#feeling very normal and unaffiliated lately

[b0y1sh]

me when i break my 4 year dry spell by kissing a girl i have been on and off talking to for over a year💪💪

#ameenie tag #call me a late bloomer😐 #i’m happy tho #feeling very normal and unaffiliated lately #maybe i should change the narrative around having good mental #health days from feeling normal or unaflicted to just having a good mental health day #bc let’s be real i still think i will just wake up one day with no depression #lol #but i am actually not going to analyze myself anymore

[needtherapy]

open always petal by petal (ch 2)

Song Lan knows his only passenger, Cao Huan, is more secrets than truths, but he's still the best passenger Song Lan has ever had: paid up front, self-sufficient, and silent.

It shouldn't matter that Cao Huan plays the guqin like his heart is broken.

It shouldn't matter that his smiles light up the darkest corners of Fuxue's passageways.

It shouldn't matter that he makes Song Lan curious, curious in a way he hasn't felt in years.

It's just an ordinary transport, a regular fare, a mostly-honest way to make a living. All they have to do is get from Sichuan Station to Caiyi Port. The galaxy may be a dangerous place, but Song Lan is very good at his job, and this should be an easy two-week trip.

The rest doesn't matter. It doesn't.

READ ON AO3

Notes: Rated E for Explicit. Title from e.e. cummings' poem "somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond". Thanks to @cirilien​, @coslyons​, @treemaidengeek​ and tucuxi (AO3) for the beta reads!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

⋆ Day 7 ⋆

I fell in love with him first, and he fell in love with the ship first, Song Lan tries to mumble, but he forgot, he doesn’t have a voice anymore, stolen by the man who stole Xingchen’s life.

A gentle hand smooths back his hair and traces a path across his jaw.

“Captain Song, when you wake up, I will buy you a fleet of ships. Just wake up,” a voice says. “Please wake up.”

Song Lan tries words again, even knowing they won’t work. I don’t want a fleet of ships. I only want to know why you are filled with such sadness, he says, but all that comes out is a breathy groan.

The warm hand on his neck disappears, and he barely stops himself from reaching out to pull the comfort back. Instead, he reluctantly opens his eyes and sits up.

The ship is dark, lit only by red emergency lights. He’s sitting on a table in the infirmary, hooked to a neural interface and cortical stimulator, and Cao Huan is on the other side of the room, disinfecting his hands. When he turns, Song Lan signs, “How long?”

“Only a few minutes,” is the answer, and Song Lan can tell the man is fudging the truth if not outright lying. He’s not great at it. “The shockwave knocked out the electrical systems. I looked, but the backup is uniquely designed. I did not want to risk...fiddling just yet.”

He says the word like he’s never used it before, and Song Lan smiles, slowly unhooking the machines from his head. Xingchen definitely had a unique way of wiring. Sometimes he knitted the wires together because he liked the way it looked. Or he chose colors that didn’t correspond to normal schematics but had meaning to him. Blue for ground because he was from the top of a snowy mountain, yellow for live because the sun created life. And so on.

“Okay. I’ll turn on the backups. Anything else?”

Cao Huan bites his lip and shakes his head.

“There’s no time to be polite. If there’s something I should know, tell me,” Song Lan insists, swinging his legs over the edge of the table and gingerly standing. There’s a bump and scrape on his forehead, but otherwise, he’s fine. He’s more worried about Fuxue.

“No,” Cao Huan says. “Nothing. We are far enough away from the remaining pirate fleet for safety. They should be disabled long enough for us to get somewhere for repairs.”

Song Lan knows there’s something more. He knows it like he knows every inch of Fuxue, like he knows the unperturbed expression on Cao Huan’s face means the exact opposite. It takes a second to unravel.

“You didn’t kill them,” he signs, and Cao Huan’s jaw tightens. He looks away, and Song Lan knows he’s guessed right. “You tried your best. They turned.”

“My best was not enough.”

Song Lan doesn’t miss the bitterness of the words.

“They’re pirates. They knew what the cost might be.”

“You are right, Captain Song. There is no time to delay. Show me how I can help you restart Fuxue,” Cao Huan says, and again, the topic is seemingly closed.

With a sigh, Song Lan motions for Cao Huan to follow him, and they spend the next hour rewiring critical systems to the backup engine. Only life support switches automatically, and they have to reconnect propulsion and flight control. It’s just enough to limp to the nearest station, which is, luckily, Rogue Sky.

Cao Huan is surprisingly reluctant to go there, though, even after Song Lan explains that it’s the best place for repairs.

“Are you certain it is our only option?” he asks.

Song Lan considers, even though this is his ship and his decision. The man had helped save his life. This trip is more like a partnership than a mere transport now.

“I trust their chief absolutely,” he finally signs, and Cao Huan nods, accepting his answer with a quick flicker of a smile that in no way fools Song Lan.

⋆ Day 8 ⋆

Rogue Sky is one of the nicer unaffiliated stations, orbiting a planet on the border of the Western and Eastern Sectors, near Qinghe-controlled space, but it has none of the grandeur of Sichuan, or even Caiyi. Despite having been cobbled together from scrapped and spare pieces, it’s known for quick, skilled, no-questions-asked repairs. Any one of those reasons would be good enough to come here, but the odd assortment of stragglers who live and work on Rogue Sky are the closest thing Song Lan has to friends anymore.

There are more than a dozen ships—including a Goldlighter medic—docked in bays or sitting on landing pads. Song Lan brings Fuxue into one of the large repair bays that already has two other ships in it. Even here, Fuxue isn’t very big, dwarfed by Qinghe mining vessels and Qishan haulers. In fact, the only ship smaller is a sleek Yunmeng runabout, a high-speed cruiser that seems a long way from home, in Song Lan’s opinion.

He’d called ahead, so Qingyang is waiting for him.

“Now that I’ve seen Fuxue, I’m even more shocked you’re alive. What did you do to her this time?” she demands.

Song Lan grins and signs, “I can’t be blamed for pirates.”

He feels more than hears Cao Huan behind him and adds, “We wouldn’t have survived if my passenger wasn’t such a skilled gunner. Luo Qingyang…” Song Lan pauses. He doesn’t know what Cao Huan’s sign for his name is. He picks the signs for the two words as a stand in for now. “This is Cao Huan. Cao Huan, this is Qingyang, chief of Rogue Sky.”

Cao Huan has an odd expression on his face when Song Lan looks at him, but he smiles and nods at Qingyang. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Captain Song speaks highly of you.”

“Ah. Cao Huan,” Qingyang says. “Any friend of Song Lan’s is welcome here.” She turns back to Song Lan. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat while the mechs diagnose your baby.”

They walk through the station and Song Lan takes note of the changes. Typically, many of the station workers live on-world, but he sees plenty of new sections. Living quarters here. New worker dining halls there. Upgrades to the infirmary deck.

He sees other things too. Signs of wear. A bucket under a leaking pipe. Shoeless children running through the halls. He wonders when the last time he visited was, and a pang of guilt taps his shoulder. Every visit matters. Every tiny scrap of work he can give them matters. It’s been too long. However long is too long.

He touches Qingyang’s elbow. “Is everything okay here?”

“Same old, same old. Life goes on and we try to keep up.” Qingyang says with a smile, the same thing she always says. This time, he shakes his head and frowns at her, and she shrugs, giving him a more serious, considering look.

“There are a lot of new people on the station. Better jobs here, and safer. The Joint Senate is doing its best, and even the Goldlighters are...better than they were, but you know how it is. After a war, after a regime change, there’s always a vacuum,” she answers. “It’s never been an easy life, being unaffiliated, and lately, there are a lot more pirates and mercs. But we have a good reputation and I aim to keep it that way.”

It should be comforting, but he doesn’t miss the words between the words and that she only signs to him, doesn’t speak out loud. While the High Chancellor was openly hostile toward unaffiliated stations and colonies, Xiandu was more insidiously at odds with them, framing it as “in their best interest” to be part of the Goldlighter network. It was safer, he’d said. Together, they’d be more prosperous, he’d said.

But more than one station who objected, more than one colony who resisted, had gone missing under his regime. Even the scrapping colony Song Lan had grown up with was gone now, either destroyed or forcibly integrated. It’s a miracle Rogue Sky has remained independent and prosperous as long as they have, and Song Lan knows it hasn’t been as easy as it’s seemed.

He wonders if Qingyang is being mindful of the guest behind them who is undoubtedly one of the privileged class, if not an affiliated Goldlighter himself, or if it’s easier for her to disguise her worries if he can’t hear her voice.

Lunch—or whatever meal this is; Song Lan has forgotten—is hot and brown and full of noodles and vegetables. Hydroponics, Qingyang tells them, with a glance at Cao Huan. An old friend upgraded their systems last year, and it hasn’t given them a lick of trouble since then. Song Lan wonders how legal their upgrade was.

“I would like to see the gardens, if you are willing to show me,” Cao Huan asks, signing as he speaks, and Qingyang looks sideways at Song Lan before she nods. He tries not to smile. Evidently the tall, quiet man is capable of surprising her, too.

The gardens are a full deck, now, alternating between neat and tidy rows of fruits and vegetables and wild, bright flower gardens that seem to have no other value than aesthetic. It’s stunning, far more spectacular than he remembers. Song Lan turns to ask Cao Huan if it’s what he expected, but Cao Huan is distracted, smiling and touching the dark green leaves of a climbing vine. He leans forward to sniff its tiny white flowers, closing his eyes when he inhales.

Song Lan means to step back so he doesn’t intrude on what feels like a private moment, but Cao Huan looks at him. Just looks at him through long dark lashes, with the hint of a smile in his eyes, and Song Lan knows he wants to kiss him here in the midst of all this beauty. He hasn’t felt this way in so long, he almost doesn’t recognize the way desire captures and bends him, focusing everything on a single point of intent.

He is so grateful when Qingyang’s comm squawks for her attention and disrupts the direction his thoughts are heading.

“The mechs say it’s fixable, but it’ll take two days. Honestly,” she adds, when Song Lan’s face falls, “you’re lucky they can do it that quickly. We’ve had an influx of parts for Jian-class ships lately. A lot of crews are upgrading the old Qishan system to Lan nanotech.”

“Captain Song, please, do not worry on my account,” Cao Huan assures him. “Two days will make no difference."

He does look relieved, actually, and once again, Song Lan wonders what’s waiting for him in Caiyi.

“I need to get back to work,” Qingyang says with a wry smile. “Let me show you to your room.”

Song Lan hopes she’s just misspoken. He doesn’t want to ask, for fear of insulting Cao Huan, but he is also increasingly aware that it would be...difficult to sleep in the same room.

First, though, they go back to the repair hangar so the chief mech can tell Song Lan every single thing wrong with Fuxue, some of which existed before the pirates, and all of which the mech is certain must be fixed immediately. It’s hard to argue that the deflectors don’t need upgrading, or that the propulsion system doesn’t need cleaning, so he just sighs and agrees, thankful again that Cao Huan paid so well in advance.

They gather up the things they’ll need for a two-day stay, including the discarded knitting—Song Lan is sure he’s going to need the soothing repetition of knit and purl—and follow Qingyang again.

She hadn’t misspoken. There is only one free guest room on the station thanks to the Goldlighter medic ship, which is two days into a four-day engine repair. It is, at least, a larger room, with plenty of space to hang a hammock, and Song Lan has slept in worse places.

“I’m so sorry. We’ve seen a lot of these longer repairs lately. Either they’re finicky old engines or, like the medic ship, they’re the complicated new Goldlighter systems. If they weren’t ill and injured patients, I would happily make them move into fewer quarters,” she apologizes for the sixth time.

“Chief Luo, I have slept in many worse places. Even the floor would be fine for two nights,” Cao Huan says for the sixth time. Song Lan wonders which one of them is going to win the war of courtesy. “Thank you for your concern.”

There’s something in his tone, both honest and firm, that makes Qingyang finally relax. She starts to say something, but a voice in her comm catches her attention and she shakes her head, waving to them as she walks away arguing.

For a minute, they are alone, and although they’ve been alone on a ship for the last eight days, this time Song Lan is aware of every single one of the sixty heartbeats and twelve breaths it takes for Cao Huan to stop surveying the room and smile.

“If you do not mind, I would like to meditate in the gardens.”

Song Lan tips his head. “You don’t need permission. Most areas of this station are open to all.”

Cao Huan laughs, light and a little uncertain. “No, Captain Song, I…” He falters, and Song Lan wonders what’s in that falter, what he meant to say, because he very clearly changes direction. “I will be gone for an hour, in case anyone looks for me.”

He picks up his guqin and leaves. Song Lan shuts the door behind him, leans against the wall and, very gently, bangs his head on it.

Instead of dwelling on the things he can’t change, Song Lan goes for a run, a luxury he wasn’t expecting to get halfway through this trip. It does help to clear his mind, and the fast, chilly shower afterward—real water, more satisfying than any sonic shower—works even better. He’s still toweling off his hair when he gets back to the room and finds Cao Huan hanging up a hammock.

“No,” he signs, touching Cao Huan on the shoulder to catch his attention. “You should have the bed.”

Cao Huan frowns. “Why? You are the pilot. You should be well-rested.”

“You’re the passenger. You paid for a comfortable passage,” Song Lan insists. It’s ridiculous, but it doesn’t seem right for Cao Huan to sleep in a hammock instead of a bed. He should have soft pillows and plush blankets.

“This is perfectly fine,” Cao Huan argues, a stubborn clench in his jaw. “Do not assume that I am dissembling for the sake of pride. I have not slept in a bed in three years.”

Something about that tickles the back of Song Lan’s mind, but he doesn’t have time to work it out, because Cao Huan frowns and crosses his arms.

“Captain Song, I am not as cosseted as you think me to be. No one has needed to worry about my comfort in quite some time.”

Song Lan only means to look pointedly at Cao Huan’s expensive silk robes, but his gaze lingers on the skin at the base of Cao Huan’s throat, at the hint of muscle in his arms, the way his belt hugs his waist, and his mouth goes dry. He tries to think of a response, any response.

“Well, I do,” he signs with a huff. “Worry about you.”

Cao Huan’s face shifts from aggravation to confusion, and he examines Song Lan’s expression as if, now, he’s the one who doesn’t believe what Song Lan is saying.

“Captain?” he asks tentatively.

Before Song Lan can wipe the truth from his face or think of something to diffuse his stupid stupidity, Cao Huan is stepping closer, touching Song Lan’s face with his beautiful hands, and his lips are on Song Lan’s, warm and inviting.

With a groan he can’t silence, Song Lan accepts the invitation wholeheartedly, wrapping his arms around Cao Huan’s waist and kissing him harder, pressing into his body harder. The lines of it he can feel under the robes are tantalizing, more muscle than he expected, but also more softness—a curve of belly against his and a truly exceptional ass.

Cao Huan tugs at Song Lan’s shirt, and without debating the wisdom of it, without succumbing to the creeping voice that whispers you can’t have this, Song Lan lifts his hands and lets Cao Huan pull the shirt over his head. He fills his mind with the feel of soft silk against his skin and the burning taste of Cao Huan’s mouth.

“You are extraordinary,” Cao Huan says, kissing a spot on Song Lan’s neck that sears like a brand. “Spectacular,” he adds, biting Song Lan’s earlobe softly. “Gorgeous,” he grins before kissing Song Lan’s mouth again, and it even sounds like he means it.

Song Lan hasn’t been with anyone since Xingchen, never thought he could want anyone but Xingchen. He doesn’t know why, why now, why this man, why this place, but maybe it doesn’t matter. He feels what he feels, and Xingchen would never have asked him to seal himself up in a lonely tower forever. He can enjoy this moment before it passes. He can.

He fumbles with Cao Huan’s robes, unsure where to start, so Cao Huan generously helps, untying the complicated knots and ties of the belt and five layers of robes more swiftly than Song Lan could have managed, dropping them to the ground in a heap. He’s breathtaking, standing in his white pants, feet bare, hair pooling around his shoulders, an uncertain smile on his lips, and Song Lan is furious with his own speechlessness. He was never overly reliant on words, but the unfairness of his inability to tell Cao Huan how much he wants him, to not even be able to say his name, hits him all at once.

“Is it...is this...too much?” Cao Huan asks, caressing his cheek, obviously trying to read the shift in Song Lan’s expression.

Song Lan shakes his head and leans forward, resting his forehead against Cao Huan’s. It is too much in the way that the sun in the morning is too much after a long dark night, but he forges ahead, kissing Cao Huan methodically, patiently this time. No, Song Lan changes his mind, nibbling the hollow of Cao Huan’s throat and listening to his soft hum of pleasure, it’s just enough.

He notices Cao Huan’s hands on the waistband of his pants seconds before the man sinks to his knees and tugs them down, nuzzling his nose into the sensitive skin at the joint of Song Lan’s hip. He bites a path up the inside of Song Lan’s thigh, his sharp teeth scattering tingling sparks through Song Lan, and flicks his tongue against each spot, buckling Song Lan’s knees and forcing him to catch himself on the man’s sturdy shoulders. Cao Huan looks up at him, lifts his light brown eyes to meet Song Lan’s, before he licks the hard line of Song Lan’s cock and takes it into his mouth.

Song Lan falls into a dark and nameless void, shocked by his own reaction to Cao Huan’s lips around him. The desire coalesces from every part of him, settling in his core like a waiting explosion. He is desperate for the straining, clawing ache to release, desperate for it never to end. He runs his fingers over the arch of Cao Huan’s ear, and it steadies him in some ways, undoes him in others. He yearns to know more, where this tiny scar on his cheek came from, why his hair is long, what he’s been doing alone for three years, who he is.

Cao Huanes presses lightly into Song Lan’s skin, grazing his hips, skimming the taut muscle of his stomach, touching everywhere he can reach, and he looks at Song Lan with more than just want. It occurs to Song Lan that maybe they are in this void together, careening into something neither of them expected or understands.

He can’t hold back his hoarse cries, and he doesn’t want to. He wants Cao Huan to know what this means to him, that it’s perfect and wonderful, that even if he could speak, he wouldn’t have the words for it.

The climax rolls over him slowly, at first like an opening fist, but then without end, the collapsing star of pleasure stealing away his thoughts, even his breath. He only inhales when Cao Huan’s tongue swirls around his cock, almost too intense to bear, and he staggers backward, hitting the bed and sitting down awkwardly. Cao Huan strips off his pants and follows him, straddling his lap and kissing him, on the mouth, on the neck, on the top of his shoulder, murmuring words Song Lan can’t believe.

“Please,” Song Lan signs, “I want you...anything...everything…Huan-ge, please.”

He doesn’t think he’s asking right, at a loss for forming intelligent words, but Cao Huan growls, low and fierce in the back of his throat, not a sound Song Lan expected from so dignified a man, and he shivers at what it promises.

“I...did not consider…” Cao Huan answers shakily, “I do not want to hurt you,” he says, tightening his hands around Song Lan’s jaw.

Song Lan doesn’t think he cares right now, but as much as he wants to fuck Cao Huan, to be fucked by him, he can adapt.

He swipes his fingers through his mouth and wraps his wet hand around Cao Huan’s cock, stroking him hard and fast. Cao Huan tips his head back, one hand on Song Lan’s shoulder and rocks up into his hand, but it’s not quite enough. Dragging Cao Huan on top of him, Song Lan adjusts Cao Huan’s cock between his thighs and squeezes, reveling in the man’s guttural moan. “Captain Song, you…you are more...” Cao Huan cups Song Lan’s cheek. “You are so much more,” he says and kisses Song Lan, thrusting between his legs, the slippery, sliding pressure igniting something new and frenzied inside Song Lan.

He clutches greedy hands around Cao Huan’s ass, pulling him closer, and they settle into a rhythm together immediately, nearly familiar, like a song he knows by heart. Song Lan looks into Cao Huan’s eyes, his almost golden eyes, and he doesn’t understand how it can be like this. He doesn’t know this man, not even his real name. How can he feel so much for him all at once, so much desire and fascination? It doesn't make sense when he tries to think about it, but when he lets go and just exists, just accepts it, everything feels exactly right.

“Captain, please, I want your mouth,” Cao Huan’s breath next to his ear sends thrilling bolts of lightning down into the tips of Song Lan’s fingers. “Can I come in your mouth?”

Song Lan can’t answer fast enough, tugging at Cao Huan and trying to say yes, fuck, yes at the same time. Only the “yes” comes out in any way discernible, and Cao Huan scrambles forward. Song Lan eagerly takes him into his mouth, his cock hot and wet already, hitting the back of Song Lan’s throat. He urges Cao Huan deeper, tightening the lock of his lips around him. The mechanics are different than he remembers, and he thinks the sensation must be different than Cao Huan expected, but the man cries out almost immediately, his climax crashing over him and transforming his face into something almost too beautiful to look at.

Cao Huan slumps onto the bed, his panting breaths mixed with laughter, and Song Lan scoots toward him. A sated smile finds its way onto his mouth and Cao Huan touches it.

“Captain Song, the service on this transport is unexpectedly thorough,” he says solemnly, and Song Lan laughs.

“You can use my name, you know,” Song Lan signs, and then realizes he’s never shown his name to Cao Huan. There’s a strange intimacy in making the sign, the combination of tented fingers that flick down, like brushing water off of skin, and he feels heat rising to his skin.

“Perhaps I prefer to call you Captain,” Cao Huan teases, but he repeats the sign.

Song Lan doesn’t bother to ask the sign for his name. He knows it won’t be real anyway, but Cao Huan purses his lips thoughtfully.

“I am Huan,” he signs, with a closing, twisting fist that opens flat, almost the normal way of making the signs, but not quite, and he watches Song Lan closely as though there’s some test in these motions. “It is not how I am usually known, but...it is not untrue.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Song Lan tells him, and Cao Huan shakes his head.

“It matters to me.” He brushes back Song Lan’s hair. “I… I want to tell you the things that...that are not too shameful to say.”

And now he is blushing, the red bloom spreading from his neck up into his ears, and he ducks his head, tucking it under Song Lan’s chin. Song Lan doesn’t have an answer for that, for the trust he’s being given. He wants to be worthy of it, though, so he doesn’t ask any questions, just pulls Cao Huan closer.

It is astounding, Song Lan thinks, running a hand down Cao Huan’s arm, how much he wants him again already, but he can hear the man’s breathing starting to slow. He satisfies himself with the feeling of skin against skin, the silky soft brush of hair over his arm, the contented sigh as Cao Huan pins Song Lan’s leg with his.

Song Lan briefly considers how much warmer they would be with a blanket, but reconsiders when he looks at the naked stretch of Cao Huan’s body next to his. There are some things worth enduring a little chill for.

⋆ Day 9 ⋆

Song Lan doesn’t quite know how to react to waking up in a bed with someone else, someone who had, evidently, adjusted them in the night. They are under the blankets now, and Song Lan is curved around Cao Huan’s back, one arm under his head, one across his chest.

He decides he’s not at all unhappy about this unfamiliar arrangement. It’s just a passing fling, and all the more precious for its fleeting nature.

Song Lan sets his lips against Cao Huan’s shoulder, following the muscle up his neck. There is a small bump at the top of his spine, not a bone, something with a faint blue light under the skin. Now that he’s looking closely, he can see a practically invisible line along Cao Huan’s hairline, an indistinct ribbon, and he wonders what kind of neural implant it is. He’s never seen such delicate work. The red contact points and black wiring of his own nodes are barely noticeable at a distance but raised enough to be seen and felt up close, and he is well aware that his rescuers spared no expense to provide them.

He will tell you when he’s ready, Song Lan thinks. Or he won’t. It doesn’t matter.

Song Lan’s hand finds its way down Cao Huan’s side to his hip, flexing involuntarily against the smooth skin, and Cao Huan’s voice rumbles in his chest.

“If you are going to be so ardent in the morning, Captain, we will need to find provisions first.”

He rolls over and kisses Song Lan firmly. Song Lan realizes that he’d been clinging to doubts about whether last night had been intentional or a fluke, whether Cao Huan would regret it in the morning, and the answer is a crushing relief.

“Also, I am hungry,” he grins, sweet and charming in a way that reminds Song Lan a little of Xingchen.

Not that they’re anything alike, Song Lan thinks. Xingchen was a wild soul through and through, nothing like Cao Huan’s outward tranquility and concealed turbulence. It’s like comparing fire and ice, and the only similarity is how they both burn through Song Lan.

They make their way to the city decks, the heart of the station where food sellers, shops, and entertainment stalls are crammed together, one on top of the other. Song Lan waves and smiles at the people he knows, even stops to talk to some of them.

A few people give Cao Huan curious looks. If he stood out in Sichuan, he is a strange and alien creature here, not only for the way he’s dressed. There’s just something about him that draws the eye, even when he is so clearly trying to be unnoticed.

They buy tiny scallion pancakes from one stall, fried noodles from another, curls of fruit-flavored ice cream, lotus root sandwiches, spicy tacos, steamed buns—more food than Song Lan normally has for two meals, but Cao Huan has apparently never eaten any of it before. Song Lan isn’t too proud to admit that he keeps buying food to watch Cao Huan’s expression change with every new taste.

They find the other supplies they’re looking for, too. Song Lan is a little embarrassed to buy lube with someone, but Cao Huan seems unperturbed by the shopkeeper’s knowing grin. He also buys new clothes: dark blue pants, fitted white shirts, and a very sensible leather jacket.

It’s all so mundane, so ordinary to go shopping and eat food with someone, but it feels wondrous, like waking up and finding an uncharted green planet.

He glances at Cao Huan who is looking at him with a curious, puzzled expression, and Song Lan wants him so badly, he’s sure it’s evident on his face. Cao Huan’s mouth quirks, and he speeds up, taking Song Lan’s hand and pulling him along.

By the time they get back to their room, Song Lan has figured out how to undo Cao Huan’s wide silk belt, and the man laughs shakily when Song Lan pulls it off in the hall and loops the long fabric around his shoulders. He reels Cao Huan back to him, one hand snaking down his stomach, and Cao Huan leans back, resting his head on Song Lan’s shoulder.

“Are you planning to fuck me in the hallway, Captain Song?” he asks, tickling Song Lan’s ear with his breath. He guides Song Lan’s hand lower, and Song Lan groans. “I might let you.”

It’s a measure of how far gone Song Lan is that he considers it before briskly pushing Cao Huan through the door.

Inside, he pulls off his clothes, trembling with need, catching Cao Huan in his arms before he can take off the last layer of thin silk clinging indecently to his body.

“You,” he pants, speaking the words, ignoring the muddy way they leave his mouth, because even signing feels too complicated. “Want you.”

“You may have me,” Cao Huan tells him. “Any way you like.”

It seems impossible, too much for Song Lan to comprehend. The words. The way he looks, waiting on the bed, lips red and swollen. The soft heat of his body when Song Lan slides slick fingers inside him. The way he writhes and moans, shockingly uninhibited.

He was loved, once, Song Lan thinks, stroking his hand down the velvet-soft skin of Cao Huan’s cock. He knows how to respond to love.

“Captain...Song Lan, Lan-er, please,” Cao Huan asks, tugging on Song Lan’s arm, his eyes dark with surrender. “I need you now.”

Song Lan watches Cao Huan’s face as he lifts his hips, fits them together, and slowly presses inside him. He distracts himself from the exquisite pressure and enveloping warmth by marking the change of expressions: a twinge of discomfort, blinking surprise, mouth-open wonder, and finally, as Song Lan starts to move, fevered lust that pierces Song Lan and fixes in his mind, never to be forgotten.

This...the two of them...joined like this...Song Lan hadn’t known he’d been in limbo before, only living in the technical sense of the word. This feels real. For the first time in years, he is more than merely existing. It’s unbearable.

His orgasm is an agonizing spike, sudden and blinding, and he crashes into Cao Huan, clutching at him, touching as much of him as possible, as long as possible until the violent shuddering of his body calms and the pounding of his heart steadies.

And somehow, it’s nowhere near enough.

“Will you...” Song Lan is still not used to this, specifying what he wants. He thinks he must seem pathetic, asking so bluntly, but he can’t stop himself. “Huan-ge, will you fuck me? Please?”

Cao Huan closes his eyes and exhales with a tremulous laugh. “Lan-er, it is all I seem to want to do lately,” he says, even as he is sitting up, shifting Song Lan on his lap, kissing his mouth.

Song Lan is not a small man, and there is something about being adjusted with such little effort that sends shivers hurtling up and down his spine. The anticipation, though, is nothing compared to the actuality of Cao Huan’s fingers between his legs, sticky and wet with lube, slipping inside him smoothly. For a moment, for several moments, he’s certain he’s on the verge of combustion, breaking apart along tiny, ecstatic fractures.

Abruptly, Cao Huan bites Song Lan’s collarbone, the burst of delicious pain bringing the world back into focus. His moan comes out in a keening whimper, and Cao Huan flexes his hand, rubbing against Song Lan and sending shockwaves through him. Song Lan sinks into the relentless pleasure of fingers plunging into him, and he whines when Cao Huan stops, even knowing why, even knowing what’s next.

Cao Huan takes his time, letting Song Lan get used to him, filling him inch by inch.

“Breathe, Lan-er,” he murmurs, kissing the side of his mouth, and Song Lan takes a ragged, hoarse breath.

And another as Cao Huan twitches his hips.

And another as Cao Huan pushes the rest of the way into him.  

Song Lan had forgotten—how could he have forgotten—this particular surge of feeling, of being so consumed by desire that there’s nothing else, no other thoughts to have. He rocks with Cao Huan, captured by the cadence of his thrusts, his mouth, his hands.

Cao Huan gasps out his name like a plea for mercy, “Lan-er, fuck, Lan-er,” before slamming into him with the force of his climax, and Song Lan cries out too, not wanting it to end.

Cao Huan leans against Song Lan’s chest, panting, and Song Lan kisses the top of his head. Then his ear. Then his nose. Then his mouth. Cao Huan flops back onto the bed, arms and legs akimbo.

“I...I do not know exactly what to say,” he mumbles.

Song Lan wants to laugh. What is there to say? Thank you for the mind-blowing sex?

Actually…

He lays down next to Cao Huan and rests a hand over his heart, feeling its fluttering drumbeat.

Thank you, he draws on Cao Huan’s chest. Thank you for making me feel again.

Their room doesn’t have a dedicated bathroom, but it has a sink. Song Lan eventually gets up to clean himself off and wets a cloth for Cao Huan. He grins when Cao Huan tries to take it away from him and cleans Cao Huan too, kissing the curve of his stomach, the ridge of his hip, the tops of his thighs, as he goes.

“My turn next time,” Cao Huan says with a no-arguments tone of voice. Song Lan doesn’t hate the promise of a next time.

He only barely finishes before the lassitude catches up to him, and he yawns as he climbs under the covers, snuggling against Cao Huan. He shouldn’t be tired—it’s the middle of the day—but it’s safe and warm here, and Song Lan decides to enjoy this moment too. He traces the arch of Cao Huan’s eyebrow and the bow of his mouth, smiling when Cao Huan nibbles his finger.

Song Lan closes his eyes and lets himself rest.

It’s still day when he wakes, according to the clock, and Cao Huan is up, dressing in his new clothes that do nothing to disguise his distinctiveness. He pulls his hair back into a ponytail, and Song Lan’s stomach flops appreciatively.

“You’re still gorgeous,” he signs, and Cao Huan shakes his head.

“You may be biased,” he retorts.

“True,” Song Lan agrees, swinging his legs out of bed and stretching. “But I thought that before I saw you naked.”

He grabs Cao Huan around the waist, and Cao Huan rewards him with a lingering kiss.

“I...I am going to meditate in the gardens. Will…” he sounds so hesitant, and Song Lan tips his head curiously. “Will you join me?”

“Of course.” Song Lan has no idea why Cao Huan is anxious about meditation, which seems innocuous, which Song Lan has heard him do nearly every night since they started this journey, but it’s easy to say yes to Cao Huan.

“Thank you,” he says, touching Song Lan’s face before picking up his guqin. “And then dinner?”

Song Lan’s stomach objects loudly. “Dinner first?” he asks hopefully, and Cao Huan laughs.

“Dinner first.”

Dinner ends up being another kaleidoscope of vendor foods, from meat wrapped in thin pancakes to vegetables fried in spicy batter to skewers of soft chicken and potatoes.

Song Lan finds his favorite dessert, layered frozen fruit bars, and he hands a watermelon lime bar to Cao Huan. Cao Huan’s eyes widen at the sweet and sour taste, and when he finishes, Song Lan hands him a different flavor, the second one melting faster than he can finish it.

“I should have waited to give you that until we were alone,” Song Lan signs, and Cao Huan tips his head.

“Why?” he asks around a bite of what looks like mango and tajin.

“Because I want to lick it off you,” Song Lan grins.

Cao Huan blinks slowly and smiles. “You may,” he agrees, tilting his head back.

Song Lan had always known that what he felt with Xingchen was unique, the ease and willingness of touch and affection, and he’d never expected to find it with anyone else. But when he touches his lips to Cao Huan’s now, surrounded by an almost overwhelming number of people, tasting the spice and tang, he is honestly not sure he can stop at only the kiss. Cao Huan hums in his throat and Song Lan hastily pulls away from the temptation. After meditation. He can surely be patient and wait until after meditation.

The gardens aren’t empty. Workers are picking fruits and vegetables, and visitors are wandering down the pathways. It’s amazing how much this space adds to Rogue Sky, Song Lan thinks. Every station should have one.

Cao Huan settles on the floor in a quiet corner of the deck facing the wall, and Song Lan sits across from him. Cao Huan gives him an uncertain smile before closing his eyes and setting  his fingers to the guqin. Song Lan breathes in and out slowly, counting in rhythm with Cao Huan’s breath, finding the quiet space inside him before Cao Huan starts to play.

The sound of the instrument is even more spectacular here, twining through the trees and echoing in the high ceiling. It seems like this was what the guqin was meant for: open spaces and, Song Lan notices, a growing crowd.

To their credit, the people are polite at first, just walking closer, standing nearby without obviously watching, but it doesn’t take long for them to congregate. He can’t blame them. Cao Huan isn’t just playing the guqin, he’s speaking with it, telling a story with it, the music unfolding in a heart-wrenching requiem.

He plays for so long, a single, unbroken stream of sound. Song Lan can almost hear the words, not soothing as he expects meditation to be, but mournful, tearing Song Lan apart with every note. He sees Qingyang in their audience, tears streaming down her face, and he wonders who she’s thinking of, if it’s someone specific or everyone they’ve lost.

Without warning, Cao Huan pushes the guqin away and in a fluid, graceful movement, stands and stalks away through his audience without a backward glance.

Song Lan packs up the guqin—he has no idea what he’s doing, but thankfully, it’s not that complicated—and, with a shrug to Qingyang, heads back to the empty room.

It doesn’t take as long as he expects for Cao Huan to find his way back. Song Lan is sitting on the bed, knitting a sock cuff, when he comes in the door. He flicks a smile at Cao Huan before going back to counting the ribbing repeats, trying to give him whatever space he needs, even here in this small room.

Cao Huan hovers by the door for a few minutes, and Song Lan pretends he doesn’t see the indecision and fear on his face.

“I can not seem to make the guqin do anything but weep anymore,” he finally says, and Song Lan sets down his knitting.

“You are entitled to your feelings,” he signs.

Cao Huan frowns. “What if I am not?”

There doesn’t seem to be an answer to that. Song Lan stands up and carefully kisses Cao Huan’s forehead. “You are. Even if they don’t make sense.”

Cao Huan sighs and rests his head on Song Lan’s shoulder, muffling his words. “What if I did something terrible? Unforgivable, even?”

We’ve all done terrible things, Song Lan thinks, but he isn’t sure if that’s actually true. Maybe other people have lived normal lives and never needed to seek revenge. Justice, he reminds himself. It was justice.

Song Lan smooths a hand up Cao Huan’s back, mapping the dips and ridges, tracing a path around his shoulder blade. He settles it against the nape of Cao Huan’s neck and rubs the tense muscle there.

“You are too good to me, Captain Song,” Cao Huan mumbles, and Song Lan huffs, a single sound of disbelief. Kindness has not been forefront in his thoughts recently.

“Would you be so kind if I’d killed someone?”

The words hang in the air, and Song Lan can feel Cao Huan’s body still, waiting, ready...to run? Ready to fight?

Song Lan rests his other hand on the center of Cao Huan’s back, massaging his thumb in a reassuring circle, a circle that means yes, I would, before he moves away just enough to sign.

“I killed someone—the man who took my voice and killed my partner, my love. He was a hired assassin, only doing his job, but I hunted him down and killed him anyway.”

He searches Cao Huan’s face for shock or censure, but all he finds is understanding, an ever-blooming field of empathy, and it’s a relief, such a relief to admit this vicious secret, the worst thing he’s ever done.

“I don’t regret it. If I could have killed his patron, I would have. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would kill without reason, but even if you are, it’s your choice to let it consume you or make peace with yourself.”

There’s so much else Song Lan could say. That he’d planned to kill Xiandu, even though the assassin claimed the hit hadn’t been his order. That he cried when he learned the man was dead; he hadn’t cared how it had happened, only that it had. That he’d been drunk for days afterward, both in relief he did understand and despair he didn’t. That peace is a daily battle.

Cao Huan leans into Song Lan, hugging him around the waist. When he finally does speak again, his words are small and brittle eggshells.

“I loved him, and I hated him. And yet, killing him is not the most unforgivable thing I have done. What is unforgivable is that I did not do it sooner. What is unforgivable is that I love him still. And hate him still. What is unforgivable is that I am allowed...expected...to go on with my life as though I did nothing wrong.”

The last words break away in a bitter snap, and Song Lan frowns. He sits Cao Huan down on the bed and crouches down to look at him, at the tear streaks on his cheeks. Gently, he dabs them with his sleeve.

“Huan-ge. You and I get to live with our mistakes. You and I are alive to forgive ourselves and the people we loved. It’s not unforgiveable to live.”

He only half believes it himself, but he hopes if he says it enough, eventually it’ll be true.

Cao Huan doesn’t look convinced either, but he touches Song Lan’s face, and it seems to steady him. The tears stop falling, at least.

“I...I…” He tries to say something and fails. A wan smile flutters over his lips, barely long enough for Song Lan to be sure it was ever there. “You are good, Lan-er.” The smile tries again and sticks this time, slow and resolute, and it reaches the deepest places inside Song Lan, places he has tried to close off. “Thank you.”

When they finally go to bed, it’s only to sleep. Although, with Cao Huan’s fingers fitted between his, Cao Huan’s legs tangled together with his, “only” doesn’t seem like a fair word for the way it feels to sense a new planet forming around him, and Song Lan is afraid he doesn’t know how to face the swiftly shifting landscape of his life.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan xichen #song lan #luo qingyang #lanlan #space au #this chapter has sex #also more guqin #also MIANMIAN #Kristina writes tiny stories #this one is medium

[horseluvr00-ff]

A Place to Call Home | Chapter 34

Masterlist Here

Rating: T+

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Genre/Warnings: action/adventure/family | kidnapping, violence, strong language.

Story summary: It’s been a few months since the Battle of New York. Steve Rogers is acclimating to life when he crosses paths with teenager Katelyn Sanders, a SHIELD recruit and highly valued asset with a dark past. Follow Kate’s adventure from SHIELD asset to Avenger to wanted fugitive over the course of her youth and into adulthood with her Avenging family. Follows Infinity Saga and beyond.

Words: 7,208

Disclaimer: Majority of properties within this fanfic are owned by Marvel/Disney. My OC Katelyn Sanders, as well as a few other unaffiliated things within this fanfic are of my own creation.

Author Note: Relogs are welcome and appreciated :) Please no plagiarism or reposts on other platforms. Updates occur weekly on Fridays, however posts on Tumblr usually occur Saturdays.

Full story available on FFN and A03 here and here

Chapter 34 can be found here on FFN and here on AO3 in full.

Check out a portion of Chapter 34 below:

It's late in the evening, and Kate is out wandering the streets.

While one could argue it was more dangerous than walking around during the day when people were out and about - for Kate - the desertedness of the city made it easier to spot threats. The overwhelming nature of the day, when hundreds of thousands of people roamed the streets, it was difficult for Kate to focus. Walking around late at night however, with fewer people present, brought about a certain clarity.

While Kate's ability granted her many talents, it also made her hyper aware of a whole magnitude of things. Things most people didn't notice or perhaps didn't even have the courage to confront.

Picking up dinner with Clint earlier that day - Kate hadn't planned on doing anything out of the ordinary. Waiting for the agent to return from the restaurant with their takeout was the plan… Until she heard it.

An individual yelling out, proclaiming someone had taken their backpack. Attention already peaked; Kate had found herself pushing off the wall, heading down the sidewalk towards the closest alley before feeling her senses heighten. The sound bounced off walls and channeled her way. As if she had a sort of psychic map in her mind, Kate picked up a jog, making her way through the small maze of alleys until she heard the sound of heavy breathing pick up.

Breaking into a short run, Kate made her way around the corner, gauging her point of impact before running round the corner, left arm extended out she slammed it into an individual's chest, causing their feet to fly out before they hit the ground with a pained grunt-like yell.

Picking up the backpack, Kate had watched as the individual, looking only a few years older than herself, had quickly gotten up and ran away, more fearful than she had originally anticipated.

The whole ordeal had been over as quickly as it had started. The individual that had called out regarding their stolen property eventually ran up to her and Kate returned the property, mentioning that the one who had taken it had dropped it. No need to gloat.

Kate had made her way back to the restaurant quickly, hoping she hadn't been missed, only to see Clint on the phone and looking somewhat nervous.

Yeah, that hadn't been the greatest moment. Especially after Steve's reaction when they got back to the Tower.

Hands deep in her hoodie pockets, Kate continues to walk down the mostly empty sidewalk dimly lit by streetlights. There weren't many people out. The majority of them didn't look all that menacing, but her senses made clear which people projected ill-intent and which didn't. Raised heart rates and tense muscles were prominent in most of the individuals she passed, as if they thought they'd get caught any moment.

While her better judgment told her this wasn't smart, she also couldn't really remember a time when she did something like this. The last time she was "normal" she was probably seven years old. The amount of freedom people her age had- she didn't know… However she felt capable enough to be out here… looking for trouble to stop.

She tried not to dwell on that fact too much - the fact that she was out here late at night looking for trouble - some kind of bad to stop.

Turning down a different block, Kate keeps her eyes ahead but somewhat low on the sidewalk. She could feel eyes turn towards her as she passed people here and there. Pulling her hood over her head, Kate continues on her way.

Aside from the thundercloud over her head telling her she was asking for trouble, the city was somewhat comforting at night. It might be her subconscious understanding that she could handle any individual who may approach her with ill intent, but regardless of the fact, she felt a sense of ease walking down the street, the cold air soothing her.

A string of angered curses suddenly pulls Kate from her thoughts and her eyes snap upwards. Coming to a corner, she looks down the sidewalk seeing two people disappear into one of the alleyways.

"I- said no," A female voice; agitated.

Clenching and unclenching her hands in her pockets, Kate begins making her way down the sidewalk before slowing at the corner of the alleyway where the two people now where.

"You don't seem to understand that me telling you no at work, and me telling you no now, hasn't changed anything-" The woman's fist was curled up tightly, the man in front of her holding her wrist tight enough that she couldn't pull it away, but loose enough that he wasn't trying to fully restrain her.

"I paid you double, you owe me more than a private sh- Can I help you?"

Kate tilts her head lightly, the man now looking over his shoulder expectantly while eyeing her impatiently.

Kate's eyes move between him and the woman momentarily before the woman rips her wrist from his grasp and begins walking towards Kate, and then out onto the sidewalk. Her expression was one of annoyance and frustration but her heart rate gave away how fearful she was as she picked up a quick pace down the sidewalk.

The man was stationary momentarily, the tenseness to his body obvious - ability or not.

Cursing under his breath, he begins walking in the same direction the woman had, going to pass Kate and head down the sidewalk. He intentionally knocks her shoulder with his own as he passes her, causing her to step back a hair before turning to look over her shoulder.

There were certain aspects to her ability that made things not usually visible, known to her. Certain factors helped her to anticipate behavior. Muscle tension, walking pace, expression, even smell by means of odor changes. Fear, anger, and happiness can cause chemical changes related that give off different odors. For example, when someone is afraid, they may sweat, which gives off a distinct odor she can associate accordingly.

Turning on her heel, Kate picks up her walking pace to follow the man.

~0~

A Few Hours Later…

For Tony, sleeping was something becoming harder and harder to come by. It wasn't that he had… trouble. He just had a lot of energy. And ideas and random thoughts would also hit him at odd hours of the night, thoughts he had to act on in case he forgot them in the morning.

He had promised Pepper to give the workshop a break. While he was doing that- she never said he couldn't hangout on the communal floor doing what he most likely would've done in the workshop.

"Jarvis, how's it looking?" Tony questions, the only light in the area coming off the tablet in his hands.

"Diagnostics have been run, sir. Trials are ready whenever you see fit." The AI responds.

Tony chews on his bottom lip lightly for a moment, eyes searching the screen as he looks over the image present.

It was something he had been working on as a side project. Something for Kate. With the kid being around for the foreseeable future, he figured finding something they can work on aside from her ability would be beneficial.

She was an interesting character, Tony had to admit. He usually didn't let much visibly surprise him, but she was a curious individual and he was looking forward to getting her out of her shell. There were certain moments or situations where Kate would surprise him, give someone sass or show a confidence he suspected lurked just beneath the surface - something she didn't reveal very often.

"Sir, Katelyn Sanders is about to get off the elevator."

Tony's brow knits as he looks over his shoulder, eyes meeting the closed elevator doors before he swipes the images on his tablet aside.

"Where's she coming from?"

"The lobby, sir."

"... Uh huh." Tony's lips part slightly as he processes the statement.

This wasn't the first time Jarvis had informed him. Whatever it was the kid was doing - going out at night, she seemed to be coming back alright. It wasn't his place to necessarily scold her for her actions.

The ding of the elevator finally opens and Tony doesn't acknowledge the movement of someone walking out of the space before stopping. In the following seconds, Kate goes to disappear back into the elevator.

"Goin so soon?" Tony speaks up, tapping about on the tablet screen. "You're out kind of late, kid… Three a.m.? Good thing I was down here and not your pops."

A gentle scold… a suggestive scold; not a full on scold.

"I was jus-... I wanted to get some air" Kate responds. She sounded a bit closer.

"Could've gotten some on the balcony," Tony turns and eyes the teen with an amused smirk. She appeared anxious but accepting of the situation.

"Regardless of whatever this is I am now a part of; just make sure you don't do anything rash on these little adventures you're taking." Voice laced with a hint of concern, Tony continues to eye the teen, seeing her gaze elsewhere.

"Adventures? Plural?" Despite her controlled expression, Tony can hear the amusement in her voice and gives a little chuckle before nodding to the side.

"Well you looked like a zombie this morning, and we only watched that show til around ten," Tony offers.

At his comment, Kate clenches her jaw and takes a couple steps to the side, blocking his view of her face as she crosses her arms.

Alright, m'probably pushing her a little too much.

"I won't pester you, go get some rest Kenai."

Tony may or may not have a small list of nickname ideas for the kid. Nicknames for her weren't coming as easily to him. T-1000 was the next one that came to mind but… Calling the kid a terminator wasn't appropriate. Especially now that he knows more about her. Those details… Made his skin crawl. When he looked at Katelyn, he didn't see someone capable of racking up a body count greater than two dozen.

Hearing the teen question the nickname, Tony blinks his thoughts away quickly before giving her an amused smile and a shrug - brow knitting seconds later.

"You haven't seen Brother Bear? Bah- we'll get you caught up, don't worry. For now I gotta keep thinking of some nicknames for you." Tony mumbles, eyes still on the tablet.

Preferably ones that don't label you a killing machine… Unfortunately something I don't think it too far off from what that Doctor Gordon was trying to turn you into.

Kate is silent following Tony's words, but doesn't wait too long to head towards the stairwell.

Once the door closes, Tony lets the tablet fall into his lap, brow knitting gently.

"Jarvis, I need you to scope security cameras within a five block radius. I wanna know where's she's been going and what she's been doing,"

"Will do, sir."

The rest of chapter 34 can be found here on FFN and here on AO3. Take a peak to keep reading!

Stay healthy, stay safe, sending lots of love. <3

Masterlist Here

#avengers fanfiction #dad!steve rogers #Steve Rogers x Daughter!OC #tony stark #natasha romanoff #clint barton #bruce banner #iron man #black widow #hawkeye #hulk #captain america #shield #nick fury

[pcwerhouse]

End Days Verse: Character Roles

Unaffiliated Metas

A listing of the guys who have no associations with any of the groups I’ve established in this verse. They’re independent parties with their own codes, motives, and potential plot points.

Kade

The Guardian - Worship Empowerment. Wears a white domino mask and matching metal gauntlets. Always seen shirtless.

Kade’s heteromorphic ability made it hard to blend in with normal humans, so he spent most of his life as an orphan bouncing between meta encampments. Without parental guidance, he was forced to understand the nature of his abilities through trial and error. Among other metas, he realized how much stronger he felt and most notably how his wings would sprout larger. When in situations where he had to hide, his strength would be fleeting and he felt his wings shrivel beneath his clothing. For this reason, Kade stopped covering himself at a young age, even when around non-metas. He’s been a target of the MTSA for years but hasn’t been captured, and not solely because of his powers. In order to sensibly be a winged meta in the public eye, he fashioned himself into a vigilante hero, saving metas and nonmetas indiscriminately. This choice has amassed Kade a huge number of supporters on both sides which makes ducking MTSA agents easier for him given the information, assistance, and gifts he receives from fans. Kade refuses to use his public image for activism and doesn’t stand against America’s militaristic regime unless he’s attempting to save someone from them. He’s only heroic to the point of receiving the necessary worship to stay beautiful and on top of his game. His sole drive is his own survival.

Jojo

Dot X (.X) - Technopathy. Completely anonymous. Information on physical appearance is currently not publicly known.

The technological outlaw known as Dot X is in no way associated with Jojo’s identity, and that’s exactly as he intended his “mask” to be. Jojo keeps a low profile and lives among normal human society without fear, hiding his abilities from everyone who knows him. How? A device he’s built that can trick street scanners, a device the MTSA knows nothing about. Dot X has been covertly selling his gadgets for years, but this latest one is a must have for any meta who believes the best place to hide is right beneath the noses of their oppressors. Jojo is perfectly comfortable working his low paying computer repair job as a result, knowing that metas worldwide will do anything to scrounge up enough cash for his products. With his abilities, he can create a limitless number of devices that make survival easier, but these devices have landed Dot X high on the MTSA’s top ten most wanted list. For this reason, Jojo is extremely mistrusting and unwilling to go out of his way to help other metas. If they can pay, then he’ll do what he’s been hired for. If not, he can easily watch them die by the hands of an agent without flinching. Very few people know that he’s the notorious Dot X, and those who do are under his constant surveillance. He’s extremely paranoid, which makes his simple life a stressful one, but also makes him a very lonely guy. He has a bad habit of letting fear drive him to make moves against those who do learn his secrets, getting them captured or killed by the MTSA just to ensure he’s never found out.

Salim

No known alias - Regenerative Healing. Full record of identity located at MTSA main office.

For years, Salim worked as an MTSA agent purely because it helped him to stay in front of any suspicion. After all, it would be crazy to believe a meta would be working for the agency hellbent on destroying them. Because of the nature of his abilities, it was very difficult to hide his meta status especially when his body healed so quickly after dangerous encounters. But Salim acclimated quickly, learning how to properly fake injuries to divert suspicion. He was so good at hiding himself that if not for the new SPLICE scanners, he could’ve hid in plain sight as an MTSA agent for years more. Unfortunately, Salim was forced to abandon the life he’d built for himself at a moment’s notice on the day the scanners were released. Having lived amongst nonmetas for his entire life, he was ill prepared to live like the other metas in America. He hadn’t the survival skills or the knowhow. What he did have was a knack for using other’s for his own gain, something that made tracking down metas one of his best skills since none could survive on their own. Many help him out of compassion, some help him out of fear of him getting captured by the MTSA, especially since his identity is already on file. Salim is entirely dependent on those who lend a hand, though most who do learn the hard way that he’s a user who shouldn’t be trusted.

Calvin

The Fool - Meta-Ability Hijack. Wears ornate harlequin mask, has been seen in a matching outfit and street clothes before.

Calvin, at this point, just wants to survive. He spent his whole life moving from gutter towns to forest tent encampments to any little hovel in between that was safe for metas. He watched each of his family members killed at the hands of MTSA agents. Any friends he made met the same fate or were captured to be lab rats and killed anyway. All he’s ever known in this world is pain, so he keeps away from making any meaningful connection and do whatever it takes to see tomorrow. He’ll steal, sell out other metas, cause trouble for anyone in his way, and put his own life above everything else. Calvin only recently discovered that his ability can be used on the SPLICE tools, including scanners. This discovery has greatly relieved some of the stress he feels, but it also will eventually make him a high priority target. Through his antics, he knows that the dossier the MTSA has on him is minimal at best and they haven’t identified him yet, but his most recent actions could only be described as “self destructive”. If Calvin continues on the same path, then he’ll be joining his family in the after life because of the MTSA, one of the many powerful metas he’s made an enemy out of, or his own recklessness.

Brooks

No known alias - Empathic Mimicry. Wears a simple black visor that completely covers his eyes.

Brooks has spent his entire life as a nomad of sorts, moving between small meta encampments and never establishing any roots. He knows he had parents once, but he can’t remember their faces at all. That’s probably for the best given how his powers work. The fewer people he forms genuine connections with the easier it is for him to keep a cap on his powers. A person with an ability has to be associated with one of his emotions, and when he feels that emotion he can use their ability at will. Unfortunately, rage is a feeling that’s tied up with a dangerous meta who killed his best friend. Brooks tries to think about that event as little as possible as a result, but during an MTSA raid on a sewer settlement where he was staying, Brooks accidentally lost control. The ability activated and he expelled an explosive amount of radiation. Brooks leveled half the city killing thousands, including the metas hiding out with him and the army of MTSA agents sent to capture them all. This one act put a target on his back for both the government and meta collectives across the country. He’s seen as a threat, a traitor, a potential asset, and any number of descriptors that makes it impossible for him to not feel watched. Now more than ever, Brooks tries to rely on himself to survive. All he does is run, hide, and fight when push comes to shove. But lately he’s been so tired that killing himself looks more viable with each passing day.

#verse: end days #character roles: unaffiliated metas

[tamersmile888]

Wolf Pack

Sean and Daniel are safe and reunited, but their journey has only begun. Once again, they'll take on life's toughest wilderness. The real world.

CHAPTER ONE

Forget everything you know about the Diaz family. Chances are, only some of it is true.

Chances are, only some of it is true. A few major details may have been left out by an eager third party looking to sell an unaffiliated biography. Dr. Julianna Flores sure didn't waste any time making that publishing deal. Of course, we wont' be seeing any of the royalties, though we can probably expect a biopic in the near future. I wonder if they'll get Bob Pancakes to play an older version of me. That would be pretty epic.

Like I said. Forget everything you read about us. This is the real story. Our story. The one where the wolf brothers get to finally live in a home....

With their Papa Wolf.

Thanks to our grandparents and some very expensive lawyers, we were able to get back into our dad's custody. Grandma Clare and Grandpa Stephen moved into a retirement community with a pool and everything, and left the house to us. Things were starting to look up.

We were finally getting back into the groove of living a normal life. You have no idea how much I missed the smell of fried eggs, bacon, and coffee in the morning.

Daniel was most excited to get back to school and see his friends. I'm still blown away about how much he actually likes doing his homework. He's even been doing extra credit. Sometimes I wonder about the negative impacts all of this must have had on him. I still couldn't bring myself to tell him that he was the one who started the fire that got us taken away. It would do more harm then good, so me and dad both agreed that it was best to keep that in the dark. But we've both been keeping an eye on him, especially when there's a fire involved.

Even though we were reunited and have a roof over our head again, thank God, things have been far from perfect. Now we have bills to pay, and with a house this big, it can get pretty steep. Dad got his auto repair busy back up and running, but it's barely enough to pay the electric company.

I wanted to help out, so I started doing repairs and upgrades for the neighbors. Now it's super reception for everyone.

For extra cash, dad's even been digging around town for anything worth selling. Although, sometimes he might find one or two collectibles he keeps for himself. He's still very much a geek, but I missed that about him. Probably where Daniel got it from. He also started a brand new garden. I'm happy to lend a hand.

When I'm not working my hands raw, me and the gang chill out at the drive-in. It's still pretty much abandoned, so we usually have the place all to ourselves.

I'm really glad Lyla gets along with everyone really well. Especially when they're ganging up on me. They make fun of my “fancy” cooking, but it never stops them from eating it. At least I know I can count on Jag. He practically vacuums anything you put in front of him. Thankfully for them, I've had a lot of practice.

It's always nice when I get to spend time with June. I know I made it awkward in the past, but I hope I didn't mess things up entirely. If only I had the courage to actually tell her how I felt.

Diaz and I have gotten really close. He's always checking up on me to make sure I'm staying out of trouble. He's like my partner in good deeds. We get a kick out of calling each other Diaz even though it drives the teachers crazy.

He also let's me know when it's way past my curfew. I'm going to get so much heat for this...

Of course, the moment dad sees me, he hounds me about getting in so late. I totally lost track of time. He says he understands, but still lectures me about responsibility. He says he just wants to make sure I'm safe, but that he trusts me to make better choices. I promise that if it ever happens again, I'll make sure to call. I'd rather make a promise I can actually keep rather then disappoint him. Maybe I should just set the alarm. Hopefully, I won't forget that too.

Dad has enough to worry about without me sending him into panic mode. I just wish he would make some time for himself.

Even if his friends come over and ask him to the gym he gives the excuse that he's too busy with reports and other business work. I don't even remember the last time my dad has ever did a push-up. I just wish he knew that he didn't have to stop going out just to watch over us. He should be enjoying his life too. I should probably make a better effort to earn his trust that I can handle things while he's away.

Another night on the job. The good thing about this family is that they're always way too busy to even notice me. It's weird that I go to school with the kids, but I've never even said one word to them. Now I'm in their house fixing their oven. It's even weirder that they live right next door.

Sending a selfie to June after a hard day's work. She says she thinks my uniform is cute. Gotta look professional.

Dad came in to thank me for working so hard. He knows that, me being a teenager, I'd much rather be hanging out with my friends listening to loud music, but he appreciates me helping out the family. He went on about how one day I'm going to have to do the same for my own family so it's good to get the experience. Way too soon to be talking about that, dad...but I get it.

Daniel and I had some bro time watching cartoons in the den. He talked about how some of his friends at school have pets, and he felt bad that we never went back to the farm to get Basil. I told him that we'd bring Basil home tomorrow morning. I completely forgot about the little guy. I really hope he's still alive....for Daniel's sake.

The next morning started off pretty rough. Someone left out last night's dinner and I completely lost it. We don't have money to just throw food away. I didn't mean to take it out on dad. I was just frustrated.

Dad said he would make sure they were more mindful. I could tell that he was upset with me for being angry, and I felt bad for yelling.

I immediately apologized, but dad said I needed to learn how to control my anger. He said there's better ways to get my point across. These days have been stressful, and I guess I've been carrying it all on my back. Spending so many days and nights trying to look out for me and Daniel on my own, I feel like I'm still in survival mode. Like I'm the one who has to take care of us. Dad reminded me that I'm not in this alone. That we're going to get through this by working together.

That it's okay to take a moment for myself. It won't be the end of the world. So I did a little gaming to cool off. It's great stress reliever.

I gave Logan a call to ask him if it were okay for me and Daniel to come over. He seemed happy to hear from us.

Daniel chatted with Harley on his tablet. I taught him how to not have his nostrils showing during video calls like a big face monster.

When he got to the farm, a bunch of emotions hit me at once. There were a lot of happy memories here, but also some of the darkest. The garden looked really bad. I guess no one took care of it after I left. It was sad seeing it like this. Maybe if I have some extra time on my hands, I could look after it again. Hard maybe.

Logan hadn't changed much since I saw him last. It was nice to hear his big, hearty laugh again. He seemed a lot happier.

He introduced me to Harley's mom, who seemed pretty cool. I guess you have to be to be an amazing artist.

Daniel was all business, right away asking about being able to take Basil home. Logan said their goldfish Swifty was keeping him company while we were away.

We were all set to take Basil home, when Daniel's big heart got in the way. He said that he didn't want to split up Basil and Swifty and thought it was best if Basil stayed with Logan. I couldn't have agreed more.

We went to the pond to find another frog instead.

I asked Daniel what he wanted to name this one. After some serious thought, he decided to name him Larry after the farm's secret lair. Kind of creepy, but who was I to judge.

We sat around and talked for a few hours, catching up. And that's when Logan revealed that he was selling the farm.  He said it was better off this way. That the farm would go to someone who could actually take care of it instead of watching it dry up and wither away. He was going to move in with his daughter and Harely, take the load off. As happy as I was that he got to be closer to his family, I was sad to see him go. The farm had become a part of my life, and now who knows what it was going to be turned into. Would I ever get to see it again?

I stopped by the barn for one last look inside.

Man, I was really going to miss this place.

I couldn't believe how quickly things could change. But I guess that's life. It's always good to enjoy what you have before it's taken away from you. It's something I should know a lot about, but it's something I don't think you'll ever get used to.

Take Daniel for instance. Sometimes I take it for granted that he's still a little kid. It feels like I have forever to watch him grow up. But time moves fast, and the truth is he won't be that carefree, little kid forever. These are the moments I have to remember to take in. This is why it's so important for us to tell our own story, through our own eyes. This is the way we were meant to be remembered. Thanks Julianna, but I'll take it from here.

This is the true story of The Wolf Pack.

#lifeisstrange2 #thesims4 #wolfpack #tamersmile #simsstory #wolfpackseason1

[news-monda]

[news-sein]

[news-ase]

[asoenews]

[ganymedesclock]

Carry That Ghost, ch.2

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warning: animal death

Summary: A galra mercenary and a human prisoner survive on an abandoned base. This chapter- Samuel Holt, with a clearer mind, begins to pry loose some insight about his enigmatic host.

           All research fundamentally comes back to data. Strip away the tools, the laboratory settings, even the capacity to conduct experiments to a great degree- and what remains, inevitably, is the researcher’s mind- information, its categorization and evaluation.

           Since his unexpected departure from Kerberos, Sam Holt has been gathering a lot of data. Not particularly in the faith that he might survive and eventually carry it all back to Earth, to his colleagues- that had seemed a very grim thing, and even now, he doesn’t see any particular route off Elku, much less one that could carry him across the incredible breadth of galaxies.

           But regardless, he is a pioneer in this situation, relatively speaking- the Kerberos mission had been the furthest ever travelled by human beings, and if nothing else can be said for his situation, he’s gone a lot further than that. He has data- quite valuable data, though that distinction doesn’t mean quite as much as it might have in the past.

           The important thing was, he supposed, that it generated a semblance of control. Having been restrained and harmed more or less at the whim of his captors, they had left the mind more or less alone.

           (Some small mercy. They certainly had the capacity to violate that- those hooded figures, the druids. As far as he understood they were a precious resource seldom loaned out, certainly not to a failed mining camp like Elku- and not to probe the mind of someone who was described as quite a disappointment, considering one of the other specimens of his species)

           But now, with the base silent and empty, and nothing but his aloof host and the peculiar gift of the three creatures she brought in to light one of the rooms for company, he has the capacity to collect a lot more information than he has before. His wanderings are limited- a few times he collapses from overexertion and his host complains viciously every time her intervention is required.

           (And yet, does nothing to stop him. A novelty; he has not seen her exert herself much, but with her size alone, and that of the creatures she returns with for food, makes him suspect that she could very simply break him over her knee if she so chose.)

           But time is on his side. He grows stronger; it isn’t long before he’s able to walk a complete circuit around the base, provided he takes breaks to rest himself. And without guards bearing down on him, or herding him from place to place- he can complete his map of the place, answer several other inquiries that have been nagging at him.

           In his mind, the information falls neatly into categories, leafs of imagined paper- a research journal, to the point that he knows what he might’ve scribbled in the margins rather than written in the main structure itself.

           Heading: The Galra. Militaristic alien race. Large, powerful. Claimed to have maintained an empire for ten thousand years (decafebes? He’s uncertain of the terminology). Seemingly, near-universally met with fear or dread (sample size narrow, exclusively other prisoners). By some accounts, claimed to have destroyed entire planets. Tall, wide-shouldered, long-limbed, clawed and fanged.  Universally gold-eyed, body covered in fur. Humanoid, leonine, possibly reptilian.

           Subheadings:

           Telok, warden, male. Commander of the Elku base, seeks a more luxurious assignment. Frequently discusses alleged traditional galra creed that only the strong deserve to live. Peculiar considering the state of his prosthetic arm- seemingly, the empire does not consider physical disability to be weakness, perhaps a byproduct of advanced medical technology. Slate blue complexion, unusually tall. Abandoned post and withdrew soldiers and prisoners with him, leaving those in solitary confinement (just one)

           Soldiers, miscellaneous. Gray armor, subservient to Telok. Frequent new faces. Personnel who are gentle-tempered or otherwise deemed ineffective tend to disappear with little warning. (Reassigned? Executed? Unknown) Most common complexion is violet.

           And, now, more recently…

           Name unknown, self-described mercenary, female. Unaffiliated with the empire. Frequent use of colorful language towards aforementioned would suggest negative history. Carries an oddly decorated and well-maintained weapon emblazoned with some form of insignia. (Appears to have tried to test him with that symbol- was he supposed to recognize it? Was she disappointed, that he hadn’t?) Reddish purple complexion, black hair. Heavily scarred, one prosthetic arm and both legs. Most likely, deaf in one ear- considering angle and positioning of burn scars, possible ruptured eardrum from some manner of explosion.

           He reflects further: adept survivalist, would seem to have personal dwelling elsewhere on the planet and relocated to the base. Consistently invested in his survival- goal unknown. Very evasive to direct questioning.

           Evasive. A peculiar quality, and one that comes back to the main mystery of his host. Simply, she has no reason to oblige him at all. If the galra truly are as the warden and his staff suggested- a culture that prioritizes justification by might and brutality- then the very fact that she is far more powerful than he is should be evidence that she has no reason to answer him at all, much less continue to provide him with food.

           And yet, now that he is able to maintain a more normal schedule, she seems to seek out his company at mealtimes. And yet, she replies in frugal mouthfuls of words that often raise more questions than they answer, as if feeling he’s owed some manner of explanation even when she does not want to give one

           Acknowledging him as a colleague- an exasperating one, but one who is entitled to do as he pleases, provided it does not strike her as self-destructive.

           When has that become a novelty of this significance? He has to wonder what this says about his situation- the frame of his mind. Very likely he has not come out of this as untouched as he might have believed. (unlikely to find an unbiased psych evaluation in space. He’ll just have to manage, but, he’s quite good at that, at this point)

           It’s entirely possible, of course, that she is being insincere in the interest of warming him over to her. Convenient, of course, that his bid at escape saw him brought back to the base- but her behavior doesn’t seem calculated. If anything, her petulance would seem to be entirely counterintuitive. She does not press him for information any more than he tries to chase her half-answers.

           But she has to have something to gain for it. There’s a reason she’s helping him.

           Hypothesis: The mercenary may be withholding information actively to manipulate him.

           This calls for experimentation.

           Fortunately, the mercenary’s behavior at this point is not terribly difficult to predict. They have fallen into something of a pattern. She rises before he does in the evening- bathes, he assumes (the base does not use water- rather, a kind of dust mixed with some kind of oils. Curious, but works rather well- he has to wonder if it implies the galra are desert creatures, and perhaps their fur is not conductive to water) – and usually about the time he wakes up, she’s heading out to hunt. Near what he can reckon is midnight, she usually returns, unless something has gone wrong, with meat in tow and a handful of foraged vegetation or fruit.

           Today, she is slightly late, and obviously irritable. A part of him that is very used to avoiding confrontations with guards at this point recoils-

           (She hasn’t struck him once in several weeks. Even if she does mean badly, she wants him alive and unharmed.)

           There’s something universal about the way she eases into place, grumbling incoherently and working kinks out of her shoulder. This time, she seems to have mostly captured birds, a small comfort. He’s grown rather partial to the company of the lizards, and there’s something dismaying about eating their relatives.

           Something in him still hesitates, the words on his tongue, until she’s settled into the rhythm of cleaning and dressing the birds.

           “Have you been on Elku for a long time?”

           “Ten years, best as I figure.”

           Ah, yes. He’s heard the locals practice alternative timekeeping. He has to wonder about said locals- if they knew the prison was here. What they looked like, their culture.

           “Hard to stay under the empire’s radar.”

           Her words snap him from his reverie- it’s odd to hear her offer information about herself unprompted.

           “I would think staying on an occupied planet would be counterintuitive.”

           “If you’re bad at it. Elku didn’t put up a fight. They all ran to their temples, and the empire couldn’t hunt them down. Didn’t care to. Empire thinks anyone worth being afraid of will come out and fight them first.”

           He considers the way the weapon moves in her hand. He has never seen her sharpen it, once- and yet it flows smoothly through anything she chooses to cut.

           “You don’t approve?”

           “Anyone with sense knows you can’t pick every fight. The empire’s too used to winning. They forget not everyone picks fights, and victory has different meanings.” She turns to smile at him- closed lips and eyes half-lidded, it is a softer expression than usually comes out of her. The firelight between them illuminates the left half of her face, a relative wasteland of old reddish scars, wide burns cut with longer, jagged paths.

           “…How did that happen?”

           Somewhat to his surprise, she lofts her head, puts it in better lighting. “Like it?”

           Unexpected; he fumbles his words. “It’s… ah, impressive.” Certainly must have been a sight when it was fresh. An old thing, now, but as much as it must have dwindled, it stretches from brow to jaw, and dominates a third of her face.

           Victory has different meanings. Counterculture- or possibly, the same culture. A narrative of strength in a context that sees no shame in prostheses- a boast of survivability, perhaps, that she is still alive after such a wound. He suggests something to that nature, and she laughs- an actual bark of laughter, rather than the huffs and half-growls other situations have drawn from her.

           “Because it was worth it, Samuel-Holt. And no one can make me regret it.”

           By that time, she’s finished her work, and goes to clean her hands and weapon, as she usually does. When she returns, she doesn’t speak further- but he can only wonder what she gained in exchange for that scar.

           Instead, he remarks, “I told you my name. It’s only fair that I ask yours.”

           “You’re a strange man to believe in fairness after being a prisoner.”

           “Call it optimism, perhaps. I’ve encountered a lot of setbacks in my career, and I’m not throwing in the towel quite yet.”

           She hums in amusement, a contralto rumble low in the chest. Her face is still very soft, and he can almost imagine a very large cat purring to itself.

           “Enza.”

           “Hmm?”

           “My name. Most don’t ask.”

           “I have a feeling your conversations are not usually this long. Am I just fortunate, then?”

           She rolls her shoulders, turning the question from one side of her head to the other. “Or you chatter a lot. Especially when you have a fever.”

           He still could not recall much of the time the mercenary- Enza- had first encountered him. Delirium tended to do that, as well as whatever venom or microbes that creature had inflicted on him. Regardless, she isn’t the first to accuse him of prattling. “Do I, now?”

           “You asked for Colleen, many times.”

           His throat closes, suddenly, and it is an effort to lever his voice free. “…My wife. Explains- well, I wasn’t in my right mind. She’s far from here, thank heavens.”

           Enza is regarding him with a very odd look. “You’re partnered?”

            “If that’s what your people call it, yes.” Matrimony isn’t universal on Earth, there’s no reason for it to be elsewhere, but he cannot help but be a little surprised that she seems to at least recognize the concept. It’s hard to imagine the individuals that captured and held him as people who had families to come home to.

           She picks at one of the roasting birds, not looking at him. “Do you have children, Samuel-Holt?”

           Something in her tone compels him to be truthful. “Two of them. One of them was with me when… I encountered your people. I’m not sure what became of him, or our pilot. Wherever they are, I hope they’re doing well.” He hesitates, regards the mercenary, her strangely thoughtful mood. “Do you?”

           A silence, stretching long enough that he half-expects she simply won’t answer him.

           Then, softly, “One. Where the empire can’t put its hands on him.”

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Carry That Ghost #readmore #animal death / #Ganymede Fic Tag

[keptin-indy]

Dresden Files: Salem 8

Non-plot relevant party and NPC bonding time before the plot starts!  In case I hadn’t mentioned it before, Baz’s mother’s name is Betsy and his sister is Olivia.

Also, trigger warnings for old-lady racism and Antisemitism.  Eunice’s player is a nurse who works with old people a lot and I think she finds it cathartic when other people are allowed to call out the sort of thing she’s not allowed to call out in her patients.

Further trigger warning for consensual body horror.  Twice.

Supernatural Orphan Thanksgiving finally arrived, bringing with it Olivia Bassam on break from college.  Olivia was happy to meet her brother’s new friends and paid especial attention to Adler, who had pranked her over a Skype call with her mother by taking on Olivia’s form and pretending to still live there, and then answered the door as her when she finally came home.  Eunice had spent the last several weeks forgetting exactly when Thanksgiving was and demanding that Betsy make a greenbean casserole every couple of nights in preparation, Baz carefully warded the turkey against dogs, and various members of the community were invited to a very specialized potluck where accommodations were made for feeding requirements, faerie food, and gifting traditions.  Adler brought a “bleeding” red velvet lava cake and Evelyn brought less horrifying cookies and paperwork she hadn’t finished during the short work-week.  Murchah brought social awkwardness.  Several members of the Witches Circle came, along with Lord Cluracan and some of his retinue, and Daniyah with her favorite owl familiar, as well as miscellaneous people who weren’t part of any particular faction.  Daniyah brought tibs, which she described as a celebratory food from her childhood in Abyssinia.  Notably, her owl did not eat anything even though Adler offered it live mice, making it more likely a spirit in the shape of an owl rather than a spirit in an owl’s body, which is the more traditional method of making familiars.  Adler then went to one of the Witches’ gatherings and gave the live mice to their familiars instead, making for a very interesting Thanksgiving for whoever was hosting.

During the holiday lull, Baz got in contact with the Venatori and exchanged a future favor (with refusal rights) for the services of a lawyer to negotiate with the Winter Court.  Adler heard from one of the more tech-savvy Witches that crime statistics in a particular neighborhood in Salem were improbably low lately, which of course turned out to be Daniyah’s territory.  As the local Warden, Baz awkwardly had to ask her if she was either mind-controlling the residents or murdering criminals.  Daniyah said that she didn’t think she was violating any laws, but she seemed less than sure and Evelyn asked exactly how she had lowered the crime rate.  Daniyah reminded the group that she’d reshaped the area to encourage particular types of thought in order to shape the local NeverNever, but it was merely encouragement, not coercion or not forced in any way.  She made the comparison to a library, where silence was suggested and usually unconsciously followed, but no one was legally required to comply.  Baz deemed it okay for now, but said he’d have to keep an eye to make sure it didn’t become more forceful and the group left, all uncomfortably aware of the faint, calming buzz of magical energy around them.  Unbeknownst to anyone else, Sam could feel that the energy the magic was discouraging in the locals was being directed elsewhere but, as a dog, he had neither the means nor desire to communicate that.  More of Daniyah’s spirit friends continued to filter through town, continuing to be both very alien and very excited about their mortal-world vacations.

Lord Cluracan contacted Baz to tell him that his superior, Lord Oberon, would be taking up residence in Salem for an indefinite amount of time, and would likely take command of the Summer Court during his stay, leaving Cluracan with host obligations and no real authority.  Adler braided more flowers into his mane as consolation.  Cluracan was evidently trying to acquire a farm for his lord’s use and so he could grow his own food (or have someone grow it for him), and Baz told him to make sure the farm was gotten humanely and without coercion.  Cluracan promised that Lord Oberon would act as a guest of Salem provided he could expect guest rights in return.  Eunice asked why a Summer lord was coming to the mortal realm at the beginning of winter, but Cluracan refused to speculate on the grounds that he didn’t want any more donkey parts.  He did, however, say that Oberon wanted to be moved in before Christmas so he wouldn’t miss the holiday parties and also cautioned the group that he liked to grow strategic mistletoe at such gatherings.

Baz called the Council to check on the proposal to let less powerful practitioners join, but was told that any change that sweeping would take a generation before the older wizards agreed.  In the meantime, he could give any candidates the “standard” aptitude tests but the bar would not be lowered.  He also inquired about the Rowland Estate and was told that the grand manor house had officially been appraised as worthless, so the dubious relatives were only really interested in the monetary assets.  The deed could be transferred to Baz at any time, though the rest would likely be tied up in legalities for a while yet.  Baz awkwardly told his mother that he’d gotten her a much nicer house, but it would involve living in their dead family friends’ home.  She agreed to it, but was somewhat less than thrilled.  Sam, on the other hand, was ecstatic about having a real yard.  When Baz asked his friends for help moving, Murchah requested his help changing his flesh-suit’s face to further change his identity.

Adler suggested asking the Winters if they had any more information about Oberon and his choice of winter home, but the Winter Court themselves first wanted to hash out more legalistic details, like what exactly counted as torture for the terms of Baz’s ban on it and also which people on their list of “the wicked” they could start terrorizing.  They eventually compromised on broken bones but no collateral damage (“For some people, legs are a privilege”), but Eunice suggested prioritizing people who preyed on the helpless in legal or semi-legal ways, like payday loan sharks or people who employed undocumented immigrants purely to avoid having to pay them adequately.  The Winters were more scavengers than predators themselves, and preferred to take on mortals without much influence or wealth so they could avoid repercussions.  They did, however, amass a sizable amount of blackmail material along the way, should Baz ever have use for it.  With this sordid business as straightened out as it was going to get, the Winters told them that the Summer Court in general was fine, but Oberon had managed to fall out of favor with both his own Queen and Winter’s, likely after making romantic overtures to both, and was waiting for the fallout to blow over in an entirely different realm of existence.  They also mentioned that someone else was trying to recruit the miscellaneous monsters of town that Winter normally picked up, faerie or not, and Baz directed them to find out who it was.  In the meantime, Adler set himself up as bait, asking some of the Witches he trusted to spread stories about a new monster in town going after their pets and familiars.  Over a couple of days, he worked his way up to more impressive targets, culminating in Murchah’s public disappearance and “death”.  To cement this impression, Adler changed his own face into Murchah’s and carved it off like he had for the troll, then carried it around as a trophy on his new monster form.  Not in on the plan, the Winters tried to recruit the disguised Adler again and he told them he’d keep them in mind in a way which implied where they could stick their offer.  Soon after, an unfamiliar man in an ill-fitting suit approached him and said that he represented what was basically a monsters union for all the weaker, unaffiliated supernaturals to band together and “get things done” that they otherwise wouldn’t be able to achieve on their own.  In order to do this, he said, the union could teach Adler how to tap into the dark energy flows around Salem, powering up his abilities or even letting him use some forms of magic.  Adler feigned interest but wanted to know the details of this organization before he committed to anything.  The man explained that they didn’t have any public goals for the moment, but simply facilitating the “death and mayhem” its members wanted to dish out was admirable in and of itself.  There was leadership out of town, but they were hands off and didn’t ask for much but disrupting the status quo, which most members were on board to do.  Adler asked for time to consider and the man gave him the card of a local bar, saying that his name was Ryan, but to ask for Mackie to signal that he was in the know.

Adler immediately went to Baz with the information and the card, but when Baz took it, a weak ward snapped out of existence, no doubt signaling to whoever had set it that another practitioner had touched it.  Adler wanted to set up a dramatic and public showdown between monster and Warden so Baz could be seen defeating his foe and taking the card, but Evelyn reasonably pointed out that the ward had already gone off, so staging a fight after the fact would only make it more suspicious.  Dramatic sensibilities foiled, Adler transformed so he looked seriously wounded and dragged a load of fish guts down an alley into the sewers to create a plausible aftermath for the fight that never happened, turned into a rat to take evasive actions, then surfaced at one of his trusted Witches’ house, promising the confused woman conciliatory muffins if she’d help spread the word about witnessing the fight.  Baz called the two remaining North American Wardens to ask if they’d heard of anything like a monster union, but Commander Ramirez had only vaguely heard of someone recruiting lesser talents rather than just monsters and Wild Bill hadn’t heard anything.  Formori had broken out on both the West Coast and in the Gulf of Mexico, however, and Ramirez was surprised that the East Coast had been relatively quiet.  Adler rejoined the others to strategize and eventually settled on Baz being aggressively friendly at them because he was bad at being genuinely intimidating.  Eunice compared it to following suspicious people around in stores in case they shoplifted and Baz mentioned that that had happened to him a lot.  Eunice accused him of making everything about race and Baz wisely decided engaging with the senile ghost would only lead to frustration.  Leaving that aside, the group went to pick up baked goods - truly the main currency of the supernatural community - and headed to the bar to ask for Mackie.  Ryan came out and was somewhat taken aback to see the local Warden and his posse (minus Adler in the form of a rat in Baz’s sleeve) and possibly even more so that the Warden had brought muffins.  Ryan took them to a back room and Baz made pointed smalltalk welcoming him to the peaceful neighborhood and letting him know how conflicts were resolved when they came up (quickly and civilly or else with Warden involvement).  Eunice manifested and asked quite openly if she should be the bad cop, but Baz told her that wasn’t necessary.  Ryan said that he was surprised at the lack of violence, since the Wardens and everyone else usually came after “his kind”.  Eunice, ever tactful and sane, asked if he was a Jew, but then said he couldn’t be because he “didn’t have horns”.  No one had any idea how to respond to this, so they mostly didn’t except that Ryan slowly grew small horns over the course on the conversation out of spite.  Even before the horns, Sam obviously treated Ryan like a threat and the man himself was obstructive and cooly antagonistic, obviously anticipating a fight, but unwilling to tell Baz where they might conflict or try to compromise.  The conversation ended tensely and the group filtered outside and tried to explain to an equally stubborn Eunice why her comments were offensive, which went about as well as any such conversation with a racist grandmother.

The group met up with Murchah at the Rowland Estate to complete his transformation into a new identity.  Since “Murchah O’Dougal” was now publicly dead, he requested that the others switch to calling him Ath and also said that he would have to leave his body so Baz could reshape it with his healing magic, but he would need help to do so, as he wouldn’t be able to move on his own.  Ath requested that Adler hold onto him once he was free of the body so that he could use his touch-telepathy to still communicate.  He took a hefty knife from the Rowlands’ ritual supplies and began carving into himself to drain his fluids, which were more like chum than blood.  His grisly work revealed an internal structure that had obviously never been human or even truly a living body, merely cobbled together from a poor sailor’s corpse and any other organic materials Ath could get ahold of on the ocean floor.  Eunice was outraged that everyone would just stand by while their friend committed grisly suicide, but Ath insisted haughtily that he could never die.  He did, however, eventually lose the functionality in his limbs that allowed him to keep opening himself and Adler took over, digging under the layers of false flesh until he saw something shiny at the core.  Adler took hold of the thing and pulled forth a truly intimidating-looking longsword of some ancient design and arcane material, with a curiously hollow hilt.  This was Ath’s true form, and Eunice was concerned to see that it existed in the MaybeMaybe as well.  She demanded to know what was going on and Ath patiently explained the many good reasons for having a human form when he naturally had no hands or feet and was on the run from ancient horrors.  Through Adler, Ath directed Baz to reshape his body to his specifications, slowly changing from a grizzled old sea dog to a sharper, more predatory, and younger man.

[At some point, since they were living together half the time, Baz tried to get Adler to open up about himself and they ended up watching a movie marathon of mostly cheesy horror films along with some more serious ones Adler had strong feelings about (like Pan’s Labyrinth).  Baz asked about other interests besides horror, as that was also Adler’s day job, and Adler reasonably pointed out that Baz was wearing a shirt that said he was a wizard and admitted earlier to reading bad fantasy novels about wizards, so he was in no position to judge.  Adler asked what it was like to have only one form and expressed his horror at not being able to change at will.  When Baz asked if he had a “base” form, Adler said that he didn’t know: his earliest memory was of waking up in a dumpster, helpless and alone, and somehow knowing that he needed to change his shape to something appealing in the hopes of rescue or else he would die there.  Baz was horrified that anyone could do that to a child, but Adler was sanguine about it.  He reasoned that if his parents had rejected the idea of having a child enough to leave him in a dumpster, they wouldn’t have made very good parents if they had kept him and anyway the witch who had adopted him had been quite a good mother to her unexpected child.  Baz was still hung up on this and Adler made the comparison that Baz could no more fathom not having a loving family than Adler could not being able to change forms.  Baz’s own grandparents had completely disowned his mother, but he still considered the greatest tragedy in his family life to be the loss of his father and then replacement father-figure.  Baz admitted that he still grieved for both of them, but wasn’t good about sharing his troubles with others and Adler proposed trading woes could make it more palatable to him.  Adler turned the conversation around to Baz’s hobbies (bad fantasy novels, working out, taking Sam on long walks, talking to people), that he thought many older wizards were unbearably pretentious, and whether or not he would grow a classic wizard beard in the future.  Baz didn’t think it would look good on him, so Adler turned into what he thought an old Baz would look like with a long beard, took a selfie, and told Baz that he would have to survive to old age to see if Adler’s prediction was right.  Baz asked some questions about Adler’s shapeshifting capabilities and Adler mentioned that he had expanded them through practice, but the first time he could remember shapeshifting was only eight years ago, so there was only so much practice he could reasonably have.  Baz was shocked and painfully awkward for unknown reasons and Adler irritatedly insisted he was not a chid and that Baz shouldn’t think of him as one, which Baz said was kind of problem without elaborating further.  Baz kept questioning him about how he’d grown up so quickly, but since Adler knew nothing about what type of being he was or if he had lost memories before ending up in the dumpster, there was no resolution to be had beyond Adler’s rapid maturation and the unexpected fact that he had first been adopted as a kitten and surprised his new mother by displaying the ability to speak and then change forms after a couple of years.  To Baz’s horror, the subject of dating habits came up and Adler asked what kind of “trope” Baz was looking for in a romantic partner (the equal-hero-partner rather than the passive-love-interest).  Baz turned the question around on Adler, who said he wasn’t sure what he wanted as he hadn’t really tried dating.  He was very insistent that this was not because he was eight, but then admitted that it might, in fact, be because he was eight and just didn’t have the usual amount of experience with human interaction.  Adler “offered” to make Baz an online dating profile with Olivia’s help in order to see what would happen if they posted “burly wizard seeking non-evil non-clone”, but Baz was a lot less entertained when he realized that would mean Adler talking to his sister about his love life.]

#Dresden Files: Salem #actual play #game #livejournal replacement

[dasha-aibo]

Hey, I’ve actually finished a chapter of my short story! And I present it to you here for your enjoyment!

I’m going to make a separate blog for my writing later and that will be the time I ‘ll decidee on the actual title, but for now, enjoy!

Please, do leave some critique and feedback, as an amateur who WANTS to grow, I really need that.

It was getting late; 7 PM to be exact. Normally, Tanya was already at home, either working out, drinking beer, or doing anything to fill her time. Instead, she was riding down an old elevator into Chancery’s spacious basement to meet the only coroner working there.

Not like he had a lot of work.

Most deaths were easier to hide, really. If you could easily tell what killed the poor sod, you give a call to the Cleaner’s office and they take care of the situation. On a rare occasion when the officer at the spot had no idea what happened, the corpse would be transferred to Basil.

Tanya walked through the long hallway before stopping at an intersection to confirm where she had to go. There were only two signs: “Prison” and “Coroner”. She was not at all fond of Chancery’s laconic style of labels, but it was something she was getting used to as time went on.

The words of her orientation teacher popped up in her head, “it’s a necessary measure. Chancery is a global organization and we need all our employees and associates to be capable of understanding each other. One spell telepathically reads someone’s thoughts and translates them to your native language. It’s a bit harder with writing, as the thoughts aren’t inherently there and the spell translates them rather directly. To say that this causes problems would be... an understatement. So, we simplify it as much as we can to avoid any ambiguity.” Mr. Thatcher was a history teacher before he saw through and joined Chancery as an official employee. Tanya always found him a little soft and spineless, and she never liked men like that; or women, for that matter.

She finally stumbled upon a big metal door and slid it towards the side, the harsh smell of various chemicals immediately assaulting her senses. Tanya really didn’t want to know what she was smelling.

“My report isn’t finished yet,” great, so she was hurried here for nothing, “give me a couple of minutes, I will be done by then,” shouted a white ginger man in his early 30s. He was practically buried inside a corpse, almost up to his shoulders. Only it wasn’t a corpse. Corpses usually don’t lift their heads and wave at you.

“H-hi,” Tanya awkwardly waved in response to the not-corpse.

“Name’s Andrew,” the surprisingly alive man hissed and forced a smile, exposing his elongated canines.

Oh.

A vampire. That explains how he survived… what exactly?

She came closer to get a better look at the man sprawled over a cold metallic table. That must be uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the giant hole in his belly. Most of the vampire’s internal organs were missing, along with a good chunk of his spine. Tanya stared at it for a few seconds before lifting her eyes up. She saw through a good half a year ago, but was still not used to all the weirdness that now surrounded her life. From vampires to homunculi and runaway mages. It was overwhelming at times.

“You want to hear the hole story, don’t you?” Andrew chuckled at his own joke while Tanya looked at him blankly.

“She’s Russian,” sighed Basil, “puns don’t really translate well.”

“That’s a shame. I got a hole lot of them,” the vampire burst out in laughter as Basil simply shook his head.

“I’ve been hearing the same stupid pun for over an hour now,” the coroner sighed as he extended his hand in the air. A thin, gray hand stretched seemingly out of nowhere and passed Basil a pair of forceps, which he instantly buried in the wound in front of him. Ah yes, that thing…

Tanya was warned about Patrick well in advance, but she was still taken aback. A thin, humanoid figure without a mouth or genitals was floating in the air next to Basil, helping him with his work. No one knew what it was, no one knew how Basil ever acquired it, no one could even tell if it was sentient or not. It just appeared on the day he saw through and followed his every order. The coroner was quite willing to let the Research Department experiment on it, but even their best men didn’t get much of a result.

And so, Patrick was left as just another unsolved mystery. Chancery was no stranger to those.

Tanya forced herself not to look at the floating… thing, and instead diverted her attention back at the vampire—who seemed to be done making jokes she couldn’t possibly hope to understand, at least for now.

“We were having a Halloween party,” he began, waving his hand in the air to collect his thoughts. “Mostly Chancery staff, naturally, a few unaffiliated friends who tagged along here and there. I’m the only vampire there, so, of course I dress all Dracula-like – a big-ass cape with red insides, white shirt, you know what I mean.”

“Aren’t you still wearing that?” Tanya only just now took her time to take note of what the vampire was wearing and, yes—it was exactly as he described. Cape, shirt, and… tight shiny pants? She frowned to herself, but decided not to focus on that last part.

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point!” He snapped his fingers in frustration, “just let me finish, okay?” Andrew sharply exhaled and continued, “anyway, it’s the middle of the party and we run out of booze, because some people,” he spat out the last two words as if they were an insult in and of themselves, “really should plan ahead so that their friendly neighborhood vampires don’t get a fucking hole in their gut.”

“I really wish you would get to the point already,” Basil griped and was now sitting by the side of the table, tapping his recordings into a tablet, “your personal woes have very little impact on the story.”

“Right, anyway. Me and some guys take one of the unlucky sods who chose to be the driver that night and we ride to the store to pick up some more,” Andrew continued, “we arrive at the store, get out of the car and see a group of, like, teens? 20-somethings? I don’t know, I couldn’t tell. Point is, they were outside of the store in full Halloween garb, and I was drunk and decided to have some fun.”

“If you count ‘being an idiot’ as fun, that is.” Basil nodded to Tanya, “there I’ve just sent the report.”

“Wait, but… Why was I even here, then?” She took a step back, her brow furrowing.

“Beats me,” Basil shrugged, “they probably just wanted you to be busy.”

“Great. Just great,” Tanya muttered, clenching her fist in rightful, but somewhat pointless frustration.

“Can you. Let me. Finish?” Andrew forced himself to stand up a little, which was an impressive feat given the state of his midsection. When he was sure he got the others’ attention he continued. “Anyway, I see those guys, right? And I think to myself ‘wouldn’t it be fun to scare them a little? In the name of the Halloween?’ And that’s exactly what I do—I walk up to them without any warning, stretch my cape open and do the whole intimidation song and dance – I hiss, bare my teeth, turn my eyes red, contort my facial features so that they’re all wacky and scary-like, you know,” he chuckles, “the usual vampiric arsenal. They were obviously not ready to see that, but they’re drunk as hell themselves and it goes right to their heads; they start screaming.” Andrew’s smile grew wider and wider as his chuckles were threatening to turn into a full-out laughter. “Yeah, I do that and then this one dude puts his hands together and—whammo!” The vampire made a quick motion with his hand, indicating the power of said “whammo.” “I’m hit with some kind of bolt of energy that feels like ten fucking shotgun shells at once, hurled twenty feet back and land in a crumpled mess with half of my internal organs missing.”

Tanya hissed herself before pushing out a single “ouch”.

“’Ouch’ indeed,” he chuckled, resting his head back on the cold metallic slab. “Anyway, I pass out on the spot and the next thing I know this guy is digging through my guts,” Andrew motioned towards Basil who just shook his head.

“So… any reason you were brought to the coroner in the first place?” Tanya inquired.  Curiosity was probably the only reason why she hasn’t left yet.

“Well, no one could survive a wound like this,” Basil started to explain, “not a normal human anyway. And vampires have it easy when it comes to patching themselves up, so there was no need to give him any extra medical attention.”

“I’ll just chill for a few weeks and drink nasty canned blood,” Andrew grinned, “no big deal.”

“Right, right,” the coroner nodded, “so it fell to me to determine the nature of what hit him, since the team on the spot couldn’t, and me and Patrick could freely examine the wound and see if we could tell anything from the affected tissue”

“And you have found something, right?” Tanya looked directly in Basil’s eyes.

“You don’t let things get past you, do you?” The coroner grinned in satisfaction. “Not much, but at least we know that the case is unusual. This concerns you as well, so you better be listening,” he prodded the vampire in the shoulder.

“Does it look like I’m not?” Andrew snapped at Basil, frustrated at his condescending tone.

“Right, right...” The coroner took a sharp breath and continued, “anyway, the damage was done by a blast of pure Astral energy of great power. And since I don’t think anybody formally trained by the Chancery is stupid enough to be scared by a vampire...”

“It’s either a wild mage or a demiurge?” Tanya guessed excitedly.

“It’s either a wild mage or a demiurge,” confirmed Basil.

A whole demiurge! On her second month in the Chancery! Those guys were rare as hell, but were absolutely necessary to keep the Chancery up and running. Tanya would give up an arm and a leg to be a part of an official operation to bring one of those in! She could… why, she could…

“What are you so excited about, errand girl?” Snickered the vampire, turning his gaze towards Tanya once more, “even if it is a demiurge, they would never let someone from the First Heaven handle this.”

“At least I’m a part of it!” she growled, “what’s your problem? This is the most excitement I get since those paper-pushers failed to get me assigned anywhere and you want to ruin that for me?”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Andrew raised both his hands defensively, “calm down, newbie, nobody is out to ruin your fun. I’m just trying to get you to have realistic expectations,” he sneered, “don’t think that just because you saw through your life is going to radically change.”

“I’ve already signed up for a spot on TUSK, you know,” Tanya crossed her arms on her chest and looked at the vampire victoriously, “what do you say to that, bl-”

“You don’t want to finish that word,” growled Andrew, “I know people who would snap your stupid little neck in half for that.”

“Oh, la-dee-da, I got a vampire angry!” She flexed her arm and slapped her rather impressive biceps, “you really think you can take on these guns?”

“Enough,” roared Basil as he stood, his usually quiet voice piercing the cold air of the morgue, “both of you really need to be on your way. Now.”

Andrew snorted, “I can’t stand, smartass.”

“Then Tatiana here will go call somebody to pick you up,” Basil squinted at the girl, “please.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes, “bye Basil, bye Patrick,” she waved to the coroner and his “partner” before starting to walk out. On a whim, she stopped, turned towards Andrew and made a motion with two fingers from her eyes to his. The vampire scoffed at that, but Tanya has already left the morgue.

It was later that night when she finally arrived back at her small one-room apartment in a half-forgotten town between Moscow and St. Petersburg. The Chancery provided her with a place to live, as per an ages-old law, but no one ever said the place to live had to be decent. At the very least it fulfilled one of her more crucial needs. She threw her bag onto the couch, connected a charger to her phone, checked her messages and left the apartment once again.

This November turned out colder than usual. The early snow had already fully covered the grass and the chilly wind was ignoring Tanya’s layer of clothes and went straight for her bones. Nothing like back home at Neryungri, naturally, but it was still enough to make late-night walks uncomfortable at best. This wasn’t going to last long. Tanya was already somewhat deep into the woods before she stopped, made sure she wasn’t followed, and started undressing.

While the Eurasian Lynx is found in the Central region of Russia, she is a rather rare guest. Her Eastern cousin the Yakutian Lynx is larger, stronger and, predictably, doesn’t actually live anywhere near Moscow. And yet one of them roamed through the forest deep at night, looking for prey. Heavy paws bouncing off the frozen ground, exploding the mounds of early snow, leaving behind a bright trace. But none of this mattered as the only thoughts running through the lynx’s head were of the chase, of the hunt, of the inevitable prize. And in the end, she got what she wanted as the rabbit was just a little too slow, just a little too clumsy, just a little too stupid. Its small warm body proved to be an ideal meal for the predator and a great end to the long exhausting day.

In the darkness of Tanya’s empty apartment her phone came to life for about ten seconds and then felt silent. And again. And again. After a few tries, the caller lost his patience and settled on sending her a message.

“We found you a place on a TUSK squad. However, you will have to relocate to the USA. Please call me back as soon as possible”

And without her even knowing, Tanya’s life took another sharp turn…

#dasha writes

[brittanynooooel-blog]

White Evangelicals are Satisfied with Trump’s Covid-19 Response...shocker

https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2020/03/19/most-white-evangelicals-satisfied-with-trumps-initial-response-to-the-covid-19-outbreak/

Coronavirus has been the main topic of discussion as of late, as it is a global pandemic that is affecting everyone’s lives. People are looking at the countries that have been affected first and seeing how their governments and authorities are handling it, comparing it to how their country is dealing with the same issues. Issues of supplying proper medical equipment and treatment plans, forming research teams to find out everything they can about the virus, easing the decline of the economy, assessing how long self-isolation terms should be, and I can continue the list but I think you get the gist. A pandemic so new gives very little information and uncertainties of how to treat it arises. This proves to be a difficult task for government leaders, as it is hard to please everyone and accommodate their individual needs. 

The United States was not the first country to be affected, but it has been affected the most, taking the number one position for  most confirmed Coronavirus cases with over one million of the 3.17 million worldwide. President Donald Trump has been dealing with this rather poorly, in my opinion, and I am not the only one dissatisfied. Trump first announced that the virus was a media hoax, a statement he almost immediately retracted due to developing information and confirmed deaths and illnesses. Ever since, the Trump administration and the CDC have been slowly revealing warnings and distributing precautionary measures, but not at the rate that they should have. First they tell us a list of very specific symptoms that are a sign of the virus including: fever, dry cough, and shortness of breath; then the list starts to grow and now pretty much any sort of ailment or feeling of discomfort or tiredness are all signs of the virus. CDC tells us we don’t need to wear masks, then all of a sudden everyone needs a mask. It is hard to keep up and I can’t help but feel the government is not giving us all of the information they have at once, and I wonder why. 

My dissatisfaction is paralleled by the feelings of minorities in the U.S. who are also dissatisfied by Trump’s response to the outbreak. Hispanics, Jews, Black Protestants, Atheists, Agnostics, and religiously unaffiliated groups make up about 70% of the population who think President Trump is not taking the risks seriously enough, according to Gregory Smith of the Pew Research Center. On the contrary, white Evangelical Protestants are pretty pleased with Trump’s responsiveness and sit at a 64% satisfaction rate. Them along with Christians, Catholics, and most white people are overall satisfied and feel Trump has taken appropriate measures, but of these groups “only about a third of white evangelical Protestants say the virus poses a major threat to the health of the U.S. public” (Smith). This seems accurate to me as we have discussed in class how Evangelicals heavily lean Republican, and we have seen this consistently through Trump’s presidential campaign along with his presidency as Evangelicals are his largest support. They trust what he says and feel that he is doing his best to protect the citizens of the U.S., however I do not feel that is the case and that there is more that can be done. There is a lot of information we do not know yet about the virus and it is necessary to take precautions before we can go back to our everyday lives, no matter how badly we want normality, we have to think of the overall good of the country.

[stopsubstanceabuse1-blog]

Whatever you Must Know About Entrepreneurship

New Post has been published on https://www.substanceabuseprevention.net/whatever-you-must-know-about-entrepreneurship/

Whatever you Must Know About Entrepreneurship

Using Entrepreneurship

You’re free to treat entrepreneurship for a activity, which in turn you are likely to receive cash simply when a hobby, or you can easily see to your business like a company, and get the big dollars through your enterprise. It’s very important to be mindful that entrepreneurship is known as a method which usually does indeed not possess any end point. To answer my original question, what’s entrepreneurship, We would not provide the dictionary meaning of making a firm in the anticipation of creating revenue. Nurse entrepreneurship gives a wide variety of possibilities that individuals can explore.

Entrepreneurship was defined by different writers. Finally, entrepreneurship is not just locating opportunities to make worth on the market feeling, nonetheless likewise picking out the chances to be your very very best selfa (Khanser, 2007). Biblical entrepreneurship is normally just one of many upcoming changes of Goodness.

Business owners want to acquire products in order to produce done goods. Then simply there’s the type of businessperson that’s creating something. Business people ought to know that wanting anything to happen is going to be certainly not plenty of, this won’t magically come to life with no correct hard work and dedication. Actually, the most prosperous internet marketers are relatively risk-averse.

Enterprisers discover prospects, significant or little, that no one more provides observed. Which means you might like to end up being an entrepreneur. Powerful entrepreneurs illustrate a capability to seek and utilize advice on performance to be able to consider corrective actions and to boost.

Individuals that are successful since entrepreneur are usually wonderful teams leaders. After every issue is solved, the businessperson shouldn’t rest. Goal setting tools Internet marketers can be extremely objective oriented.

The Question About Entrepreneurship

When a business person, now there are various things you should need to appreciate. A great entrepreneur will be inclined to create his wrist watches a few of mins fast so as to prevent lateness. Consistent Trouble Solving In case you are interested in being a business person who would definitely like to effectively build a brand-new enterprise, then you certainly have to have a great intense amount of determination and desire to prevail over difficulties, solve an issue and handle the job. Despite the fact discover no solitary approach to turn into a thriving business owner, at this time there are many methods to together determine if high school college students contain what it requires to make this like an unaffiliated worker and in addition help them embark on actions which will check the aforementioned expertise.

Who have More Really wants to Master About Entrepreneurship?

Enterprisers frequently possess experience and abilities connected to specific sectors they use to develop goods and alternatives. It is essential that you ascertain where you are supposed to be whether if you’re an entrepreneur or the typical person. Drives And Energy Over the internet Entrepreneurs should have an large amount of disk drive.

Fresh Creative ideas Into Entrepreneurship Do not ever Ahead of Explained

You are able to select to work with lovers. Mainly because a enterprise grows and adds workers, leadership turns into an essential portion of a company customer’s skill collection. Successful businesses have successful rise and industry leading market show over a continual time.

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[democratsunited-blog]

Idaho Democrats see a surge in interest, but can that create a 'blue wave'?

https://uniteddemocrats.net/?p=5021

Idaho Democrats see a surge in interest, but can that create a 'blue wave'?

Idahoan Courtney Beebe has been a Democrat since she was a high school student in American Falls.

“Everyone I ever admired was a Democrat,” said the 40-year-old Coeur d’Alene lawyer, who worked for former U.S. Rep. Richard Stallings in her youth.

Over the years, Beebe has supported the party and its values, including through donations. But Donald Trump’s election motivated her to become a precinct chairwoman in Kootenai County — and to be one of about 170 delegates to the 2018 Idaho Democratic Convention, a two-day event that wrapped up Saturday on the campus of The College of Idaho in Caldwell.

“I haven’t ever felt like I needed to be this active,” Beebe said.

Dr. Coralyn Alexander, left and Courtney Beebe at the Democratic convention.

Katy Moeller [email protected]

The Democrats spent two days discussing priorities, updating their platform and unifying around their nominees. Major platform stances included a demand to repeal Idaho’s Right to Work law; support for Medicaid expansion, compassionate immigration reform and a restorative criminal justice system; and calls for the legalization of CBD oil, medical cannabis and recreational cannabis use for people 21 or older.

Those at the convention were focused on the issues, not the long odds of getting a Democrat elected in a state dominated by Republicans. But they were encouraged by high voter turnout in the May primary and energized by local and national buzz about 38-year-old gubernatorial candidate Paulette Jordan, a Coeur d’Alene Tribe member trying to become the first female governor of Idaho and the first Democrat elected to the top spot since Cecil Andrus in 1990.

Jordan, who served two terms in the Idaho House of Representatives, handily defeated the party’s 2014 nominee for governor, A.J. Balukoff, a 72-year-old businessman and longtime Boise schools trustee.

Other convention delegates, who browsed party and candidate information tables when not attending meetings, panel discussions or speeches in the Jewett Auditorium building on Friday, echoed Beebe’s urgency about getting involved in politics in the Trump era. They also cited concerns about issues such as Medicaid, education, wages and immigration.

Jordan rallied party faithful on Friday, urging them to get out in their communities and share their message of inclusivity.

“If we do not talk of it, it does not happen — we do not manifest what we need to grow,” Jordan said. “All I hear is hate, from the national, from the local. And yet we have to be the party of love that saves humanity, saves society and saves our children.”

Jordan said she will meet with residents of every community in the state to share that message.

The five delegates from Boundary County (plus a spouse) organize for a photo with Paulette Jordan.

Katherine Jones [email protected]

More than 30 percent of registered voters in Idaho participated in the May primary, the highest turnout in 16 years. Idaho has seen a surge in interest and involvement in Democratic politics, said Shelby Scott, political director for the state party.

“There’s been no lull in volunteers since Nov. 8, 2016,” Scott said, referencing the day of Trump’s election. “And primary turnout for the party this spring was well above normal. We’re seeing very qualified candidates — not only at the top of the ballot but down to the legislative and county races.”

Featured convention speaker Jason Kander, 37, president of Let America Vote and a former Missouri secretary of state, told delegates that it’s up to them to create a “blue wave” of newly elected Democrats.

“The blue wave is not a weather event. It’s made,” he said. “You have to go out and knock on doors and make phone calls and do the work.”

Steve Sampson, a 41-year-old from Oneida County in southeastern Idaho, said he’s been making calls, fundraising and going door to door. He’s ready to do more.

“I want a Democratic Party that cares about 44 counties,” Sampson said. “To make this a purple state, you have to knock on every county door. You have to turn over rocks to find Democrats.”

Caldwell resident Evangeline Beechler-Lincoln, 39, vice chairwoman of the state party and senate candidate for Legislative District 10, said she believes the party is at a turning point, in part because of intensive field organizing over the past year.

“We didn’t really take the typical off-year last year when it came to field organizing,” said Beechler-Lincoln. “We’re identifying new voters, tapping into unaffiliated voters, motivating people to get involved in campaigns through emails, Facebook messages, tweets … We’ve been more present on the ground than in years past.

“I think we’re going to shock some people with our success in November. I think we’re going to have blown-out-of-the-water voter turnout.”

Idaho Democratic Party Chair Bert Marley tends to business at the opening of the state convention.

Katherine Jones [email protected]

Beebe said she’s received positive reaction at some doors she’s knocked on the past couple of years in Kootenai County, discovering voters who are quietly supportive of the Democrats.

“They said, ‘Oh, me too. I don’t feel I can tell anyone,'” she recalled. “It can be socially difficult to challenge a majority group think.”

Dr. Coralyn Alexander, a child and adolescent psychiatrist who lives in Post Falls, said she cut her vacation short to be at the convention in Caldwell. She said she was an unaffiliated voter who supported Bernie Sanders and last year became a registered Democrat.

“I feel like I have to speak up.” said Alexander, who is passionate about health care reform and is a strong supporter of Medicaid expansion. “We need to go back to the way things were before the almighty profit governed the way we take care of patients.”

Former Idaho state senator Diane Bilyeu, of Pocatello, was dressed in patriotic fashion.

Katy Moeller [email protected]

Diane Bilyeu, an 83-year-old Pocatello Democrat and a former Bannock County assessor, has been to numerous conventions since the 1960s. She was elected to the Idaho Senate in the late 1960s, and her husband, Chick, served there for two decades.

She is impressed at the party’s latest crop of candidates. She was a Balukoff supporter in the primary but speaks highly of Jordan and the “rock star quality that she seems to bring.”

During a lunch session Friday, she got to know lieutenant governor candidate Kristin Collum, an Army veteran who worked for two years at the Pentagon with Gen. Colin Powell. She holds a master’s degree in information systems management and has worked in Boise’s tech sector the past two decades.

“She’s an excellent speaker,” Bilyeu said. “She’s probably the best speaker that I’ve heard today.”

Kristin Collum, Democratic candidate for lieutenant governor, talks to delegates at the Idaho Democratic Party State Convention.

Katherine Jones [email protected]

Mike Sheppard, a 65-year-old retiree who worked in the oil and gas industry, traveled to the convention with a small group of Democrats, including 92-year-old Fay Morris, from Boundary County on the Canadian border. Sheppard is a lifelong Democrat, but this was his first state convention.

He said lack of school funding in Boundary County has forced consolidation of schools and a reduction in school days from five days a week down to four.

“It’s time on the local level for more people to get involved with politics,” Sheppard said. “The direction that the opposing party is taking … It’s time for the Dems to step in.”

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#Democrats

[murderincrp]

PROFILE LOADED...「PARK MINHA」「UNAFFILIATED」「TWENTY-ONE」

“Twenty-one-year-old WAITRESS, HACKER, INFORMATION BROKER and MONEY LAUNDERER that goes by the aliases ‘HWANG HYEMIN’ and ‘ENIGMA’. No known allies.”

✘ THREAT LEVEL LOW. NO PRECAUTIONS NECESSARY...

WARNING: CHILD ABUSE, MENTAL HEALTH, BLOOD, PARENTAL DEATH, MURDER, GUNS, FIRE

[ BACKGROUND... ]

Park Minha never had what anyone would consider a normal life. Life full of deceit and murder before even being born. Her first memory was of blood soaked sheets and a dead body of a man that her mother, Seoyeon had murdered. Her mother a assassin and  spy, while her father, Youngsoo a hacker and seasoned criminal never gave their children the love that they deserved. At least not Minha, her older brother Heonwoo was given all the love and attention. But she was the black sheep and was so until of her parents passing. At the age of five is when her parents decided to discipline her, which later turned into physical and emotional abuse, which she received on the daily. She couldn’t recall all the beatings, the burning of skin, blood leaving her small body; all the doing of her parents.  While they send Minha’s brother to school, a comfy bed to sleep on, full hot meals. But once again she was treated less than human. Her “room” was in the attic, having a blanket to sleep on the hard wooden floor. Feed most nights, if she was a “good girl.”

She was educated by her mother and father. At the age of seven was when her father sat her down at his computer and “took her under his wing”.  At the age of thirteen was when the hell was risen for the Park family. Seoyeon and Youngsoo had made many enemies; many were from the underworld, while they were caught on the police’s radar. Their isolated home that was far from the bustling city life went under siege late in the night.

That moment, that night, would be played on repeat in Minha’s mind from then on. A bullet going through her mother’s forehead, watching the life leave her cold eyes as they stared in her’s. Her father was able to escape with Minha and her brother out of the burning crimson soaked house, just outside their front yard he was gunned down as well. She too would’ve met the same demise if it wasn’t for Heonwoo, who went in front of the line of fire, so that his younger sister didn’t get hit.  The police arrived just in time to save the sixteen year old male and the thirteen year old girl, whom had blood on her. Her entire world was crashing down, she didn’t give a fuck about her parents, but her older brother she loved him so much. She couldn’t lose him she just couldn’t. Slipping away from the cops that were trying to detain her she fled the scene and never looked back.

With that she was on her own, with the knowledge and resources that she had. The first four years of being on her own, Minha worked for many different gangs as a hacker as well as a lookout. At the age of fourteen Minha joined the gang vanguard. She proved herself worthy, as she helped them with her quick wit and hacking skills. That didn’t last long as her paranoia began to take hold of her believing that she would be betrayed by them. At nineteen she left, making sure she broke off from the gang on good terms, or at least making sure they won’t try to kill her.  She was able to survive on her own, making a living for herself as a hacker, information broker, as well as a money laundering; she even became a waitress which was a reach for some type of normalcy in her life. She learned from her parents mistakes and was careful. She has made her name for herself in the underground. Now she does all she can to stay off the grid and do her job. She will not allow herself to get attached to anyone. No, not again. She will be nothing but a ghost..an enigma.

[ BEHAVIOR... ]

Minha is most often shown to be stoic, serious, cold and detached, as she seldom smiles and is not known for possessing a sense of humor. She never seems to laugh and she has admitted that she is not “good with feelings” and has been described as cold. She is usually all-business, and does not suffer fools gladly. No one really knows if she’s a good person or not. Minha possesses a sarcastic sense of humor, and constantly retains a cool, calm, and collected demeanor, being rarely startled or shaken by anything.  She is also headstrong and stubborn, even to a fault, refusing to walk away during whatever she deems to not lose from.. She is also fiercely independent. Her attitude stems from her distrusting anyone that she does not know. Minha has a skewed, questionable sense of justice and a psychotically low level of empathy for those she considers to be different from herself or whoever gets in her way. She often refuses to admit fault or to feel guilt for various wrongdoings that she has done. She’s usually the one who rarely speaks unless she’s spoken to. Strangers she’s tense with and more than often is decent with them, as long as they’re respectful to her. If not, she’ll have no problem telling them off. However, despite Minha’s stony exterior, she is not entirely apathetic, as she tends to become distressed and vengeful when those she cares about are threatened, injured or killed. She has also does have a degree of morality; she will stand up for completely defenseless and innocent people and will protect children as much as she can. That doesn’t mean it’s impossible to break through the wall that she has created between others. She can be kind towards her very few friends that she has, at least in her own way. And is fiercely loyal and suffocatingly protective. Minha has always been tech savvy. Being the daughter of an accomplished hacker, she has grown up with and worked with technology. She started to hack around the age of seven; and has gotten better over the years. Though she is a skilled hacker, don’t expect her to hack a political building, yet.

#mi:accepted #mi:unaffiliated #park minha #nine muses #kpop rp