#this piece will be getting a followup later but for now

[rotworld]

Sheep's Clothing

you live and work in eastridge. the mountains are close enough to see but not so close that you worry much about those werewolf rumors. tonight, though? you're worried.

->contains workplace harassment, feral behavior, a few mentions of vomit and vaguely sinister behavior.

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You deserve hazard pay for the things you see and unwillingly experience during weekend shifts at Club Mountainview. There’s a lot of noise, a lot of insufferable behavior from shitfaced and entitled patrons, and a lot of vomit. Whoever decided that Eastridge’s most popular nightlife attraction needed a restaurant is a genius and a misanthrope. The food is overpriced but nobody cares after a few shots and some uncoordinated flailing on the dancefloor. Taking orders has made you an expert at lipreading and interpreting inebriated miming, a necessity to understand anything over nonstop synth melodies and pounding bass. You smile through a lot of bullshit because the people who don’t forget to tip entirely make the whole night worthwhile.

For some reason, tonight is extra bad. The girls at table four manage to spill not one, not two, but all five of their drinks, leaving ice, broken glass and a sticky, sugary alcohol mess all over the booth seats and floor. You have to call in one of the bouncers when a drunken brawl breaks out in the party room over mozzarella sticks and a chair is lobbed at your head. A guy argues with you about his mini tacos never arriving despite your insistence that he ate them ten minutes ago, and then he pukes on your shoes.

“It’s the full moon,” Donna grumbles. She was already at the bar when you got there, head resting against her hand and eyes bloodshot. A few long, blonde strands of hair escape from her ponytail and she’s forever pushing them behind her ear before they fall loose again. “Makes people act weird. All our worst shifts are during full moons.” 

“Full moon, huh?” you mutter, rubbing your temples to soothe an oncoming headache. The bar’s design straddles a cave and cabin concept, the back wall textured like stone and the counter a natural-edged slab of wood with a glassy finish. It’s the only place where your eyes and ears can rest, far enough from the dancefloor that the noise is tolerable and the lights soft and steady, firelight orange instead of flashing neon. 

“Rough one tonight, huh?” you hear. A glass of water slides across the bar and you find Irving’s sauntered over to chat while he works. He moves like a well-oiled machine, hands quick and graceful as he juggles empty glasses, mixes drinks and pours ice. “I hear there was a bit of a scuffle in the party room earlier. Glad you two got out unscathed,” he says conversationally, wearing his perpetual charismatic, glad-to-be-here smile. You have no idea how he maintains it this late into his shift.

“You’re so fucking lucky to be on that side of the bar,” Donna grumbles. 

“It’s not exactly a walk in the park back here either. I’m not sure I’ll have a barback for much longer, Tim looks about ready to quit. Someone threw a drink at him earlier.” Tim, the new hire sheepishly collecting empty glasses at the other end of the bar, is staring forlornly at Irving like a castaway watching a ship leave him behind. 

Donna insists, “Full moon.”

“That sounds more like a werewolf thing,” you say.

Irving shakes his head. “That’s a myth, actually. Moon phases don’t do anything to them. You know what, though, this is their hunting season.” 

You stare at him, waiting for him to laugh or say he was just kidding. He doesn’t. “Hunting season?” you echo, morbidly curious.

He rests a forearm across the bar counter, leaning in a little and lowering his voice. “Mhm. Late spring to early summer. They’re opportunistic, but this is the only time of year that they’re actively on the prowl. Did you know that the majority of people who go missing in the mountains around here disappear sometime in April or May? You two should be careful, actually, I hear they’ve got a thing for overworked waitstaff.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Donna says.

“I’m serious! My girlfriend told me—”

“Your werewolf girlfriend who nobody’s ever met and only visits when we’re all conveniently too busy to meet her, right?” 

“Tale as old as time,” Irving sighs. He gives you a wink before he drifts back to the other end of the bar. You linger for a little longer, nursing your water. That must’ve been a joke, right? You’ve never heard of a “hunting season,” but you don’t know enough about werewolves to be sure. You’ve never met one. Then again, people say it’s hard to tell. Your gaze wanders the club scanning the dancefloor crowd, the groups chatting further down the bar or squeezed around booths, the loners leaning against the wall. Would you even know one if you saw one?

Donna heads back to the trenches first when she spots a couple wander in and you’re not far behind. Right on time, too, because a huge group just walked in and meandered over after looking around all starstruck and delirious like they’ve never been in a club before. You do a quick headcount as they make their way to the restaurant seating area. Eight, nine, ten guys—you hope it’s not another bachelor party. 

“Welcome to the Mountainview Club Kitchen—” Your throat tightens before you finish the sentence. They’re all looking at you. Which shouldn’t be weird, you were trying to get their attention. But the second you spoke up, all of them went from distracted and overly interested in the decor to laser-focused on you and only you. That still doesn’t seem sufficient to explain the cold grasp of heart-stopping terror keeping you frozen in place. You don’t feel like you’re talking to customers at work, you feel like you’re standing in the woods late at night and something big, powerful and hungry just stepped into your path.

Cornered. That’s what you’re feeling. Like a trapped animal. Like a rabbit chased by…

No way, you think. You quickly plaster on a smile. “Uh. Welcome! You’ll have to give me a second to check how many tables we’ve got open right now, I can push a few together for you if there’s enough.” 

“Don’t sweat it, I’m the only one eating.” One of them waves off the others with a chuckle. “Go on, get out there and mingle. I’ll hold down the fort, yeah? You guys are guests tonight so it’s my treat if you want anything.” He looks normal. They all do. Not really dressed for clubbing but nothing that weird, lots of tank tops, denim and well-worn sneakers. The group disperses without a word to you or each other, leaving you alone with the friendliest one. 

You search him for anything amiss, anything that screams “werewolf” and come up empty. He’s just a guy. Black jacket, band t-shirt, jeans with ragged knees. Not unusually tall or tough-looking, honestly a little on the scrawny side, dark hair that curtains his face and feathers around his shoulders. Were you just imagining that feeling earlier? He sticks his hands in his pockets and tilts his head slightly, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Something on my face?” he drawls. Shit, you’re staring. You try to play it off as spacing out and lead him to a table, wrestling with paranoia. You’re relieved when he starts scrutinizing the menu instead. 

“This is new, isn’t it?” he asks absently. “There wasn’t a restaurant last time I came here. I guess it’s been a while.”

“It opened a few months back,” you tell him. “Are you a regular?” 

“Eh, not really. I’m here like once a year.” 

Always around the same time? you wonder. Right around April or May? You scold yourself. Irving loves fucking with people, that’s all that was. And even if he wasn’t, a nightclub doesn’t really seem like prime werewolf hunting territory. “Can I get you started with something to drink?” 

“Just water, thanks. What’s good here?” He rests his chin against his palm while you try to think of a recommendation, smiling up at you. “I’m Corbin, by the way.” His eyes flick to your name tag and he reads it in a slow, teasing drawl. “So. You local? Live in Eastridge?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you say, utterly blindsided. “Uh. All of the appetizers are pretty good, and the tomato soup comes with this really good bread—” 

“Corbin.” You nearly jump out of your skin when one of the other guys seems to appear out of thin air, suddenly standing beside you. Sure, it’s hard to hear much of anything with the music, but he’s right there and he’s not exactly small. You aren’t sure how he snuck up on you. “Purple or green?”

Corbin tilts his head, glancing at something past the guy. You follow his gaze and see some of the people he came in with chatting up some college kids on the dancefloor. One’s in a sequined purple dress and the other’s wearing a green t-shirt. Corbin’s face scrunches up in distaste. “Neither,” he says. The other guy nods slowly like he’s just heard something truly profound and walks off. You have no idea what to make of the exchange and Corbin doesn’t let you dwell on it. “Is it always this busy?” he asks.

You shrug. “On the weekends, mostly.”

He hums, lips pursed and brows furrowed like you’ve just told him something heartbreaking. “Is it hard? A job like this? Seems pretty thankless.”

“A job’s a job,” you say with a tight smile. 

“It doesn’t have to be like that, y’know. There are places that would appreciate you so much more than this.” The discomfort must show on your face because his expression softens a little, less of a smirk and more of a sad smile. His voice gets softer and softer and you have to lean in to hear him clearly. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m just being nosy. But the thing is, I’ve got a good intuition. I can tell when people are…dissatisfied. Unhappy with their lives. You laugh it off, but it’s getting to you; how effortless it is for these people to hurt you. How brittle the bonds between humans are.” He pauses for just a moment and then he’s full of boisterous energy again, grinning. “Tomato soup, huh? Could I get that, and maybe the mozzarella sticks? Oh, and the wings too! They’d probably like that.”

“Sure,” you say weakly. You’re not entirely aware of your movements, running on autopilot to take the menu from him with numb fingers and put in his order. Why do you feel so shaken up? This is obviously a shitty place to work, anyone could see that. But it was more than that. The way he said it, the way he looked at you—like he knew you. Really knew you, the way strangers aren’t supposed to.

You try to shrug it off, make your rounds to other tables, but he’s on your mind all night. You bring him water and he takes it before you set it down. The pads of his fingers caress the back of your hand and slip away slowly, hesitantly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thank you,” he says, his smile affecting you in embarrassing ways. You run to the bathroom and splash cold water on your face, trying to shock yourself out of whatever weird, emotional haze you’re in. 

Corbin is thankfully distracted when you come back with his appetizers. Someone else from his group swings by the table with his arm around a younger guy. “Oh, you’re on summer break? What’s your major?” Corbin asks. You don’t linger but you catch bits of conversation, enough to hear that the guy Corbin came with barely says a word. Is he the wingman for all of his socially awkward friends? You look around and see the others scattered around, a couple perched at the bar with a woman giggling between them, a few lurking around the dancefloor. One makes eye contact with you halfway across the club and your heart skips a beat. 

You’re getting that feeling again—the prickling on the back of your neck. The primal sense that there’s danger lurking somewhere nearby, hungry eyes raking across your skin. 

Corbin’s friends and their hookups drift by the table frequently. Every time you glance over, someone new is hovering next to him or sliding into an open chair with their plus one chatting happily. You’re not really surprised. There’s something magnetic about him, an effortless charm in his open, welcoming body language, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world. Strangely, none of them stay long. People cycle in and out until you’re sure his whole friend group has stopped by at least twice, sometimes snagging something from an appetizer plate, but they don’t stick around.

Eventually, someone else entirely—a club regular, not someone Corbin came with—snags the chair across from him. They’re flirting and he’s apparently not interested, hardly looking at them, humming or muttering disinterested, one-word answers to their questions. You come back with his tomato soup just in time to see the interloper storm off, tears in their eyes. Corbin watches them go, leaning against the table with his lips curled in a snarl. “Packless,” he mutters, the word rolling off his tongue in disgust. He stiffens up when he notices you standing there, plastering on a smile. “Oh, that looks so good! Thank you!”

“Enjoy,” you manage to say, struggling to make sense of what you just saw. Corbin isn’t looking at the food, even when you set it down in front of him. 

“Why don’t you sit with me? I wanna talk more,” he says, nodding to the chair beside him. 

You laugh nervously. “I really can’t.” 

“Aw. Not even for a little bit?” You’re a little surprised but nonetheless grateful he doesn’t push. Instead, he pulls a hair tie out of his pocket to keep the long strands falling around his shoulders from falling into his food. “Sorry, sorry. I’m doing it again. It’s my intuition, y’know? I feel like we’re both missing out if we don’t get to know each other! But no worries, I know you’re on the clock.” He tosses the long strands of his ponytail behind his back and smiles at you.

Your heart drops into your stomach. You didn’t notice it before with his hair hanging around his neck, but he’s absolutely covered in painful-looking marks. Some are old, puckered scars and some are fresher, scabs and scrapes and flushed half-moons. They’re littered across both sides of his neck and even more disappear beneath the neckline of his shirt. There’s no mistaking them for anything else—those are bites. Big, human-sized bites, left by teeth too sharp to be a human’s. Your gaze darts back to his face and you know he caught you staring. 

He looks euphoric, eyes half-lidded and smile dreamy, like you’re fulfilling some exhibitionistic fantasy. 

“C…can I get you anything else?” you force yourself to ask.

He’s not discreet when he looks you up and down, gaze lingering on your hips, trailing slowly up your chest and eventually returning to your eyes. He licks his lips. “Nah,” he says, grinning. “I’m good for tonight.” 

You know he watches you for the rest of your shift. No matter where you go, you feel him staring. You want nothing more than to avoid him until he leaves but you don’t want him to complain about being neglected, eventually circling back to refill his water and take his empty plates. You don’t make eye contact and he doesn’t strike up a conversation. He pays his bill without anything weird happening until he hands you an insane tip, a few big bills rivaling your paycheck.

“We’re kindred spirits, y’know,” he says, looking satisfied by your wordless shock. “But you’re stuck in this awful world where nobody’s taking care of you right. So I’ll just have to do it myself until…” He never finishes the sentence, smile widening when you look at him questioningly. “Take a picture with me!” he says. You don’t argue. You’re so tired, so exhausted from all the mixed signals, and you’ve decided he’s ultimately harmless. Weird as hell and uncomfortably perceptive but harmless, and if he tips like this, you’ll give him all the pictures he wants.

Corbin pulls you down into the chair beside him with an arm around your shoulder and holds out his phone for a selfie. You fully intend to look at the camera but your eyes are pulled slightly off center by the sight of his bites displayed on the screen. It comes out awkward. Your smile is half-hearted and Corbin’s not quite looking at the camera either, his gaze focused on you with an uncomfortably fond smile stretched across his face.

[physalian]

8 Signs your Sequel Needs Work

Sequels, and followup seasons to TV shows, can be very tricky to get right. Most of the time, especially with the onslaught of sequels, remakes, and remake-quels over the past… 15 years? There’s a few stand-outs for sure. I hear Dune Part 2 stuck the landing. Everyone who likes John Wick also likes those sequels. Spiderverse 2 also stuck the landing.

These are less tips and more fundamental pieces of your story that may or may not factor in because every work is different, and this is coming from an audience’s perspective. Maybe some of these will be the flaws you just couldn’t put your finger on before. And, of course, these are all my opinions, for sequels and later seasons that just didn’t work for me.

1. Your vague lore becomes a gimmick

The Force, this mysterious entity that needs no further explanation… is now quantifiable with midichlorians.

In The 100, the little chip that contains the “reincarnation” of the Commanders is now the central plot to their season 6 “invasion of the bodysnatchers” villains.

In The Vampire Diaries, the existence of the “emotion switch” is explicitly disputed as even existing in the earlier seasons, then becomes a very real and physical plot point one can toggle on and off.

I love hard magic systems. I love soft magic systems, too. These two are not evolutions of each other and doing so will ruin your magic system. People fell in love with the hard magic because they liked the rules, the rules made sense, and everything you wrote fit within those rules. Don’t get wacky and suddenly start inventing new rules that break your old ones.

People fell in love with the soft magic because it needed no rules, the magic made sense without overtaking the story or creating plot holes for why it didn’t just save the day. Don’t give your audience everything they never needed to know and impose limitations that didn’t need to be there.

Solving the mystery will never be as satisfying as whatever the reader came up with in their mind. Satisfaction is the death of desire.

2. The established theme becomes un-established

I talked about this point already in this post about theme so the abridged version here: If your story has major themes you’ve set out to explore, like “the dichotomy of good and evil” and you abandon that theme either for a contradictory one, or no theme at all, your sequel will feel less polished and meaningful than its predecessor, because the new story doesn’t have as much (if anything) to say, while the original did.

Jurassic Park is a fantastic, stellar example. First movie is about the folly of human arrogance and the inherent disaster and hubris in thinking one can control forces of nature for superficial gains. The sequels, and then sequel series, never returns to this theme (and also stops remembering that dinosaurs are animals, not generic movie monsters). JP wasn’t just scary because ahhh big scary reptiles. JP was scary because the story is an easily preventable tragedy, and yes the dinosaurs are eating people, but the people only have other people to blame. Dinosaurs are just hungry, frightened animals.

Or, the most obvious example in Pixar’s history: Cars to Cars 2.

3. You focus on the wrong elements based on ‘fan feedback’

We love fans. Fans make us money. Fans do not know what they want out of a sequel. Fans will never know what they want out of a sequel, nor will studios know how to interpret those wants. Ask Star Wars. Heck, ask the last 8 books out of the Percy Jackson universe.

Going back to Cars 2 (and why I loathe the concept of comedic relief characters, truly), Disney saw dollar signs with how popular Mater was, so, logically, they gave fans more Mater. They gave us more car gimmicks, they expanded the lore that no one asked for. They did try to give us new pretty racing venues and new cool characters. The writers really did try, but some random Suit decided a car spy thriller was better and this is what we got.

The elements your sequel focuses on could be points 1 or 2, based on reception. If your audience universally hates a character for legitimate reasons, maybe listen, but if your audience is at war with itself over superficial BS like whether or not she’s a female character, or POC, ignore them and write the character you set out to write. Maybe their arc wasn’t finished yet, and they had a really cool story that never got told.

This could be side-characters, or a specific location/pocket of worldbuilding that really resonated, a romantic subplot, whatever. Point is, careening off your plan without considering the consequences doesn’t usually end well.

4. You don’t focus on the ‘right’ elements

I don’t think anyone out there will happily sit down and enjoy the entirety of Thor: The Dark World.  The only reasons I would watch that movie now are because a couple of the jokes are funny, and the whole bit in the middle with Thor and Loki. Why wasn’t this the whole movie? No one cares about the lore, but people really loved Loki, especially when there wasn’t much about him in the MCU at the time, and taking a villain fresh off his big hit with the first Avengers and throwing him in a reluctant “enemy of my enemy” plot for this entire movie would have been amazing.

Loki also refuses to stay dead because he’s too popular, thus we get a cyclical and frustrating arc where he only has development when the producers demand so they can make maximum profit off his character, but back then, in phase 2 world, the mystery around Loki was what made him so compelling and the drama around those two on screen was really good! They bounced so well off each other, they both had very different strengths and perspectives, both had real grievances to air, and in that movie, they *both* lost their mother. It’s not even that it’s a bad sequel, it’s just a plain bad movie.

The movie exists to keep establishing the Infinity Stones with the red one and I can’t remember what the red one does at this point, but it could have so easily done both. The powers that be should have known their strongest elements were Thor and Loki and their relationship, and run with it.

This isn’t “give into the demands of fans who want more Loki” it’s being smart enough to look at your own work and suss out what you think the most intriguing elements are and which have the most room and potential to grow (and also test audiences and beta readers to tell you the ugly truth). Sequels should feel more like natural continuations of the original story, not shameless cash grabs.

5. You walk back character development for ~drama~

As in, characters who got together at the end of book 1 suddenly start fighting because the “will they/won’t they” was the juiciest dynamic of their relationship and you don’t know how to write a compelling, happy couple. Or a character who overcame their snobbery, cowardice, grizzled nature, or phobia suddenly has it again because, again, that was the most compelling part of their character and you don’t know who they are without it.

To be honest, yeah, the buildup of a relationship does tend to be more entertaining in media, but that’s also because solid, respectful, healthy relationships in media are a rarity. Season 1 of Outlander remains the best, in part because of the rapid growth of the main love interest’s relationship. Every season after, they’re already married, already together, and occasionally dealing with baby shenanigans, and it’s them against the world and, yeah, I got bored.

There’s just so much you can do with a freshly established relationship: Those two are a *team* now. The drama and intrigue no longer comes from them against each other, it’s them together against a new antagonist and their different approaches to solving a problem. They can and should still have distinct personalities and perspectives on whatever story you throw them into.

6. It’s the same exact story, just Bigger

I have been sitting on a “how to scale power” post for months now because I’m still not sure on reception but here’s a little bit on what I mean.

Original: Oh no, the big bad guy wants to destroy New York

Sequel: Oh no, the big bad guy wants to destroy the planet

Threequel: Oh no, the big bad guy wants to destroy the galaxy

You knew it wasn’t going to happen the first time, you absolutely know it won’t happen on a bigger scale. Usually, when this happens, plot holes abound. You end up deleting or forgetting about characters’ convenient powers and abilities, deleting or forgetting about established relationships and new ground gained with side characters and entities, and deleting or forgetting about stakes, themes, and actually growing your characters like this isn’t the exact same story, just Bigger.

How many Bond movies are there? Thirty-something? I know some are very, very good and some are not at all good. They’re all Bond movies. People keep watching them because they’re formulaic, but there’s also been seven Bond actors and the movies aren’t one long, continuous, self-referential story about this poor, poor man who has the worst luck in the universe. These sequels aren’t “this but bigger” it’s usually “this, but different”, which is almost always better.

“This, but different now” will demand a different skillset from your hero, different rules to play by, different expectations, and different stakes. It does not just demand your hero learn to punch harder.

Example: Lord Shen from Kung Fu Panda 2 does have more influence than Tai Lung, yes. He’s got a whole city and his backstory is further-reaching, but he’s objectively worse in close combat—so he doesn’t fistfight Po. He has cannons, very dangerous cannons, cannons designed to be so strong that kung fu doesn’t matter. Thus, he’s not necessarily “bigger” he’s just “different” and his whole story demands new perspective.

The differences between Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi are numerous, but the latter relies on “but bigger” and the former went in a whole new direction, while still staying faithful to the themes of the original.

7. It undermines the original by awakening a new problem too soon

I’ve already complained about the mere existence of Heroes of Olympus elsewhere because everything Luke fought and died for only bought that world about a month of peace before the gods came and ripped it all away for More Story.

I’ve also complained that the Star Wars Sequels were always going to spit in the face of a character’s six-movie legacy to bring balance to the Force by just going… nah. Ancient prophecy? Only bought us about 30 years of peace.

Whether it’s too soon, or it’s too closely related to the original, your audience is going to feel a little put-off when they realize how inconsequential this sequel makes the original, particularly in TV shows that run too many seasons and can’t keep upping the ante, like Supernatural.

Kung Fu Panda once again because these two movies are amazing. Shen is completely unrelated to Tai Lung. He’s not threatening the Valley of Peace or Shifu or Oogway or anything the heroes fought for in the original. He’s brand new.

My yearning to see these two on screen together to just watch them verbally spat over both being bratty children disappointed by their parents is unquantifiable. This movie is a damn near perfect sequel. Somebody write me fanfic with these two throwing hands over their drastically different perspectives on kung fu.

8. It’s so divorced from the original that it can barely even be called a sequel

Otherwise known as seasons 5 and 6 of Lost. Otherwise known as: This show was on a sci-fi trajectory and something catastrophic happened to cause a dramatic hairpin turn off that path and into pseudo-biblical territory. Why did it all end in a church? I’m not joking, they did actually abandon The Plan while in a mach 1 nosedive.

I also have a post I’ve been sitting on about how to handle faith in fiction, so I’ll say this: The premise of Lost was the trials and escapades of a group of 48 strangers trying to survive and find rescue off a mysterious island with some creepy, sciency shenanigans going on once they discover that the island isn’t actually uninhabited.

Season 6 is about finding “candidates” to replace the island’s Discount Jesus who serves as the ambassador-protector of the island, who is also immortal until he’s not, and the island becomes a kind of purgatory where they all actually did die in the crash and were just waiting to… die again and go to heaven. Spoiler Alert.

This is also otherwise known as: Oh sh*t, Warner Bros wants more Supernatural? But we wrapped it up so nicely with Sam and Adam in the box with Lucifer. I tried to watch one of those YouTube compilations of Cas’ funny moments because I haven’t seen every episode, and the misery on these actors’ faces as the compilation advanced through the seasons, all the joy and wit sucked from their performances, was just tragic.

I get it. Writers can’t control when the Powers That Be demand More Story so they can run their workhorse into the ground until it stops bleeding money, but if you aren’t controlled by said powers, either take it all back to basics, like Cars 3, or just stop.

—

Sometimes taking your established characters and throwing them into a completely unrecognizable story works, but those unrecongizable stories work that much harder to at least keep the characters' development and progression satisfying and familiar. See this post about timeskips that take generational gaps between the original and the sequel, and still deliver on a satisfying continuation.

TLDR: Sequels are hard and it’s never just one detail that makes them difficult to pull off. They will always be compared to their predecessors, always with the expectations to be as good as or surpass the original, when the original had no such competition. There’s also audience expectations for how they think the story, lore, and relationships should progress. Most faults of sequels, in my opinion, lie in straying too far from the fundamentals of the original without understanding why those fundamentals were so important to the original’s success.

[xxchaosjojoxx]

I can't stand you (Penguin x reader )

A/N: This idea was suddenly in my head and as soon as possible I started taking notes. Tbh I would love to see more of Penguin if he acts like that. If you ever do something like this or maybe wanna do a followup part/sequel, tag me please.

The break room inside the Polar Tang was full and loud. A lot of chattering and laughing was heard. Bepo and Penguin were entertaining the whole crew. You have been a member of the heart pirates for almost 6 months and they all welcomed you with open arms and you knew instantly this is family now. Everyone was pretty nice towards you for one exception. You were looking at the young man with the penguin hat. You didn’t know if you did something wrong or said anything, but he disliked you and showed it. Whenever you entered a room, his smile was gone. He was sighing, groaning and you are pretty sure he rolled his eyes whenever you were there. At the beginning you joined him and Shachi in the kitchen. You even joined their training sessions once in a while. Everything was fine and then suddenly he was annoyed whenever you showed up. No one could tell you what was wrong. Even Shachi was clueless, or pretended to be clueless. It was weird for him to behave like this. He was such a fun and sweet guy around others. Telling jokes, entertaining his crewmates. He even made snacks for everyone once in a while. He was so caring towards his crew except for you. You tried talking to him, asking him if you did something that hurt him or something like that. But Penguin ignored you the whole time. With an annoying groan he just turned around and left you alone. You wished to be friendly with him as well. You often wondered what his eyes looked like under his hat, what his smile would look like if it was directed to you. You knew two facts for sure. He was pretty handsome, without seeing his face clearly and he hates you.

You sighed. Today was a hot day and you all wore your boiler suits half off and it was still too hot in the submarine. You drank the glass of water before you in a few big gulps.

A few minutes later your captain, Trafalgar Law, joined you guys. “We were docking on the next island in a few minutes. I have a list of supplies we need to restock. So make sure to do it first, before you explore the island..” He held a few pieces of paper in his hand.

“Shachi is still bedridden. The flu knocks him out for today and tomorrow for sure. After that he will be back with his full energy most likely. That’s why y/n will stay behind and guard the Polar Tang with Penguin.” With that he turned around and was ready to leave the room. He stopped right in his tracks as Penguin shouted at him. “Wait! Why do I have to do this with Y/N? Can someone else join me?” He was asking, annoyed that he had to do this with you. You felt hurt, as he was saying it without a problem. The rest of the crew were looking between you, penguin and Law. They felt pity towards you.

Law let out a sight. “Shachi can’t do this today, so y/n will do it today. You always do this in tandem.” Penguin gritted his teeth.

Ikkaku suddenly stood up. “Ehm Captain. I could be on duty today for Penguin or Y/N.” She said and Law glared at her with an unpleasant look. “No. Penguin and Y/N will do it today. Captain’s Order. You don’t have to sit next to each other the whole time. We will be away for a few hours at most. So get yourself together.” With that he left the room and the silence was very weird.

Ikkaku patted your shoulder and smiled at you before leaving the room. After a while Penguin left as well, you stood up and were following him.

You both were in a corridor as he began to talk. “Do what you want. Go into your room or on deck. I will do it alone.”

You increased your speed to match his. “You heard what the captain said. We have to do this together. Can you stop being a bitch about it?”

He stopped in his tracks. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it. Go do what you want, but leave me alone.”

He started to walk again and you felt anger rising in your chest. So you jumped forward and grabbed his wrist. “I have no idea what your problem is when it comes to me, so stop treating me like an enemy here. We are a Crew.”

With one movement he was freeing himself from your grip, grabbing your wrist and pressing you against the near wall. Your hand was above your head, and he held you with a tight grip. You were shocked about this sudden situation and looked at him with a hint of fear and panic in your eyes.

“You are my problem.”

You gulped and tried to hold his gaze. “What did I ever do to you?”

He tightened his grip around your wrist. “You are arrogant. You show off whenever you can. You have to show everyone that you are great at everything. You are a better cook. You are a good fighter. Shachi and I could lose to you for sure. They are laughing at your jokes. I hate seeing you. I hate that you are better in everything that I am. I hate that you look really hot in those damn tight tops you’re wearing.”

You looked at him confused. He was still furious but there was more. He was looking at your cleavage and leaned into you. “I hate that I can’t help but feel attracted to you, to the point that I become horny whenever you walk around like this…like today. I hate that I want to kiss you and make out with you. I hate that you have so much control over me, that I would do anything if you just ask me.” His other hand was tracing your sides and your face til the point he was holding your chin in his hand. His face was really close to yours and you could feel his warm breath on your skin.

“It makes me angry. I absolutely hate…that I am telling myself to dislike you even though I don’t want to.”

And suddenly his lips were on yours. Without realizing what exactly happens, his tongue slipped between your lips and you granted him access. Your legs felt weak and his knee were suddenly between your legs, to help you get steady. Your hand was still in his grip while the other was finding their way to the back of his neck. He pulled away and kissed your neck with hot and needy kisses. A soft moan slipped from your mouth and he covered your mouth with his hand, leaning into you and whispering into your ear. “Be quiet. I don’t want anyone to hear you.” He was looking at you with a cold look and even though you were confused and dizzy from this, you couldn’t help but find this situation with him extremely hot at this moment.

Penguin were looking at your flushed face. You were panting and your eyes were half lidded and full of desire. Suddenly the man before you smirked. “Seems like I have some control over you as well.” He was nipping at your ear and returning, kissing your neck once more.

You tried to talk and when his hand left your mouth and explored your waist the words slipped out. “I didn’t mean to come around arrogant. I thought I could impress you somehow, yknow?” He was humming and his lips were on yours again. “Stop talking.”

It was hard for you to hold back another moan of pleasure.

“I would love it if we could get along.” Penguin was stiff, pulled away and looked at you in shock. Maybe he realized just now what he just did. “Fuck. Can you stop talking? Otherwise I really have to consider if I hate you.” He let go of your wrist and was looking at you with lust in his eyes. “Let’s forget that this happened, sweetheart.”

He turned around and took a few steps. You were standing there in disbelief. “What? No, I don't wanna forget it. And did you just call me sweetheart?” There was no way you would ever forget making out with your handsome crewmate.

He was turning his head towards you. “Believe me, If we continue this show you won’t ever be able to forget it.” Penguin smirked at you and your face turned dark red. You wouldn't be against it but admitting it, is another story. You were holding your cheeks to hide the fact that you were flustered by his words and the fact that he turns you on with that damn smirk of his.

“Now come on, we have duty together, sweetheart.”

[draw-ren-draw]

Avantris Comic Scripts #3 Often when I get ideas for comics, I break my panels into scripts first. These are less prose-y than fics but still contain dialogue and basic interactions. This is a jokey followup from the concept of my last one, be sure you're up to ep:56 to avoid spoilers!

Shaky Origins (spoilers up to ep: 56!) [A snippet exploring how Torbek may have met Carnival Lecroux based on my favorite theory: that The Duke/Gorebek is the original inhabitant of their shared body and it is Torbek who came second. A lot can happen to an cursed amnesiac. Especially around Carnival LeCroux.] * * * * *

It's a pleasant sunny day near Carnival LeCroux where a Bugbear stumbles out of the brush, blood on his hands, matted fur, drink on his lips and not a single thought in his head. In his claws he tightly grips a piece of torn parchment with chunks of it missing. He squints at it, willing the foreign characters to make sense. He can't remember a thing! Where is he? How did he get here? Who... is he?? He feels like he should be able to read this but the letters don't quite look right. They dance in front of his eyes as he desperately tries to pick out any of them. He points at each in turn, sounding them out. They almost seem to say something like… "Torr... Bek?" He murmurs it again and stares deeply at the writing. Parchment taking up all of his focus, he wanders forward into the carnival proper.

???" You there? You one of mine?"

The bugbear holds the paper, paralyzed as he tries to form one coherent thought, but all that comes out is the last thing he read. "T-T-orbek…?"

Kremy grimaces, smelling the boozy breathe on the bugbear, almost regretting his choice to interact with them at all. Kremy: "Ooh, you reek. You must be one of mine. Listen, what did you say, 'Torbek?' That your name? Whatever, look Turkbek just go use those long arms of yours and get those patrons down." With a wave of his staff, he gestures to the oval-shaped legally distinct 'herris' wheel that has clearly broken down full of riders. Kremy: "Drink break is over." Utterly stunned and still unable to get a grip on reality, the bugbear can do nothing but follow the alligator ushering him toward the broken down ride.

It doesn't take the bugbear long to fulfill the order and he tries again to collect himself as he stands amid the bustling carnival, confused once more. A Tabaxi comes jogging up Frost: "You, you're.. Torbek, was it?" The Tabaxi squints at something he has written on papers.

"Torbek.." the bugbear shakes, wide eyed, trying to cling to the one rational thought he can. So much is happening--!! Frost: "..Right, listen, Kremy just needs you to fill out these forms, I don't care if you don't have a resume, but all the new hires need to." Frost shoves the papers into his hands, continuing to hurry to the next pressing task in his clearly full day. He points one last time before he departs. Frost "Come turn them in later-!"

Hand now full of employment pages, 'Torbek' stumbles, starting to wander again. Who are all these people?? This paper says his name is Torbek, so is that his-- He walks past a goblin, who is manning a small stall. Gricko: "Oh hey! Kremy Finally hired another goblinoid! That's nice, always been waiting for that. Anyway it's me lunch break, gotta get a goblin surf n' turf if you know what I mean, ohhh I'll catch ya later!" He laughs, clapping Torbek on the back and shooting finger guns Gricko: "Thanks buddy!" Left alone at the stall, the bugbear sits down, ignoring everything but the papers in front of him. Undeterred his customers just help themselves to his game. He checks the paper again. It has Torbek on it. Is that his name? It must be, everyone else seems convinced of it! He takes a deep breathe, confirming it for himself with a nod. "…Torbek i-is. Torbek." ???: "Torbek huh? I've heard of weirder" He looks across his stall to see a tent of clowns, Chuckles shoots the bugbear a knowing look and gestures at the state of him. Chuckles: "More like 'Torn-bek', in more ways than one! Ah-hoho-hah! HEHhhheh... workshop it…" The Clown mumbles, stopping to write something down. Gideon enters from the right, we hear him before we even see him "Man, I hate walking past the clowns." Gideon: "Hey turkey or whatever!" The Bugbear jerks in place. "Come on, Kremy needs ya." With a groan, 'Torbek' follows obediently. It seems his day is not going to get any easier... * * The camera pans out * * From afar, a figure watches the once proud and ruthless Duke of Iron and Glass meandering around some shitty carnival like an absolute fool. Something had gone very wrong, or very, very right.

Bonus joke panel of Gid and Krem 'ironically' shacked up, chilling after hours: Kremy: I don't know how you pick em gid but at least you got a new hire this time. Gideon: [Internally] Huh did he? He must have, he was just that awesome.

[writingwhimsey]

Married to The Enemy - Shingen Ch. 50

Chapter 50

It had been a few weeks since that last dinner with my grandmother. So far, Shingen was doing well with all of his followup appointments. The doctor even remarked on how well and how quickly Shingen was recovering. Shingen was in tip top condition. Though we still had to continue the appointments to ensure the tumor was not returning nor were any others growing. But the doctor was confident that things were going well.

Since we still had time here, we had to decide what all we would do. I showed Shingen around many of the modern sights…we ended up going to the beach a few more times, deciding to enjoy it before summer came to an end. We also went on little trips with Sasuke, him showing us around different places that had been of historical significance. Places that Shingen knew from his time, so he could see how they had changed.

Another thing we had decided to do was to get some work. We learned that the initial money that had been given to us, came from Sasuke. He had insisted he didn’t want it back and that he wanted us to use it to enjoy ourselves. It was something he was happy to do for us. But still neither of us wanted to completely rely on it.

After debating, we had decided our best bet would be to invest the money into our crafts. I bought fabric and some good sewing notions, while Shingen bought some hand tools just like the ones he was used to using back in the Sengoku. We then made a few sample pieces and posted them online and soon we had sales. It didn’t take long for us to get plenty of orders. Though since we were only going to be here for a short time, we didn’t want to take up more than we could handle. But we took on just enough.

It was rather nice, spending our days working together on our projects side by side. We were each doing our own thing. Existing in the same space. But it was just so fulfilling to do so. I found myself always doing my work with a smile on my face simply because Shingen was at my side.

I finished up on a custom dress I had been working on for a customer. She wanted a princess dress for a costume ball she would ball she would be attending. It was a fantasy theme for a charity event and I was more than happy to do the work. It was so much fun.

“There. That’s the last touch.” I declared as I looked at the dress on the form in the middle of the living room.

Shingen looked up from his work and smiled. “That looks so lovely.” He declared. “I am sure your customer will be pleased.”

I smiled. “I hope so. She loved the design when I showed her. Her eyes just lit up. I can’t wait to see her face when I deliver the piece to her.” I replied. I was then picking up my phone, taking a picture and sending it to my customer.

All finished! 🙂

It was a few seconds later I had a reply.

OH MY GAWD! IT’S BEAUTIFUL!!! I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE IT IN PERSON AND TRY IT ON!!! WILL TOMORROW BE OKAY? <3 :D 

Haha, I’m glad you like it! I can’t wait to see how beautiful it looks on you! Tomorrow works perfect. Shall we meet in our same place?

YES! My office tomorrow at lunch time!

Great see you then 🙂

“It seems she likes it.” I said with a smile.

“Well, when the piece is made by such a talented seamstress with such care, people are bound to love it.” Shingen replied, a look of pride on his face.

I felt myself flushing. “Oh, Shingen…how is your project coming along?” I asked.

“The jewelry box is almost finished.” He answered. “I’ve finished the carving and such. I just have to put the cushioning and lining in now.”

I smiled as I looked at the intricate carving on top of the box. “It’s beautiful. Your customer wanted to gift it to his wife, right?”

Shingen nodded. “He said it was for their anniversary.” He answered. “And I have to put my best work in for a customer who wants to dote on his wife so. I mean, I can understand exactly where he is coming from.”

“Oh you…” 

Shingen chuckled warmly. “We’ll have to be getting ready soon, won’t we?” He asked.

I looked at the time. “Oh yes. If we’re going to meet Shoko and Kenji for the movie.” I replied.

“Alright, I’ll just finish this part up real quick and then I’ll be able to get ready.”

“Okay. I’ll go ahead and hop in the shower real quick.” I replied. I walked over to Shingen and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before heading to the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, I turned the water on so it could warm up. I hung a fresh towel close by and then stripped and took my hair down from the bun I’d had it in while sewing. I checked the temperature of the water and then hopped in.

I closed my eyes and leaned back to start the process of washing my hair. Once I had my hair wet, I reached for my shampoo…but found a much larger hand had beat me to it. I looked up as Shingen smiled at me having come into the bathroom…or snuck in I should say. I didn’t even hear the door open. He had already stripped down, too.

“When did you sneak in here?” I asked, grinning at him.

“Just a few minutes ago.” He answered. “I thought it would be best to conserve water if we showered together.”

I giggled. “I can see the logic in that.”

“I also thought you might like some help with washing your hair and your back.”

“I’ve been doing those things for myself for years.” I replied. I then pointed to the loofa on a stick that was for washing my back. “That is for my back.”

“I know…but it can’t massage you while washing your back.” Shingen pointed out. “And don’t you enjoy the feeling of my hands in your hair?”

“Okay…you have some good points there.” I replied. “I guess I can allow you to help me…and I can help you, too.”

“My goddess is generous.” Shingen said, that warm smile lighting his gray eyes. He squirted the shampoo in his hands and I turned my back to him. It didn’t take long for me to feel those large hands in my hair, fingers massaging my scalp.

“Mmmm…” I hummed contentedly as I closed my eyes. Shingen was so incredibly good with his hands. They knew how to soothe and relax me just as much as they knew how to work me up into a heated frenzy of desire. 

“I love seeing that smile on your face.” Shingen murmured. “You really have the most beautiful smiles.”

“Well, it’s a good thing for you then, that you make me smile so easily.” I replied, my smile widening.

“I am a lucky man, indeed.” Shingen agreed. 

After washing my hair, Shingen helped me with my back, being true to his word that he would massage my back as he did. I honestly hadn’t realized how tense my shoulders had been from being hunched over my sewing machine. Shingen must have realized and wanted to take care of me.

After I was finished being washed, it was Shingen’s turn. He sat down on the edge of the tub facing me so that I could wash his hair. He closed his eyes as a contented smile crossed his lips while I worked my fingers against his scalp.

“My goddess had the most relaxing touch.” He said, his eyes still closed.

“I just want to take as good of care of you as you do me.” I replied. “I like doting on you and spoiling you, too.”

Shingen’s strong arms wrapped around me and pulled my wet naked body against his. He opened his eyes and looked at me. “When you say such sweet things, my angel…it only makes me love you more.”

I grinned. “Well, good. Because I can’t help but to fall for you more each day, too.” I replied, leaning in to kiss him on the lips.

“How can you only keep getting cuter?” Shingen asked me when I pulled away.

“I think you might be biased…but I am okay with that.” I replied with reddening cheeks. “You know, I’m starting to think we’re using more water than if we’d have showered separately.”

Shingen chuckled. “Probably…but it is more enjoyable this way, isn’t it?”

“Well…yes.” I replied. “But we should probably hurry or else we’re going to end up being late.”

“Probably.” Shingen agreed. He gave my waist a squeeze before releasing me. 

I finished up washing his hair and then helped him with his back. Once we were finished with the shower, we got out and dried off. We wrapped up in towels and Shingen helped me dry my hair before we went to get dressed.

It was going to be a casual evening. Movie and then dinner at a small casual restaurant. But it was also still a date, so I wanted us to dress up a little bit. It was always fun to get dressed up. For Shingen I picked out some nice jeans -and boy did he look good in jeans- and a white v-neck t-shirt and a relaxed black button-down short-sleeve shirt.

For myself, I picked out a cute black dress with a white floral print. It had spaghetti straps and was flowy, coming down to about my mid-thigh. “I really do love these clothes you wear in this era.” Shingen said as he came up behind me, fingertips gliding over my bare arms. 

“Are my clothes your favorite thing about this era?” I asked, a teasing smile on my face.

“You are the best part of this era.” Shingen replied, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against him. “How you look in the clothing of this time is just…icing on the cake as you say.”

I giggled. “I like that I am the cake and the icing in this case.”

“I did say you were my favorite sweet.” Shingen replied, nuzzling his face against the side of my neck.

“We really are gonna end up being late if we don’t hurry.” I said, smiling.

“You’re just so beautiful I forget myself.” Shingen replied, giving me a few neck and shoulder kisses before releasing me. ‘Let me help you with your hair.”

Shingen brushed out my hair and then pulled it up into a cute relaxed bun. He helped me put on my necklace and earrings next. A simple silver chain with a heart pendant and some silver hoops. He ducked down for me so that I could help him put on the silver tiger-tooth necklace.

Once we were dressed, we headed out to meet Shoko and Kenji at the theater. We arrived and met them at the entrance. Shoko grinned as soon as she saw us. “I was starting to think we might have to go see a later showing.” She teased.

“Hey, we aren’t running that far behind.” I teased.

“It’s alright. We only just got here ourselves.” Kenji replied. “The boys didn’t want to get ready so they could go to their grandparents’.”

Shoko playfully elbowed Kenji in the ribs. “You aren’t supposed to tell them that. Come on, we have to give the newlyweds a hard time.”

“Oh, like you don’t remember being that way.” Kenji teased. “We’re still that way sometimes.”

“It’s hard not to be that when you’re lucky enough to have a beautiful wife.” Shingen replied, his arm wrapping around my waist.

Kenji nodded his agreement as he pulled Shoko close. “I agree completely.” He said. “You know, this is why I like you, Shingen. You get that there is nothing better than being totally head over heels for your wife.”

Shoko and I smiled and shook our heads as we looked at each other. Though neither of us were complaining about our husbands being totally in love with us. It was rather nice. “Come on, let’s go in and get our tickets and our snacks.”The four of us headed inside and got our tickets. Then we got in line at the concessions. While we were waiting, we were called to by a familiar voice. “Oh my gosh! Can’t believe I’m running into you guys here! It must be a movie date night for everyone!”

Taglist: @limonzu @zulablaise @oda-princess @kisara-16 @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @lucyw260

@bjorkshire-pudding @eventinelysplayground

[lamardeuse]

Route under construction

by lamardeuse

911 || Buck/Eddie || Rated PG || c. 2250 words

Written for @leothil from her prompt “you can’t seriously sleep on the floor.“

Futurefic with no specific timeline. I first mentioned Lucía in We'd be so grand at the game, as the niece who helps Eddie with his calendar submission photos in S2. You can read this as a followup to that story or a standalone.

“So, you and Tío Eddie,” Lucía said, and for about three seconds Buck seriously considered running for the truck and driving back to LA.

He focused on mixing the mortar for the wall, which was harder than he hoped he was making it look because it had been over a decade now since he'd worked construction and he needed to make sure the consistency was right. After a couple of minutes, he scooped up a little on his trowel and tested it. Perfect.

“Uh, is there a question in there?” Buck asked finally, scooping up a generous amount and applying it to the concrete block she handed him.

Lucía grinned. “Just wondering when the official announcement is going to be. I was going to go to a party at my friend's place later tonight, but I'm willing to skip it.”

“Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about,” Buck said, focusing all of his attention on placing the block and seating it properly.

“You're here in San Diego. At my parents' house, helping them build an extension.”

Buck shrugged. “It's just a covered porch. Piece of cake.”

“Piece of cake? Do you have heat stroke?”

“I mean there's no electrics or plumbing or anything, it's pretty straightforward.” When Lucía continued to stare at him, he added, “I used to do this for a living. When Eddie told me what he was doing this weekend, I offered to help out.”

“That's very nice of you,” said Lucía, “but I don't drive two hours on a weekend to play cello for someone just because I can play the cello and they happen to need a cello player.”

Buck raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”

Sighing, Lucía held out another block. “Listen, just so you know, we're not all assholes.”

Buck fumbled the block, nearly dropping it on his toe before catching hold of it again.

Lucía laughed. “Sorry. You'll get used to us, don't worry. It's a bit of a learning curve, but I have faith in you.”

“Um,” Buck said. “Thanks.”

“De nada,” Lucía said, patting his arm. “Now how about you show me how to set these blocks myself, huh?”

read the rest at the AO3

[freesia-writes]

I love your Gregor dates fics and not just because I requested them! So I have another idea since they're starting to get more comfortable with one another. They're on an island right? Maybe there needs to be a followup date where they go to the beach and go swimming/spend time in the water enjoying the weather?

Gregor Date #3!

Summer has arrived on the island with a sudden and oppressive wave of dry heat, and the inhabitants take to the waters to cool off. Gregor invites you to join him after work one day for a sunset swim, and promises to regale you with tales of bravery, all of which he will make up on the spot since he doesn't actually remember any of them. His giggle at the end of the offer seals the deal, and as you drop your work bag in your entryway, you feel a sense of excitement rising. Preparation is fairly quick, although you gripe over your swimsuit selection. They all seemed to look great when you bought them, but now as you try them on in front of the mirror, you find every single nitpicky flaw. Finally settling for a high-waisted two piece with a high neck halter top, you wrap a thin, flowy cover-up over it all and plop a big, floppy hat on your head. 

Gregor is knocking at the door, right on time, and you open it with a huge smile. Each date has left you feeling increasingly comfortable (and increasingly infatuated) with his expressive eyebrows, disarming giggles, and infectious joy for life. He's equipped with a backpack, wearing swim trunks and a tank top, and you're quick to notice his nicely-rounded shoulders and strong arms, remembering how he carried you so effortlessly. 

"Well hellooooo my lady!" he says in greeting, opening his arms for a hug. You've never felt so much of his bare skin, and it radiates heat as you nestle yourself against his chest, catching a delightful whiff of musky soap mixed with a slight bit of sweaty man stank. He releases you, stepping back to look you up and down, and for once you don't feel sheepish or under scrutiny. "You look like a fresh island breeze! Let's go!" he declares, offering you a gentlemanly arm. 

The walk down to the water is a smooth, winding path through the village, and the delicious smells wafting from all the restaurants and food carts makes your mouth water. One street vendor in particular has an eye-catching array of gyros, stuffed with thinly-shaved meat slices, tomatoes, cucumbers, and sauce, and both you and Gregor pull over to check them out. 

Five minutes later, you're on your way, hands full of a warm pita wrapped in blue and white checkered paper, continuing your conversation between bites. The beach stretches out before you; it's one of the more remote ones on the island but the heat has driven almost everyone to the ocean, so there are a handful of people scattered around it. The water is impossibly bright, a glowing blue-green, and you can see the bottom all the way out to sea. 

The sand is impossibly soft, and its pastel peach color makes it look even more inviting. Finding a snug little spot against a large piece of driftwood, Gregor drops the backpack, tucking his food wrapper in a side pocket, and brings out a large beach blanket, throwing it across the sand and tucking it underneath the wood. 

"Might want to cool off first, eh?" he asks, whipping off his tank top without waiting for an answer, and you're distracted by a sudden urge to touch his broad chest and nestle your fingers in the little tuft of hair in the middle. You shake your head to try to brush the thought aside, which he takes as a response to his question. "Oh, no? No worries!" he continues brightly.

"Oh, sorry!" you correct, "No! I was... thinking about something else. No, that sounds great! Just... gotta put some sunscreen on first," you assure him, slowly unwrapping your cover-up and trying not to look at your body with judgment. You've been working on loving yourself just as you are, focusing on all that your body does your you, viewing it through an appreciative eye that's unburdened by unrealistic societal expectations. But it's still a lifelong struggle. Gregor, however, is a delightful assistance in that realm. 

"Look at you!" he exclaims, unabashedly enraptured at the sight of you. His gaze doesn't feel unwelcome, though he doesn't let it linger too long. "Need some help with that?" he asks, without a trace of ulterior motives, as you fix your hair on top of your head, shake the sunscreen bottle, and pour some into your hands. 

"Oh, um... Thanks," you admit, handing him the bottle and turning your back to him. He gently spreads it across your shoulders and up the back of your neck, hands firm and yet incredibly gentle. You try not to shiver visibly at his touch, relishing the sensations. He continues down the outsides of your arms and puts an extra little blob across the middle of your back that pokes out from the high-waisted bottoms. You could swear you hear a self-conscious little giggle as he smooths it back and forth. 

"Your turn," you say, finishing rubbing it into your face, and one of his sharp eyebrows arches in playful delight. He stands before you, lifting his arms out to the sides, and closes his eyes, upturning his face toward the sun as though he is totally at your mercy. This is going quite well. You pour a decent amount onto your hands, rubbing them together before spreading it across his back. You're trying not to enjoy yourself too much as your hands slide down his ribs and across his muscular little waist, and when you rub the sunscreen up the outsides of his arms, his eyes meet yours in a way that makes your heart skip a beat, and you'd very much like to kiss him in that moment. 

"Well that was an unexpected perk! We might need to venture out into the sun more often," he chuckles, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and earning a blushing little chortle from you. "So shall we?" he asks, gently taking your hand in his, giving you a lovely little case of the tingles, and walks toward the water. The two of you wade in, savoring the warm yet refreshing water as it rises to your waists. There's a gentle sea breeze, just enough to brush your hair back from your face, and Gregor gives you another affectionate look. 

"So, you want to hear the tale of the commando droid ambush?" he says conspiratorially, arching an eyebrow with mock intensity. You laugh, wading in a little deeper, and nod. "Excellent!" he continues, "So there we were... on a mission on some planet... and we were charging into a cave... to find... something... or fight someone..." He giggles, swirling the water around him with his arms as a wave gently splashes against his chest. "It was dark, and it had become totally silent... except for the sound of our feet... when all of a sudden... ATTACK!"

The last word is yelled, for dramatic effect, and he leaps suddenly into the water behind you, casting a flurry of water droplets up your back and hair that startles you. His arms find you from behind and wrap you snugly as he rises to his feet, shooting back up out of the water with you in his grasp, holding you slightly up out of the water and turning in a little circle. You laugh at the absolute surprise and ridiculousness of it all, heart thrilling at his closeness and strength. 

"They were all around us! Every direction! We were outnumbered! But never you worry -- I was quick on my feet! Lightning fast, I whipped out not one, but five electromagnetic pulse grenades! I scattered them in every direction, and we dove for cover," his voice increases in volume, getting slightly more squeaky, and you're giggling uncontrollably now. "Then BOOM!"

With perhaps too much enthusiasm, he throws you in the air, and you land in the water with the most ungraceful kerplunk you could have imagined. Momentarily underwater, you burst to the surface, hat floating away, chunks of loose hair escaping your bun and framing your face in a straggled mess. The shock on your face gives him a clue that he may have gone too far, and his excitement is immediately mixed with contrition.

"Ohhhh I'm sorry!" he says with a nervous chuckle, "I got carried away!"

"It's okay," you laugh, pushing your hair out of your eyes and attempting to salvage any sort of put-together look. 

"Well, I guess I should be fair," Gregor squeaks, taking a deep breath and plunging himself under the next wave. He comes back up, slicked-back hair now flat and wet on his forehead, and you never realized you were such an overly-romantic sucker for glistening droplets of water on a strong, manly chest. He catches your gaze, running both hands over his head to push his hair back, and grows slightly serious. 

"Thank you for coming with me," he says, sincerity across his face. 

"Of course! I love our time together!" 

He giggles, a bit sheepishly, and draws closer, eyes darting to the side, and you feel his hand reach your waist, sending an electric shock through your body at the touch of his skin on yours under the water. His eyes come back to yours, a meek inquisitiveness about them, and you smile, taking a step toward him as the small waves rock the two of you back and forth. You put a hand on his forearm, and, feeling emboldened by the bliss on his face, reach the other one up to his chest, giving it a light caress before flattening your palm against it. His other arm wraps around your back, pulling you up against him, and the warmth and touch is intoxicating. 

He holds you close for a moment, gazing into your eyes with a joyful calm, and slowly leans in, causing your heart to pound in your chest. He touches his forehead to yours, tracing his nose gently across yours a time or two, then lifts his head and places an unfathomably tender kiss on your forehead. The gentle lulling motion of the waves, combined with his firm yet soft embrace, blend in with the lingering spark of his lips on your skin, and you suddenly realize why the women on the holo films do that swooning thing. 

He pulls away, slowly, eyes closed as if continuing to savor it, mouth curving into a huge smile. You let out a content sigh, and he opens those honey brown eyes, giving you one last squeeze before releasing you into the ocean. 

"Race you to the shore?" he invites, suddenly grinning with an ambitious spark in his eye, and you laugh, wading as quickly as you can, trundling through the water with arms waving back and forth for momentum and balance. He dives ahead like a dolphin, arms pointed in front of him, and pops up a few feet ahead. The two of you feel like kids again, cackling and pushing toward the sand with absolutely no attempt at graceful movement. He's got you by a few feet, and in a last-ditch effort, you grab an ankle that he foolishly let come too close. You didn't mean to, but your grasp throws him off balance, and he flops onto the sand on his side, letting out a little squawk of surprise.

"Ohhh my bad!" you exclaim worriedly, rushing to bend over him to see if he's alright. On closer inspection, however, he is laughing, and pulls you to the ground next to him. The sand is soft, but immediately sticks to every inch of your wet body, and you let fly a little curse word before you can hold it back. 

"What a mess!" Gregor giggles, rolling closer to brush your hair from your face. You're both lying on your sides, facing each other, with the waves barely tickling your toes. The setting sun beams the last of its warm golden rays, and you find yourself lost in his eyes again, eyes that can somehow be intense yet giddy, soulfully old yet childishly innocent. You sigh at his gentle caress, as the backs of his fingers linger on your cheek before resting on your arm. "I don't think I'm doing all of this right," he admits sheepishly. 

"I wouldn't have it any other way," you say quietly, and his blissful smile grows. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Bezzle excerpt (Part III)

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and then SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

This week, I'm serializing part of chapter 14 from my new novel The Bezzle, which is out in stores TODAY (!!!):

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

The Bezzle is a Martin Hench novel, the followup to last year's Red Team Blues – though each book in the series is designed to be read in any order, and to stand alone (RTB just came out in paperback):

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865854/redteamblues

Hench is a two-fisted, high-tech forensic accountant whose career spans 40 years of busting high-tech scams, from the earliest days of the PC to the white-hot center of the cryptocurrency bubble. Each book revolves around a single, central scam (in The Bezzle, it's the unbelievably slimy prison-tech industry):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

But each book also features lots of subplots that unpick different kinds of fraud. In this serialized excerpt, we get to watch Marty unwind a music royalty theft scheme, the kind of thing that Rebecca Giblin and I pulled apart in our 2022 book, Chokepoint Capitalism (also now in paperback!):

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

Today's installment gets into one of the major tactics of any semi-respectable scam – simply ignoring the victim in the hope that they'll get tired and go away. Any of us who've been ripped off by a big company can surely relate.

I'm leaving on my tour for this one tomorrow, starting with a gig in Salt Lake City at Weller Bookworks (Feb 21) at 630PM:

https://www.wellerbookworks.com/event/store-cory-doctorow-feb-21-630-pm

From there, it's on to LA (with Adam Conover), Seattle (with Neal Stephenson) and many, many more cities – maybe one near you!

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#bezzle-tour

Here's part one of the serial:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/17/the-steve-soul-caper/#lead-singer-disease

And part two:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#copyright-termination

And now, onto part three!

Stefon cooked Jamal another dinner and Jamal wrote another letter, this one more forceful, and addressed to Gounder by name. Two weeks later, Jamal wrote another letter without needing dinner because “that motherfucker went to Harvard fucking law”—­Jamal had looked him up in the ALA directory—­“and he knows you can’t make legal problems go away just by ignoring them. Time for that piece of shit to put on his big-­boy pants and be a goddamned lawyer.”

The one thing Jamal wouldn’t do was file a lawsuit. “You need a lawyer for that,” he said. “I mean, I can help you with the paperwork, but a paralegal can’t file the suit. And you shouldn’t file your own suit, either. Those guys’ll just hire some blow-dried asshole from a big law firm and they’ll crush you like a cockroach.”

“Well, shit,” Stefon said. But it all made sense. Anyone doing business with Chuy Flores would do business like Chuy Flores—­that is, crooked as hell.

“What you need is a contingency lawyer,” Jamal said. “Someone who’ll take the job for a piece of the action.” Which is how Stefon ended up being represented by Benny Caetani II, son of Benedetto Caetani, who graduated at the top of his Yale class, won a string of spectacular class-­action suits, then got disbarred after someone leaked calls where he admitted moving money from one client trust account into another to cover a shortfall. No one seriously thought that Benedetto was stealing anyone’s money—­he’d had receivables due within a week that let him make the trust account whole—­but he was also clearly guilty.

Equally, no one seriously believed that the high-­powered surveillance that led to Benedetto’s downfall was random. Benedetto had transferred more than a hundred million dollars from the balance sheets of America’s largest, dirtiest corporations—­ poison-­peddling pharma giants, toxic-­waste-­dumping chemical companies, a global chain of botox parlors with some very loose syringes indeed—­and they were gunning for him.

Officially, Benedetto was out of the lawyer game. Unofficially, he was the brains behind Benny, and the two of them ran a squeaky-­clean shop, making sure that everything that an actual lawyer had to do, Benny did—­while Benedetto did ­everything else. Father and son got along well and they were a hell of a team. When Benedetto called me in to audit Inglewood Jams’ books, I jumped at the opportunity. They were a delight to work for.

“They played tough,” Benedetto said, as his minions arranged the bankers’ boxes on the steel kitchen shelves he’d had installed on the long walls of the storefront he’d rented for me to work out of for the month. “At first. Told me they didn’t owe Stefon a dime, and that they’d rather bankrupt themselves in court than pay some broken-­down, washed-­up disco king anything. Told me his problem was with Chuy, not Inglewood Jams.”

“Well, to be fair, that Chuy guy sounds like a class-­A piece of shit.”

“A broke piece of shit. Guy’s got a million-­dollar nose and an empty bank account.”

“So you had to go after Inglewood Jams.”

Benedetto twirled around in his Aeron chair. He’d sent over a pair of them, asking if I needed more, because he had a storage locker full of them that he’d gotten as part of a settlement with a broke Santa Monica crowdsourcing company that stiffed its workers when it folded.

“I did. I went after them. That Gounder lawyer tried to bluff, then when that didn’t work, he tried to dodge service. Which was such a kindergarten move. Plus he was no good at it. Caught him outside the rub-­and-­tug parlor he went to every Friday after work. Handed him the papers. Wore a bodycam. Didn’t mention his wife. Didn’t have to.”

“You think he settled because he didn’t want his wife to find out he was getting hand jobs at a massage parlor?”

“No, he held out awhile after that. But I could see it preying on him, every time I was face-­to-­face with him. Eventually, he musta told his bosses that they were gonna lose, and so they offered a settlement. It was trash. I laughed in his face. He tossed out some better offers, but none of them even in the ballpark of what we would get in court. Finally, I told him to get serious or send his court suit out to the dry cleaner’s. That’s when he offered to make Stefon whole and pay me a little for my trouble on top of things.”

I suppressed a snort. I was sure that a little on top amounted to some real folding money.

“Even then he tried to pull a fast one, told me he’d calculate Stefon’s royalties and send a check the next week. I was like, ‘Hold up, there is no way you’re going to be able to make an honest accounting for Stefon’s royalties in a week. The dude’s samples are in hundreds of songs. The mere fact that you claimed that you could come up with a fair amount in a week tells me you were planning to pull a lowball number out of your ass and pass it off as the audited total, so tell you what, I’m gonna get the best forensic accountant in the state of California to come down here to LA and crawl all over your papers, and you are going to send him everything he needs to do it, or we’re going to court, motherfucker.”

“And he agreed?”

“Hell no. He refused. We went to a preliminary hearing. Judge turned out to be a classic soul fan. It didn’t go well for Gounder or Inglewood. The next day, he was back in my office, and now, well, here we are.”

ETA: Here's part four!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#lawyer-up

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: Odd Squad UK -- "Should Odd Acquaintance Be Forgot" Episode Followup, Part 1

Cue the kazoo trumpet! Our second part of our three-part finale is here!

Might as well jump right into it, so let's get going below the break.

(And just as a fair warning: like "Odd Ones In", this will be a multi-parter. Could be five parts, could be eight. Just bear with me.)

(A post-editing note: I was informed that Leonie is, in fact, a girl, and not a boy like I thought. I'm keeping the LGBTQ+ theory because we've already gotten gay triangle villain and they could extend that to child villains too, but keep in mind that Leonie is a girl and not a boy. That's my bad.)

Ohhhhhhh it's a Tasha episoooooooooooooooh nooooooooooooooooo.

Whatever happened to Mark writing it? Tim? Adam? Can we get one of them on here to send this season/series off with a bang?

"Another quiet day in the office."

She says, like she didn't just have to deal with three child villains.

A few- A FUCKING FEW WEEKS AGO??????

Oh, rest in pieces, you beautiful timeline. God is deader than deader than dead. It doesn't even make sense for the Terrible Three because they already have a plan and already have the shapes and it makes little sense for them to wait this long to enact it!

Now, see, if any character in this entire scene were Odd-Squad-savvy, they'd feel this like a red flag shoved in every bodily orifice. You'd have to have the IQ of a goddamn rock to think that the Terrible Three would willingly turn themselves in even if they didn't gather up all the shapes. (Which they did, but these agents don't know that.)

Hell, Orli is somewhat Odd-Squad-savvy! She should call Ozzie and Captain O both out!

"We locked them in the interrogation room."

One of the things that sucks ass about not having any sort of one-way listening device in there. You had that, you could easily listen to what they were saying and figure out their evil plan.

*slams table exactly three times*

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

...Oh. Okay. Well, good. Glad someone here still has a working brain.

Now can you bop Orli's forehead and tell her that she could've had a [insert the UK's equivalent to V8 here]?

*long sigh*

Now why the fuck are we ping-ponging from smart to stupid?

Furthermore, can I yo Opie out of here because she is not helping the situation.

I WILL ASK AGAIN.

MAY I YOTE A CHILD.

MAY I YOTE A CHILD TODAY.

CAN I THROW ONE PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE.

I'LL PAY THE MEDICAL BILLS JUST LEMME THROW HER-

"I didn't give them anything dangerous, just the Goodnight-Sleep-inator."

Which, in those kids' hands, can be a viable weapon. Let's not forget what happened when Opal used the Nap-inator, and later the Slightly-Longer-Nap-inator, on Star Wipe, William Ocean, and Cardboard Carl in "Follow the Leader". Same effects, differently-named gadgets.

"Now, what's wrong with you? Lobotomy?!"

"...Appendicitis."

"Yeah?! Hahaha, no, Opie. Sweet Opie. No, you need a lobotomy."

"But...my append-"

"NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR INFLAMED APPENDIX. Orli...give me the IV needle, please..."

Honestly, this "I have a visual" joke is almost as unfunny as that bit in the beginning of "Odd Together Now" when the shields were at 001%.

Okay, so...the security computers here contain oddness, and these three shapes, when put into the correct slots, release it.

Do I have that stupid right?

Onom once again displaying his absolutely amazing insta-teleport skills, even in a time of crisis.

Man's got a gasping fixation so bad you'd think he's got asthma or something! Haha...haha...

...Aaaaaah...

...Oh God, wait a second-

"We have containment units here and all over town!"

Okay, here in HQ I can understand. But...out in fucking town?

I'll once again reiterate that I did this much better with The Adventures of Peaches and Mandy and sending odd stuff to The Odd Side, which is an alternate world that can be accessed by a gadget-made portal and not...y'know...something any random Joe can open in town.

Please make it make fucking sense.

...No. No, actually, I can buy this. Given how many sub-basements there are? I'd believe 100. In fact, the number almost seems too small!

(Also, this is 100% an iPad. Home button's a dead giveaway. Welcome back, Apple products in Odd Squad!)

I don't know why bro's surprised here. In the beginning, he got help from one agent and one agent only. Not a whole mass of them. Not anyone like, say, the Mobile Unit, which has four agents but still. No, no, he got only one. How did he think that would impact this precinct having less than 100 agents in any capacity? Going by that one OddTube Season 2 video (and don't ask me which, my mind is blanking), I'd think 100 agents is a base standard, a minimum number!

Though I can appreciate the parallels with Orli being the only employee in Niagara Falls bar her Director.

...Partly rescinding previous statement, because the point still applies but I paused before she finished with "...with us today".

If 100+ agents can't solve all that oddness in "Odd Ones In", that's either a failing on the Academy's part or a massively-shared skill issue.

She fights the high seas, but the high seas always win.

(Alternatively: "I fought the high seas, and the high seas won.")

I was about to make a comment on a third party before I sat on it for a minute and went "okay...if it's Captain O, maybe it's okay".

...Oooooooohhhhhhhhh.

That...doesn't really surprise me. Again, even without looking at spoilers, I probably could've pieced two and two together. Kids? Probably not. Me? Hell yeah.

As...opposed to telling the story right here? Is she worried someone's gonna skedaddle in when she has less than 100 agents?

That's silly, right? Right.

it's the end of the world as we know i-

*a pained scream through gritted teeth*

Okay, I can appreciate the 4chan Anon figures in the ba-

...Oh shit. That's one reference I'll regret making.

Coming from Orli, "we're in a hurry" sounds less like "we have to find what floor they're going to" and "we only got 7 minutes of episode left".

Clearly Ozzie didn't get the same training from the previous Director that Olive did, and really, if he had, it would have taken away so much hassle.

Running through five bosses in the span of a very short time, though, because of these three, is fucking insane. Again, we've seen that Directors can be meticulous about choosing their successors, which these four...weren't. Ozzie, at least, is somewhat justified because he likes helping people and he's got drive, so whoever his previous boss was made a fairly good choice in selecting him as a successor. But being a Director means that you really shouldn't quit because of a few bad apples in your employee base. Not many bosses in real life quit because of a few employees; most deal with the problem (in this case, perhaps by firing them) and remain in their position of power.

And speaking of, I hope this story ends with Ozzie firing their asses and yo'ing them out onto the streets. Make it be realistic, please.

I...okay...now, see, the booth and the fish and chips shop could have easily not been a thing if the HQ were entirely underground like we've seen in the past.

That being said...if they were a handful, how the fuck did they graduate from the Academy? What boss looked at them, pointed, and said "I got three empty slots, I want these ones"?

(That's a rhetorical question. The answer is "a very stupid one.")

THEY GAVE THE "RESKINNED" OHLM THE OHLM NAME SCHTICK????????

TASHA WHAT IN FIVE MILLION LEVELS OF F U C K ARE YOU SMOKIN' HONEY. STOP IT. STOP IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-

Ohhhhh...it's ironic because he's a villaaaaaaaaaaaa- look guys, it was either this or comment on how a bit of LGBTQ+ got in my reskinned Ohlm.

(On to Part 2!)

[basedkikuenjoyer]

I'm counting this as a cousin to late-night Togashiposting because I'm about to be as useless as he is after a new Dragon Quest release. Though I guess it is late-night Toriyamaposting. It's taken me a while but I am finally getting around to DQ11. Y'all don't understand...I'm a freakin nut for these games and I have been since I was a kid. It's rare to find a Western fan compared to the absolute juggernaut the series is in Japan, but I was in the right time and place to organically have the big twist of the first three as a foundational childhood gaming memory. They put the first two on one GBC cart which sounded like a steal to kid Rhea seeing it in Nintendo Power and tracking down III as a followup defined one Summer.

I seriously think those three games influence how I write D&D campaigns as much as One Piece and it is truly impressive to me how well I remember even the ones I've only played once years ago. IV, V, & VI came a little later when I got into retro games during college. VIII was of course a big attempt to push the series in the States so I played that one as a teen. VII because it had a reputation for being so long was waiting for me when I came home from a major, important surgery that'd take time to recover from and IX got me through the pandemic. Now I sit here with XI and...

The first time I hit the mechanic where you get to go back and "fix" old worlds so their hero can come along and play it through properly? I cried. Seriously. I teared up a little realizing how much fun that was going to be.

[nutlessspeedrun]

yesterday night, something really... interesting happened.

ive been listening to some hypno. i dont have a kink for hypnosis, but if it can work, i want the effects! nonsurprisingly, i went for a track that promised an Inability to Orgasm.

it was a nice track, honestly! the sweet voice on it tells you that you are going to be unable to reach orgasm, period. and that wont change she allows you to, and she has some followup audio too! i tried to take its instructions to heart, but i wasnt very hopeful.

later that evening, i found myself masturbating in the shower :p of course... i had a vibe teasing my dick, just trying to keep myself hard while i fucked myself fast and hard. my focus, of course, was just pleasure. not relief - if anything, i wanted to make it worse. i ALWAYS want to make it worse.

i kept my instructions in mind. not "dont cum, you arent allowed", but "you aren't able to cum, it just doesn't work!" and i rationalized that, well... how DOES an orgasm work? i dont really know... things feel good, and then you get extra sensitive and your muscles spasm a bunch? that... doesnt really make a lot of sense, really. i dont ejaculate either, so i dont even understand WHY i would be able to cum? im sure i have before, but... maybe something is different now that i realized that.

regardless, i could feel pressure building up in me. i wanted to get close just from pounding myself, but the feeling only built when i had my vibration against my hard little cock. and, if i cant have myself a slutgasm just from fucking (which WOULD make some sense!), i just cant cum.

but tension still built. i could feel myself tensing. i was begging something, anything, not to make me cum, pleasepleaseplease i dont want to cum, dont make me, dont let me

but. you cant cum. why are you struggling? You Won't Cum.

and as soon as that unabated thought hit me, all that tension just dropped away. i went from being close to a proper edge, to... just a wet piece of fuckmeat.

... i didnt think the hypnosis would... work that well...

the whole rest of the night, and all this morning, ive been able to feel my cock get hard again and again. i havent touched it, besides... when i woke up rubbing it in the wee hours of the morning... but i caught that quickly!

whew! what a ride so far...

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Art Week Hangover! Here's Maggie!

Finishing my art week a little late, 'cos I ran into a brick wall emotionally LAST week. These are illustrations for my longrunning story, if anyone cares - it's free, and everything's Creative Commons BY-NC-SA - and I'll give you some more art and description under the cut.

It's only a 7 pointed star because I needed something glowy-shaped I could fit a soda bottle inside. Maggie has drawn a lion because that's in the Rider-Waite version of Strength. And all the chalk art is on the ground now because it read better that way in this style.

Here's the old version with the shading:

Sometimes I regret not just cutting her title down to "The Apprentice" but that's a shitty reality series I don't care to be associated with, even accidentally. It's a lot of letters to fit into an image, though.

This are liable to get out of hand with Maggie along, just like that mouse with the brooms, but not because she doesn't know what she's doing. She knows exactly what she's doing, she just doesn't know when to STOP.

The fleur de lis is in all of Maggie's family's cards, signifying loyalty. They are definitely loyal to each other, and more-or-less to their homeland - albeit in different ways. Maggie's mom has a crown appearing near her head, while Maggie has drawn one at her feet, and she could easily scuff it out if she wants. She and her mom both know how to turn into birds - not necessarily like the city birds in the air behind her, but Maggie is definitely an urban phenomenon. Changing your whole body like that eats up pieces of it, so, at her age, Maggie can only store enough body mass to do maybe one or two changes a week. If she's going to cause mischief, there are less expensive ways.

It's way harder to get a smug smile across in only two contrasting colours! I think I managed, but, again, this might change before I put it up on my site. I've almost got Milo's card finished too, so I'll either be back with that later tonight or tomorrow. Once I have the first few illustrations front-loaded, I'll check out Tapas as a host for Tin Soldier. If I can reformat it well enough there, I'll post the whole thing in order... Possibly with the swearing bowdlerized, we'll see how that works.

My next eye doctor followup is on June 17th. I'm not doing badly with most of the exercises, but my eyes are still messing with me at the moment. Maybe I pushed too hard last week, but I think middle age is making close work harder with no correction. (I fear how bad my most recent art will look once I get some!) I'm going to have to see what's the best option to treat presbyopia which a binocular vision dysfunction. I got more dumb doctor stuff this week too, but not until Wednesday - so I'm still gonna be all distracted.

I have almost got my Canadian finances straightened out! I have access to money, now I just need access to credit. Hopefully, they'll approve me for a card of some kind next week, then I can get into debt and prove I can pay it off.

Okay, thanks for your patience with the combination art/update thing, and here's Maggie's original crappy artwork.

(I kinda like that one.)

[yansurnummu]

The Desert is a Memory of the Ocean (AO3)

Collab with @tilliphont!

A followup to A Variation of the Truth

In the aftermath of the battles in Coldharbour, Galen and Coralantar find themselves back on Nirn. Stuck together, they must find their way home and pick up the pieces.

Rating: M

Words: 1,597

Chapters: 1/?

Relationships: OC/ OC

____________________

The light was bright enough to blind, to burn. Galen raised an arm over his eyes, dread in the pit of his stomach, as Auredil became a beacon of divine power before them.

The realm began to shatter. Galen turned as he heard Coralantar scream, a flash of lightning out of the corner of his eye. He shouted, leaving the barrier and rushing into the darkness beyond, grasping at the Maormer’s form as he stumbled and fell – and that was all he could remember.

_________________

Galen wakes with a start, shooting up from where he lies. Hazily, he sees shades of orange around him, feeling dust and sand under his hands as he sits up. 

He’s certainly not in Coldharbour anymore. He glances around, puzzling over the desert landscape and tall cliffs surrounding him —

“Coralantar!” he gasps as his eyes focus on the pile of black and silver lying in the sand some feet away. Weakly, he scrambles over to him, pulling at the armour on his shoulders to turn him onto his back. His hands shake as he presses his fingers against their pulse under their jaw, sighing in relief as he feels that there’s still something there.

As his panic subsides, he realizes then how hot it is, peeling away the heavy coat he had worn into the frigid plane of Coldharbour. He whispers a quick apology as he pulls open the clasps of Coralantar’s armoured jacket as well, hoping the Maormer will understand his intentions later.

He then presses his palm to Coralantar’s chest, extending his mind. They’re alive, but there’s pain, he can feel. His brow furrows as he realizes that there is damage his magic cannot heal, but he can keep him alive. His eyes close, and blue light flashes, the chest under his palm rising as Coralantar gasps.

Tired, but successful, he smiles, sitting back on his heels when Coralantar’s eyes open. They wince and groan, squinting at the bright sun above, before their gaze falls to Galen. 

“I’d say good morning, but—” Galen gestures at the dry canyon around them, wiping sand and sweat from his brow. The Maormer grunts wearily in reply. He looks them over for any other injuries, frowning at the sight of the singe marks on his gloves. Coralantar doesn’t fight him as he unbuckles the bracers he’s wearing, but he does hiss in pain as Galen carefully peels the fabric away from their skin. 

Galen pauses as he inspects the Maormer’s hands and wrists. The electrical burns on his skin are bad enough, but he can see that they go much deeper than the surface. He presses his fingers into each of the joints in his hands, finding varying levels of nerve response.

“How bad is it, doc?” Coralantar asks weakly, his voice rough and dry.

“It’s…” Galen swallows, doing his best to put on his business persona, like Coralantar is just another patient. “This is a little beyond my expertise, however, I can… give you something for the pain.”

“Don’t give me that,” silvery eyes bare into him, seeing through the mask. 

Galen sighs.

“It’s not good,” he admits. “There’s nerve damage that I don’t think I can fix, at least not here, right now. Healing the surface might make it worse; it’ll be harder to repair the internal damage later. However, that might be our only option right now, as I have no idea where we are.”

“Just do it, then.” Coralantar says, sitting up with some effort. His face is hard as he holds out his hands for Galen to take. “I refuse to be a liability.”

Galen hesitates, but nods, taking Coralantar’s hands in his. Carefully, he focuses, stitching the wounds back together. 

The two of them hike along cliffs and mesas to get to higher ground. As they walk, Galen quickly begins to recognize the prairie brush and succulent cacti as flora native to Anequina. It's sort of what he suspected, but he's relieved to be certain of it. Anequina, he’s familiar enough with; it's just a matter of finding some sort of landmark.

They're both exhausted, but Coralantar trails a few paces behind him. Galen looks back, and catches the miserable look on their face before the Maormer realizes they’re being watched and the mask slips back into place. They’ve tied their jacket around their waist, the collar of their linen undershirt unlaced and sleeves rolled up to their elbows; it’s a look Galen might find endearing if the situation weren’t so dire. Instead, seeing him like this has Galen on edge; he quite literally looks like a fish out of water, the scales on his face cracked and dry under the relentless afternoon sun. 

He pulls out the small canteen from the pack he managed to hang onto in the chaos, attempting once more to hand it to him.

"Please – if you pass out, I'm not carrying you," he says sternly, but underneath, it's a plea. Coralantar stares at him for a moment, before gingerly reaching out and taking the canteen.

It's not enough for them to survive on for long, and they both know it. He leaves it with Coralantar, continuing onward.

They crest over the top of the hill as the sun begins to sink from the sky, and then, with dread sinking into the pit of his stomach, Galen knows exactly where they are. Coralantar looks at him, a tinge of hope in their eyes as they set their gaze on the walls of a city below, and Galen almost feels bad about crushing them.

"I wouldn't get too excited. That's Orcrest," he steps forward, starting down the opposite side of the hill. "It's been a dead zone since the Knahaten Flu. Whole city got quarantined, and now it’s a nest of harpies and Namira cultists. But, at least now we know where we are." He hears Coralantar sigh, and then footsteps following him.

"What now?" 

"Well, we should probably find shelter. The Stitches isn't too far, but we won't make it before nightfall."

They camp under an outcropping, off the road to Orcrest, where a campfire is less likely to be seen by whatever lurks within the city. 

Galen manages to pick some edible greens and cacti fruit, frowning as he returns to camp to see Coralantar focusing on his hands again. Magic sparks at his fingers, but quickly fizzles out, and he sees his jaw clench in frustration. He looks up as Galen approaches, sighing. Galen drops to sit next to him, taking out a pocket knife to cut the fruit in half.

“Here,” he hands one half to Coralantar. “It’s not great on its own, but it’s better than starving.” The Maormer sniffs it skeptically, before taking a bite.

“Hm,” he makes a sour face, and Galen chuckles.

“The Khajiit typically grill it with cinnamon and sugar, and I promise you it’s quite good.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he begrudgingly continues to eat the fruit.

They sit in silence for a while as they eat, listening to the crackle of the fire. Galen realizes then how exhausted he really is; he had been running on pure adrenaline and survival instinct all day, and now, he supposes, comes the crash. Coralantar, too, looks miserable. 

“What happened back there?” Galen asks gently, his mind retracing backwards now that they’re afforded a moment’s rest. Coralantar shakes their head.

“Which part?”

Galen laughs, the sound bitter and tired. By the Eight, it’s been a fucking long day.

“I don’t know,” Coralantar continues, not waiting for him to answer. They look down at their hands, and there’s a subtle tremor in them. “I suppose I just… pushed too hard. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“What do you mean?” Galen’s brow furrows. Of course, any kind of spellcasting has some risk attached, and Galen is very aware of the risks, both physical and otherwise, of his own craft. But Coralantar’s magic seemed innocuous enough, if frighteningly powerful, from what he had seen.

“Well,” they sigh, their eyes fixed on the ground. “I don’t expect you to understand, but among my people, I’m what you would call a Sea Witch. We’re trained from a young age to be weapons for the Sorcerer-King Orgnum.” His cadence is bitter as he speaks. “Controlling sea and storm? Creating something great and terrible from nothing at all? Well. It’s rare that our bodies last long.”

��What a cold and lonely ruler he must be.” 

“I never met him,” they shrug. “Sea Witches, we’re powerful, but we aren’t people. We’re something to be used and feared. I never had any real station in society, believe it or not.”

“You seem like a person to me. You bloody well bleed like one, anyway.”

Coralantar snorts, and it’s the first time today that Galen’s seen a genuine smile on their face.

“Thanks, Galen,” he meets his gaze. “For… everything. I know I’d still be lying in a canyon, baking in the sun without you.”

“Well, I wasn’t about to just leave you there, was I? I’m not that cruel,” he rolls his eyes, looking away, but he can feel the scrutiny of the Maormer’s gaze still fixed on him.

“No… I suppose you’re not.” Is all Coralantar says before silence stretches between them.

Galen all but flops against him when it's time for them to sleep, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion. Coralantar only sighs wearily, leaning back against him as Galen wraps wiry arms around him, pressing his nose into the Maormer’s shoulder and breathing in the memory of sea air.

[feathery-dreamer]

figured i’d also paste the followup... but before you read that

here’s the previous thread on the same subject! thank you user doodlemaz for fetching it for those who haven’t seen or wish to re-read it.

I especially love this quote from Margaret Atwood: “What is the nature of ‘art’? Is a work of art a commodity with a money value, to be bought and sold like a potato, or is it a gift on which no real price can be placed, to be freely exchanged? [...] …if works of art are gifts and nothing but, how are their creators to live in the physical world, in which food will sooner or later be needed by them?"

onwards to Gough’s more recent posts on the other one:

Well, I woke up to see that this thread had taken off. Which is great! Because I spent all day yesterday trying to get that thread right. To make it a good, truthful, fun read. And now it’s keeping people Engaged And On The Platform. So…

I’m a professional writer who worked all day yesterday, for free, to make more money for Elon Musk.

And that is a BEAUTIFUL example of exactly what I talked about in the suppressed piece I wrote about Microsoft and Minecraft. Things are now structured so that corporations (and billionaires) keep all the money generated by the work of writers and artists.

So, if you liked this thread, or my Substack piece, or the End Poem (or any other writing I’ve given away for free), and you would like to thank me, rather than Elon Musk or Microsoft; well, great, here’s a donation button! https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=TDMD5H8BA6KJC

And maybe consider subscribing, for free, to my writing on Substack sometime. It’s a platform that treats writers with respect. Here’s the 10,000 word version of this thread there, with all the fun details… [same link as above]

Read this Twitter thread... (partly because Microsoft doesn't want you to.)

[rezdragon]

Last year when I released the original Tasukete, I recall saying that I was really proud of it because it felt like a grand statement of my mental health at the time.

Which is still kind of accurate because my mental health at the time was absolutely splintered into pieces much like the original Tasukete.

The original Tasukete wasn't sure which direction it wanted to go. I had my theme for the album, being forgotten, but some of the tracks didn't even touch that theme, like Work and Hot Sludge (mistakes). Or you had tracks I liked (Digital Dark Age and Wimpy, Wimpy, Wimpy) but had no business being on an album with A Void of My Own Creation (good title, shit track).

Tasukete was an album project I started in the middle of working on Normal, and it got pushed aside for Normal, so I didn't get to really explore the emotions behind it. By the time I got back to the project, the emotions were gone.

Well, now a year later, I'm reworking Tasukete into a true followup to Kintsugi, and by that I mean, Tasukete is now also a raw expression of emotions. I've been feeling very frustrated and bitter about myself as of late. I've been depressed of course, but I've also been angry, resentful, and exhausted.

On the original Tasukete, the centerpiece of the album was Digital Dark Age, which really tells you just how unfocused that project was. On the Definitive Edition, it's The Revenge of Track 3 (and a secret track that I'm not spoiling yet).

I mean this with no exaggeration, Tasukete DE is a fucking hard listen. AloneSea is a hard listen because of its CRUSHING length, but Tasukete DE will be a hard listen for some because of its brutal rawness, harsh noise, and deeply unsettling synths and it's designed that way on purpose. This is a harsh noise album, and like Kintsugi, I didn't pull any punches with expressing the deep emotions I've been experiencing as of late.

[cyarskj1899]

Goapele’s ‘Closer’ Is an enduring anthem for the dreams and goals of Black women. Here’s why.

OPINION: In my circle of life-embattled Black women, "Closer" has been a psalm, a hype song, an anthem of affirmation and the lyrical encouragement to keep believing in ourselves.

Janelle Harris Dixon  |  

Dec 3, 2022

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Editor’s note: The following article is an op-ed, and the views expressed are the author’s own. Read more opinions on theGrio.

It starts with a gossamer wash of instrumentation, a light plinking of chords mounting into a melody, and in seconds when the beat drops and Goapele’s ethereal voice floats atop the music, “Closer” draws its listener into its introductory magic. It would be lovely even if it just stayed right there in that rhythmic pocket. But then Goapele threads in relatable lyrics about being stuck and pushing past fears and willing her dreams to be real and the song becomes church.

Initially the title track of her 2001 self-released debut, which sold about 5,000 copies independently, “Closer” was re-released on Goapele’s 2002 followup, “Even Closer,” her first nationally distributed album. The inclusion on that record made the song a star. Two years later, Columbia Records picked up “Even Closer” to gift to a worldwide audience. I don’t remember when I first heard it. I wish I did have some poignant, the-first-time-I-heard-it memory, especially since, by glaring comparison, I can recall exactly where I was and how I responded the first time I heard “Scarred” or “Oochie Wally.”

Also Read: Xscape to receive ‘Lady of Soul’ honor at 2022 ‘Soul Train Awards’

Still, for me and several friends in my circle of life-embattled Black women, “Closer” has been a psalm, a hype song, an anthem of affirmation and the lyrical encouragement to keep believing that however marooned we are in challenges and stagnation, we’re not that far away from actualizing the extraordinary milestones and achievements we’ve been wanting and waiting to happen. That last part is especially important to sisters who’ve been denied, put on pause and otherwise dream-deferred — sometimes because of personal decisions that don’t serve us well, sometimes because of external circumstances that complicate our goal-reaching and dream-chasing but always compounded by systemic -isms and impediments.

This is the time of year, now that much of it has passed, when we start evaluating the wins and losses from the stretch of previous months behind us. Normally, we reflect on accomplishments from this year to shape the ones we expect to check off in the next. But these have not been normal times, and for those of us who were already getting impatient about the slow pacing of our personal achievements, the pandemic has made realizing dreams that much more Sisyphean and labor-intensive.

Also Read: OWN unscripted series ‘All the Single Ladies’ investigates modern dating from the Black female perspective

Once upon a time, I was a voracious vision boarder and compulsive goal-setter. Every New Year’s Eve, I’d buy a crisp piece of white poster board and sit in lotus pose on my bedroom floor to handwrite a massive to-do list — complete with color-coded categories in marker — for the upcoming year. And every year, when I didn’t complete enough of the items to allow myself to feel proud of what I did do, I’d harangue myself with merciless self-comparison and perfectionism, and subject myself to an audit of the regrettable choices that could have maybe possibly contributed to my delay. It’s hard to be a dreamer in arrested development, waiting for the fruition of things long worked, desired and hoped for to unfold in a magical timeframe. I never felt like I’d done enough to get to where I wanted to be so I, as a whole, never felt like enough.

Last year, in a study of more than 1,400 representative Black women and gender-expansive professionals, researchers Ericka Hines and Mako Fitts Ward discovered that 88% are sometimes, often or always burned out because of work. Sixty-five percent reported a lack of personal time and 75% said they sometimes, rarely or never have the energy to spare when they get home. Another report, “Women in the Workplace,” found that not only is burnout escalating much faster among women than men, one in three women have considered downshifting their career or leaving the workforce altogether.

The last two years have taught us many lessons, and the one I remind myself of regularly, especially as the world races to catch up on lost time and money, is to recognize the pressure to perform for the mirage that it is. I still set goals, but I’m not as obsessive about them. If they’re truly meant for me to accomplish, they’ll still be accomplishable if I snatch two hours from my day to watch a movie with the husband I at one time had stopped believing I would meet or block off an afternoon to visit a museum instead of laboring in front of my laptop screen.

There was a too long period of my life when I sacrificed 12, sometimes 14 hours a day to the matrix of the hustle, trying to achieve, achieve, achieve. But busyness — the kind that tries to make me feel like I’m doing something essential to fulfilling my dream when I actually hit my productivity high note hours ago — can be an illusion of time that compromises my ability to be present when it really matters and save some of my best self to invest into the people and activities that create joy.

I don’t know where Goapele was in her own litany of goals or all the dreams she was trying to breathe life into when she wrote “Closer.” But she gifted her fellow Black girls a source of empowering inspiration when she did. When life has been too weighty and difficult, my best friend and I have played that song during tearful phone calls and held the receiver up to the speaker to make sure whoever needed the message that day really heard it. My friends have texted each other YouTube links to the “Closer” video before major business meetings and job interviews, just to lessen the urgency of the moment and remind each other that, no matter what happens right now, an indubitable blessing is in fact on the way. For a while, it was even my ringtone — back when downloading ringtones was a thing — to keep my own spirits lifted when a bill collector or other bearer of bad news might have been on the other end of a call.

Janelle Harris Dixon is a freelance writer, journalist and editor in Washington, D.C. covering the intersections of race, gender, culture and class.

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