#this is how gill gets all my logs kicked over to her

[thelifetimechannel]

Bonus content for week 2 is text-based for a change. I’ve had a few people ask whether TLC would include alt Caliborn, the counterpart to the Calliope who predominated. He doesn’t appear in TLC proper, but I put together a mockup of what it might look like if he did. It was a chance to emphasize Caliborn’s insecurities and Calliope’s potential for arrogance, traits that are often overlooked.

If I were to include alt Caliborn in TLC, of course, I’d want to give him a whole storyline, which would probably involve him grappling with the fact that people are risking their lives to save Calliope but not him and so coming to terms with the human emotion called friendship. Also he’d swear to oppose Lord English out of spite, because why does he get to have all the fun? But that would be adding several updates to a project we have been trying to keep short, with mixed results. Maybe I’ll add it in for the “directors’ cut”. We’ll see. 

[the-rebel-archivist]

Unpublished

This is certifiably the most ridiculous thing I have ever written, please enjoy my crazed ramblings. I’m not convinced that I didn’t write this in a fever dream.

You won’t find this story in the Tale of the Champion!

Prompt: Green. Taste.

Damn eyes, never looking quite where you wanted them to, she mused to herself as she woke up, blinking a few times and rubbing vigorously at them to try to clear them. It seemed to work and the forms around her began to come into focus. She was lying on a… rock? Or a fallen tree, maybe? The crick in her neck from sleeping at an awkward angle was already vicious. In the distance she could see a shape that looked remarkably Anders-like, all feathery and golden, so at least she wasn’t out here alone.

She was freezing her tits off. Why was she so cold, anyway? Upon looking down and patting at her clothing she realized that her mental figure of speech was, in fact, quite literal, her tits rather exposed to the elements and chilled by the morning air. The rest of her seemed to be too. Whoops. What in Andraste’s everloving ass had happened?

Someone had stuffed cotton into her mouth. They must have, from how ridiculously dry it was. She licked her lips to try to restore some moisture to very little effect, instead only succeeding in leaving a woody taste on her tongue. Wood and something else that she couldn’t identify. She might have been disturbed had that not been an experience that wasn’t particularly uncommon for her. 

It all was starting to come back to her now, as she sat up and glanced toward the still propped up on a stone ledge in what she now recalled was once a Tal-Vashoth camp. The still had been full yesterday, and she was fairly certain that they hadn’t simply poured it out onto the ground. She never had been one to let perfectly serviceable alcohol go to waste, and at least now she’d satisfied her curiosity with regard to Qunari maraas-lok. The headache it left seemed as though it would need nursing for the next two days but that was neither here nor there.

She ran her hand through her hair and was sure that she must look like some wild thing, the short black strands standing on end and the rest of her naked as the day she was born. Breathing out heavily, she got up from her makeshift bed and shut her eyes for a moment to stop the camp from spinning. She spotted her pants in a bush and yanked them on with some vigour. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her own nakedness; oh no, that was something she barely thought about; the concern was more practical as the small ants that lived in the hills along the Wounded Coast had been nipping at her something fierce despite the chill in the air. A shirt was nearby, most likely hers as well, but she didn’t much care if it wasn’t and threw it over her head. Maybe one day she’d find her boots again.

Thus attired, she poked at the figure she’d now confirmed was Anders, who muttered something nonsensical about Andraste and mages in his sleep. 

A flash of memory hit her and she chuckled. Right. Andraste and mages.

The magisters hurt Andraste, that’s why she was afraid of magic, but it wasn’t magic itself! How many times do I have to repeat it?” Anders kicked at the limp body in front of him, urging it to pay attention. “Are you even listening? You see Hawke?” he said, motioning towards the figure in the grass. “The Templars will never listen to us. This one won’t even look at me. I can’t convince them with reason.”

“Needs more pizazz,” she remembered saying flippantly in response as she sat on the ground in front of him, “There’s no flair to it, no drama. Turn it up a notch! Where’s the humour?” 

In her memory she was holding something up on a stick in her hand, burning it with flames from her other hand. But what was it?

She looked around the camp and noticed the corpse of a dead Tal-Vashoth in the grass nearby. Next to it lay a second corpse, this one half skinned and completely charred, with bite marks in it - a possum. Well that explained the stomach gurgles bubbling up inside her. Explained the gamey taste left in her mouth that she hadn’t been able to place before too. She probably should have been more disturbed by that discovery than she was.

Near the ashes of what looked like it had once been a bonfire sat Varric, propped up against a log. He was showing far more cleavage than usual, his shirt pulled open and exposing the quite frankly ridiculous amount of hair on his chest and snoring gently. She hadn’t realized that he snored, but then again he’d always somehow managed not to fall asleep around her. Didn’t usually drink around her either, though he generally had a drink in his hand; she’d noticed and he knew she knew, but they’d never spoken of it. Well, it seemed as though the dwarf’s resolve had fallen by the wayside. She supposed that she could be rather persuasive when she set her mind to it.

Lying beside him, her head on the dwarf’s shoulder, was Merrill, covered in dirt and seeming rather worse for wear. Her small hand was directly on Varric’s chest, a clump of his hair clutched between her fingers. Hawke poked at the elf with her boot and she loosened her grasp, rubbing the blonde fuzz and giving it a gentle pat. 

“Oh, you’re a pretty possum, aren’t you?” Merrill mumbled, half asleep, before opening her eyes. After blinking a couple times she sprang up straight and looked up at her, her already enormous green eyes even wider. 

“Hawke? What’s going on?” she asked in confusion, clambering awkwardly upward from the ground in an attempt to get on her feet. “Did we have licorice? All I can taste is licorice.” 

Hawke bent down and lent her a hand to help her up, giving a little pat of her own to Varric’s chest hair. She’d always wondered how it felt and was satisfied to learn that it was as soft as she’d imagined. Some men oiled their beards, perhaps Varric did the same on his… lower beard.

Poor Merrill was looking rather green around the gills and had thin scratches covering much of her face. She stood unsteadily in front of her, but she stood, which was more than could be said for the others at this point.

“Well, you seem to have lost a fight with a wolverine-” she paused as Merrill staggered away from her, “... And you’re vomiting into a bush. Is my company that offensive?”

“Oh no, Hawke!” she exclaimed upon her return, wiping her mouth. “I’m just a tiny bit under the weather this morning.”

“That’s probably an understatement. Come on, let’s get the others up and head home.”

Remembrance flashed across the elf’s face when she touched her cheeks and felt the scrapes crisscrossing over it. “I think I tried to adopt a possum?”

“Well, I’m afraid there won’t be any adopting today, it seems as though I may have rained down vengeance upon the creature.” Hawke said as she motioned toward the burnt and impaled rodent near where Anders was starting to stir.

“Oh, the poor little thing!” Merrill said mournfully. “What an awful fate for it.”

Beside them Varric had finally awoken and was rubbing at his jaw thoughtfully, a muffled “Shit,” the only identifiable word. What more was there to say anyway? She got him up on his feet and could tell that he probably had the same splitting headache that she did though he was trying his hardest to look as though he was perfectly fine.

Across the camp Anders was holding his head and staring off into space until his reflections were interrupted by a hand ruffling the hair that had escaped from its tie.

“Time to go, love, you can reflect on past lapses of judgement from home.”

“If I survive the journey,” he grumbled as she helped him to his feet. He was going to be grumpy the rest of the day, she was absolutely sure of it, and she could feel a latent anger rising from him that seemed more Justice-y than Anders-y. She might be able to stave any unpleasantness off if she whisked the man into bed and let him sleep it off.

She took one last glance around the camp before they headed out, feeling like something was missing besides her footwear. Or someone?

“Didn’t we bring Fenris along? Where has that man gone?”

A hunt followed as they searched for their missing elf - and clothing, in Hawke’s case - that was called off when Merrill triumphantly called that she had found him, stating that he was, “In a bit of a jam.”

A jam was putting it lightly, she thought in between peals of laughter when she saw the predicament Fenris found himself in. Her raucous laughing woke him as he slept with his head on his arm beside a large tree, a tree that his hand appeared to be stuck in the middle of. He looked around, bewildered, and tried to stand until he was pulled to the ground by the imprisoned appendage. The anger and frustration on his face only served to make Hawke double over, clutching her stomach as she tried to catch her breath in between cackles.

Blue lyrium glowed, illuminating the elf as he did his thing with the spikes and freed himself. She recognized that the glare he gave her upon getting up was really quite fearsome but it was a look that Hawke completely ignored as she clapped him on the shoulder and walked past him, picking up her boots gleefully from the bush that they appeared to have been kicked into with reckless abandon.

Looking solemnly at each of the miserable members of the party Fenris said the only thing that possibly could be said in such a situation: “We will never speak of this again.”

“I wouldn’t write it down even if I could remember half of it,” Varric said in agreement as they all shook on the matter.

[quinnybee-writes]

Title: Fire Meet Gasoline

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Rating: T+

Part: 2/?

Story Summary: A chance encounter between a villain and vigilante leads to an unwise deal made between unlikely allies; an unwise deal made between unlikely allies ends in a final stand neither would have ever dared to take on alone. Together, though, they just might have a fighting chance.

Part 2 Summary: Civilian life gets a bit more uncivil as far-flung paths start to cross.

Part 1 on  Tumblr / AO3

Part 2 on AO3

Hizashi pushed himself to the edge of his limit, legs pumping and chest burning for breath as he ran. His end goal was in sight, clear as day in from of him, but even as he closed in on it, it seemed impossibly far away.

“One twenty-eight point nine. You’re keeping a good pace with yourself,” Haruko announced, clicking the button on her stopwatch.

Hizashi staggered to a stop, hands behind his head as he caught his breath. “Dammit,” he muttered. His sister might have been impressed by his consistency but the lack of progress was frustrating. He didn’t want to admit it, but that vigilante from the other night had him rattled. Hizashi was used to outfoxing people bound by regulations that kept them and everyone around them safe but tied their hands when it came to someone like him. The vigilante, however, could meet him on an even playing field and was faster, more agile, and unflinchingly tenacious. Hizashi had to admit he was almost excited to meet up with the vigilante again for the thrill of it, but he was aware that his last escape had been more blind luck than skill. He was going to have to step up his own game monumentally to keep one step ahead.

“C’mon, Zash, don’t get yourself down,” Haru said, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Even if you are plateauing, it’s at a good place. There’s no glory in ripping yourself apart for a couple extra seconds.”

Hizashi sighed but nodded, knowing she was right. He was about to say he was ready to reset and go again when there was a flurry of movement and chatter outside the training room door.

“What in the world?” Haru muttered, sticking her head out into the hall. “Hey, Megumi, what gives?” she asked, waving down one of the other trainers as they passed by.

“Some guy’s showing off in the parkour room,” Megumi replied with a shrug.

“Oh. It is about that time, isn’t it?” Haru said, checking her watch.

“What’s going on?” Hizashi asked, intrigued in spite of himself. Haru grinned at him.

“We’re being haunted,” she said by way of non-explanation. When he just stared back at her blankly Haru laughed and nodded down the hall. “C’mon, we’ll take a break and I’ll show you.”

They followed the trickle of people to a large plate glass window that overlooked another larger training room. The room was entirely taken up by a huge foam-and-plywood climbing structure full of sheer walls, sharp drops, and metal chin-up bars stuck in at odd angles. Making an impressive run of the place was a broad-shouldered man in all black workout gear, his dark hair in a short tangled ponytail at the back of his neck. It wasn’t until the man did an impressive leap over a waist-height wall that ended in a rolling landing back on his feet and almost immediately pressed a hand to the left side of his chest with a grimace that Hizashi recognized the vigilante from a few nights ago.

“Who is that?” he asked, trying to keep the question casual.

“No idea,” Haru shrugged. “Dude’s a machine, though. Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday he swipes himself in at four, does a few miles on the suspended track, and then tears it up on the parkour course for an hour and a half. Swipes himself out at six-thirty like clockwork. Never talks to anyone, never rents a locker, no-nothing. If he’s got a name hell if any of us know what it is. We just call him The Ghost.”

“Huh.” Hizashi smirked a little to himself, watching as the vigilante squared his shoulders and began his run again. The man kept an impressively low profile for someone so notorious. Hizashi wondered if he could find a way to sneak into the gym’s registration logs and put a name to the face after all. His musing was interrupted by Haru holding up her water bottle under his nose and giving it a proffering waggle. “I’m good, thanks,” Hizashi said, shaking his head.

“You sure? You were looking a little thirsty,” Haru said, grinning.

Hizashi glowered at her, snatching the bottle out of her hand and squirting her in the face with it. “Hardy-har. Asshole,” he muttered. Haru just laughed.

“All right, break time’s over, slacker. You still owe me four more shuttle runs and a round on the weight machines,” she said, using the hem of Hizashi’s teeshirt to dry her face off.

Hizashi groaned. “I’m telling Mom,” he whined as they turned away from the window and headed back to the training room.

“It’d be the first time you called her in, like, four months, so.” Haru shrugged. “I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

Hizashi grimaced, the casual disappointment in her voice scraping him raw. “Way to kick me when I’m down, Haru,” he said.

Haru sighed, mouth twisting into a half-apologetic frown. “Look, Zash. We both know you get up to some shit that you don’t want the rest of us involved in and that’s fine. It’s not fine,” she corrected herself, “but it’s fine. It’s just. Knowing that and having you fall off the planet for months at a time...kinda freaks me out, y’know? I’m not saying you have to check in every hour on the hour or anything but more often than Christmas, New Years, and birthdays wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Hizashi muttered. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just keep it in mind, okay?” Haru said. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders in a hug made that much tighter by her Quirk, punctuated with an encouraging smack on the back. “Now c’mon, gloomy gills. You hired me to kick your ass, so I’m gonna.”

By the third delivery of the morning Shouta was regretting not calling in again. He’d pushed himself too hard trying to get back into his normal gym routine and every inch of him was letting him know it. He slid a box of audio equipment onto a dolly, sharp little spikes of pain shooting through his back and side as he did, and wheeled it up to the radio station’s front door. Just five more hours, he reminded himself. He’d worked much longer delivery shifts in much worse condition than this. Just five more hours.

There was nobody at the station’s reception desk. Shouta sighed, shoulders sagging. He wondered if he was going to have to figure out how their paging system worked and call the package’s addressee himself. It wouldn’t be the first time, but it was always a procedural nightmare if someone got up in arms about a non-employee using their phones and decided to give his boss an earful for it.

Luckily for him there came the sound of a half-whispered swear word followed by racing footsteps from down the hall. What looked like a very embarrassed intern rushed forward with a sunny “HicanIhelpyou?”, running the words together as they dropped into the chair behind the desk and practically threw their phone and coffee mug out of sight. Their name tag said “Chiyaki” and the look on their face said “please for the love of god don’t tell my boss”.

“Solo-Falcon Deliveries, I’ve got a package for...Hizashi Yamada,” Shouta said, double-checking the name on the delivery slip.

“Okay, one sec,” Chiyaki said brightly. They pushed a speed-dial extension on the phone bank next to them. It only rang once before someone picked up.

“Yah-mada.” The voice on the other end was sing-song and familiar in a way Shouta couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Heya, boss,” Chiyaki said. “The new presentation mics are here, the delivery guy needs you to sign for them.”

“Great timing, I was just about to start boxing up the old ones! Be right there.” The voice on the other end was suddenly louder, clearer, and sounded like it was coming from just over Shouta’s shoulder. Shouta’s breath seized in his chest and his head snapped around, fully expecting to see Mockingbird standing smirking right behind him. The station lobby was completely empty other than himself, the intern, and the box he was supposed to be delivering. When Shouta turned back around Chiyaki was smiling sympathetically at him.

“He does that,” they said apologetically. “It should just be a minute.”

Shouta nodded, taken aback by their total nonchalance. He supposed it made a certain kind of sense for Mockingbird to use his Quirk as a party trick and condition the people around him not to notice it. He didn’t have much time to mull over the logistics of that, however, as a lanky figure loped its way up from the back of the station. The man perked up as he caught sight of Shouta, a grin of recognition spreading across his face.

“Oh, hey, bus stop guy!” Mockingbird said cheerfully.

Shouta blinked, momentarily confused before the words clicked into place. Bus stop, right. This was the same man he’d badgered at the bus stop in front of his apartment building the morning after his bout with Mockingbird; same long blond ponytail, same horn-rim glasses, same lanky frame and broad grin with an almost imperceptible air of smugness to it. Clever, Shouta thought ruefully.

“Solo-Falcon Deliveries,” Shouta said tonelessly, offering the clipboard to sign.

“Right, right. So, didja end up finding who you were looking for?” Mockingbird--Yamada--whoever he was asked as he dug in his pocket for his stamp.

Shouta’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I might have.”

Yamada glanced over the clipboard at him and his cheerful expression sharpened just slightly. “Lucky you,” he said. “But more importantly lucky me,” he added, sinking back into breezy affability as he scooped up the box of equipment. “Papa needs a new podcasting setup!” He cuddled the box to his chest, rubbing his cheek against it affectionately. “Chii, I’ll be back doing teardown if anyone needs me,” he said before turning on his heel and ambling back the way he’d come.

Chiyaki watched him go, then turned back to Shouta. “I can take that,” they said, holding out a hand for the yellow carbon copy of the delivery sheet Yamada had abandoned on the clipboard. “Do you want some coffee or something?” they added.

Shouta shook his head, slowly unclenching from the full-body knot he’d stiffened into the moment Yamada had smirked at him. “No. Thanks anyway,” he said. He grabbed the handle of the dolly tightly to cover his shaking hands and turned it towards the door.

“Have a good one,” Chiyaki said.

Shouta muttered a half-coherent reply, his brain already in a hundred other places. He shouldered open the station door and walked stiff-legged out to his truck to finish his shift. Just five more hours.

[bigyack-com]

Bigg Boss 13 Weekend Ka Vaar written update day 125 February 1: Shehnaaz is angry Sidharth Shukla said she flips and it shows her character - tv

Here are the top highlights of tonight’s episode of Bigg Boss 13: After the first round of the ongoing task, Vikas Gupta declared he would send Arti Singh and Vishal Aditya Singh out of the race for captaincy, infuriating Kashmera Shah. Kashmera went upto Arti and told her that Vikas is not “her person” and Arti confronted Vikas asking if he had promised Kashmera to save Arti. Vikas said he removed Arti as Kashmera was playing double game.The discussion turned into an ugly fight with all the housemates getting divided in two teams- for and against Sidharth Shukla, and got involved in the fight. Also read: Takht teaser: Karan Johar’s period drama to release around Christmas 2021, may clash with Salman Khan’s Kick 2In next round, Himanshi Khurrana hurt herself and fainted. Asim Riaz then lifted her up in arms and took her inside the house. Meanwhile, Vikas was seen talking about how everyone was playing against Mahira Sharma and Paras Chhabra, not for themselves. Shefali Jariwala entered the garden area declaring that people were blaming Vikas for Himanshi’s injury and Arti got angry that Shefali was creating an issue at such a point. Sidharth kept insisting none is to blame blamed and they should all pray for Himanshi.

Later, Shehnaaz Gill asked Sidharth to promise that he wouldn’t talk to her, adding that she was hurt and wouldn’t talk to him for rest two weeks in the game. Soon, she was seen following Sidharth and asking him to talk to her. She even began crying.

Later Vishal and Sidharth began fighting over household chores. ‘Saale ko bhaga yaha se, (get him out of here). There is a category of sense, there is a category of senseless and then there is Vishal. I tried to help him in the beginning but he is beyond help,” Sidharth said. Then bigg boss announced the end of the task and declared that no captain would be chosen as the housemates managed to cancel yet another task. Vikas and Shehbaaz, however, got special powers to save one contestant among those nominated. They could not save Sidharth or Shehnaaz, their own connections and had to choose between Vishal and Arti. They decided to save Arti. Kashmera began crying as soon as Bigg Boss announced this. Sidharth, Shehnaaz and Vishal remain nominated for eviction. Vishal hugged Shehbaaz and Shehnaaz saying it was only a game and they need not worry. Bigg Boss then announced a new task where they had to choose contestants who were pure, honest and value for money. Asim and Sidharth were made to act as shopkeepers with placards of Arti, Vishal, Paras, Shehnaaz, Mahira and Rashami. While Arti and Vishal fought for the tag of honesty, Paras and Shehnaaz competed as best value for money. Mahira and Rashami were competitors for honesty. Shehbaaz, Kashmera and Vikas were the customers. The housemates got into an argument when Asim described Shehnaaz as better value for money than Paras. Kashmere eventually took Paras. Between Arti and Vishal, Shehbaaz picked Vishal as more honest. Sidharth and Shehnaaz got into an ugly fight while discussing qualities of Vishal and Arti. Shehnaaz began yelling at Sidharth for labeling her character and calling her a flipper. “Flip character, wow! Mera character describe karega tu?” Flip se character ka pata chalta hai? To raho side me..(You want to malign my character? Will yu describe my character? Why don’t you stay away from me if such is the case?).”Later, Shehnaaz was seen suggesting Himanshi that she should wait for the game to end before confessing her feelings or deciding anything on Asim. “Tu aisiu nhi hai, mai boyfriend bana leti hu, tu long term le jati hai…thoda dimag se chalna, mai tere saath hu (I make boyfriends but you are more about commitment. I am just saying tell him what you feel but make sure you do not commit on the basis of what you see here. Wait for the outside world, then decide. I may have had a fight but I will be there for you).” Himanshi then told Asim that she is not the right girl for him and he sportingly said he would be fine with whatever she felt was right. Asim asked if Shehnaaz was feeding such things to her, Himanshi agreed. He then said sarcastically that Shehnaaz is Himanshi’s biggest well wisher. “Mai badalta nhi hu, jo log pop out ho rahe hain, inse mujhe farak nhi padta (I wont change my stance, If I have confessed love for you here, it will remain so outside as well.).”Shehnaaz tried her best to make amends with Sidharth but failed. Then she came out of the captain’s room and went to her brother who asked her to maintain some self respect. “Koi Aamir Khan hai wo, aur tu extra?” he said. However, Shehnaaz went back to the room and slept beside Sidharth. They again got into an argument. Follow @htshowbiz for more Read the full article

[ramblinganthropologist]

11. “I almost lost you” kiss. Dorian/Kaas

Cheese and a bonus section.

Shit; everything hurt.

Kaaras blinked blood from his eyes ashis breathing slowed at last. All around him were corpses or soon tobeen corpses, blood soaking the already saturated ground at his feet.Anyone left wouldn't be so for very long, especially in such bittercold.

“Damn, didn't expect them to put upa fight this far away from their outpost.” Not far off, the IronBull was having Akri look at his wounds. There was a rather largegash in his shoulder that was dribbling scarlet blood all over thesnow, turning it pink and creating a slush. “Damn it, your handsare cold.”

The mage, who looked a little greenaround the gills but mostly unharmed, gave him a point blank look.“I'm low on mana and pretty boy got the last potion. Now shut upand let me fix this before you bleed out.”

“Gee, thanks, kadan.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, assholevhenan.”

Dorian. Kaaras' blood ran cold as hishead whipped around to scan the battlefield. Since the fight hadbegun, he had lost track of the other man. There were at least fiveminutes where he hadn't felt the familiar tingle of his energy ripthrough the air, sometimes a little too close for comfort, and strikean enemy.

His heart began to pound as hestarted to search through the corpses. The ones at his feet werewearing crystallized Templar armor, their red shards glinting andcasting a wicked scarlet light onto the already crimson ground. Oneattempted to grab his ankle, but he shook it off and kept going.

Where was he? Another corpse, halfburied under a log, was also a Red Templar. The more he checked, thefaster his heart began to pound. Had he been buried under the snow?Was he abducted? Why couldn't he feel his magic?

“Dorian? Dorian, if you're here,say something!” his voice was carried by the bitter wind that blewsnow into his eyes. All he saw was white snow and dead bodies. Tearsblurred his vision as he bit his lip hard.

It couldn't end like this.

Kaaras kept looking, praying.Something at one point had looked like Dorian's boot, but it hadturned out to be a log. There seemed to be neither hide nor hair ofthe Tevene, even though he had been with them moments ago. If not forthe fact his knees were much abused and ready to give out on theirown, he would have sunk into the snow right then and there.

“Amatus?”

The pet name caused his head to whiparound so fast he almost smacked the man himself in the head with hishorns. Dorian was standing there, not far away. His lip was cut andhe had a black eye starting to form, but he was alive. Wonderfully,wonderfully alive.

Knees be damned. The qunari broke outinto a run and almost dove straight at him. He wrapped his armsaround the altus' form and held him close, almost with bruisingforce. Their lips met, blood mingling, in one of the hardest kisseshe had ever given in his life.

If Dorian was opposed to the show ofpublic affection, he didn't voice it. Instead, his arms embraced hisbeloved, and he seemed to kiss back with as much force as he wasgiven. If not for the fact they were standing in knee deep snow, itcould have been said sparks flew.

They had to breathe eventually,though. The altus was the one to give ground first, pulling back witha delighted if confused expression. He even reached up to wipe awayone of the tears that had started to trickle down Kaaras' face,careful not to get it on his bare skin.

After all, vitaar tended to be highlypoisonous to human.

“Not that I don't mind a littleaffection now and then, but I do need to ask the occasion.”

Kaaras' face heated in response as helooked down at the other man. “I... when I didn't see you on thefield, I thought I'd lost you.”

In hindsight, maybe it had been alittle foolish to worry that much. After all, it hadn't been thefirst time for the man to disappear for a few moments; mages tendedto hang back for health reasons. Still, with all that had been goingon, his mind had raced to the first conclusion it had thought up.

He expected Dorian to laugh at him,but instead he got another kiss, this one sweeter than the previous.When they parted again, the mage's hand remained on his sweat coveredcheek, and a small smile crossed his features.

“It would be rather hard to rid theworld of my presence, Kaaras.” There was a twinkle in his eye.“After all, they would have to hit me first. Dreadful aim thesetemplars have. I doubt they could hit the broad side of a barn.”

Of course. The qunari's heart didn'tstop beating as he reached up to take the hand from his face. Hesqueezed it in his own gently, minding the pressure. A broken handwas easy enough to fix, but he'd rather not go there. The sound wasghastly.

Another sound drew their attentionthough. Off to the side, someone had cleared their throat. Thatsomeone was Akri, and he looked like a cat in cream as he watched thetwo. Iron Bull wasn't much better – his grin could have splitrocks.

“Hate to interrupt the happycouple, but we do have to finish searching these bodies for clues.”Akri emphasized this with a haphazard kick of a nearby corpse. “Comeon, love birds. Get your hands dirty like the rest of us. You canmake out in camp later.”

Kaaras' face flared to high heat ashe scowled at his brother. “You're one to talk. I caught you andBull practically making love right behind the tavern the other day.”

“Don't hate me cause you ain't me,bro.”

Another groan, and the atmosphere hadturned rather light, or as much as it could be when the topic of theday had turned to looting corpses for their valuables. TheInquisitor's face still felt warm as he stooped among their fallenfoes, rooting through their pockets for trinkets. In such heavy snow,it helped.

Only later would he realize that wasthe first time he had kissed his beloved in front of someone. At thatmoment, his mind was on other things. Half of them were how to stuffsnow into his brother's small clothes, of course. He had never saidthey were good things his mind was on, after all.

At least he had something to lookforward to later in that kiss had hinted at anything.

---

(Extra)

“I can't believe I missed that!”

Jackel thumped her flagon of mead onthe wooden table they were seated at, somehow not spilling a drop.The Herald's Rest had gotten rather noisy since the return of theInquisitor's main party, so she had taken the chance to score a tablenear the back with her beloved cousin to catch up on the news.

In response, Akri chuckled and took ahearty sip from his own mug. “I've never seen him act like that.Usually he's got such a stick up his ass about showing affection. Imean, it took him three months to even bring up he had a boyfriend.”

The elf only groaned harder as sherested her tattooed forehead on the wooden table. Even over the dinof the noisy tavern, he picked up the thump. If she was lucky, she'donly have a mild bruise there in the morning.

“And here I was in Skyholdlistening to Cullen talk out both sides of his ass.” A sigh. “Youhave all the fun.”

“It's one of the many perks ofbeing able to call lightning on command.” The qunari frowned,though as he sat down his mug. “I think... it's getting serious.”

They had talked about this, ofcourse. Their favorite relative had always been rather shy about hislove live – or lack thereof. Neither had expected this little trystwith the Altus to last longer than a month, but the pair continued toprove them wrong.

It was starting to make them a littlenervous.

Jackel picked up her head; she wore asimilar frown. “Do you think we're going to need to have the talkwith him?”

Akri snorted again. “Which one?Tell Kaas where babies come from or warn Dorian if he hurts him we'lldestroy his ass?”

“Both.” She traced a ring ofcondensation left by her mug before taking a thoughtful sip. Already,she was thinking of ways to corner the mage where she could use hernatural talents to her advantage. Somewhere dark, maybe.

At any rate, both had to put suchthoughts aside. The topic of their conversation was heading over atlast, freed from his duties. From the look of things, he needed adrink more than anyone there. Maybe if they got enough in him, theycould start one of the conversations before he remembered.

[mikecranston]

Jack Cranston: 1934-2018

I was probably 11 years old when Sarah, our neighbor who would have been about 5, came over to our house in tiny Bare, Massachusetts, to play with my younger sisters. As they laughed and talked, my 9-year-old sister, Beth, mentioned my father.  

At first, Sarah was confused about who she was talking about. Then it hit her.

“Oh, you mean the man who lives in the cellar!” she said.

In the dead of winter, that’s where you would find Jack Cranston when he wasn’t working his day job. Between January and April he’d prepare hundreds of tax returns in his basement office. Mounds of tax forms and old-school carbon paper filled the room, awaiting a steady of stream of people who would come to the house armed W-2s, 1099s, messy folders full of receipts and obscure questions in which my father always seemed to have an answer.

Jack logged those insane hours because he was determined that his three children would not only attend the college of their choice, they’d so without leaving school with crushing debt.

Like most things in his life, Dad accomplished his goal. What he couldn’t do was beat dementia, the awful and cruel disease that started robbing him of his sharp mind a decade ago and eventually shut down his body. Jack Cranston died Monday night at a hospice in West Chester, Pennsylvania. He was 84, and the world sucks a little bit more today because of it.

My father was the biggest influence in my life. He’s why I played sports as a kid and then got a chance to talk and write about them for a living. He’s why I have a passion for journalism. He’s why I love to travel. He was the person I most wanted to make proud.

He could be gruff and had little use for lazy thinkers. He had a temper that I inherited and was a key reason for the end of my golf hobby. He could lack patience and had no tolerance for my affection of hair bands. But I wish I had half of his good qualities: The work ethic, the quick wit, the wealth of knowledge of different subjects and the incredible memory.

And the love of current events.

When it wasn’t tax season, weekends still started early. And every Sunday started with the sound of two thumps. The first was the Worcester Telegram hitting the fireplace mantel in the living room. The second was much louder, the Boston Globe being plunked down.

It was the signal to get up and moving, because we had a schedule to keep. He’d start with the Telegram — sports section first, of course — while I got the Globe. I’d devour what was an incredible sports section. Think about being able to read Peter Gammons, Will McDonough, Leigh Montville, Bob Ryan, Bud Collins, John Powers, Jack Craig and young wise-ass Dan Shaughnessy all in one issue of a local newspaper.

I read everything, blurting out news, stats and the one-liners I liked to my Dad, who would chuckle and usually add a tidbit I didn’t know. The unwritten rule was I should be done with the Globe sports before he was finished with the entire Telegram. I often took too long, so Dad would have to start with the Globe front page. And he would never complain. But of course I couldn’t object to the easy listening music coming from his stereo either.

Sports were how we connected and there are so many memories. Trips to Fenway Park where I studied how to emulate Wade Boggs’ left-handed swing. Fall Saturdays at Fitton Field watching Holy Cross, his alma mater, featuring football stars Gill Fenerty and Gordie Lockbaum. Watching the then sad-sack Patriots in extreme cold in Foxborough.

Then there was the time he snagged tickets to the 1985 NBA Finals, only they were obstructed view seats in the upper deck of the old Boston Garden that meant we could see only one basket. His solution was to sit in good seats until we were kicked out. Like most things in life, he aimed high. I’ll never forget Red Auerbach flagging down a security officer and then pointing to us from the floor about 45 minutes before tipoff. Yes, we were in his center-court seats. We ended up in our old seats, and we at least got to see Larry Bird shoot at one basket.

Then there were the countless games we watched on TV, as I perfected the art of adjusting the antenna so we could sort of see the puck during Bruins games. 

The den is where the footstool took center stage. Another brutal interception by Steve Grogan? There went the footstool tumbling on its side. I’m not sure how the footstool — and the rest of the house for that matter — survived Game 6 of the 1986 World Series.

He had the same passion for his kids’ activities. And it wasn’t just sports where he always seem to have a better eye for balls and strikes than the umpire. When my sisters got into music and plays, my Dad would not only be there for everything, but was determined to learn as much about the subject as he could.

After I went to Syracuse, he became an Orange fan. Years later, long after I graduated and began a career in radio before turning to print, my Mom and Dad would go on a yearly weekend trip to a Syracuse football game. When I started calling Winthrop basketball games on the radio, my father learned about the Eagles and traveled to attend games.

During high school as I was contemplating colleges and careers, he started a conversation during a car ride. He told me it was important to do something I enjoyed. He made it clear that owning an insurance business and later working for the Massachusetts Department of Revenue was satisfying but not a lot of fun. I had a chance to do something different, and he committed himself to making sure I had the chance.

It’s why I would hear him get up before 5 a.m. on Saturdays and Sundays and make his way down the creaky steps to his basement office to fill out countless 1040s and Schedule Cs.

I’ve had rocky moments in my life, but experiences I wouldn’t give up for anything. I’ve been a sports broadcaster and even got to spend a year as the studio host for his alma mater’s football and basketball radio broadcasts. I worked as an Associated Press sports writer, a college soccer referee and been fortunate to visit nearly every corner of the globe.

I couldn’t have done it without the sacrifice, support and love from the man who lived in the cellar. Rest in peace, Dad.

[gulescamisade]

Minnesota:  Day 7

[At some point during the night, or day -- it'd be indistinguishable to jake -- a voice speaks to him over an intercom.] ????: hey jami 2.0 u think u can do that pumpkin trick again?

JAKE: -snoring in a bed made of pumpkin patch on the ground. As an unfamiliar voice echoes overhead, he snorts awake. Jolting upwards with leaves in his hair. Also accidentally summoning 3 more pumpkins as he had fallen asleep practicing and all.-

JAKE: Hoosit?? -blink blink. He's AWAKE.-

????: eelmao

????: conchgrats buoy u did it

????: cept i kno u aint even got a grip on whatebber the fuck u doin

????: but i dont need u to

JAKE: -sitting there mouthing the words like eel-aye-em-oh and squinting. He feels... inexplicably chilled to the bone.-

JAKE: (Doh... now i have a bad feeling about this.)

JAKE: I dont suppose... this is all to do with a ploy to get some unmentionable dirty work dished out and done with? But why speak to me now?? Are you to level with me in some sense of the word???

JAKE: Why drag it out like this??? If you could do anything. Why not make me a mindless drone like dear sweet jade and jane?????

)(IC: cuz i dont wanna fuck w u small fry

)(IC: the gills are smart

)(IC: they aint barely need no direction

)(IC: give em a goal and they on cuz they know what the fuck is up

)(IC: u tho? alwaves wadin thru ur lil guppy emoceans

)(IC: makin some dumb ass pumpkins grow

)(IC: the fuck even is that

)(IC: do u even know what yoar capable of sonfish

JAKE: -takes the deepest breath of his life, his heart thudding like an iron clad weight. He can't see her face, he only knows her voice is there. Green eyes wide and fearful as he slowly rises to stand.- Im...

JAKE: I know somehow. Some way.

JAKE: Maybe it wont happen today or tomorrow. But my capabilities say that you are going to pay one pretty penny for the horrible things youve done.

JAKE: Mark my words. Its not me who should be afraid when at the end of all of this... -His face is now screwing up, visualizing everyone this war has ruined. Their wishes, hopes, dreams. The energy seems to charge in his veins, making the air around him hot enough that the pumpkin vines at his feet begin to shrivel.- At the end of all of this....

JAKE: Youre just going to be a scary story people tell their kiddos at night!!!!! A LAUGHING STOCK. HAH. Worse than me and ive never had a dignified moment in my fucking life!!!! And not a SOUL is going to be sorry youre GONE.

JAKE: SO FUCK WHAT YOU MIGHT HAVE IN STORE FOR ME YOU FISH FRIED CURISH VARLOT!!!! FUCK IT THIS WAY AND TO HIGH HELL WHEN ITS WHAT I HAVE IN STORE FOR YOU THATLL BE WHATS FUCKING WHAT.

JAKE: Ill do it for jade! And jane and grandma and--- EVERYONE. Everyone youve fucking ruined with your vile reign of TYRANNY!!!!!! -This FIELD around Jake cannot be contained in this box of a room. Hell. The metal walls are beginning to bend with just these few seconds of intensity. Somebody do somethin'.-

)(IC: -LOW WHISTLE into her mic. she doesn't sound perturbed by his threats, or even by the damage he's doing. there's always more rooms she can put him in... maybe even make his lil friend roxy make him a nice box to hide in. she's definitely got more focus then this one...-

)(IC: im all aboat that reel glowy shit u got goin there

)(IC: but i know i can werk it betta

)(IC: anywave im board and i got shit to do

)(IC: goodnight BITC)(

[SNOP. Unfortunately for Jake, repressing magical/emotional outbursts is easy when she has the concentrated abilities of a cerulean at her disposal. But fortunately for him, she can only really put him to sleep, being a human and all... Also fortunately for him, she has the attention span of a gold fish and intends to let him dangle a little bit longer before experimenting on him as she intends to... Or maybe she's just having fun with him. Who knows.]

JAKE: -A lot of fortunates and a lot of unfortunates. It's always the seed of belief that matters.-

JAKE: -Passes clean out in the center of his cell, totally ready to write this off as some kind of fever dream... if it's not for the melty edges of the walls around him. This was exciting as it was frustrating.-

---

[Today when Jake wakes up, he will find himself redressed in tiny red shorts, red suspenders, and a big red bow tie. ur whalecum jami 2.0 ]

JAKE: -stirs awake before promptly looking down at himself.- ................................... SON OF A BITCH.

ROXY: =She couldn't help but to notice that Jake had gone missing. Which is unsettling for many reasons so she's taking a leap and exploring more even without the invisibility cloak from the void. Roxy blips out of her room, landing in the hallway and silently makes her way down it. Time to snoop!=

[It's quiet in these holding chambers with Jake and the Cherubs gone, leaving on Roxy and James who is presumably still keeping silent. At the end of the hall there is a door, and she'll find it isn't locked.](edited)

ROXY: =WHERES CALLI YOU MONSTERS?? SHE'LL FIND YA CALLI. She opens the door slowly and peeps in... if the coast is clear here comes a stinky, sweaty escaped prisoner. Where's your information?=

[The door opens up to an open room, on either side there are windows show casing labratories of some kind. It isn't entirely clear what kind of work is being done in them from where Roxy is standing. At the end of the room there's another door, but shee can also see more doors inside the labs.]

ROXY: =Hm.... can she see computers in there? She decides to get close to one window and peer in. Nerds might be at work in there...=

[There's definitely computers and lots of mechanical equipment and various tech projects half completed on the tables. The lights are low right now so there doesn't seem to be anybody working at this time.]

ROXY: =SCORE. She doesn't want to waste all her gas there has to be a way to get in there..... maybe this door at the end of the room will get her where she's going. Quietly scampers=

[This door is also open, CONVENIENTLY. It leads to another hall, and to either side of where Roxy stands are, presumably, the doors to the labs.]

ROXY: =BITCHIN, HERE COMES HER. Lab number one she's gonna prob ya! KICKS DOWN THE DOOR..... quietly. With her hand=

[As she enters, the lights TURN ON!! And that's about the extend of what happens there. She'll see all the computers have aquarium screen savers but all the fish are glittery and/or have blingee'd accessories like gold chains and shutter shades.]

ROXY: 😒

ROXY: =This is a lab so she sprays disinfectant on the computer before goin to HACK=

[It just so happens that whoever used this computer last forgot to log out of their account... They have photoshop open and there are photos of Jake. He's in red booty shorts and suspenders and he's lookin' like D8< but whoever was doing this photoshop job is trying to make him look a little happier... Like he's cheering instead of like he's about to punch the photographer in the face.]

ROXY: =Oh well shit..... oh. Well.. she. Snrk. Sorry but also ok. Where was this taken? Does it say anything about that? WHERE'S JAKE YOU COMPUTER=

[Without much looking she will first find a folder full of unedited photos of Jake from his new cell. Dank and dreary, much worse then the cells they were in before. Only a bed and a medical tray table. Another folder with the edited photos reveals these are being used for magazine covers and spreads. It seems Jake is being used as Crocker Corps POSTER BOY. Look at this well fed and obedient (?) human.]

ROXY: =OH HOW DARE!? Are there any OTHER people here computer? Like Dirk or Mom or ANYONE ELSE? WHO ALL AM HERE?=

[The computer thinks Roxy expects too much from it. At least from this account on the server. It's only been used by a humble tech intern who edits pictures in photoshop. His name is Maxwell.]

ROXY: =What a fuckin nerd Maxwell is can she HACK to find out... or would that take too much time.... it probably would so she legs it to the other lab=

[The other lab has lots of cabinets and coolers containing samples of various things... Some of which she might recognize as GLOWING MUSHROOMS and ARTIFICIAL SWEETENER. The kind of research they do in here might be a little more obvious...]

ROXY: =Finally putting Sweet-n-low out of business she sees, good. But she's scrunching up her nose and looking for anything useful or recent? =

[Or perhaps they were behind the Sweet-n-Low game all along! In any case, if she dares to try confiscate some of the mushrooms or any of the extracts lying around, she might be able to try using it for its hypnotic properties. Otherwise, there's mostly just experiments with food and chemicals being done in this lab. Sadly no clues of friends.]

ROXY: =God dammit. Well shucks she blows this popsicle stand and goes on a hunt for Jakey boy or Calliope!=

[Back in the hall, on the other side there's yet another door but it's more heavily sealed then the others with some kind of keycard lock, but with little indication of what's on the other side. At the very end of the hall is an elevator, also requiring keycard access to use.]

ROXY: =this might be where its unavoidable. UNA-VOID-ABLE. She bets this heavily sealed door is something GOOD. She's going to take a quick peek in there if she can poof in!=

[There's a growling around these hallways... sounds like something or someone might be prowling around.]

[The room Roxy has poofed into seems to be some kind of observation room. There's a couple screens on one wall with a panel beneath -- one screen is showing the room Jake is being held in (where he's either sleeping among his pumpkin patch or being rowdy...) while the other screen is shut off.]

ROXY: =zoinks! Growls are bad news. She hurries and tries to see if she can turn on the other screen or find where exactly the room holding Jake is? GO GO GADGET STUBBY FINGERS=

[MAIN SCREEN TURN ON. She manages to get the other screen running, but it's only showing an empty room with a bed... With unsettling stains of red and green on the sheets.]

ROXY: ..... =Bruh tf?? She squints and that can only mean bad news. Does it say where these cameras ARE? She should make her way downtown and quickly!=

JADE: -zaps into the room- BARK!!!

ROXY: !!! =JUMPS= FUCKIN'--- oop.....

ROXY: ..................

ROXY: ..................

ROXY: ...........

ROXY: this isnt the bathroom wtf

JADE: -LUNGES AT HER!!!-(edited)

ROXY: !! =BLIPS, or tries to back for the door. tHESE ARE SOME STRESSFUL SECONDS IN THE VOID=

JADE: -gdi. She claws around the empty space, growling.- ill find you!!!

ROXY: =She pops on the other side of the door really and is booking it down the hall, back the way she came. NAH. NNNNNAAAAAHHHHH=

JADE: -there's the sound of BOOFing and scrambling feet behind her-

ROXY: =fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, what to do, gotta think gotta think gotta think. Where can she hide? She doesn't KNOW this place. UUGHHHHHHHH! She's doing her BEST here just, SLAPS a pen holder off a desk she runs by FUCK THIS SHIT, YEET!=

JADE: -BORK BORK BORK BORK!! The pen holder jostles her, but not enough to stop her. RIP pen assortment...-

ROXY: =Can she.... throw a stick??? BLIP, pops a stick into existence. A SNAUSAGE STICK chucks it down the opposite hall= FETCh!

JADE: -DAMN IT. HER WEAKNESS.-

JADE: -stops and grrs... her programming is conflicted-

ROXY: =Oh shit..... CHUCKS ANOTHER ONE= go on girl! tasty tasty!!

JADE: grrr... JADE: -RUNS AFTER IT-

JADE: -but a few moments later, she zaps in front of Roxy with a snausage in her mouth, grabbing onto her and zapping again back into her cell-

ROXY: =Fuckin!! YES OK. SO..... she can't find Jake like this or Callie.... what to do.... what to do....UGHHHHGHGH. Just hides in a little corridor while trying to think. She doesn't even know if anyone else is here but now she's doubting it? AUGH. Okay, okay okay... think. Gotta think. Where can she hide? UUUGGGH--= ACK! =DOOF. Deposited on her face in the cell, gdi=