#which is what finally got me to fix the travesty of these two drawings were not together yet

[myokk]

😇

[master-sass-blast]

THIS IS HALLOWEEN!

Alright... twenty four likes... plus twenty-one kudos... plus two votes in the comments...

Forty-seven votes for the trick or treat fic. Guess you guys liked the idea, huh?

*grins* I liked it, too. So much that I wrote it.

Rated T. Minor sensual content. Basically no other warnings.

It’s fluff. That’s it.

Set after “Dig the Needle In.”

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Ellie Phimister x Yukio, and minor Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned during your stay at the X-Mansion, it’s that if a day seemed to be proceeding normally, Wade Wilson would undoubtedly pop in and make it delightfully weird. It’s like he has a sixth sense for it. Ah, everything’s calm and not chaotic. Guess I gotta fix that.

Take right now, for instance. There’s a temporary air of calm in the X-Mansion. Students are done with their classes for the day, there aren’t any emergencies or missions to tend to, and all the chores are done for the day.

You’re currently on the couch in the rec room, snuggled up in the arms of your beefy boyfriend, Piotr Rasputin. He’s finally off for the day, and you managed to coax him into taking a bit of free time to do nothing with you.

It’s delightful. Heavenly, even. Absolutely nothing compares to being snuggled against your boyfriend’s massive, muscular chest. He’s not in defense mode right now, either, which means he’s warm and infinitely more comfortable.

Piotr sighs and tips his head back against the arm of the couch. “This is wonderful, myshka.”

You hum your agreement as you nestle yourself against him. The peaceful silence of the mansion, the warmth seeping off your boyfriend, the way you feel safe and loved in his arms... it’s perfect.

Cue Wade Wilson.

“Emo Christmas came early!” Wade shatters the silence with a gleeful scream as the back door smacks open with a bang. “Who wants presents?”

Piotr lets out an annoyed growl. “Wade--”

He doesn’t have time to get anything else out, because Wade picks that moment to chuck a bag of Halloween candy straight at your boyfriend’s head. “Sugar Santa came early --and came early, if you know what I mean.”

“I’ve been babysitting for the past two hours,” Nathan growls as he shoves Wade out of the way so he can step in the house. “He’s all yours now.”

“Okay, hey, no! You said you were going to help!” Wade whines as he pelts you and Piotr with bag after bag of Halloween themed candy.

“I did. I didn’t throw you out on the highway while you were screaming along to ‘Hamster Dance.’”

“Okay, I have several questions, the first of which is: ‘Emo Christmas?’” You ask.

“Halloween! Okay, I swear to the International House of Beese-Churgers that if you don’t know what Halloween is--”

“I know what Halloween is, idiot,” You interject before Wade can gain any real momentum. “I just didn’t catch why you were calling it ‘Emo Christmas.’ And why do you need this much candy? You can’t eat it all by yourself.”

“It’s for the kids! For trick or treating! Duh.” At your blank look, Wade stills. “Oh my Francis. Do you know what trick or treating is?”

You look at Wade, then Piotr. “What’s trick or treating?”

“Holy shit. You don’t know what fucking trick or treating is!”

“What part of ‘locked in my room for the better part of a duration’ seems conducive to ‘allowed to normal childhood things?’” You snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Whoa! Pump the hate brakes, Zaheer! I wasn’t mocking, just commiserating,” Wade explains as he taps at his phone. “This is a serious tragedy, and I’m going to treat it as such. Now, trick or treating was a tradition started by the pagan elder gods in the year of--”

“Children dress up in costumes and go from door to door in neighborhood to ask for candy,” Piotr interjects before Wade can build up too much speed.

“Hey! You ruined my dramatic story-telling!”

“It would’ve been bullshit anyway,” Nathan grumbles, still looming in the kitchen despite his threats to dump Wade into your hands and disappear.

“So, wait, hang on a second. Kids dress up in costumes? What kind of costumes?”

“Anything. Depends on preference,” Piotr says.

You nod, then slump slightly. “But you said it’s for kids. That means I can’t do it, doesn’t it.”

To your surprise, Piotr shakes his head. “The X-Men take students to Halloween theme park each year to get them out of house, let them experience normal childhood activities. Most of teachers dress up. I went as Dracula last year.”

You gape, delighted. “You went trick or treating?”

“Well, not specifically. I went to act as chaperone. But many of older students trick or treat, so I say you could too, if you want.”

“Wait.” Ellie walks into the room, holding Yukio’s hand. “That’s your ‘life or death emergency’ you texted us about? Fucking Halloween and trick or treating?”

“Excuse me for trying to be a good friend, Wednesday Addams! Hi, Yukio!”

“Hi, Wade!”

“Finally, some decent treatment! About time; this is my fucking franchise, after all! Okay, show of hands,” Wade says as Neena and Russell walk into the room. “How many of you have been trick or treating before?” When only Ellie and Piotr raise their hands, Wade gasps and presses his hands against his face. “Oh. My. Francis. How is this possible? This is a travesty! Even for ‘murder-pedophilia-orphanages’ and ‘A Series of Unfortunate Events’ levels of abusive guardianship! That tears it! We’re going trick or treating!”

“I’m diabetic, asshole,” Russell says. “I can’t eat the candy!”

“Oh, whatever the fuck! Give it to the younger mutants! Eat it anyway and spend the night in the infirmary! Stick it in Cyclops’s shoes and film his reaction when he realizes all his footwear is ruined! This about the group experience, the camaraderie! Work with me, Zuko!”

“Only do the first one,” Piotr adds while Wade catches his breath from his rant. “Do not do the other two. And we can get sugar-free candy for you, Russell.”

That smooths the pyrokinetic teen’s ruffled feathers. He nods with a grin. “Cool. I’m in.”

“Count me in, too,” Neena says. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“It sounds like fun.” Yukio flashes a sweet grin at her girlfriend. “Can we join too?”

“Sure. I was already going for the haunted house.”

“Excellent! Y/N and Metallica are already going, and Cable doesn’t get a say because I’m forcibly abducting him!”

Nathan pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters something that vaguely sounds like a death threat.

You grin. This is gonna be fun!

Fun --and overwhelming.

Piotr had excused himself shortly after Wade’s none too tasteful victory dance, citing ungraded essays as an excuse. Most of the X-Force followed, offering various explanations --or, in Ellie’s case, saying she needed to bleach her brain after watching Wilson’s ‘ungodly, idiotic flailing.’

Before you could think to follow your boyfriend to safety, Wade had grabbed your and Nathan’s arms and sat the two of you down at the kitchen table for an official crash course on all things Halloween.

Movies. Costumes. Decorations. Themed treats. Official candy rankings. Pranks. Wade was an enthusiastic fire hydrant of knowledge, and he was using his healing factor as much as possible to limit his need for oxygen so he could spew out information to keep Cable from interrupting him.

Two hours in, and you’re well past your limit. While Wade’s back is turned, you fire off a quick text to your boyfriend.

It’s been two hours. Wade’s still talking. Save me.

I’m in my art studio. Come see me?

“Hey!” Wade smacked his hand on the table, making you jump. “Pay attention! I don’t want to go through my discourse on jack-o-lanterns twice!”

Next to you, Nathan rolls his eyes. “Get on with it, dildo rack.”

You wait until Wade’s back is turned again --he’s rummaging through the fridge, which is just extra points in your favor--then nudge Nathan’s leg with your foot. “If you help me escape, I’ll owe you.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “What’s it worth to ya?”

You wait until Wade’s sufficiently distracted again, then make the best offer you can think of. “Next April Fool’s. I’ll help you prank the shit out of Wade. All my best ideas and deep, dark knowledge from being his best friend. At your disposal. Plus twenty bucks.”

He smirks, then nods. “Deal. I’m gonna hold you to it.”

“Then you better make my escape good, dude.”

Nathan leans back in his seat for a moment, eyeing Wade as the merc flails around the kitchen, gesticulating as he starts ranting about how Mounds aren’t actual candy --again. Then, he shoves his seat back, grabs Wade by the collar of his shirt, and drags him off to the rec room.

You blink --then bolt out of the kitchen.

An exit is an exit, after all.

Piotr’s seated at his special angled table in his art studio, carefully lining a new drawing with a fine tipped pen. Even when he’s in his human form, he’s still so unbelievably delicate with everything he does. The light attached to his drawing table is on to help compensate for the quickly falling night, and his reading glasses are perched halfway down his nose --because, yes, he draws with glasses so his eyes are protected.

You enter carefully, making sure to announce your presence with noise so you don’t startle him and make him smudge his lines (he doesn’t get mad at you when it happens, but you can see the resigned frustration in does happen, and you always feel so awful for it). “I think I might’ve sold my soul to the devil on accident.”

“And how did you do that?”

“I agreed to help Cable prank Wade for April Fool’s if he helped me escape the kitchen.”

“I’m not sure which is worse: you made deal with Cable, or you made deal with Cable against Wade. For April Fool’s.”

“Hey, you never know. It could turn out amazing.” You wrap your arms around his waist as he takes his glasses off. “What’cha doin’?”

“Oh, I was --uh--working on some... designs.”

You peer around his burly shoulders to get a good look at the paper on his desk.

There’s two figures sketched out on the page --a male one and a female one. The male figure is tall, with broad shoulders and thick legs. The female figure is considerably shorter than her male counterpart, with an oddly familiar silhouette...

“Is that me? Wait, that’s you, too. Did you draw us?”

The tips of Piotr’s ears turn red. “Da. I... I thought we could dress up in couple’s costumes. I decided to work on some designs.”

You realize, for the first time since you entered his art studio, that there’s a small stack of papers on the arm of his arm chair. Beyond curious, you flash him a begging, purposefully adorable smile. “Can I look? Please?”

He consents with a nod, and goes back to working on the sketches in front of him.

You flip through the pages he’s already finished. Each design is meticulously crafted, detailed with delicate lines and sumptuous colors. There’s a wide array of choices, ranging from airy fantasy designs to terrifying horror choices.

It takes your breath away --first, because Piotr’s an incredible artist with a vast set of skills, and second because his efforts to making your first real Halloween so memorable and wonderful are making your heart melt.

The designs he’s already finished are all perfect and excellent choices in their own right, but you keep coming back to the page he’s working on. Something about it --maybe the color choices, maybe the way he’s interpreted the source material--keeps drawing you back in.

Eventually, you give in to your instincts and carefully tap the page he’s working on. “This one. I like this one.”

You’re in the library, curled up on one of the plush couches while you work on grading a set of essays for Logan’s history course. You’re partially tucked under a blanket --a perfect cozy counterpart to the steady drizzle of fall rain outside.

You let out a sigh of relief as you finish the last essay --Logan’s classes were either filled with half-assers or over-killers, no middle ground to speak of--and relax against the couch. You let your eyes close, just for a moment, as the aches of sitting in the same position for so long slowly work their way out of your body. You stretch your legs out and readjust your position so that you’re laying on the couch, instead of half-sitting, half reclining.

Just for a moment. Or so you tell yourself.

Unsurprisingly, a moment turns into several moments, which turns into you slowly dozing off on the couch. You’re almost out, just barely floating on the edge of consciousness, when your blanket tugging up around you brings you back to the surface.

You inhale sharply as you wake back up and let out a little squeaking noise.

“Sorry.” Piotr smiles apologetically as he brushes a few wayward strands of hair away from your face. “I wasn’t trying to wake you.”

“Oh. Hi, Pete.” You smile sleepily and stretch. “What’s up?”

“It can wait. I don’t want to disturb your rest.”

“No, it’s fine. ‘m awake.” You lurch into a sitting position and crane your head up so you can see his face --because even when he’s in his human form, he’s an utter giant. “How can I help you?”

“I need to take your measurements for costumes. I figured we’d go to my studio to avoid interruptions.”

You grin and lift your arms up. “By all means. Take me away, big guy.”

The measurements go smoother than you expected. Piotr’s surprisingly adept with the measuring tape, and he whisks through the sets of measurements like a pro.

You do manage to make him blush when he measures your chest, though, so it’s a victory, all in all.

When he starts talking fabric lengths and types, you realize that he wasn’t thinking about buying costume pieces from a party store. “Hang on --you can sew?”

“Not many clothes come in my size. For special occasions, it’s easier to make for myself than try to shop in store or online. It’s also handy for when I tear my clothes --more cost efficient to repair than replace.”

Well, that makes sense. Besides, it’s not like Piotr’s ever been the beacon of stereotypical, ‘kill-something-and-eat-it’ masculinity.

You suppose it’s the size. Trying to imagine someone as big as your boyfriend handling something as delicate as sewing is almost impossible.

He gives you a confused look when you start giggling. “What? What’s so funny?”

“It’s just --your hands! They’re so big!” You hold your hands up to his, as if to prove your point. “How do you not sew over your own fingers?”

He favors you with a soft, amused grin. “I am very careful.”

“I suppose that would do it.” You laugh again. “I mean, if that’s what would take, I’d have multiple holes through my fingers before I even turned the machine on.”

“Which is why I am sewing and you are not.”

You giggle again as you wrap your arms around his waist. “So. What’s next?”

“Next, we go to fabric store.”

The trip to the fabric store is surprisingly less disastrous than you thought it’d be --though that probably has more to do with your boyfriend’s focus and organization and less to do with your penchant for being an unhelpful, if adorable, nuisance. You amuse yourself with pointing to various bolts of fabric --none of which actually fit the look you’re going for--and taking weird selfies while Piotr finds what the two of you actually need. Eventually --specifically, after your third attempt to drape a length of neon green spandex over his head--he’d gently plopped you in the cart, set the materials he’d already found in your lap, and designated you the ‘official holder.’

You’d pouted, but it also got you out of standing around while he mulled over different shades of black and gray, so you weren’t complaining too much.

After you’d spent a good three minutes heckling him for being so obsessive with the colors, he’d relented with a laugh, settled on a choice, and wheeled the cart --and you--to the cutting table before heading to the check out.

The two of you had headed home --after he’d denied you a trip to McDonald’s for a milkshake, citing you ‘already being wound up enough,’ whatever that meant--with your costume supplies in tow. You’d manned the radio the whole way back to Xavier’s, singing and dancing in your seat.

Somewhere, in the chaos of trying to get everything inside while the sky unleashed buckets of rain at you and placating a very offended Wade, who was upset that he wasn’t invited along for the store run, you were hit by a sudden rush of emotion.

Maybe it was Piotr’s amazingly unfailing patience as he dealt with Wade, maybe it was the way his damp hair spiked and held together when he ran his fingers through it, or maybe it was his continuing dedication in supporting your effort to reclaim your lost childhood, but you suddenly realized that you loved him.

Not like the “I love you” love --you’d already come to terms with that, you told him “I love you” on a regular basis. No, like “long term” love. “Marriage” love. “Raising kids and growing old” love.

You’d mentioned the idea of marrying him after rescuing him from Harmony --the tale of ‘Cassidy Rasputin’ lives on, much to your chagrin--but you hadn’t really processed it. You hadn’t lied --because who wouldn’t want to marry the literal domestic and explicit wet dream that can also turn into metal--but it’d just... sort of been a ‘in the moment, holy shit you almost died’ sort of thing. Neither of you had mentioned it afterwards.

But now? Now you want it. This isn’t a ‘you almost died and I’m overly emotional but not misleading you’ sort of feeling. This is a ‘fuck, I want this to be the rest of my life’ feeling.

You swallow hard as you watch your boyfriend disentangle himself from another ‘hug’ attempt by Wade. Fuck. How am I going to deal with this?

“Neena!” You skip down the stairs, careful to not trip over the hem of your dress. “Neen-er Wiener!”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that!”

“Hey, this is an emergency situation! I had to break out the big guns!”

You’re done up in your costume --Persephone, Greek goddess of Spring and the Underworld. Your light green, floaty dress --which is surprisingly warmer than it looks, because Piotr one hundred percent looked up the weather forecast for Halloween to make sure you were insulated properly--is decorated with various fake flowers and an ombre effect from the green of the fabric to black along the bottom of the skirt. Your hair is piled on the top of your head in the most elaborate style you can manage, and a crown made out of flowers and costume jewels sits on top of your head.

Neena --dressed as Michonne from ‘The Walking Dead’--grins at you. “Damn. You look good. What’s the emergency?”

You hold out an eyeliner pen to her. “I need you to wing my liner. My makeup took forever, and I don’t want to mess up. I need Lady Luck on my side.”

She laughs and nods at the kitchen. “Come on.”

Piotr’s already in the kitchen, dressed as an impressive Hades in a floor length black toga and cloak, head tipped back as Ellie traces a ring of eyeliner around his eyes.

“Looks like I’m not the only who needs help with their eyeliner. Looking good, babe.”

Ellie steps back so he can sit up. “Damn. Your costume looks good.” She nudges her mentor’s shoulder. “You really went all out, huh?”

Piotr grins bashfully and shrugs. “I don’t get to do this very often. It was fun.”

You smile at him. “Hey, I’m not complaining. I can’t remember the last time I looked this fabulous.”

“You always look fabulous.” Neena taps your shoulder. “Sit down. Let’s do this.”

“What are you supposed to be, Neg?” You ask while Neena starts applying your eyeliner.

“Yukio and I are going as different representations of goth culture. She’s going as Lolita goth, I’m going as American goth.”

“So, you basically get to go in your clothes,” You say as you try to hold as still as possible. “That was smart.”

“Well, not all of us are on the X-Men payroll and can afford to make really elaborate costumes.”

“I would’ve made you something if you had asked,” Piotr mumbles sheepishly.

Ellie shakes her head. “Nah. We’re having fun. We’re getting to learn more about each other’s culture this way.”

“That’s cool.” Neena steps back and caps the pen. “Two even wings. Lady Luck is on our side.”

You examine your perfectly pointy eyeliner wings in the mirror, and--

And it’s a good thing Neena got them done so fast, because holy fucking shitballs.

“Looks like I’m fashionably late. Perfect.”

You gape. Your brain stops. You can’t breathe.

Across the table, Ellie just looks traumatized. “What the actual shit, Douche-Pool?!”

Wade --resplendent in a red and black, long sleeved leotard patterned like his suit, black fishnet stockings, a pair of black, spike heel thigh highs, and his mask--leans against the door frame in what would’ve been a seductive pose if he hadn’t been the one doing it. “Like it? I’m ‘Sexy Deadpool.’”

“Oh god, I need brain bleach,” Ellie manages. “Lots of it. Right now.”

“I think you look nice, Wade,” Yukio chimes in. “I like your shoes.”

“Thank you. Finally, I get some decent treatment around here! I mean--”

Whatever Wade says next --you suspect it’s another ‘franchise’ comment--sails over your head when the final two members of your team walk into the kitchen.

Russell, who looks beyond cool dressed as a the Joker, and--

“Holy shit!” You start laughing, stunned out of your ‘I saw way more of Wade than ever wanted to’ induced shock.

Nathan, looking world-weary and mildly pissed off, is dressed as Terminator.

“That’s awesome,” you say as you clap your hands. “How did Wade get you in that?”

“I can be persuasive! You’d be surprised what people will agree to while under the influence of cocaine.”

“Shut up, dipshit. You didn’t drug me. I chose this on my own.”

“No.” You feel like you’re about to have an aneurysm, it’s so amazing. “No way.”

“There’s not many options for a cyborg, believe it or not,” Wade says with a sigh. “Discrimination. It knows no limits.”

“Christ, I chose it because it was practical, you fucking butt plug.”

“Mm, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“Wade.” Piotr presses the heel of his hand against his forehead, careful not to smudge Ellie’s efforts with his eye makeup. “First, just stop. Please. Second, your costume is not... appropriate. There are children going with us.”

“Relax, discount Silver Surfer. I have a coat. It goes halfway down my thighs. No unnecessary scarring tonight, okay?”

“You’re not going to get anything better out of him,” You murmur in Piotr’s ear. You pat his shoulder when he relents with a sigh.

“Fine. Coat stays on while children are present. No arguing.”

“Damn. Are you that good with commands in the bedroom? Hey, Y/N, is he secretly a dom?”

“You should know I’m not answering that question,” You fire back.

“We should go,” Piotr says as he stands. “It is lengthy drive to destination.”

You’re halfway to the door when you realize you left your candy bag upstairs. “Ah, shit snacks. I mean crud. I’ll be right back. I forgot something.” You dart upstairs and into your room. “Alright, where did I leave that fucker?”

You find the bag tucked under your pillow --you’re not sure how it got there, but you don’t have time to question it. You shake it out, smile, then freeze.

This is your first big event out since your stay at your uncle’s. You’re getting better, but you don’t have any serum to tuck in your bag in case an emergency strikes --and you’ll also be a couple hours away from the safe rooms designed to handle lapses in control like yours.

Nervousness coils in the pit of your stomach. You haven’t had an episode for a couple weeks, but you don’t want to push your luck.

A gentle knock on the door frame pulls you out of your spiraling panic. You glance over your shoulder and see Piotr watching you. You hold up your bag with a weak smile. “Found it.”

He smiles softly, but his eyes are knowing. “What’s wrong, myshka?”

You gulp. “I’m scared. I don’t want to have an episode while we’re out.”

He lets out a gentle sigh and holds his arms out to you. “Come here, lyublyu.”

You eagerly step into his arms. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I know. And I don’t think you will. You’ve been doing so much better.”

You frown down at your shoes. “I just wish I had some of the serum with me. Just in case.”

“No, myshka. It’s not good for you.”

“I know, I know! I’m just scared!”

He hugs you against his chest and kisses the top of your head. “It’s going to be okay. And, if you start feeling bad, I’ll drive you back. Khorosho?”

The terrified part of you knows that once you start going, there’s no transport fast enough to get you to a safe place.

The rational part of you, the part of you that’s been dutifully working with your therapist to reach a healthier mindset, knows that you’re going to be alright. Your stress has been significantly lower over the past few weeks. You’ve been meditating and journaling diligently. You’re going out to do something fun, with your friends and your boyfriend. All the factors are in your favor.

You take a deep breath, then nod. “Yeah. Come on.” You yank Piotr down the hall and towards the stairs, as though he were the one causing the delay. “I’ve got candy to score.”

The Halloween park is amazing. Hands down, one of the top five coolest places you’ve ever been.

There’s a trick or treating run that the kids and teens --and you; you pair up with some of the shyer kids--do, loading your bags up with as much candy as you can bear to carry. Piotr comes with, acting as a translator for Sasha and Katya and generally looking amused by and smitten with you.

There are also “haunted hayrides” that run through the woods that sit behind the park. It’s pretty cheesy --plastic skeletons and pop up mummies--but you still beam from ear to ear while the students gasp and shriek.

On Piotr’s advice, you steer clear of the haunted house. It looks interesting --and definitely less campy than the hayrides--but according to him it’s an intense run.

“Not that I don’t trust your control, dorogaya moya, but I’m not sure you’re ready for this.”

When Russell emerges twenty minutes later looking somewhat traumatized, you’re happy with your choice to stay with your boyfriend and help him manage the gaggle of sugared-up kids.

There’s more mutant groups than just Xavier’s, and you wind up running into a bunch of people who want to take yours and his picture. The two of you make for quite a striking pair, with you in you sweet, almost angelic Spring costume as Persephone and him in layers of flowing black --completed by a pair of red contacts that he put in once he was done driving.

Wade and Nathan are also stopped for countless pictures, mostly by teens who think Nathan’s costume is hilarious and that Wade, for reasons the merc can’t completely fathom, looks fabulous.

“I mean, I get the costume looks good, but they’re saying I look good. Are they blind? Are they fucking with me?”

“What do I keep telling you, gorgeous?” Somehow, Nathan manages to make the line sound borderline insulting. The small smile he follows it with, however, is anything but.

The festivities conclude with an announcement that Neena won the raffle for the two hundred dollar value candy bag, complete with gourmet chocolate.

Wade whines, furious at losing, before he does a double take when Russell walks past. “Hang on,” he says. “That character’s not in the Marvel franchise! This is a fanfic, isn’t it?”

In short, it’s a perfect night.

As you head back to the car, walking hand in hand with Piotr, you can’t help but feel that you’re going to have a lot more of these.

You’re sitting on Piotr’s bed, sorting your massive load of candy to see what you managed to pick up. You’re in your pajamas and your hair is damp from your shower, make-up and hairspray long since washed away.

It’s been an amazing night. A magical night.

You tear open a fun size bag of M&Ms --right when Piotr walks out of the bathroom.

“It’s midnight, moya lyubov’. You don’t need sugar.”

You look him right in the eye as you pour the whole bag into your mouth. “Fight me.”

He shakes his head with a soft laugh and eyes the spread of candy currently dominating his bed. “Are we sleeping on the floor tonight?”

“Hey, Wade said that sorting out your candy was a vital component to Halloween. I’m about halfway through; I’ll put it all back when I’m done, but I need to take stock of my spoils, Piotr. These are hard earned prizes!”

He chuckles and favors you with a soft look that you know means he’s feeling a little sappy for some reason. “Do you mind if I draw you while you ‘take inventory?’”

Ah. There it is.

Your face flushes, but you nod anyway. “Sure --as long as you don’t want me to hold still.” You resume sorting out your candy while he sits down in his desk chair, but you’re highly aware of him watching you now, of the way his gaze studies you while you place fun-sized candies into neat piles.

You’re not sure what, exactly, makes this a ‘draw-able’ moment to him. It’s mundane, almost silly. You’re just sorting out candy like a kid, without any real rhyme or reason --even though Wade gave you a formal list ranking all the popular Halloween candies, you’re pretty sure most of it’s bullshit anyway.

You suppose, though, that sentiment means different things to different people. Kind of how some people --Wade--thought that the Transformers saga was the pinnacle of cinematic beauty while other people --literally anyone else--thought it was hot, shitty, explosion-laden garbage.

Besides, it could jut be a case of the potential nostalgia of the moment being lost on you. You lack the perspective required to tell whether this is going to be a highly sentimental moment for you years down the road. Piotr, on the other hand, has probably seen the kids at the mansion do this enough times to know that it’s objectively adorable and worth committing to physical memory in some fashion.

Or maybe it’s just because it’s your first time doing any of this ever. Which, yeah, first times of anything do warrant some special treatment --and, god, you’re glad Wade’s not here right now. You’re glad that he manages to miss your unintentional innuendo moments ninety percent of the time, because holy shit he can be insufferable if he thinks --knows--he’s witnessed some comedy gold.

And, back to the main point, you suppose that different people just flat out label different memories as ‘golden hued.’ This moment might not be it for you, but there were plenty of instances over the course of the night. Namely, getting to wear a costume for the first time, going on the hayrides and enjoying the campy horror, watching Piotr work with the kids --and those moments had been particularly entrancing. You’d had to snap yourself out of a giddy daze several times and remind yourself that those weren’t your kids he was interacting with, and that the two of you weren’t actually married the way you’d envisioned in your head, and that you didn’t have a family of hyperactive munchkins, and--

“--and I’ve just been talking out loud the entire time, haven’t I?”

You have. If the dryness of your mouth and throat weren’t telling enough, Piotr’s bright red cheeks and shocked expression definitely are.

He’s sitting in his chair, pencil poised a few inches above his drawing pad. His blue eyes are impossibly wide, and he looks like he’s seen the face of God.

Oops. This wasn’t how you’d planned to tell your boyfriend that you wanted to marry him and make a family with him. No, that was definitely a Valentine’s Day or anniversary sort of thing --you know, go all out, expensive date and hotel, confess post a couple rounds of love making. Definitely not a mindless ramble while sorting out candy like a fourth grader after trick or treating--

“--and I’m talking out loud again. Dammit.”

“Language, dorogaya moya,” Piotr murmurs, broken out of his shock by your profanity. He sets his pencil and drawing pad on his desk, then crosses his bedroom and sits down next you, careful to not disturb your hard work. He takes your hands in his and gives you a shy, impossibly hopeful look. “You... want to get married? To have family? With me?”

“Well, like, eventually. Yeah. I mean, I think I’ve got some shit to work out first --and I say ‘shit’ because it is exactly that--but once I’m... better... yeah.” Your face feels like it’s on fire, but you don’t look away from him. “I love you, Piotr. I thought that was obvious.”

“I love you too, Y/N. I just...” He pauses to smile, and he looks so thrilled and awestruck that it makes your heart melt. “I know you mentioned it after Harmony, but then you didn’t say anything else. I thought it was... ‘we almost died’ sort of thing.”

“Well, it sort of was, but it wasn’t. I wouldn’t say something like that if I didn’t mean it, Pete. And, I mean, after Harmony I wasn’t in a good place. I didn’t really think about...”

He kisses the top of your head when your voice trails off. “It’s okay, myshka. I understand.”

You swallow hard, but soldier on, determined to finish the point you were trying to make. “And I mean it now. But not in a ‘we almost died’ sort of way. I mean it in a... in a ‘I love you so much it hurts and I really, really, really want this’ way. In a ‘yes, I want this to be my future, just give me time to get better’ way. What I’m trying to say is--” You stop to wet your lips, even though your mouth’s gone dry “--I love you, Piotr Rasputin, and I know I want to marry you someday. I know I want to do that, and I know I want to have a family with you. The fact that I’m not there yet doesn’t change that I know and want it.”

Piotr’s eyes are shining with happy tears, and he gives you the biggest, most wonderful smile you’ve ever seen. “I love you too, myshka. And I want that too. Everything you’ve said. Bozhe moi, I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be better enough to do all that--”

He kisses each of your cheeks softly. “I know it will take time. You’re in driver’s seat, okay? You decide when you’re ready. Whenever that happens. I’m happy to wait.”

Okay, and now your eyes are stinging with happy, mushy tears because, fuck, he’s so wonderful and kind and--

“--And I’m talking out loud again. Motherfu-- just come here.” You loop your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

“You should finish sorting candy,” he says when the two of you part. “Otherwise, we will never sleep.”

“Nope.” You begin shoveling your candy back into your bag. “This can wait until tomorrow. I’ve got more important things to do right now.” You drop your refilled bag onto the floor by his bed and clamber into his lap. “C’mere, you.”

The kiss, which starts sweet and gentle, quickly turns into unabashed making out. You moan into his mouth as he swirls his tongue around yours, and he groans as your hands tug at his hair. You let out a sharp gasp when his hands slide down your back and squeeze your ass, and push him onto his back --which only works because he’s happy to humor you; if he actually felt like resisting, you’d never be able to move him.

You let out a soft, happy sigh as his hands skim up your back and under your shirt, smoothing over your soft skin.

You don’t know what the future holds. You don’t know how long it’ll take to get your episodes under control.

But you do know that you love Piotr with all your heart, and that he loves you with all of his.

For now, that’s more than enough.

[dfroza]

our Creator chose and entrusted the Jews with spiritual truth

which led up to the clear revelation of the Son.

this is what Paul illuminated in the New Testament (New Covenant) seen in Today’s reading of the Scriptures with the 3rd chapter of his Letter of Romans:

So what difference does it make who’s a Jew and who isn’t, who has been trained in God’s ways and who hasn’t? As it turns out, it makes a lot of difference—but not the difference so many have assumed.

First, there’s the matter of being put in charge of writing down and caring for God’s revelation, these Holy Scriptures. So, what if, in the course of doing that, some of those Jews abandoned their post? God didn’t abandon them. Do you think their faithlessness cancels out his faithfulness? Not on your life! Depend on it: God keeps his word even when the whole world is lying through its teeth. Scripture says the same:

Your words stand fast and true;

Rejection doesn’t faze you.

But if our wrongdoing only underlines and confirms God’s rightdoing, shouldn’t we be commended for helping out? Since our lies don’t even make a dent in his truth, isn’t it wrong of God to back us to the wall and hold us to our word? These questions come up. The answer to such questions is no, a most emphatic No! How else would things ever get straightened out if God didn’t do the straightening?

It’s simply perverse to say, “If my lies serve to show off God’s truth all the more gloriously, why blame me? I’m doing God a favor.” Some people are actually trying to put such words in our mouths, claiming that we go around saying, “The more evil we do, the more good God does, so let’s just do it!” That’s pure slander, as I’m sure you’ll agree.

So where does that put us? Do we Jews get a better break than the others? Not really. Basically, all of us, whether insiders or outsiders, start out in identical conditions, which is to say that we all start out as sinners. Scripture leaves no doubt about it:

There’s nobody living right, not even one,

nobody who knows the score, nobody alert for God.

They’ve all taken the wrong turn;

they’ve all wandered down blind alleys.

No one’s living right;

I can’t find a single one.

Their throats are gaping graves,

their tongues slick as mudslides.

Every word they speak is tinged with poison.

They open their mouths and pollute the air.

They race for the honor of sinner-of-the-year,

litter the land with heartbreak and ruin,

Don’t know the first thing about living with others.

They never give God the time of day.

This makes it clear, doesn’t it, that whatever is written in these Scriptures is not what God says about others but to us to whom these Scriptures were addressed in the first place! And it’s clear enough, isn’t it, that we’re sinners, every one of us, in the same sinking boat with everybody else? Our involvement with God’s revelation doesn’t put us right with God. What it does is force us to face our complicity in everyone else’s sin.

But in our time something new has been added. What Moses and the prophets witnessed to all those years has happened. The God-setting-things-right that we read about has become Jesus-setting-things-right for us. And not only for us, but for everyone who believes in him. For there is no difference between us and them in this. Since we’ve compiled this long and sorry record as sinners (both us and them) and proved that we are utterly incapable of living the glorious lives God wills for us, God did it for us. Out of sheer generosity he put us in right standing with himself. A pure gift. He got us out of the mess we’re in and restored us to where he always wanted us to be. And he did it by means of Jesus Christ.

God sacrificed Jesus on the altar of the world to clear that world of sin. Having faith in him sets us in the clear. God decided on this course of action in full view of the public—to set the world in the clear with himself through the sacrifice of Jesus, finally taking care of the sins he had so patiently endured. This is not only clear, but it’s now—this is current history! God sets things right. He also makes it possible for us to live in his rightness.

So where does that leave our proud Jewish insider claims and counterclaims? Canceled? Yes, canceled. What we’ve learned is this: God does not respond to what we do; we respond to what God does. We’ve finally figured it out. Our lives get in step with God and all others by letting him set the pace, not by proudly or anxiously trying to run the parade.

And where does that leave our proud Jewish claim of having a corner on God? Also canceled. God is the God of outsider non-Jews as well as insider Jews. How could it be otherwise since there is only one God? God sets right all who welcome his action and enter into it, both those who follow our religious system and those who have never heard of our religion.

But by shifting our focus from what we do to what God does, don’t we cancel out all our careful keeping of the rules and ways God commanded? Not at all. What happens, in fact, is that by putting that entire way of life in its proper place, we confirm it.

The Letter of Romans, Chapter 3 (The Message)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 22nd chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah that points to God establishing righteousness and the humbling of arrogance:

A message about the valley of Vision:

What in the world is wrong with you?

Why have you climbed on your housetops and started celebrating?

What noise! The whole city is in an uproar.

Don’t you realize that your fallen comrades didn’t actually die fighting,

That your leaders turned tail together and ran,

only to be captured without a fight, without even drawing their weapons?

The rest of you tried to run far away

but were still captured.

This is why I said, “Just leave me alone;

let me weep bitterly over this travesty.

Don’t tell me it’s not that bad, or that everything will be all right.

We’re talking about the destruction of my cherished people!”

The Lord, the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies,

determined that this would be the time for destruction—

Smashing and crashing, wreaking havoc and chaos in the valley of Vision,

battering down walls and crying out to the mountains.

You tried, but how could you hold off Elam’s skilled archers

with chariots and horsemen and Kir’s soldiers—shields held high.

The invader’s chariots overran your pristine valleys,

and their horsemen made their stand at the city gates.

But God simply did away with Judah’s defenses.

In that day you put your trust in weapons stored in the armory.

You began to fix the many breaks in the walls of the city of David.

You stocked up on water from the lower pool.

You took stock of the houses in Jerusalem,

and began to dismantle them stone-by-stone to shore up the city wall.

You built a reservoir between two walls to hold the water of the old pool.

But in all this you neglected the One who could really save you;

You failed to consider the One who actually made this place

and established it so long ago.

Consequently, the Lord, the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies,

determined that day would be a time of weeping and regret,

A time of shaved heads and donning sackcloth

and a time for mourning.

Yet you missed the point and made merry,

slaughtering cattle and sheep for a giant celebration,

Eating and drinking your fill of wine!

People (to each other): Eat up, drink up, for tomorrow we die.

Eternal One (to Isaiah): This sin will not be forgiven.

It will stay with you until your dying day.

That’s what the Lord, the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, said.

Eternal One: Come on. Go to Shebna, the caretaker of the royal household,

and confront him saying,

“Why are you here, anyway? Do you really belong here?

What right do you have to build yourself an elegant tomb

And stone monument here out of the rock on this hill?

Look, strong man! The Eternal is about to throw you out,

wildly, violently. With a firm grasp

He will crush you like a ball—hurl you deep into a land

far, far away where you go to die.

You will be known as the shame of your master’s house

and your splendid chariots will lie empty.

I will see to it that you’re driven from your post, toppled from your position,

with all the disgrace and shame that you deserve.

When that day comes, I will summon My faithful servant;

Eliakim the son of Hilkiah will be called

To take over and assume your authority and office.

I will clothe him in your royal robes and fasten your sash securely around him.

He will be a father to the people:

He will have authority over Jerusalem and Judah.

I will grant him the key to David’s royal house and

no one can shut what he opens;

no one can open what he shuts.

I will attach him securely like a peg to that house,

and he will bring honor to his father and his family.

On him will hang all the riches,

all the honor, of his family’s future.

On the appointed day, the peg that was attached so securely to that house

will become weak, break off, and fall to the ground.

And everything that had been hung on it will fall down and shatter.

The Eternal One, Commander of heavenly armies, has declared it to be so.

The Book (Scroll) of Isaiah, Chapter 22 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, june 30 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons that looks at faith and suffering in this world:

Regarding the "language of pain," the Talmud discusses how the bleeding of a stubbed toe corrects the relationship between man and God as if it were an "olah sacrifice" (whole burnt offering). They elaborate that this is the case if it was the second time the toe was injured before recovering from its first injury, and that it had occurred on the right toe when the person was on a mission to perform a mitzvah.

The reference to the right toe recalls the anointing of the priest for service (Exod. 29:20) as well as the healing of a leper (Lev. 14:25). The sages note that this signification of the blood is not the result of a punitive measure but instead indicates a wound that brings the heart closer to God. In the case of an injury to the toe while doing a mitzvah, the sufferer is brought to teshuvah (repentance), not because of disobedience, but in order to learn compassion, and to affirm that everything comes only from the Lord (Psalm 136:25-26). "Let this suffering be for atonement," by which is meant, may this too bring my heart closer to God's love... The sages brought this case up as a counterexample to the notion that all suffering or pain is some form of punishment from heaven, and argue that on the contrary, some suffering is the result of God's decree. This is the message of the Book of Job as well.

A pain-free life is not necessarily a sign of blessing, of course, since it might indicate that the person is no longer being "educated for eternity," and therefore that God no longer talks to him anymore. This is one way to understand the irony of why the wicked prosper in this world, for they shall have received their reward here, but nothing in the world to come (Matt. 6:5; Job 27:8). On the other hand, pain can “goad” the soul to draw near to God for healing, which is the essential and consummate blessing, after all... Pain also teaches us to be humble, to consider our own frailty and need, and to learn compassion by extending that consciousness to people as well. The greatest example of this is found in our Savior, who emptied himself and suffered in wholehearted service to his heavenly Father (see Isa. 50:6; Phil. 2:7-8; Heb. 2:10, 4:15; 5:8-9. 7:25, etc.).

The focus of spirituality is not about finding comfort through fulfilling our desires as much as it is devotion to the truth by exercising faith in the divine ideal. We come to God to conform to his will, not because religion is a form of therapy or another self-improvement project. Stoicism has made a come-back in the “postmodern” world, offering people a variety of philosophical diversions meant to diminish the significance of what happens in this world and to direct the mind to a "nirvana-like" equanimity (ataraxia), as if the final reconciliation has already taken place. Such detachment from the world, however, is incompatible with faith in God's omnipotence and love, since it assumes that this age is not meaningful or offers no blessing. Genuine faith in God allows us to mourn when sorrow is called for and to rejoice in times of joy; it does not negate the reality of history nor deny God's providential love in the temporal realm. This is part of the tension we have in a “two-tiered” reality, which requires us to both affirm the reality of life in this world - the mixed bag of sorrows and joys we experience in our sojourn - and the promise of the substance to come, when all tears will be wiped from our eyes and our love will be unhindered by sin... The tension is dialectical and complex: we stand in relation to God not only when we are confronted by his truth, but in our seeking and in the ordinary ups and downs of our everyday existence. As C.S. Lewis said, those who choose a life of truth over happiness often acquire both, whereas those who seek happiness over truth often acquire neither... Therefore as we walk with God, whether in the high places or in the shadow of death, we experience blessing and grace in our lives.

The temptation behind suffering is to regard it as a sign of divine rejection or abandonment. Even when suffering is interpreted to be an invitation to do teshuvah, however, it does not unambiguously indicate where we stand in relation to God... This is true even in light of the work of salvation secured in Yeshua at the cross. Is our suffering a means of correction or "chastening" (Psalm 94; 119:71)? Or is it the result of the common affliction our fallen human nature (Gen. 3:17-19; Job 5:7; 14:1; Rom. 8:20)? Or is our suffering somehow for the sake of the glory of God (John 9:1-3, Matt. 5:11-12)? The writers of the New Testament repeatedly mention fiery trials and tests that would befall God's children (1 Pet. 4:12-13; Rom. 8:17; Phil. 3:10; Matt. 5:11-12; Col. 1:24; 2 Tim. 2:12).

Some have said that this ambiguity makes teshuvah impossible, for you can't repent unless you know what you have done wrong... This raises the question of how much we are able to know of ourselves and our "secret sins," and how these affect us spiritually. "The heart is deceitful above all things, and incurably sick-- who can know it" (Jer. 17:9). The heart is the source of the problem (Mark 7:21) and yet how is it possible to overcome itself? In other words, how can a person be saved from himself, after all? If we are incurably sick, healing must come from a source outside of ourselves... by means of the miracle of regeneration. [Hebrew for Christians]

For more on this topic see the link under this post!

Post continues here:

and another post about surrender:

If we refuse to surrender to God, we will be at war within ourselves... To be inwardly healed we have to first of all *want it; and that means being willing to give up *everything* - including our sickness of heart. For many people, this is too much, and therefore they cling to what makes them sick as a child might cling to a pacifier. This is because to the natural man, the cure is regarded as worse than the sickness itself. As Kierkegaard astutely noted, “When a man is sick or indisposed, the first thing he does is to send for a physician, and medication is what he wants; spiritually, however, it is just the opposite - when a man has sinned, the last thing he wants is the physician and medicine."

.

"Heal me, O LORD, and I shall be healed;

save me, and I shall be saved, for you are my praise."

- Jeremiah 17:14

.

Note that the healing mentioned in this verse is primarily spiritual (יְשׁוּעָה) rather than physical, since physical illness is a natural consequence of living in a fallen world. The Apostle wrote that while the “outer man is wasting away, the inner man is renewed day by day” (2 Cor. 4:16). There is a divinely appointed “light and momentary affliction” that we all must carry in this life, and it is callous to suggest that every believer should live miraculously immune from any physical illness or suffering whatsoever. “By His stripes we are healed” does not necessarily mean that we are guaranteed physical healing in this life, though it does mean that we are given true and everlasting healing from the plague of death, that is, we are given spiritual healing that far outweighs concern for the present moment and its temporary afflictions. Of course there are miracles of healing that come through prayer (Psalm 6:2; James 5:15; 1 Cor. 12:9), though even then the focus must first be directed to the spirit and then to the flesh...

A person of faith will use the good eye (העין הטובה) to see the good - even in occasions of misfortune, whereas one disposed to despair will use the evil eye (העין הרעה) to see the bad - even in occasions of good. And even in cases where the facts are entirely the same, for one there is hope, but for another there is fear... Therefore, a person's whole view of life is actually a confession of the state of his inner being. As Yeshua said, "according to your faith be it done unto you," which underscores the importance of believing in the good, taking hold of hope, and trusting in the ongoing love and care of the Lord, despite affliction and trouble in this world. True healing means coming out of the nightmare of fear...

People sometimes seek healing for that which needs to be slain. You don't need a cure -- you need let go and allow yourself to die.... The carnal life may indeed be scandalized, but the point of life is not how to find healing, strength, sustenance, happiness, and so on, but rather how to give up and die. Flesh and blood can never inherit the kingdom of God.

Again, God's way of healing is entirely different than man's way. Man tries to suppress the flesh, to cover it up, to justify its failings, or to enlist its power in the battle against sin, but God's way is to remove the flesh from the equation. The goal is not to make us stronger and stronger, but rather weaker and weaker, until the flesh is crucified and only the sufficiency of the Messiah remains. Then we can truly say, " I have been crucified with Messiah. It is no longer I who live, but the Messiah who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me" (Gal 2:20). The word “Hebrew” (עִבְרִי) means one who has “crossed over” (עָבַר) to the other side, as our father Abraham did (Gen. 14:13). Again, it is on the other side of the cross that we experience the very power that created the universe "out of nothing" (i.e., yesh me'ayin: יֵשׁ מֵאַיִן) and that raised Yeshua the Messiah from the dead. Ask the Lord for the miracle... [Hebrew for Christians]

6.29.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

June 30, 2021

Behavior Checklist

“Do all things without murmurings and disputings: That ye may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke, in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world.” (Philippians 2:14-15)

The Holy Spirit makes sure that we do not take lightly the obligation to live godly lives. This “list” contains both warnings and promises.

Everything is to be done without “murmurings” and “disputings.” Both words are very interesting synonyms of heart attitudes that produce ungodly behavior. The Greek word translated “murmur” is goggusmos, and it is almost an onomatopoeia (sounds like what it actually is)—a secret debate, muttering to oneself. The “dispute” (Greek dialogismos) suggests a logical debate with oneself.

We are commanded to excise that kind of behavior from ourselves so that we may well be blameless and harmless as the “sons of God,” living “without rebuke.” These words are powerful in their description of God’s expectations for us.

The blameless condition is first an eternal promise that comes with salvation: “To the end he may stablish your hearts unblameable in holiness before God” (1 Thessalonians 3:13). That condition “works out” in this life as a faultless reputation that is harmless. Paul uses the term this way: “I would have you wise unto that which is good, and simple concerning evil” (Romans 16:19).

Finally, if we eliminate “murmuring and disputings” from our inner thoughts and actively seek to be “blameless and harmless” with our external behavior, we will be “without rebuke” in the middle of this sadly sinful world. “Be diligent that ye may be found of him in peace, without spot, and blameless” (2 Peter 3:14). HMM III

A tweet by illumiNations:

@IlluminationsBT: The largest Least-Reached group in the Middle East / North Africa without Scripture, Jesus film, or audio recordings are the Omani Arabs of Oman, with 2,108,000 people. #iwtkbible

6.30.21 • 12:00pm • Twitter

[claws-n-salt]

Crackmas || Day 6

Crackmas Day 6 || Akumatized || Marinette gets a little too angry when she's looking at another of Hawkmoth's terrible akuma designs. When she gets akumatized, she sets out to fix some of Hawkmoth's mistakes. Unfortunatly for Chat Noir, his redesign is a bit different than the other's

Rated T || 1,441 Words

Cross posted on Ao3 || FF

Prompts can be found here from @mlcrackmas

Buy me a Coffee?

Re-Designer

Marinette grumbled to herself as she clicked through the new pictures Alya had posted on the Ladyblog. The most recent akuma design was, yet again, atrocious. For someone who was able to control water, the akuma’s outfit had been garishly yellow with stripes of bubblegum pink and chartreuse. Marinette could have designed something better in her sleep. In fact, she had come up with a better design the moment she’d heard the akuma’s name and found out their powers.

She was so busy fuming over Hawkmoth’s incapability to consider even the simplest color chart, that she didn’t hear the flapping of wings until Tikki shrieked as a butterfly landed on the pen Marinette was holding. “Re-Designer, I am Hawkmoth. If you agree to…”

“Shut it moth man. I can feel myself getting worse at designing just by hearing your voice.” Marinette felt the akumatization wash over her. “Let’s see what trash color combination you put me in.” She walked over to the mirror and faked a gag. “Really, orange and blue ruffles? I’m personally offended.” Re-Designer pointed her pen, now turned short wand, at her own outfit, changing it to a fitted jacket and a tailored pant that fit impeccably, both in a tasteful dark maroon. One of the lapels of the jacket held a little slot for Re-Designer to put her wand. “Now this is what I call a supervillain’s outfit.” Re-Designer did a little spin for herself in the mirror, ending with a wicked smile at herself. “Now it’s time to fix some mistakes.”

Knowing exactly where to start, Re-Designer made one more minor change to her outfit design. Pressing the small button than was now above the wand slot, a small jetpack formed on Re-Designer’s back before she went up to her balcony and jetted off.

A few minutes later, Re-Designer landed outside the house of the person who had had the worst ever akuma design, Nino Lahiffe, aka The Bubbler. Lucky for her, Nino was currently walking out of the building. “Well, hey there Bubbler.”

Nino spun around from where he’d been locking the door. “Whoa, Marinette, you scared me. Wait, did you just call me Bubbler?” Re-Designer smiled sweetly at the confused boy in front of her. She was so focused on Nino that she didn’t notice Adrien walking down the street towards Nino’s house.

“That I did, Bubbles.” Pulling out her wand from its holder, Re-Designer gently waved it around. “I was just thinking about how terrible your design was when you were The Bubbler so I thought Re-Designer could do a little, well, redesigning.” Re-Designer let a hand fly to her mouth in a signature anime villain cackle as she watched Nino’s eyes widened when it dawned on him that she was akumatized.

Unbeknownst to Re-Designer, Adrien realized she was akumatized the exact same moment Nino did, and immediately dove into the bushes he’d been walking passed. Chat Noir immerged moments later, slowly beginning to make his way around the akumatized girl.

Re-Designer gave her wand a final twirl then pointed it at Nino, directing a bolt of sparkling pink light at him. The glittering wave washed over Nino, leaving him in a dark navy suit with embroidered bubbles in a light blue thread snaking up the side of the suit, from the right hem of his pant leg to the curve of his right shoulder. In his hands was a much sleeker bubble wand in a light blue matching the embroidered bubbles. “Um, Mari, not that I don’t mind the redesign, but um, it wasn’t really necessary.”

Re-Designer beamed at Nino. “Of course it was. Hawkmoth made you a costume that nearly caused permanent blindness to anyone who viewed it. I had to fix that travesty.” Nino’s eyes flashed to a place behind Re-Designer. Right as Chat Noir swiped to grab her, Re-Designer jumped to the side.

Whirling on Chat, Re-Designer pointed the wand at the superhero. “You know Kitty, your suit could use a little redesigning too.” Chat went to grab for Re-Designer’s wand, but pink sparkles washed over him before he could.

Re-Designer smirked. “That’s better.” Chat looked down at his suit which had shrunk down to a pair of black shorts, his belt tail, and the gold bell which was now attached to a choker like collar. As Nino doubled over in fits of laughter, Chat gaped.

Shaking off his shock, Chat sauntered towards a still smirking Re-Designer. “You know Marinette, if you wanted to see me with my shirt off, you could have just asked.”

“Well what would have been the fun in-“ Re-Designer’s words abruptly stopped as Chat plucked the wand from her hand. She hadn’t realized how close Chat had gotten.

“I will just hold onto this until Ladybug gets here.” Chat glared at Nino who was now sitting on his stairs, unable to hold himself up from laughing so hard. “How do I change my suit back Mari?”

“That was crafty kitty. You won’t be able to change your suit back until Ladybug uses the cure and that won’t be happening anytime soon so…” Re-Designer causally flicked one of her earrings. Re-Designer giggled when Chat gasped in realization.

“Be right back, stay here.” Chat ran into Nino’s house, both Re-Designer and Nino looking after him in confusion. A moment later, darkness rippled over Re-Designer, leaving an unakumatized Marinette in its wake.

Looking around in confusion, Marinette noticed a still suited up Nino on his stairs. “Wow Nino, that’s a really nice suit.”

“Um, thanks. You made it.” Brows drawing together, Marinette looked at her friend in confusion.

“I what? What do you…” Marinette trailed off when Chat stepped out of the house in his new and improved suit. She didn’t know whether to stare or laugh. Staring was what she went with. Slack jawed, Marinette watched Chat Noir waltz over to her in what looked to be more of a stripper outfit than a superhero suit. Had she done that?

“Sorry Nino but the princess and I need to go deal with something.” Marinette didn’t know if Nino had said anything in response because Chat Noir pressed her close and extended his baton, lifting them both into the air. Was Marinette internally screaming because she was currently pressed up against her very attractive partner’s bare chest? Yes.

When they’d made it a little ways from Nino’s house, Chat Noir set Marinette down and handed her the akuma, which he’d trapped in a glass jar she hadn’t even noticed. She’d been a bit distracted. “I think you can take care of this.” Chat raised a brow at her in expectation.

Marinette groaned as she took a few steps back from her nearly naked partner. “Not only did I turn you into a stripper while akumatized, but I also told you who I was?” Chat nodded, grinning mischievously.

Chat was glad Marinette had forgotten his next words when the akumatization broke, because it was prefect for his next move. “You know My Lady, you could have just asked if you wanted to see me out of the suit.” Before Marinette could protest, Chat Noir released his transformation.

Marinette should have been more surprised to see Adrien Agreste standing in front of her, now fully clothed. “Honestly, I thought Chat’s abs looked familiar.”

“Oh, you mean these abs?” Adrien slipped his shirt over his head. He gestured towards his sculpted stomach. “You know, the ones you were so desperate to see that you got yourself akumatized.”

Marinette only let herself admire Adrien’s physique for a moment before she snapped her eyes back to his face. “Excuse me, I got akumatized because of how trash Hawkmoth’s designing skills are when it comes to akuma outfits.” Smirking, Marinette nodded towards Adrien’s shirtless form. “This was just a happy accident.”

“Oh really?” Adrien began to saunter up to Marinette. “A happy accident?”

“Of course. In fact, maybe I should thank Hawkmoth for his appalling taste if this is the outcome.” Marinette tilted her head up towards Adrien as he stopped in front of her.

“Hmm, maybe you should.” Their lips met for a moment before laughter bubbled up from Marinette.

“Sorry, but I just had a thought. What if Hawkmoth was a fashion designer or something. It would be so ironic if he was in the fashion industry, yet created such distasteful outfits.”

Adrien joined Marinette in her laughter. “That would be hilarious!”

The two heroes laughed at the outlandish idea of Hawkmoth being a fashion designer. Across town, Gabriel Agreste overdramatically monologed about next summer’s fashion line inspired by The Bubbler’s outfit while sitting alone in his dark room of butterflies.

[pluviophile-imagines]

Ok but imagine there’s a blackout and it’s quarantine housemate style with Kirishima. You guys search around in the dark for candles and there’s fluffy moments of touching/bumping into each other. When you find the only candle you have, you sit it between the both of you and play never have I ever to pass the time until the lights come back on. It’s very silly and fun and there’s secrets shared and maybe kisses (definitely kisses)

Omg I love this? Djdksdjdnd you did it I got inspired so here’s a lil ficlet I wrote bc my muse grabbed me by the throat and told me to write. Anon, this was so cute lmfao. I had to put a read more bc I wrote too much 😳

Kirishima’s a chivalrous guy; when the power goes and the entire apartment suddenly becomes steeped in darkness, the first thing he does is run to ur room to make sure you’re ok, not scared or anything. He probably runs into your door in the dark lol. & yeah, you’re fine, but it is kinda unnerving so you two decide to hang out in the living room. You know you’ve got a battery powered lantern around but Kiri’s set on candles (he says something about tradition) and honestly it’s too endearing to say no so you help him hunt down some tealights and big mason jar ones.

There’s not a lot so you only set them up in the living room. Your apartment is definitely a fire hazard now with all the open flames around, but honestly he was right—all the candles have a nicer energy than the bright LED light of your lantern. You guys end up together on the floor with candles all around you.

You’re the one who suggests playing Never Have I Ever. He’s kinda hesitant, ‘cause every time he’s played it with his UA friends it’s ended poorly, but when he voices this concern with you, you just laugh and say that happens in big groups. It’s just you and him, though, so if questions make either of you uncomfortable you or he can just say so.

You learn so. Much. Shit about each other and each others’ friends it’s kind of insane. You’d been friends before (I think it’d be hard to be Kiri’s roommate and not become friends with him, he wouldn’t let you) but never really all that close. This definitely changes that. You sit there together for hours, talking and laughing and enjoying each others company. Somewhere along the line you gravitate towards each other until you’re basically half on his lap, legs all tangled up, covered by a blanket he’s grabbed from the couch.

That’s the position you’re in when your statement is, “Never have I ever had a decent kiss.”

Kirishima probably puts his finger down and is already thinking of his next one before his brain fully catches up and realizes that the point is to make the other person put their finger down and keep yours up, which would mean that…

“Wait, you’ve never been kissed well?”

He doesn’t really sound like he’s joking, and there’s genuine concern on his face when you look at him, like it’s a detriment to your health that all the times you’ve been kissed have been disasters.

“No, not really. I’ve only done it a few times and it was just… bad breath or gross slobber or biting my lip in a not sexy way.” You shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? You’re like, a year away from graduating college and you’ve had—what did you say? Four boyfriends?”

“Two of those were in middle school, Kirishima. No kissing involved, though if there had been I wouldn’t expect it to be any good.”

“It’s still bullshit. I mean, you like a guy enough to want to kiss him and he just drops the ball like that? Doesn’t even bother to learn how to do it right?”

He’s getting kind of heated about it, like your only two real boyfriends had done you entirely wrong because the few times you’d locked lips had been objectively awful.

“It’s not like I was dating them just to physically be with them. I liked their personality and their intelligence and shit.”

“And shit,” he repeats, looking at you like you said you’d slapped your grandmother in the face. “That’s— I mean— a kiss is supposed to be a way of showing your affection. And there are so many kinds, like I can’t imagine you’d make out with someone if they didn’t know how to properly kiss.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Nah, no way, I don’t have the patience for that.”

“So you’ve never made out with anyone.”

“Nope.”

“You’re 21 and you just. Haven’t had a real kiss.”

“Hey!” You smack his shoulder playfully. “I put my lips against someone else’s lips because I liked them romantically, that’s a real kiss.”

“No, no, not if you didn’t like it. A real kiss is supposed to leave you wanting more—it’s supposed to, like, make you feel all giddy and excited, like you've gotten a fresh breath of air and released some tension but at the same time you’ve become addicted.”

You sit there frozen for a few seconds, unable to figure out how to respond. You settle on shaking your head in disbelief. “Well, let me know if you know a guy who can kiss like that so I can fix this apparent utter travesty in my life.”

“I mean...” he pauses just barely, eyes meeting yours before he continues. “I’m right here, if you wanna fix it now.”

That stuns you to silence. You’re not sure if he’s being serious but it still makes your imagination run wild. You’ve known he’s attractive (I mean, you have eyes), but honestly never thought the sentiment might be mutual.

Plus… the way he’s looking at you kind of makes you excited. You don’t think a guy has ever looked at you that way before.

“I’m serious. I could kiss you right now. D’you want me to?”

“I—“ you cut yourself off, trying to stop your train of thought in its tracks while it’s conjuring up images of him doing exactly that. Unfortunately for you, your eyes subconsciously fall upon his lips, and that does not fucking help in the slightest. Before you can fully think it through, you’re breathing out, “Okay.”

Kirishima sits up and turns so that he’s leaning back against your couch. Then he reaches toward you and gently maneuvers you to sit fully on his lap, straddling him. The blanket falls from your legs and lays forgotten in a heap next to the two of you. “Is that good?”

At your nod, he brings one of his hands up to your neck, holding you tenderly. It’s so big that his fingers reach past your nape even while his palm cradles your jaw. He uses it to guide you towards him and tilt your head the right way.

You thought he was being ridiculous when he described a good kiss. When he leans in to slate his lips against yours though, you realize what he was talking about. The connection does make you feel all giddy and excited—in fact, it makes your whole body buzz with adrenaline. Your eyes flutter closed on their own.

He guides you, a combination of his hand on your neck and the movement of his lips directing you through minute motions that do, in fact, make you feel like you’ve gotten a breath of fresh air. It only gives you a desire to delve deeper, and he obliges, pulling you closer by both the hand cradling your jaw and the one that’s resting on the small of your back.

The action makes you realize foggily that your own hands have moved; one clutching his bicep in an attempt to keep you mostly vertical while your body melts into him, the other threading through his hair (which is lacking product because he ran out two days ago, which he told you early on in your game).

He pulls back too soon, in your opinion. Again, his words from before flood your head; the kiss really has left you wanting more. You’re pretty sure you are addicted. And when you finally open your eyes to find him grinning at you, all you can think of when you see those pointed teeth is how well he might be able to use them next time.

“There.” Your eyes snap up to meet his as he speaks, tone more than a little satisfied. You suppose that you’re wearing on your face all the confirmation he needs to know that he has, in fact, fixed your little problem. He asks anyway, though. “Did I do it?”

You bite your lip. It’s subconscious, but you enjoy the way he gaze is drawn to it and becomes heavy-lidded at the sight. It’s all the confirmation you need as you draw you mouth back in a grin. “I dunno. I think we should try again, just to make sure.”

[flauntpage]

Sifting Through Bad Takes to Explain Why U.S. Soccer Failed

There’s a lot to parse after Tuesday night’s embarrassment but I’ll start with this: That team was not prepared to play and looked like it didn’t even give a shit.

I’ve never seen a more appalling display of effort in 27 years of watching United States soccer, and that was a constant theme throughout this debacle of a qualifying cycle.

That’s on head coach Bruce Arena, who was equally casual in his post game press conference, claiming that no drastic changes needed to be made after a country of 300,000,000 people was just eliminated from the World Cup by an island nation of 1.3 million.

He should be canned for that offensive nonchalance alone.

The next thing to do is fire U.S. Soccer President Sunil Gulati and move on from the aging veterans who no longer have a future on the national team. It’s a sad way to see the likes of Clint Dempsey and Tim Howard to go out, but the silver lining is that this pathetic charade is over and we can now focus on fixing the problems.

Let’s do this:

I’m gonna cobble together all of the 24-hour hot takes that I read from soccer experts and national idiots alike, and we’ll just go down the list determining whether each one contains any sort of validity.

  1. MLS is to blame for the decline of the USMNT

Yes and no.

The first thing to understand is that MLS growth has improved our regional opponents.

Honduras, Panama, and Trinidad & Tobago all have a significant number of guys playing club soccer in the United States. Two goals in the Panama/Costa Rica game were scored by MLS players, and the third goal was scored by a former MLS player. Honduras got two goals from Houston Dynamo attackers and one of the guys who scored for fucking Mexico will play for an MLS expansion team next season.

On the flip side, six of the 11 U.S. starters are current MLS players. Three of those guys, Michael Bradley, Tim Howard and Paul Arriola, played in foreign leagues before returning to the United States. You can say that Bradley and Howard got worse when they came home, but they also got older. Tim Howard played more than 10 years in England, so don’t tell me he sucked last night because he now plays in MLS.

Eight of 11 U.S. starters last night had some sort of experience playing outside of America, so I don’t buy the “blame MLS” excuse.

If anything, we’re in a weird catch 22/transitional period.

If our best players go to Europe, MLS doesn’t improve

If our best players stay in MLS, they aren’t competing against the world’s best

Translation: What’s best for MLS isn’t necessarily best for U.S. Soccer, and vice versa.

We’re right in the middle of that right now, where we want MLS to take the next step but we also want our best young talent to thrive in the world’s best leagues (Christian Pulisic). It’s gonna be a bit rocky until we find a balance there.

  2. This failure will affect the popularity of soccer

No.

Last night’s travesty is an indictment on U.S. Soccer, not the popularity of the sport in this country.

See, most of the people who watch the World Cup every four years go back to watching football, basketball, baseball, and hockey after the tournament is over.

The main reason they watch is because:

there’s an element of nationalism involved (rah rah go USA!)

there’s nothing else to watch in July

Some casuals might become interested enough to consume more soccer after the WC, but the sport continues to grow in non-World Cup years because of the strength of now-available foreign broadcasts and the growth of MLS.

Atlanta United, an expansion team, set a single-game attendance record this year when they shoved 70,000 people into their stadium (they share it with the Falcons). Your hometown Philadelphia Union were really bad (again), but continued to draw 12,000 to 15,000 fans to CHESTER every weekend.

The popularity of the English Premier League and Champions League has skyrocketed on the strength of NBC and FOX broadcasts. You’ll find a lot of people who watch EPL with their kids on Saturday morning, then flip on college football or Phillies baseball later in the day.

If anything, U.S. soccer is on a trajectory that is incongruous with the overall growth of the sport here. We have millions of people in this country who love soccer, but couldn’t give a shit about the USMNT or MLS, which is an ongoing struggle.

Plus, the World Cup isn’t even the “Super Bowl” of soccer. The apex of competitive global soccer is the annual Champion’s League final.

  3. This generation of players just isn’t that good

Correct.

We failed to qualify for two Olympic games and a couple of other tournaments as well, which had a cascade effect on the performance in other competitions.

There are some success stories, I think. Jorge Villafana might be the left back of the future. DeAndre Yedlin is still young and getting Premier League playing time. I’d cut ties with most of the rest of the team and start handing out caps to guys like Josh Sargent (Werder Bremen), Weston McKennie (Schalke), and Tyler Adams (NY Red Bulls).

Next friendly. Just do it, man. Clear it out. Have fun. Be weird. http://pic.twitter.com/DaY63JxcK2

— Will Parchman (@WillParchman) October 11, 2017

Let’s get the kids out there and get ahead of the curve right now. I don’t need to see more of Chris Wondolowski, Darlington Nagbe, Michael Bradley, Matt Besler, Graham Zusi, and blah blah blah etc.

  4. Independent youth clubs are ruining our development

Correct.

We’re the only country in the world where soccer is a sport for suburban white kids with money.

You pay your club team, something with a stupid name like “Doylestown United Rage 1997,” a bunch of cash just so you can schlep your kids to Tuckahoe Turf Farm every other weekend for day-long tournaments in 95 degree heat.

Meantime, the urban minority soccer loving kids are just sort of falling through the cracks.

True story: the Philadelphia Union’s first academy success was an African immigrant who came to America at age 14. He joined a local club that scrimmaged a Union youth team, and that’s how he was identified and brought into the academy setup.

So it’s important to get into urban communities and identify where these kids are playing.

I used to referee at a place called “Sofive” in Elkins Park, where 95% of the players were “foreigners.” I reffed Brazilians, Mexicans, Uzbeks, Jamaicans, and Africans (not African-Americans, Africans who just got here). I guarantee that no one is scouting those kids or even paying attention. The next U.S. Soccer star is probably playing there, not at Boyertown Junior High School East.

Now, some clubs obviously want to hang on to their best players, and they aren’t crazy about becoming a “feeder” for the local MLS team, but that’s the model we’re heading towards. Individual MLS teams have their own academies. There used to be one national academy in Florida, and that’s where guys like Landon Donovan came from. In 2017, each MLS team is trying to produce its own regional domestic talent.

That relationship between longstanding clubs and these nascent MLS academies needs to be streamlined. A lot of youth soccer forces are working against each other, which is why we aren’t developing these kids from start to finish.

Here’s a valid take from an English guy who now covers MLS:

Thing about soccer in the US compared to other countries I've worked in is that game run almost like a private members club.

— Simon Evans (@sgevans) October 11, 2017

Ding ding ding! We have a winner!

But wait, here’s another take from a different ex-pat Englishman who now does play-by-play for the Colorado Rapids:

When youth soccer clubs offer 'financial aid' for parents to be able to pay for their kids to play, then that should be a concern.

— Richard Fleming (@FlemingSport) October 11, 2017

Holy shit these guys are on fire!

Maybe the Brits do know the sport better than we do…

Anyway, it also doesn’t help that some parents see sports as a gateway to a free college ride, but that’s an intrinsically American problem. Foreign kids are identified at ages five and six and stay in the same academy for their entire youth.

Here, we send kids to college from ages 18 to 22, then they don’t play pro ball until age 23 (Keegan Rosenberry). Imagine if Lionel Messi didn’t turn pro until age 23. We need our kids on MLS fields at ages 17, 18, and 19, and not wasting prime years playing meaningless ball in Chapel Hill or College Park.

And more money needs to be allocated to U.S. subsidized youth development, which needs to be restructured.

Of that $26M, $9M went to Development Academy. ~$11M went to youth team ops. $2.75M to technical advisers.

Just $2M to scouting. http://pic.twitter.com/zSz9B039WV

— Dan Dickinson (@GothamistDan) October 11, 2017

  5. “If our best athletes played soccer”

Of course it would be amazing if Odell Beckham, Jr. had stuck with soccer, and he was paired up top with Lebron James in a 4-4-2.

But we’re one of the biggest countries on the planet Earth. We have enough talent here to be the best at every sport. This line of thinking is valid, but it’s not the reason for our failures. Iceland just qualified for the World Cup and their entire country has fewer people than Bucks County.

  6. Our coaches aren’t good enough

This is true at every level. Same with refs.

I’ve been around some youth coaches who yell at 12-year-old children with non-instructions:

run harder!

get the ball!

kick it!

And the parents are just as bad, because they don’t understand the rules of the game and yell equally absurd things at their own children.

It happens at the top, too. The Union hired a very young Jim Curtin who has had to learn on the job during three full losing seasons. He was also given zero resources to work with, which is another story entirely.

We definitely need to emphasize coaching education and raise the standards here.

  7. A lack of promotion and relegation hurts domestic competition

No, it doesn’t.

The standard of MLS play continues to grow without pro/rel. There are problem owners, like our very own Jay Sugarman, who hurt individual clubs, but there are organic ways to remove those obstacles without installing a crippling pro/rel system.

We’re just not ready for it yet, nor do we need it to be successful. U.S. Soccer didn’t fail because fourth-division Stockade FC was disenfranchised.

  8. We deserve this because we voted for Donald Trump

Meh.

It’s true that some Mexican players said they were extra motivated to beat the United States because of comments our president made about their country.

But here’s the thing; if you need extra motivation to play against your arch rival in World Cup qualifying, then you’re not worthy of wearing an El Tri shirt in the first place.

    We didn’t qualify for the World Cup because we’re in a weird transitional phase affecting both U.S. Soccer and MLS. A generational gap is partly due to a broken development system that needs to be reworked. We have three-hundred million people in this country and should not be losing to tiny island nations like Trinidad and Tobago. But we also have to admit that our regional opponents are improving.

That’s about it. It’s not the end of the world. It’s actually a good wake up call, because sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before realizing how bad it is. We’ll figure it out.

If you didn’t read any of the article, but want a summary instead, click on this:

Here's the full Taylor Twellman rant: http://pic.twitter.com/3YOAQrTKmY

— Max Wildstein (@MaxWildstein) October 11, 2017

Sifting Through Bad Takes to Explain Why U.S. Soccer Failed published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[tagnoob]

Another Steam Winter Sale has come and gone.  I think it was “Winter” this year, and not “Holiday,” as it has occasionally been in past years.  I didn’t take a screen shot of the banner.  Whatever, you know what I mean.

The usual array of things happened.  There was opening day pricing comedy.  There was an event in which to participate, in this case the first ever Steam awards.  There were cards to earn by voting and by reviewing queues and badges to craft when you collected enough cards.  And, of course, stuff was on sale, with price marked down anywhere from a milquetoast 10% (looking at you Civilization VI) to a riveting 75% and beyond.

I will take those topics in order.

Pricing comedy this year, as every year, happened just as the sale launched.  This year’s twist was things appearing in the wrong pricing category as opposed to the usual absurdly low or even negative pricing that has happened in past sales.  That was all fixed pretty quickly, but not quickly enough to keep me from getting a couple of amusing screen shots back when the sale launched.

The event, The Steam Awards, was an attempt at…something.  The categories were presented before the sale and people were asked to nominate titles for them.  Then the top nominees were presented, one a day… except for the last day of voting when we got three… for people to vote on.  For each vote you got an event card.

The problem with the whole thing is that, in allowing community nominations and voting, I am not sure they can replay this as an event again next year… unless they radically change the categories.  Fans of certain games will persist in being fans and will nominate and vote for the same thing every year if you let them.  Anyway, the winners were:

Villain Most in Need of a Hug – Portal 2

I Thought This Game Was Cool Before It Won an Award – Euro Truck Simulator 2

Test of Time –  The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Just 5 More Minutes – Counter-Strike: Global Offensive

Whoooaaaaaaa, dude! – Grand Theft Auto V

Game Within a Game – Grand Theft Auto V

I’m Not Crying, There’s Something in My Eye – The Walking Dead

Best Use of a Farm Animal – Goat Simulator

Boom Boom – Doom

Love/Hate Relationship – Dark Souls III

Sit Back and Relax – Euro Truck Simulator 2

Better With Friends – Left 4 Dead 2

You can see descriptions of the categories and the other titles nominated at the official Steam award page.  As you can see, there are some dupes in winners and some titles a that are a bit long in the tooth.  You expect that for the Test of Time category, but maybe not for so many picks.  I would have to say that the most fitting winner is probably Goat Simulator, which the biggest travesty is that a Civilization title didn’t win the Just 5 More Minutes category.  But then, I don’t play CS:GO.

On the card front, I collect many cards, voting and running my two queues every day.  I actually managed to craft one badge but that was it.  Going through the queues I did add a couple of more titles to my wish list, so op success for Steam on that, though I am note sure they needed to send me an email about every single item on my wish list that was on sale.

Then, finally, there were games on sale… and unlike the last couple of events, I did actually buy a few items this time around.  Here is what I picked up:

Dirt3 Complete Edition  – $2.99

Probably the best value of the sale for me.  An older title, it looks good and plays well on my system.  While it clearly believes you should have a game pad to play, I managed to make to with the keyboard controls.  In casual mode you can do the tour and steer while the game limits your speed to what will keep you on the track, so you can pretend you’re instantly good at the game… just don’t turn off some of those helpers or you’ll find out how bad you really are.

You get to drive lots of different cars, including retro models (70s, 80s, and 90s) like my old friend the Lancia Delta.  I like the rally courses a lot.  Not too keen on the gymkhana drifting and tricks aspect that are a mandatory part of the tour mode.

Running in a BMW

In a straight away with the Lancia

I won this race, then clipped the finish line barrier

It also has a decent replay mode that lets you watch your race again from various angles and will allow you to upload the video to YouTube directly should you so desire.  I have yet to so desire.

Atari Vault – $7.99

And impulse buy.  I actually have an old copy of the Atari classics that probably dates from 2000 or so that still sort-of works when I have a burning desire to play Adventure or remind myself just how bad some of the Atari 2600 games really were.  But I figured I wouldn’t be amiss getting an updated version.

Train Valley – $3.39

Purchased on something of a whim, this did not turn out to be quite what I expected.  There was a promise of sandbox play and I had dreams of large rail empires… I mean, look at all that track I have laid in Minecraft.  But the game itself seems limited to one screen of area on which you are allowed to play, so your layouts cannot get too sprawling.  Meanwhile, the sandbox mode is more in the vein of a developers sandbox in which to experiment as opposed to what you might think of as a sandbox in the MMO world.

Simple track layout

Still, it is a fun little game in its own right and I spent a few hours playing it so far… and as I made it through various challenges I did manage to get more than my fair share of head-on rail collisions.

Prison Architect – $7.49

I did not buy this for myself but for my daughter who, upon learning of the Steam sale, put a few titles up on her wish list and then came over and mentioned this to me.  So I bought her this, and she actually played the hell out of it over the holiday break from school.  It looks pretty good and is one of those systemic process models where feeback loops (positive or negative) quickly make themselves apparent.  So I watched over her shoulder as she build cells, suppressed riots, and tried to figure out why the inmates inexplicably  refused to to to the dining hall.  This has been on my wishlist and I might pick it up for myself the next time it goes on sale.

Stardew Valley – $9.99

Another one for my daughter, whose wish list is limited by the fact that she has an iMac.  I was actually a bit surprised to find this title was available for MacOS.  I’ve heard lots of good things about it and it made the Steam Top 100 for 2016, a list based on sales revenue, which isn’t bad for a game with a $15 base price.  My daughter started playing it and got into it right away, though she was still feeling the draw of Prison Architect, so went back to that.  But she enthused enough about it that I bought a copy for myself before the end of the sale.  I have yet to launch it, but it is now in my library.

So that was it for the Steam sale.  I was going to buy Doom, which was 75% off, then totally forgot to on the last day and found it full price when I looked back to do it.  Probably for the best.

I did actually buy a few things this time around, but didn’t splurge.  I tried to keep it to just a few items so that I would play them rather than simply collect them.

Steam Winter Sale 2016 Results Another Steam Winter Sale has come and gone.  I think it was "Winter" this year, and not "Holiday," as it has occasionally been in past years.