the one Vinny had been wearing, only it’s dirtier and something is etched into it. He tilts his head at you, wiping the blood onto the leg of his coveralls. You take one last look at Vinny, and you turn and run.

Your first thought is the car, but Vinny’s got the keys. Screaming for help was useless, but you did it anyway, trying to make a break for the road. But you know no one is out here, no one knows you’re out there. Vinny still had your cell phone too. Your Chucks slide in the damp leaves and gravel, but you can still hear him behind you. You know that the road is way too long and you’ll never make it. But you still have to try.

And stupidly, you turn back to look. He was right there and then you’re falling, tripping over your own two feet and landing hard in the grass. You try to crawl away, grabbing onto the nearest tree to pull yourself up. This guy is huge and he wraps an arm around your waist, yanking you up to her feet. you scream, long and loud, trying your best to get away but he’s too strong and your eyes catch on the bloody knife in his hand. 

Under your own screams, you think you hear laughter. You do, and it’s coming from the guy currently holding you. You stop struggling and narrow your eyes. you knows that fucking  dumbass laugh.

“Justin?” Reaching up, you grab at the mask and yank it away, revealing the familiar face. “What the fuck?”

He sits you back down on your feet, ruffling his sweaty blonde hair that had been pushed back. Over his shoulder, you see Vinny coming over. Looking down at the mask in your hand, you see the IX carved in the plastic. It’s Justin’s old mask he used to wear on stage.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” you screech, smacking him repeatedly with the mask. He laughs and ducks away from you.

“It was his idea!” he protests, pointing to Vinny, who’s now close enough that you can see he doesn’t have a mark on him.

“Oh come on, you have to admit it was a little funny.” he says.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, Mauro.”

“Nice try babe, the knife isn’t even real.”

For some unknown reason, you don’t feel as angry as you know you should. These two dumb fucks just terrified the hell out of you. you thought Vinny was dead. That you were going to die. But you feel your rage subsiding, just a little. 

“Fine, whatever, you scared me.” you relent. “How the fuck did you even get here?”

“Ryan dropped me off like two hours ago,” Justin explains. “It took you a lot longer to catch on to me being out there than we thought.”

You narrow your eyes at him again. “Were you watching us fuck?”

Vinny cranes his head to look up at Justin. “You better not have been, that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Ya’ll are fucking loud.” is all he says, and you slap him with the mask again before throwing it at him and trudging back towards the building to get your stuff.

“Wait, can I get a ride home with you guys? I never told Ryan to come back and get me.”

“You and Vin can ride in the trunk for all I care,” you mumble, enjoying the looks on their faces as they hurry to catch up with you.

⇉ taglist

@ladyveronikawrites @circle-with-me @deathblacksmoke @dominuslunae

@rumoured-whispers @cookiesupplier @kinseysucks @collapsedglasshouses

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@ao3userfeistycadavers

if you ’d like to be added to the taglist, you can find the form at the top of this fic! thanks for reading/reblogging 🩷

[tc-lp]

Comment Bingo: Old Fic Edition

Original Bingo Card by @feedthefandomfest

This card is to encourage commenting on older fics.

*

I realize this doesn't have to be all for the same fandom or pairing. But I'm gonna count only kylux fics.

I'm also aiming to comment on fics I've never read before. Some of them are in my ever growing reading queue, others I found while searching for a square's exact criteria.

List of fics under cut.

*

1. Posted First Year of its Fandom's Existence

Stopwatch Hearts, by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha) ⎢ 3k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 6 February 2016

The general is just doing his job. Kylo Ren isn't sure why that's so fascinating to him. (It's because he's naked. Isn't it.)

2. 6+ Years Old & Under 30 Kudos

For Those That Follow, by jediluke ⎢ 8k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 9 September 2018

No one understood what it was. They called it "the shimmer". The walls of the otherworldly substance had the appearance of oil on black pavement, of bubbles shimmering in the summer sunlight after being blown out of a yellow bubble wand by a small child. Except, this wasn't explainable. Hux, a botanist is sent into The Shimmer along with a group of ex-military memebers to conduct research and try to figure out the cause of the mystery.

3. Posted 10+ Years Ago Since the pairing is younger than 10 years I'm going for: Posted Within the 1st Month After TFA's Release

once I could see (now I am blind), by cracktheglasses (cormallen) ⎢ 4k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 16 January 2016

If Ren dies, they’ll all be joining him, Hux thinks, because he’s going to have to scuttle the ship. Pick a camp on D’Qar, or whatever other pathetic hell-hole in the Outer Rim the Resistance calls home, and smash all three kilometres of the Finalizer right into the gooey center. (Or, the map is lost, Starkiller is lost, and Kylo Ren is seriously injured. Hux doesn't deal with it very well)

4. Rec Fic (1+ Year Old) on Tumblr and/or Discord & Tell the Author So

sensory memory, by Lost_In_Mind_Palace ⎢ 4k ⎢ WIP, but can be read as a stand-alone ⎢ Rated M ⎢ posted 13 July 2023

Rec post can be found here!

And Ren's back here, by Hux's side, invading his personal space, probably with his personal interests which Hux can't quite figure out yet. 'Who are you?' Hux mumbles, pushing his face into the warm chest so he doesn't have to see this odd, foreign face anymore. Ren laughs madly, not paying much attention to the ravings of the madman Hux became. 'Someone who's gonna take you away from here.' As if that was enough of an answer. Before Hux blacks out again, he's sure of one thing--the only place where Ren is able to take him is hell. * After losing everything, the last thing Hux needs is his long-gone home. Ren disagrees. Alas, Ren is also the pilot here.

5. Posted in the Past 2-6 Months

Expedition Unsolved, by A_Poison_Tree ⎢ 8k ⎢ Rated M ⎢ completed 30 July 2024

When Armitage Hux is disowned, he's left scrambling for everything from rent money to purpose. A spur-of-the-moment application to an on-site research position ends up with him joining the cast of a schlocky documentary series as its host, Ben Solo, """"investigates"""" far-flung corners of the world. At least the horrors of camping take his mind off how attractive his boss looks while covered in mud. (An entry to #KyluxShortShorts that Evolved!)

6. Sort by Date Updated: Fic Listed in Final 10 Pages

lover of the devil, by selenedaydreams ⎢ 2k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 4 January 2016

“I worry about you.” His fingers tighten around the blanket until his knuckles turn bone white. “That’s not your job.” “Was it my job to find you almost dead with snow clinging to your wounds?”

7. 1-2 Years Old & Under 5 Comments

bittersweet wishes, by WhitRewritesCanon ⎢ 6k ⎢ Rated G ⎢ posted 31 July 2023

When Han Solo died suddenly, he left behind a fractured family. Armitage picks up the pieces of his husband.

8. Comment on an Author's Oldest Fic

Love, Your Crooked Neighbor, by imperialhuxness ⎢ 11k ⎢ Rated T ⎢ posted 17 February 2018

When Snoke assigned Hux to bring in his newest asset, Hux was expecting some everyday Coruscanti underworlder on a low-profile Core World. Predictable. Routine. What he gets is a burning compound on a nameless hunk of rock, a confused young pseudo-Sith, and oh, yeah. Feelings.

9. 3-5 Years Old & Under 20 Kudos

10. Sort by Dates Updated: Fic Listed on LAST PAGE

broken wishbones under your bed, by Anonymous ⎢ 2.5k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 27 November 2015

“Just,” and Kylo stops short, closing his eyes. He takes a deep breath. “Pretend.” He turns his head, and Hux knows that he's facing in the direction of Dameron's cell. His throat is long and pale, and Hux leans forward and brings his hand to it. Through his gloves, he can feel Kylo's pulse jump. This, this is what Hux likes. Control. Kylo is never more lovely than when he gives in to his desires, when he comes to Hux to get what he needs. He presses his thumb against Kylo's thudding heartbeat, and nods.

11. Posted 6-9 Years Ago

fever to tell, by IrisParry ⎢ 8k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 1 January 2017

Hux was waving the thought like an obscene placard, and when Kylo latched onto it he made a low sound, half surprise and half pleasure, grip tightening around Kylo's wrist. It was crude, but appealing nonetheless, and it rose up on a seething mass of images and emotions that Hux hadn't a hope of concealing now. Kylo took a deep breath, centring himself, resisting the temptation to just take and take. Hux thinks he understands what Kylo Ren wants from him. So does Kylo Ren.

12. WIP Last Updated 3-5 Years Ago

Days Under Different Suns, by GingersSailboat ⎢ 18k ⎢ WIP ⎢ Rated M ⎢ last updated 20 Feb. 2020

Armitage Hux wakes up on a shuttle he doesn't recognise, drifting through dead space with two open wounds and an air supply that's running out fast. He has no idea who put him there, and remembers nothing beyond being shot by General Pryde. Ben Solo is slowly integrating with the Resistance, who are now intent on restoring peace to the galaxy and ending the cycle of hatred and wars that has plagued them for so long. Although every effort is being made to accept him and put him to use, there is a part of him that can't stop thinking about Hux, who he believes to be dead and continues to mourn despite the conflict it brings to his new relationships among the Resistance. (A.K.A - a much-needed fix-it fic wherein Hux survives his execution, with the help of some loyal First Order officers, and sets about attempting to find Ben so they can continue the relationship that had been developing between them before the events of RoS. Please read notes for more information!)

13. Free

14. Sort by Date Updated: Fic Listed on Random Page

15. Comment on Every Chapter of Long-Running WIP

16. WIP Last Updated 1-2 Years Ago

To Take The Sun, by phylonoe ⎢ 30k ⎢ WIP ⎢ Rated M ⎢ last updated 7 Aug. 2023

As a professor, you really shouldn't fall in love with your students. That's gotta be the number one uh-oh. Unfortunately, he's beautiful, and Armitage can't do much but let it happen. or Ben Solo wakes up with a panic attack for the third time in as many days. He's tired. So is Hux. The term is just about over, and neither of them have anything they can do except finish finals and figure out how to avoid the other one. With two people trying, you'd really think that would be easier.

17. Posted Completed in Your Birthday Month at Least a Year Ago

strange days (no colors or shapes), by technorat ⎢ 28k ⎢ Rated M ⎢ completed on 25 April 2020

(Major TROS spoilers in chapter 1) Hux chose to leave with Finn and Poe, deserting to the enemy, with the knowledge that he would never have to see Kylo Ren again. He was wrong.

18. 6+ Years Old & Under 15 Comments

19. Posted 3-5 Years Ago

20. WIP Last Updated 6+ Years Ago

21. 3-5 Years Old & Under 10 Comments

Just This Once, by StarCrossedRebel ⎢ 4k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 20 December 2019

I know that this idea is kinda outdated, but I just really wanted to do a quick one chapter story of Ren and Hux's first and last time together intimately after the destruction of Starkiller.

22. Posted 1-2 Years Ago

My Bark, Your Bite, by JayneSilver ⎢ 16k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 31 May 2023

Kylo Ren hasn't left his room since Starkiller was destroyed, and General Hux will no longer tolerate his dereliction of duties. After he goes to Ren's room, and discovers that that Ren is an omega caught in an unexpected heat, Hux struggles to determine where his loyalties lie – as a General, to his Order, or as an alpha, to an omega in need?

23. Sort by Date Updated: Fic Listed in Middle Pages

That Which Survives, by trill_gutterbug ⎢ 6k ⎢ Rated T ⎢ posted 9 January 2018

Stranded in a broken-down shuttle with Kylo Ren after the destruction of Starkiller Base, Hux is forced to confront some unpleasant realities.

24. Comment, Kudos, & Bookmark Fic Completed 1+ Year Ago

Powerless, by Kyluxtrashpit (ApostateRevolutionary) ⎢ 6k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 19 April 2017

Kylo has always found his sexual trysts disappointing, has always been left wanting more. An idea born partially of desperation leads him to Hux in the hopes of changing that.

25. 1-2 Years Old & Under 10 Kudos

Throw Away After Writing, by bunnybinnie ⎢ 1.5k ⎢ Rated T ⎢ posted 22 May 2023

The teenage years come with a lot of first times. Being in love is one of them, and Ben would be okay with it, if it wasn't also the first time he's in love with his best friend. He writes what he can't say.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Persephone's Devotee (Hello, Mr. Monster AU, I)

Master List

Summary: In the age of Spiritualists and magicians, wyrds winds in different ways to link Dream of the Endless and Aisling Hunt. AU of Hello, Mr. Monster beginning in the 1920s. (Alternatively titled 'We All Hate Roderick Burgess')

Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect, child left to travel solo, manipulating children for profit (non-sexual trafficking)

A/N: Your bird just got diagnosed with a life changing chronic condition (in addition to being put back on depression meds). We'll see how this post does. Have four chapters planned. The last scene is based on personal experiences with heat exhaustion/borderline heat stroke.

Dream’s tools brought many things to Fawney Rig. Wealth and prestige. Admiration, gifts, and influence. Nearly everything the magus wanted and only a fraction of what he thought he deserved. Roderick’s dreams of power and riches drew another tool to his hand, or perhaps Destiny drew the magus to her. The girl who saw strange things in the dark and found answers to strange riddles in her cards. But her wyrd would always draw her to old house and its shrouded dungeon, in any world or time. All because of what the Burgesses kept there.

In the eight years since the fateful evening he summoned and caught one of the Endless, Roderick had become a man much desired. He found himself with an invitation to Lord and Lady Werthrope’s party, a guest of honor at a soiree at their country estate. They promised a night of occult mysteries and foreign prizes. Bits of people and places from across the empire and beyond. Mummies from Egypt and fragments of Greek antiquities to gasp and shriek over with glasses of champagne and brandy.

Roderick carried himself as Lord Werthrope’s equal, and at least for that night, surrounded by ancient mysteries of all kinds, he was seen as such. He was an expert, a guide, someone to hold in reverence rather than an oddity to gawk over. He told them with his bearing, his dignity, and the ruby he wore on a golden chain around his neck. His wishes became dreams and so became real. He stood like a stronger god beside the broken figure of Apollo and scoffed at the mistranslations of texts he’d only ever read secondhand.

Beside the wonders kept under guard at home, what were these paltry things? He could have any of them he desired, and he’d already claimed better.

His sense of superiority carried him through the party’s early hours, moving from acrobats in elaborate costumes, to fire eaters, to ghost stories and flights of fancy spun by swindlers far below his consideration. He had an answer or alternative for everything. And then he met the girl.

She sat at a bare table with no long cloth to hide rolling ankles, clever fishing lines, or knocking accomplices. Only a candle and a deck of cards separated her from the guests, and she’d drawn quite a queue. Her feet didn’t even reach the floor, swinging idly between the legs of the chair as she read the cards of a distraught-looking dandy.

Taking his arm, Lady Werthrope said, “This one you really must see, Magus. She’s made quite the splash in New York and London.”

The Magus offered a tolerant smile. “And what is the trick? Does she blow out the candle? Bend spoons?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” The lady practically vibrated, eager to impress as she led them to the table, scattering the line. “She sees things, and she reads fortunes like no one I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had more than a few pet psychics in my time. This one’s a bit of a sad story.”

The magus clenched his jaw until the muscle in his cheek twitched. He could make whatever sob story the girl shilled much worse. Of all the frauds and liars who feigned knowledge of the occult, Roderick Burgess hated mediums and ghost whisperers the most. The tantalizing promise of connection with Randal – always waved in his face, always ultimately denied – it clawed open the rotting wound in his heart, and he let the poison drip back on any fools who tried his patience.

Let this one try to pull the wool over his eyes, and he’d unmask her in front of this glittering audience. She’d be a penniless sad story when he was through.

“Those people,” the lady said, nodding to a couple flanking the child, “are just the adoptive parents. Saw her family murdered, poor thing. They say that’s what cracked her open to the other world.”

“Do they indeed.” He kept his smile, showing his teeth as his grip flexed over the cane in his free hand. “Then I look forward to her performance.”

The Magus and the lady sat across from the faux family, and the girl looked at them. The people who weren’t her parents did not manage her well, Burgess couldn’t help noting. They’d painted her up with rogue and kohl that made her look even more like a child playing grownup games, and the feather in her headband hung limp and lifeless. She barely managed to grimace through a smile, and she spoke with all the enthusiasm of a student reporting on Ovid to the class.

“What are you asking?” A child’s voice really shouldn’t be so dull. Now that he was nearer, the Magus couldn’t help wondering if she was even younger than he’d first assumed. Not even ten, he thought, and already so exhausted.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He kept his guard, but curiosity stirred beneath. She was no great performer.

Lady Werthrope leaned forward, eager to take the first reading as the girl shuffled her cards. They were nearly too big for her to manage, but in this at least she clearly had much practice. Her handling of the tarot was the most natural element of her demeanor he’d yet to see.

The lady talked about her dog Moxy, a cocker spaniel much loved and terribly spoiled. It was getting on in years, and, well, ought she prepare for anything dreadful? Only, her friend had just lost her terrier, and she couldn’t chase it from her thoughts…

The cards appeared on the table. One by one. The Six of Cups. The Two of Swords. And, lastly, the Nine of Swords reversed.

“Moxy is well-loved.” The child pointed to the first card. “That’s the foundation. But she’s getting older, and she may go blind eventually. She’s accepted it, though, and you will, too.” She smiled a little, hesitantly, like a pet used to getting kicked when she barked at company. The Magus noted how her gaze flicked to her pseudo-father.

Lady Werthrope clucked and reached over to squeeze the child’s hand. “You’re very honest. And very sweet. Now, won’t you show the Magus what you can do?”

Obediently, she gathered the cards and folded the deck, shuffling them with the fresh energy of her next customer. “What do you want to know?”

Roderick considered. It was a little below him to ask anything specific of a child spiritualist, and he still meant to test her. Hate stirred the old thorn in his heart, and although she didn’t speak with ghosts to earn her bread, he didn’t need to justify himself.

“I’ll leave the question to you.” He squinted in a way that may seem affectionate, but it was only sharp, a predator focusing on little fawn to see how quickly it might run. “What do you see?”

She flinched, lifting her eyes from the cards to meet his in a fleeting, startled glance. Like he’d come near to guessing something she didn’t say out loud. But then she bent over the deck, back to her work as the woman behind her set a hand on her shoulder.

“Be good, Aisling,” the adoptive mother said. “Show the Magus your skills. Don’t embarrass us.”

The child rolled her lip between her teeth, sorting the task quickly. One card. Two cards. Three cards. Tap, tap, tap on the bare table. The Magician’s face glowed in the candle light, and Roderick blinked. A good tarot reader must have good luck in order to draw the appropriate cards – or a marked deck. But he’d watched those little hands like a hawk, and he’d seen nothing. It wasn’t definitive proof by any means, but Roderick Burgess knew himself to be cleverer than a child.

Pointing to the first card, the Magician, the girl said, “You’re the Magus. The Magician is your creation of yourself.” The second card was the Nine of Cups. “Your cups all overflow, and you enjoy the plenty you already have.” And then there was the Ace of Pentacles. Roderick wondered for a moment if she’d laid the cards out of the intended order, but she simply said, “There is new wealth coming. You’ve just found something that will bring you more good fortune. The benefits will grow in the months and years to come.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.” He looked for cracks, and there were many. Fatigue clouded her eyes and weighted the end of every sentence. Not a sign of a lie, though. She couldn’t even pretend to be happy for the audience.

He turned the interaction over in his mind through the rest of the night, wearing away the questions and presumptions like the rough edges of a stone, and by the later hours, he thought he might hold a jewel.

The adoptive parents made themselves easy to find. They hadn’t left the table. Neither had the girl. The lord and lady hired them to entertain, and they stayed at their posts. They’d gathered refreshments, but no cup or plate sat on the table, and he wondered if they had any idea children needed things like water after a long night of speaking with strangers.

Really. The scheme was too transparent. The only lies hid in any manner of affection the parents pretended for the child they claimed.

The Magus marched up to the table, rapping the top with his cane to seize the drowsy girl’s attention. She blinked, started licking her dry lips, caught herself, and pinched her mouth closed with her teeth.

“Aisling, wasn’t it?” He nodded to her, encouraging her to echo the motion. “I would like a word with you. No cards. No reading. Just a conversation. Alone.”

The father stepped forward, ready to defend his meal ticket. “Sir, I’m afraid we can’t just –”

“The girl and I will sit here, at this table,” he tapped it again to make his point, “and you will both stand over there.” The cane swung to point towards the bar, which was well within sight but well out of earshot.

When the man moved to protest again, Roderick pulled out his wallet, and the father’s mouth snapped shut. A few pounds bought the adults’ willing compliance, and they went off in search of drinks with barely a backwards glance. Roderick settled into the seat he claimed earlier, watching the girl squirm. Her hands fluttered restlessly between her lap and the table, clearly used to the cards, uneasy without the form and ritual of a reading to guide the conversation.

That was well enough. Roderick had his own plans.

He signaled one of the roving staff, and as the waiter approached, he ordered, “A lemonade for the young lady.”

With a bow, the server hurried off, and the Magus smiled, lips closed, tilting his head as his legs crossed under the table. He was not a client. He was an adult who noticed, who might be moved to care, and in the few hours of their acquaintance, he was already offering more than anyone else.

“So, you see things?”

Her eyes snapped from him to the people who managed her. Then back again, and down to her lap.

“I’m not supposed to upset people.” She picked at the fringe on the garish frock she wore – entirely unsuited to her age and clearly uncomfortable. “It upsets Mr. and Mrs. Foster when I see things. Or when I talk about them.”

The Magus nodded, unsurprised. He wondered if the people who adopted her even realized her talents were genuine when they snatched her up. They had too many connections and too much showmanship to be anything other than experienced con artists. This little Aisling must be very sensitive, and the truly sensitive didn’t see strictly good, kind, or encouraging things. How she must terrify the fools.

The server returned with a cut crystal glass rattling with ice. The girl thanked the server, then thanked her benefactor, and wrapped her hands around the condensation-slicked sides. She sipped carefully, and Roderick could see the tension ease from her posture as she drank. Desperate as she was, she didn’t gulp, and with clear regret, she set the drink on the table still two-thirds full. But she kept her hands on the glass, lest some waiter assume she was finished and spirit it away.

“I won’t be upset, and I’d like to believe you.” Angling his head down to peer at her meaningfully, employing a look he’d once used when his son misbehaved, he asked, “What have you seen tonight that would upset people?”

The girl looked around, shifting so her chair creaked. This time, it wasn’t her adoptive parents she feared. Any ears may be a threat. When she leaned in, the Magus copied her, silently assuring her the secret would be safe with him.

“There’s a guest who’s not a guest, and he isn’t a man, either.”

The Magus hummed. “Say I believe you. Could you prove it?”

Seduced into the invitation of an adult confidant, and revived by the lemonade, she rushed to answer. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be believed and heard. The Magus was listening, and he was beginning to believe as well.

“The man paid the footman with holly leaves,” she hissed in a loud whisper. “The footman folded them like bank notes, and the spines stabbed his palms, but he didn’t notice. Look for the one with blood on his gloves.”

“And the man who isn’t a man?”

Shrinking back, the girl shook her head until the headband went crooked. Her hand pressed over her heart, rubbing hard circles as her face creased.

“He’d know I saw him,” she said. “I don’t let them know I see them anymore.”

Now there was a tale and no mistake. A child with enough power to annoy things beyond the veil – one that survived an encounter – was rare indeed.

“What happened?” He lent his tone a shade of concern. Facts, he found, traveled swiftest to a sympathetic ear, and he needed to know everything. Curiosity was growing into practical fervor as the first dreams of a plan grew into place. “Are you ill?”

She crumbled just a little bit more, folding into herself to protect the place she rubbed from some invisible threat. “Sometimes I see things that don’t want to be seen. One of them – hurt me. There’s no scar, but it hurt me, and now it aches.”

The Magus donned a solemn expression, though he felt a thrill at the prospect sitting before him. The little girl had unusual skills, and though she wasn’t handled well by the adults governing her, they must still turn a pretty penny showing her in salons and private homes. He’d confirm what she’d said, of course, validate her little proof, but she was either a better liar than he’d ever met or she was childishly honest. He knew where he’d put his money.

Where he might very well invest it, actually.

He didn’t say goodbye, only nodding as he rose and went in search of the servant with bloody gloves.

Of course, he found him. When he demanded to see what the footman had in his pockets, the boy paled, stammering excuses, only to pull out a handful of forest detritus. As the young man fell into a whirl of confusion and disappointment, the Magus truly smiled. The first real smile since Lady Werthrope brought him to the child’s table.

He must have a proper conversation with the girl’s current guardians.

Aisling clung to her bag, drowning in the heat as the train pulled away from the Wych Cross platform. Men and women fanned themselves with hats and newspapers, desperate for a breeze in the dead summer stillness. Ladies shed their gloves. Men loosened their ties. Propriety mattered less when the air was trying to suffocate them, a crushing, inescapable oven scalding the usually damp countryside.

A miserable day to travel.

Sweat dripped down her back, soaking the neck of her dress, gluing her hair to her skin. But she didn’t have a free hand to stir a breeze. Her bag was too heavy, full of everything she would need in her new home, or at least everything the Fosters thought they couldn’t sell for a profit. Mrs. Foster took her to the train station and dropped her at the door.

“Here’s your ticket. You’re heading to Wych Cross, and then to Fawney Rig. Don’t forget, and don’t miss your train,” she’d said. Then she climbed back into the cab beside Mr. Foster and disappeared into the flow of London traffic.

They’d sold her on to someone else, and now they were free of her.

She peered around the station, but it was really just a platform. In London, there were helpful adults in uniforms and suits who pointed out the right train and the right stairs to reach it. Nothing here told her how to find Fawney Rig, though, and the only adult in a uniform seemed to be the man in the ticket booth.

She’d find her way. She wasn’t a baby after all. She was eight. And she could read very well, and no one was coming to help her, so she better figure it out.

She stood in line for the ticket man’s attention. Surely, he could give her directions. The Magus was rich, and a little famous, she thought, so his neighbors must know where he lived. If the man in the booth didn’t know, she’d keep asking until she found someone who did. While she waited her turn, she set down her suitcase and sat on it, taking deep breaths that tasted like salt. It could be worse. What if it rained instead? Well. Actually. Rain sounded very nice.

Soon enough, she took her place in front of the booth, and the man frowned under his mustache like she’d arrived with a bill or a letter from someone nasty. She smiled prettily, the way the Fosters told her to, and tried to make herself look like less of a problem as she clutched her case again.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but do you know the way to Fawney Rig?”

He physically recoiled, and his frown hooked deeper with glowering doubt as he scanned her. “Fawney Rig? That devil worshiper’s house? Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve been sent to live there, sir. I’m expected, but I don’t think they’ve sent anyone for me.” Manners made things easier with adults. Good manners and clear words – the fewer the better.

But the man wasn’t swayed. He looked thunderous. Like she’d broken something valuable and ought to pay for it with a lashing.

“Do you have money for a cab?”

The Fosters didn’t own her anymore, and they’d given her nothing but cards, and costumes, and a hairbrush. All the cash stayed warm and safe in their pockets.

“No, sir.”

“Then walk down the main road. Go east from the village, and keep going until there are no more houses you can see from the street. There’ll be a path on the left with a big iron gate. Follow that and you’ll find your devil worshipers.” He waved her off like he’d slap her if not for the glass. “Next!”

Manners got her what she needed, at least. “Thank you.”

The other adults all moved aside as she trundled through with her case. It made it easier to avoid clipping ankles and shins with her luggage, but she wondered if they hated her the way the ticket man hated her – because of Fawney Rig – or if she simply smelled after the long, stuffy ride in third class. Not that adults needed an excuse to dislike her. The nice ones called her uncanny and gifted. The mean ones called her a witch, and a bastard devil-spawn, and other names a mother should wash out of their mouths with soap.

She wasn’t sure which ones were telling the truth.

She knew the way forward, though. To Fawney Rig. That was good, even if the other adults didn’t think so. The Magus may not be a nice person, she hadn’t known him long enough for the usual adult lies to wear thin enough to see through, but he was smarter than the Fosters, and he’d given her a lemonade, so maybe she wouldn’t be as hungry or thirsty under his guardianship. She’d still have to work. Adults only wanted her if they thought she could give them something. But everything was more bearable with a good dinner and cold drinks.

She hoped he’d give her another cold drink, even water with some ice, when she reached his home. The train ride left her terribly thirsty.

Leaving the shaded platform, she bowed away from the sun’s violent touch and started on her journey. The village only kept a cobbled road in the center of town. It led up to the train station, linking it to a clutch of shops and offices. A parish church sat a little way back from the road, separated from the secular world by a field of tidy tombstones in heat-bleached grass. People noticed her. They looked. They whispered to each other. But no one waved or offered a hand. Gossip didn’t move fast enough to beat her here from the train, and she wondered how people could tell she was odd. Society had so many rules beyond manners, but no one would tell her what they were, and she never guessed right.

By the time the cobblestones ended, she was struggling to hold onto her suitcase. The handle kept trying to slip from her fingers, even when she held it with both hands, and she had to work harder and harder to keep it out of the dirt. If she knew anything about the world, it was that good children didn’t drag their luggage, and bad things happened to those that did. She’d travelled enough to learn, and she wanted to make a good impression on her new keeper and his household.

The road outside of town went a very, very long way. The ticket seller’s instructions made each step sound the same length: go through town, pass the houses, go down the long drive past the gates. Her imagination had lied to her, though. Every time she thought she’d passed the last house, there came another. Each handed her down the chain of cottage gardens and small homes full of families who pretended not to see. They all knew she’d done something, like she had a brand on her forehead, and she wasn’t allowed to stop. She didn’t try to.

Everything looked sickly yellow in the midday glare. Dust hung in the air, stirred by passing cars, lingering without a breath of wind to dispel the choking clouds. Everything looked flat and dead, so much so she almost missed the gate. Another leg of her trek done. Still too far to go, and the private road leading to the Magus’ home was longer than it had any right to be.

She didn’t feel well. The trees gave her a little protection, but her stomach and lungs felt hard, strained, the way her arms ached with carrying her suitcase. Only they were parts that shouldn’t feel that way, and she thought maybe she should sit down.

But she was almost there.

Even if she walked slowly, and her feet didn’t land quite where she told them to.

She just wouldn’t think about those things. Complaining was just making excuses, and she was expected.

The house appeared out of nowhere, or she was too dizzy to see it through the leaves before the last turn in the drive. It loomed, a very final-looking destination, and her suitcase escaped her grasp. The case was slippery, and her fingers didn’t curl the way they should. She bent to pick it up, and when she straightened, the whole world spun.

She stood very still until it stopped, and she found herself shivering as she approached the front door. Very strange. Was she afraid? No. That didn’t sound right. She felt terrible, too terrible to worry, and none of it made sense.

But she’d nearly made it. She had made it. Almost.

Knocking summoned a young man, and the door creaked open as he glanced down with a quizzical expression. “Hello? Can I help you?”

She tried holding her suitcase with just one hand, but it slipped away again, barely missing her foot. Maybe a handshake was a bad idea. The stranger hadn’t held his hand out for a shake, after all. She was just confused. He might not want to touch her. And she must look a picture after her walk.

She should’ve done something differently. If she were smarter, or taller, or…

“I’m Aisling Hunt, sir. The Magus sent for me.”

“Oh.” The young man’s eyes popped wider, and she wondered if he was younger than she thought at first. Stepping back, he pulled open the door to usher her inside. “I’m sorry. I’d heard someone was coming, but I’d thought you’d be… well, older. And I’m just Alex.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Aisling.”

He nodded and plucked her bag from where she’d dropped it. “Yes. You said. Are you feeling alright?”

She didn’t know. And grownups didn’t really like it when she was unwell anyway. Before she could come up with a suitable lie that would get her what she needed without stepping on any toes, a familiar face appeared at the end of the hall.

“Ah! You made it.” Out of formal dress, the Magus still brimmed with authority. Aisling had met many adults who wore costumes and pretended to be something they weren’t, but the Magus seemed like he’d somehow stitched his chosen persona into his skin. “Welcome to Fawney Rig.”

She wobbled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Magus,” he corrected.

“Thank you, Magus, sir.”

At last, what he was seeing overshadowed his enthusiasm, and the old man frowned. “Did you walk here? From the station?”

“Yes, Magus.”

“The Fosters didn’t even give you money for a fucking cab?”

“Just the train ticket, sir. Magus.”

She blinked, and the whole room turned blue, like peering at the world through stained glass. It looked so pretty she didn’t realize the Magus was asking her another question until his hand settled on her shoulder.

His voice came from far away. “Can you hear me?”

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, Magus, I walked, and I found Fawney Rig all on my own, and I’m not useless, please don’t throw me away yet.

But everything looked cool, and blue, and lovely. She was floating in it. Floating and so awfully heavy at the same time. The color slipped in with her breath, eroding her control until it slipped from her grasp like the suitcase had.

The world went dark, and she didn’t see, hear, or say anything more.

And deep below, in the belly of the house, Dream of the Endless waited in his cage, as senseless to the world above as she.

[manforsale]

you are spreading so much false information. numbering systems are standard practice at mcr shows since back in the day and throughout frank and gerard’s solo tours. i’ve also never heard of fucking diapers being used at barricade so why don’t you think for half a second before wishing death on people you’ve never met

Okay cool numbering systems are a thing—now what? That doesn’t excuse their behavior or how they operate under the numbering system. Fan made numbering systems only work when everyone is in agreement. they also have limitations!

Here are some fan accounts of their numbering system and there are LOTS more but tumblr limits posts to only 10 images. I found them here, here, here, and here, as well as on Twitter and the notes of this post and this post

+shitty behavior and ableism

the bozo is cylia

As for the adult diapers, I didn’t say it with authority. I just said I saw someone say it. Whether it’s true or not is up for the individual to decide. It is common for people to wear adult diapers so they don’t have leave the queue they’re in. Just look up “adult diapers new year’s”. Either way I think that’s the least important part of this. Idrc if they do or not; I don’t have thousands of dollars to follow them around and find out if they smell. Like. Be serious. They’re being awful to other fans and this is what you choose to focus on…okay lol

Again, since I’m pretty sure you read my other post, you’re being deliberately oblivious and dense. And I actually thought for a full second before I drafted this response and what do you know? I STILL hope the Japanese fans crush them and if you want to be such a warrior for this group you can go ahead and die with them too <3

[solesnati]

@gonegalactic​​ sent:    “i’m here, aren’t i?” from han

        HE IS.      HAN IS THERE AND NOT OFF IN SOME FAR-FLUNG corner of the galaxy like he tried to run off too in the beginning of all this.      Luke was glad that Han was there,    glad that,    in the end,    he’d decided to stay.      he still remembered the happiness he felt in a harrowing situation when Han’s voice came over his comm’s after the smuggler saved him from death moments before it likely would’ve come for him otherwise.      it had given him the strength to fire.      he’d been almost drunk off of it,    between the elation of Han’s return and the Death Star successfully destroyed he hadn’t stopped smiling for hours,    even when it hurt.

        so why did it feel like something was eating away at him?

        Luke knew why,    he’d been grappling with it for days.      putting him in a mood far more sour than many at the rebellion were used to seeing the former farmer in.      Leia had tried to talk to him about it,    but he’d brushed her off.      Luke didn’t want to burden her with his worries when he knew she had bigger things to worry about herself than a commander’s guilt.

        Luke sighed as he turned away from Han,    reaching for the control panel in the Falcon he’d been fiddling with before the other approached him.      likely to see if he could get to the root of the problem with the pilot’s mood like a few others had.      Luke hadn’t meant to snap at Han like he had,    but it and the captain’s comment only served to worsen his guilt.

        ❝      i know,    Han.      i know.      i . . .      we’re grateful for your help around here,    i do hope you know that.      ❞        it was easy to say that the road to where they were now probably wouldn’t have been as easy a journey as it was without Han’s help,    it was hardly easy to begin with but the smuggler and his prized ship certainly did make things go more smoothly.      he was a natural leader and a great pilot,    and a good fighter,    as he’d proven on multiple occasions.

        Luke knew what it was like to be good at something,    and at the same time great and something else with a deep longing to pursue it,    yet unable to.      he’d been a good farmer,    good enough to where his uncle had been confident in leaving the farm to him one day.      Luke had once been looking towards that as his future with his dreams of becoming a pilot and traveling the galaxy remaining as such.      he didn’t resent his family nor did he ever hate farming,    but now that he’d gotten a taste of his dreams being a reality,    Luke wished that he’d been able to reach them and be doing what he’s doing now years ago.

        did Han have dreams and desires that resided outside of the Alliance?      was he putting them on hold because some kid he’d barely knew begged him not to go?      was it Luke and his selfishness that kept him there?      Luke had told himself back then that it was for the Alliance that he wanted Han to stay,    but he knew now it was just as much for himself as for the cause.

        Luke wasn’t making much progress with the panel,    but he refused to take his eyes off of it or let the other see how conflicted he was.

       ❝      i’m sorry for snapping,    it’s just . . .      been stressful lately,    you know?      that last mission took a lot out of me.      ❞

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hi folks, it’s Mint.

I’m on a mini-vacation this week so I’m going to be releasing some recommendation posts for things that aren’t related to requests (easy to queue), and I’ll be back to doing regular rec posts when I get back!

THEME: Cryptids

Whether you’re tracking them down in order to give them your heart or running as fast as you can in the opposite direction, these games are all about mysterious creatures (that usually live in the woods).

OKCryptid, by Tadhg Lyon.

You’ll never forget that night.

You had heard the legends before, of course, everyone had.  Now that you know the creature is real, one thought keeps playing through your mind:

Their eyes were… beautiful. You want to see them again.

Okcryptid is a tarot-based, GMless roleplaying game about finding mysterious, secretive, beautiful creatures, and hopefully, dating them. It can be played by 2-5 players, or as a solo journaling experience.

Regardless of whether you play this game solo or in a group, you will be investigating a single creature or cryptid. You can create a cryptid of your own, or roll from a provided table to make a completely new cryptid. You use a deck of tarot cards to represent facts about the Creature, bring you closer to the final Meeting, or provide prompts for each investigative scene of the game. Characters also have personal scales that will measure how much the Creature either wants to kiss them or kill them, which will affect how the final Meeting goes. If you want a game with a mix of romance and creepy thrills, you might want to check out OKCryptid!

Cryptid TV, by yanahn.

A plague of Reality TV stars has descended upon the sleepy town of Mountain Lake ready to hunt down (and capture on camera) anything that looks even remotely like a cryptid - your crew is among them to cause drama, fake hoaxes, and enact sabotage beyond all reckoning.

The catch? You have only a passing familiarity with eldritch world of Showbiz, also you are all SPOOKY CRYPTIDS.

Cryptid TV is a truly charming hack of Honey Heist that pits your characters against the world of reality TV. You can choose whatever Cryptid you like, although there are six recommended cryptos that come with special powers to make situations really interesting. Will you unveil yourself as a Cryptid and lose all sense of peace and quiet? Will you sell out and move to Hollywood to seek out fame and fortune? Or will you succeed in driving the producers away without blowing your cover?

If you like goofy situations and you want a chill one-shot for the cryptid - lovers in your life, you’ll want to check out Cryptid TV.

Cryptid Rescue, by Renasdoodles.

One of your own has been captured and you’ve taken it upon yourselves to rescue them! One problem: you’re all cryptids and need to keep from being discovered or you too will be captured!

Cryptid Rescue is a one-page RPG that can be played through within a few hours. 

This is a cute little game with two main stats: Stealth and Fright. Each cryptid also has an Attention bar that leads to your capture should you fill it all the way. You fill this bar a little when you successfully frighten someone or fail at stealth, and you empty it a little when you fail to frighten someone or successfully sneak somewhere. The game also comes with a few small roll-tables for the GM to figure out who was captured, where they are now, and what kinds of obstacles will stand in the way between our adventurous little monsters and their friend. If you want a cute, free game with a simple premise, you might want to check out Cryptid Rescue.

The Mystery Creature of Claytonsville, PA, by Nick Wedig.

That summer, our small town deep in rural Pennsylvania was abuzz with strange tales of the supernatural creature.  No two stories of the creature entirely agreed with each other. Everyone who encountered the creature seemed to see what they needed to see. 

Some who found the creature were terrified. Others were spurred out of their stifling, mundane lives. In the end, the creature left the town with more questions than answers. But the lives of the each witness would each be changed forever.

Once the stories started, they came in more and more frequently throughout the year. Then just as they reached a crescendo, the encounters suddenly stopped.

This game can be played in a group as large as 7, or as small as one - just by yourself. You use a deck of playing cards as an oracle for answering questions, both about the town that you live in and the protagonist that the group will be telling the story about. No matter the group size, there will only be one protagonist! After you set the scene and define your main character, the deck of cards is used to determine what obstacles show up, whether the character succeeds or fails, and what aspects of the story come to the forefront in each scene.

This game feels like a cross between a narrative storytelling exercise and a card game, so if you want to introduce storytelling to a group that likes that tactile sensations of board-games, you might find some luck with The Mystery Creature of Claytonsville, PA.

Expedition: Incredizoology, by Imagined Chaos Games.

Explore the Wyldes, pockets of our World where fantastical and mythical creatures roam freely. Trap, train, hunt and co-exist with these creatures and explore the incredible lands they inhabit. 

Incredizoology can be played solo, cooperative or with an 'Expedition Leader' leading the expedition. The Imagined Chaos System utilises the full gamut of your polyhedral dice, moment cards to resolve combat and encounters as well as extensive roll tables for exploration. 

I don’t think this necessarily needs to be focused on cryptids, but there certainly seems to be room for it. The focus is not just on the creatures that you’re exploring, but also the environment they live in: you’ll have to navigate the natural environment, account for the weather, and interact with strange plants as well! There’s also room to explore how people make themselves at home in wild places, although the fact that the default setting is in a colonial period may be a bit of a downside for some players.

I wonder if you could alter the setting to allow for expeditions in different times and places. For example, if you are explorers in a sci-fi setting or a space setting, what changes might you make to make exploration challenging? I’m also curious if you could combine this game with a creature creation game, such as Exquisite Biome, a creature generator that also considers the ecosystems of various fantastic creatures.

You can download free character sheets if you want to take a look at a few bits and pieces, and look at a review for this game on The Gaming Table’s Youtube channel!

MOTH//MAN, by Witch & Craft Games.

A night in the woods…a light in the darkness…an unearthly transformation…

Can you survive the MOTHMAN?

Armed with nothing but your wits, tools, and the clothes on your back, you must brave the forest that this mysterious creature calls home. Your reasons for walking this perilous path are your own…as are those of everyone around you. Every bump in the road is a potential danger, an irresistible call drawing the beast ever closer. One wrong move, and you might find that it had been lurking closer than you ever thought possible.

When the monster finally reveals itself, the night really begins, and only one question remains:

Who is MOTH, and who is MAN?

This game looks to be more suited for fans who like to mix a bit more horror into their Cryptid mix. Moth-Man is likely a real threat - especially since it looks like some party members might actually turn into a MothMan! If you want a game of suspense, surprise, and perhaps even a little PVP, you might like MOTH//MAN.

Loveland, by JD.

Hundreds of years after climate change killed humanity, the cryptids inherited the Earth. Living in the area once known as Loveland, Ohio are the Frogfolk. Not as strong or sophisticated as other new societies, their success can be attributed to their teamwork. Within their village each Frog is a member of a guild. Some are craftsmen, others provide services, but all are equally important in the survival of the village.

You are a member of the Gatherers Guild. It’s your job to venture out of the village, gather supplies, explore ancient ruins, and communicate with other factions.

I find the idea of playing Frogfolk very charming, and I also like the fact that there are various Cryptid factions in this world, including goat-men, moth-men, and green-furred Grasskin. The game seems to revolve around gathering items that various guild factions can use to craft items for you, which will in turn help you venture farther and farther afield. Magic exists in items called Wands, and can only be used once per day before it needs to re-charge. The game is very well suited for dungeon-crawls, pointcrawls, hex-crawls… name a crawl and you can probably do it in this game. If you’re a bit of an OSR fan and you like exploration, you might be interested in Loveland.

Other Games You Might Want To Check Out

Sleepaway, by Jay Dragon.

Apocalypse Roadtrip, by Mina Lenahan.

Cryptozoologist by riseofpanic.

Camp Cryptid, by Certified Milkboy Games.

[illarian-rambling]

Thank you @whatwewrotepodcast @willtheweaver @tildeathiwillwrite and @elsie-writes for the tags! I always put this game off because it takes me a while, so they've kinda built up. Therefore, prepare yourself for the mother of all word tags

Find the Word Tag (Procrastinator Edition)

My words are: cut, scream, villain, blue, stream, error, crown, ash, smile, solo, beat, bring, stun, scuttle, shimmer, slave

Your words are: loan, contract, camp, command

I'm putting my faith in Honor's Outcasts book 1 for this

.

She was just putting the finishing touches on a shipment of enchanted diadems from Skysheer, weaving wards around the valuable cargo like a mother bird weaves a nest. Magic and energy flowed like thread from her dancing fingers, which were stained a washed-out umber in the wavering light of her old lantern. With a flourish, the girl cut the connection, finishing the spell and ensuring that anyone attempting to steal the prize within those cedar walls would have a nasty price to pay.

.

As the color deepened into a dark, bloody purple, a scream poured from the man's jaws. His flesh blackened and cracked under the baleful light as he clawed at his skin in vain. It was like the sparks were devouring him. Like he was made of paper instead of meat.

.

Twenari sighed, moving over to plop down onto their raggedy little settee. It wasn't like an argument was uncommon for the pair. Hell, she'd heard them argue over the color of a woman's hat once. A woman, she might add, who'd been standing right next to them in a bank queue, and whose blushing face had perfectly complimented her obviously blue hat.

.

Oh sure, from a distance it was all quite beautiful: the burbling stream, the heavy-boughed mangroves, the whispering reeds. But standing there - mosquitoes crawling up and down his legs, sweat prickling his scalp, skin itching where it had burnt in the sun days before - it all seemed a mundane little hell made just for him.

.

Izjik felt a sting in her side. Felt the pounding pressure in her skull. The sting grew into an ache, then a burning, then an agony. Looking down, she found the Sovereign’s offhand clutching the broken base of one of the spines that had made up her crown. The point, of course, was embedded in Izjik’s ribs.

.

"Come on, you heavy fuck!" Djek groaned as he pulled Sepo around a corner. His eyes streamed with ash and terror, turning the already blurry world into one big smear of orange light.

The suffocating heat was making his hands sweat, so Djek was forced to dig bloody grooves into Sepo’s wrist as he clung on by his nails alone. Blood still poured from the man's mouth, leaving a bubbling maroon trail behind them.

.

The woman leaned in towards her victim, her doll-faced smile still held in place. "Would you like to know why I really call Twenari my blessing?"

The man gave a small nod as Twenari released his neck muscles. Evidently, he was of the 'just agree to the demands and you'll be fine' school of thought.

Undeta gave a throaty, animal chuckle.

"Wrong answer."

.

"Where were you supposed to take Undeta’s daughter?"

Djek swallowed. "Under the tower, down in the old city sewers. We were supposed to hand her off to some higher-ups, split the money, then shove off."

<Well,> Sepo frowned, <then it looks like we need to find a way underneath this building. It seems Tyche will be doing a solo deal.>

.

Here it comes, Twenari winced. A beat later, the wave of nausea hit her, coupled with a bone-tugging fatigue. Only barely was she able to reform her sigil and reignite the glow. Her vision flickered and when she could see again, she was on her knees. Funny, she hadn't felt herself fall.

.

"You've known me for what, two months now? When have I never not been careful?"

Twenari pursed her lips. "That's not worthy of a response. I just wish you'd take me with you."

"You have to cover for me, you know that. Besides, it's probably going to be, like, super boring. All dusty scrolls and crusty old guys and shit."

"Boring to you maybe," Twenari sulked.

"Look, I'll bring you back a dusty scroll, how about that?"

"That's stealing and you're illiterate," the girl deadpanned.

"Huh, what's that? It sounded like disrespect." Izjik feigned cupping her ear. "Anyways, I'm going to be late. See you tonight! With details!"

.

Sepo obviously didn't have that option. He could switch between the mental and physical keys, meaning he could stun the unwary or excite the elements as he was doing now. And thank fuck he could also just manage a song of flesh carving.

.

Cursing again - this time in Janazi - Twenari spun her storm of orange slabs in a wide arc around the perimeter of the tent. Swords and less nimble drones went flying as the shields began a ferocious circuit around the tent's base. At that speed, their glow blended into one shimmering circle of fire. She didn't have enough to completely encircle it, but hopefully with the occasional change in rotation, the guards would at least be too pressed to make it through before Izjik finished.

.

Outside of her monotonous, yet carefully taxing routine, it wouldn't have taken long for Twenari to begin to pick up real skills. Deadly ones. And Undeta had no doubt that any group her daughter fell in with would end up wrapped around her finger. Talent was quite the asset, or liability, in that area. Inevitably, people would come to rely on you, and those who rely on you are just as good as slaves.

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Wooo, we made it! I'll tag @kaylinalexanderbooks @cowboybrunch @modernwritercraft @hagscribes @halfbit and anyone else who wants to play :)