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blvckswxnji · 1 year

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Can’t Get Enough of The Wrong Thing

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-xxxxx-

Pairings: [Hobie Brown x (f) Reader]

Genre: toxic (?) romance, exes that won’t leave each other alone, unhealthy relationship, (18+)

Warnings: some angst, strong language, heavy tension, smut.

Summary: You’re Hobie’s guilty pleasure and he’s secretly yours, yet you won’t admit it. He’ll make you, one way or another…

Word Count: 4.2k

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You won’t look. You can’t. He wants you to, you can feel it across the table. But you won’t. No more giving in, not this time. Hell no.

You made a truce with yourself to stop seeing him after the last time and you’ve been proudly holding up to that truce for a whopping three weeks. You couldn’t fumble it now.

When Pav decided on the group hanging out after a successful mission on capturing a tough anomaly, you knew he’d be here. It was honestly inevitable, but throughout the whole night you’ve maintained a good amount of distance from him. Although you were able to avoid his presence, you weren’t able to avoid his lingering gaze. You tried brushing it off and focusing your attention on the rest of the gang having fun and chilling out, but it was hard.

The thing was, you hadn’t told Hobie you were going to stop hooking up with him. You had kinda just ditched him after your last interaction. If you were being honest, you knew you couldn’t keep seeing him, you both broke up months ago and you couldn’t let yourself continue to mess with your ex any longer. No matter how much you loved it, it wasn’t healthy.

A live band had been playing tonight in the random joint you guys attended. There were many people, but it was enough where you could get around easily. Many of them swayed and bobbed their heads to the music and you decided this was the perfect distraction to occupy yourself from the man burning holes in your face.

Surprisingly, Hobie didn’t try anything after you began avoiding him. Little did you know he knew you’d pull some bullshit like this, so, he let you have your fun. Let you think you guys were over, when he knew he’d pull you right back into his greedy hands soon enough.

“Hey Gwen, dance with me?” You pleaded to the girl not wanting to be by yourself. Hobie lifted his head in amusement. Amused at the way you were trying to get away from him. Still, he didn’t utter a word to you. You were grateful.

She returns a panicked look, “Oh no, I don’t dance y/n!” You roll your eyes with a smile on your face to mask being on edge.

“Just come on, it’ll be fun!” With that, you got up and pulled her into the crowd of bodies moving along to the music. Gwen looks like a lost puppy, but your positive energy seems to loosen her up eventually and sooner or later, she gets the hang of it.

After a few songs, you started getting a bit tired so you both decided to meet back with the rest of the group at the table. You were glad to have relaxed and take your mind off of things, and for once throughout the night, you actually felt like you were having fun.

Once you two made it through the crowd and towards them, you noticed Hobie nowhere to be found. You decided on not asking though, it would be weird to. It’s not like you should care anyways, because… you shouldn’t.

“Where’s Hobie?” Gwen asks, looking around as we both sit down.

“Oh, he went to go dance with some pretty lady that offered like 10 minutes ago.” Peter answered casually. You froze. You curse yourself for doing so but you did. You also cursed yourself for looking around to see if you could spot him. Pathetic really on your end.

Gwen’s eyes widen slightly, “Oh wow, go Hobes!” she said, to no one quite in particular.

Did you also forget to mention no one in the group really knew of the relationship you and Hobie had? Because they didn’t, and right now you wish they did so they could just shut the fuck up. In all honesty it’s not like they were completely clueless, they knew you both liked flirting with each other but nothing really past that. Hobie wasn’t/isn’t one for labels or pda and neither are you.

Your eyes finally land on said man. Your heart annoyingly drops. He’s holding the girl by her waist loosely as she practically throws herself all over him. Luckily for you he doesn’t look super interested in her dancing but he doesn’t seem bothered by it, which bothered you.

You cursed his spidey senses because almost like clockwork, as soon as you caught the two, he made eye contact with you. You quickly avert your gaze but not quick enough as you could already feel the smirk etched on his face targeted to you.

Hobie was honestly enjoying this. His bastard self. He loved to see you crack under the pressure of his being, his gaze. He wanted to watch you crumble under the desperate urge for him and only him. Which is why he pulled the girl even closer, just to get further under your skin.

“You alright y/n?” Margo asks from beside you.

You turn your head to her, “Yeah of course I’m fine I jus-”

“Hey, I saw you back there on the dance floor with your friend, you’re really pretty, mind if I take you for a drink?” You’re cut off by an unfamiliar voice. You turn around to see a decent looking man standing in front of you. He’s pretty tall (not as tall as Hobie), but somewhat attractive all the same (although doesn’t beat Hobie’s beauty).

Y/n what the fuck!? Shut up!

“Oh um…” you look to the others to see if it’s a good idea, Pav giving you a smirk and looking as if to tell you to do it, while everyone else just looked to see what you were going to say. You take a final look at Hobie across the room who seemed to notice the interaction before you finally decided… fuck it!

“Sure why not.”

And then you were off. A faint smirk plastered on your lips as you were more than happy to piss Hobie off. You could practically feel his glare from a mile away. You’re walked up to the bar where you two sit down and the guy finally introduces his name.

“I’m Colin by the way, you?”

“Oh, I’m y/n, pleasure.” It wasn’t necessarily but he seemed alright, so why not at least try to be nice.

“Please to meet you y/n, what would the pretty lady like?” He asks as he scans the array of bottles lined up behind the bar and further looks for a nearby bartender.

“Um, a classic martini would be nice.” You shoot him a flat smile.

“Lovely.” He makes eye contact with one of the bartenders, “two classic martinis please, on the rocks!” The bartender nods and goes straight to work.

You would’ve like to say you didn’t find the conversation of getting to know Colin that followed soon after interesting, but for some odd reason you actually kind of liked the guy. He was quite funny and you don’t know if it’s because of the amount of martinis you’ve drunken since the first round, but you found yourself more relaxed and more willing to give him a shot. Hell, you might’ve become slightly more attracted to him. But you believe that’s due to growing intoxication of your mind and body. Either way, you found yourself laughing at his jokes and more keen of his flirting advances.

“Ya’ know, I think I kind of like you.” You blurt out without really thinking much of the words. Colin smirks.

“I’m quite fond of you myself y/n.” You bite your lip as you lean in a bit closer to him. The tipsiness in your veins making you a little bolder than usual.

The same case can be said for Colin as he moves to whisper in your ear. “Wanna get outta here and go to my place?” Followed by a light brush on your thigh. You don’t know what the hell kicked you into high gear to wake the fuck up but suddenly reality seemed to hit. Should you be doing this? You mean sure he’s a cool guy but was this really want you were ready for? Plus Hob— stop, enough with him y/n! Get a grip, no more of him.

Colin seemed to sense the way you stiffened up because he’s immediately filled with concern and regret. “Oh, fuck, I shouldn’t have I’m sor—”

“No no no no, it’s not you I’m— look I’m sorry, Colin, for everything really,” you stumble over your own words trying to let him know you weren’t offended with him, “I’m sorry you were really great but I need to go.” You hurry and shuffle from your seat at the bar towards the public restroom near the back of the joint.

You felt bad and embarrassed. You basically screwed that poor guy over what, because of some bastard you’re not even with anymore!? What the hell were you doing?

You made your way to the women’s restroom where you entered through the marked door and shimmied your way into an empty stall. You think you’re going insane. You stand in there for about a minute to catch your breath before your senses slowly come back to you. You hear the bathroom door open then shut and presume it’s the lady you saw when you first entered, leaving the sink.

You quickly open your stall door and make your way to the sinks directly across. You turn on the cold water and give your face a quick splash to sober yourself up. You lift your arm as a lazy attempt to dry your face, placing both your hands on the counter to steady yourself. You hear the distant thumping of the base of the music playing from outside the restroom. It’s quiet as you close your eyes and soak in the silence for a moment.

“Ya’ done now love?”

It was as if someone had screamed the highest pitch ever, directly into your ear. The speed your body had jolted, in the mere shock of the voice that emitted from the other side of the bathroom. Your head snapped so fast you thought you were about to break your neck. Your heart literally dropped.

“What the actual fuck Hobie?! You’re not supposed to be in here!” You shouted in a mix of shock and anger.

He smirked. “Now since when do you ever remember me following the damn rules?” He was leaning on the tiled wall, arms folded in one another with his head tilted to the side as he questioned you.

You didn’t answer, turning towards the paper towel dispenser to dry your hands.

Hobie huffs out laugh. “How much longer you gonna keep this cheap act up ay’? It’s getting bloody borin’ if you ask me.”

“What act?” Shrugging your shoulders, feigning ignorance.

“Playing clueless are we?”

“Letting random girls grind on your dick are we?” You shot back, looking him straight in the face. Instead of offense, satisfaction seemed to over take Hobie’s features.

Damn it.

He smiles in amusement. “Jealousy ain’t a bright look on you sweetheart. And correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t over at the bar about to get that lad’s dick wet before you choked?” He taunts.

This damn bastard.

“Fuck… you Hobie, like actually fuck off.” You spit as you make your way closer to his form. He wasn’t intimidated in the slightest and it pissed you off.

He abruptly pushes off the wall and sweeps his hands out of his pockets, moving forward which made you move back a bit. “Oh I know you’d love to do that again darlin’. I’d fuck me again too if I’m honest.” His smirk stretched even wider as you found your back coming in contact with the sinks behind you.

“You’re gross.” You counter, a futile attempt to hold your ground.

He moves even closer to you, so much so that only a few inches were left in between your bodies. “You weren’t sayin’ that when you were takin’ me from behind in the alleyway near HQ a few weeks ago, now were you?” His eyes grew a shade darker, daring you to deny. You hate how your heart rate began to speed up.

“And that’s the last time I’ll ever do anything with you again.” Hobie lets out a dark chuckle, his head falling low as if you just told the world’s most hilarious joke. You just stare. As his laughter dies down, he puts his hands on either side of you and on the edge of the counter. He lifts his head slowly and brings his face mere centimeters from yours, staring with dilated eyes. It feels as if you both are in that position for an eternity, before suddenly he lets go all together and pulls back.

He doesn’t say anything. You stay frozen in your spot as he turns away from you and walks away. You think he might actually leave it at that and exit the bathroom, but you become more confused when you see him entering the farthest stall away from the entrance.

The hell?

You take this as your chance to leave and quickly make your way towards the exit.

Almost to the door, suddenly, you feel your shirt get hit with something or stuck to something? You don’t have time to dwell on it as you feel your body jerk and get pulled all the way to the other end of the restroom. You let out a yelp at the unexpected movement and feel yourself about to fall backwards, but before you do, you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist. It doesn’t take you longer than a second to realize it was Hobie.

Before you can resettle your feet to the ground, you’re pulled once again, inside of the stall where Hobie locks the door in front of you. You feel his chest behind you and before you can melt into the all too familiar touch, you turn around and push him back with not much success.

“What the fuck are you doing, let me out!” You yell as you spin around to turn the stall lock. Although you were too slow, as before you could even touch the lock, sticky web was shot on the knob, covering it completely. So now, you were quite literally trapped. You hate the funny feeling in your stomach you get from the fact if you were completely honest, but your annoyance kind of overshadowed it.

Hobie presses his front to your back once again, resting his hand on your stomach. His other coming up to your mouth to silence you. He then leans forward, lips brushing your ear as he finally whispers something.

“Shhh, love.”

You shudder at the warmth of his breath. You’re slightly confused as to why he would tell you to hush, but you then hear the swing of the restroom door as it opens, and the click when it shuts. You hear two girls talking and from what you can make out, it seems they’re fixing themselves up in the mirror. You couldn’t really find the need to care about they’re conversation, not when you feel Hobie’s hand start to slip under your shirt.

You immediately grab a hold of his hand in a death grip, warning him to stop. You even try to mumble to get him to halt what he was trying to do, but he only tightened his grip on your mouth.

“Knock it off before I make this harder for you.” He warns.

Huh? Make what harder for you? What is he about to do?

As you dwell on your thoughts in pure confusion, Hobie’s hand creeps further up your shirt to finally settle his grip on your left breast.

Oh. OH….

No fucking way. He’s not serious with this right now is he? Your eyes widen in complete shock and panic.

You reach up to grab his hand but are immediately halted with a harsh squeeze to your chest. The action forcing a low grunt from your throat. You feel Hobie lean his face forward to whisper something again into your ear.

“You’re gonna stay quiet for me love, y’ got it?” He looks dead serious and you don’t know if being turned on by the look is something to be ashamed by, because damn did he look good. But at the same time, this was so wrong, on so many levels… shit. So, for the sake of your modesty, you give him a look of ‘what the hell, you’re insane!’

He ignores it, rendering the whole action as theatrics as he knew deep down, you wanted him. He cranes his head to start layering kisses to your neck. You shiver at the coldness of his lip ring and the way it drags on your skin. You try to resist the tingly feeling crawling through your veins at the touches, but in the end, it felt way too good. After met with some resistance, you eventually ended up falling into the feeling of his lips on you. You even lull your head to the side to give him better access.

He smirks and whispers, “There’s my girl.” As he begins to play with your other breast, lifting your shirt even higher so it rested atop both of them. You moan lightly.

You still hear the chitter chatter of the girls still present in the restroom, but they’re conversation is becoming all to foggy for you to even comprehend a word being uttered from their mouths.

Slowly, little by little, Hobie’s hand that gripped rigorously at your chest, made it’s way lower and lower. Eventually making it to the waistband of your jeans. He tugged at it, teasing you. Your breathing becoming heavier and slower. Unconsciously, you brought your hips backwards in anticipation. You hear a groan deep groan in your ear, followed by the swift pop of your button coming undone. His hand travels down to cup your heat, now fully engulfed in his hand through your underwear.

“Can’t believe you were keeping her from me for three whole weeks. You shouldn’t even be allowed to have my fingers after the crap you pulled.” You whine into his hand covering your mouth.

He snags the side of your panties with his index and middle finger, pulling the piece of fabric upward, giving you delicious pressure to your clit. Your head falls back and you try closing your thighs together but Hobie hooks a foot on your ankle, pulling it to the side to keep your legs apart.

“Ah ah ah, keep them open.” From the tone of his voice, he wasn’t asking you, he was commanding you. So with your strength, you swallowed your pride and did as he said.

His hand then teasingly travels to the waistband as of your underwear before finally arriving at the destination you want (need) him the most. His long fingers tease your folds. Collecting an embarrassingly large amount of arousal that had pooled there. You hear Hobie huff out a quick laugh.

“Ya’ know for someone so cryptic on wantin’ to be left alone, you sure are drenchin’ my fingers, huh’ love? She’s lit’rally throbbin’ f’me.” He teases smiling in satisfaction on how your body reacts to his touch. He removes the hand from your mouth to rest on your throat for a brief moment to hear an answer from you.

“Shut up.” You whisper in defeat and clouded lust. At this point you couldn’t really care for his annoying comments. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, all you wanted to feel was him in you. That’s why before he could even respond back, you took his hand that was between your legs and guided his fingers to rub your clit. You needed to be worked up.

Seems he got the message because he soon he was rubbing fast and tight circles on your nub. It was so hard to keep quiet when he was practically working magic between your thighs. You were now glad he picked the farthest stall from the entrance.

“Fuck Hobie, I need your fingers inside me.”

“No problem darlin’.” At that you felt the first finger protrude at your entrance. Your mouth hangs open at the feeling.

Fuck, you really almost forgot how good his digits felt. These damn girls need to get out of here before they hear something they don’t want to.

“Shit your so tight. Thought you’d be fuckin’ some other losers while you were off avoiding me.”

You scoff. “Thought about it, I just… decided against it.” He added another finger. Your head falls back on his shoulder again, as he soon curls his fingers to get to that delicious spongy spot inside you. He quickly covers your mouth as you let out a loud, yet muffled moan against his palm. You grip his wrist tightly as a form of leverage.

“Good, no one could ever make you feel as good as me.” There was a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “Plus, if you let another man touch you, there would have been hell to pay. For the both of you.” Your stomach flipped at the comment. His fingers began to speed up and your other hand finds purchase on his forearm of the hand covering your mouth. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he curls his fingers effortlessly into your cunt, at a pace that makes your knees buckle.

Shit, is this what heaven feels like?

If the girls didn’t hear your muffled moans by now, they sure as hell heard the squelching of your pussy echo throughout the restroom.

The pleasure becoming so much, that you ended up having to hold on to the stall door. Your knuckles turning white at the amount of ecstasy you were experiencing. Your ass grinding onto Hobie’s clothed member, sitting half hard in the confines of his jeans.

Hobie ended up moaning loudly in your ear at the friction you had caused. The chattering of the girls in the bathroom had halted, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck and neither did he anymore. You soon heard an awkward shuffle of footsteps rush out the door, rendering you and Hobie finally alone at last.

Finally.

Hobie breaks his whisper. “You’re mine y/n. Ya’ understand?” His hand coming to sit at your throat, squeezing around it. “All fuckin’ mine!”

“Yes, H-hobie, fuck… I’m sorry alright!” It felt so good to yell. Moan in pure pleasure. His fingers were working you so good and the band in your abdomen was only becoming tighter.

“You’re damn right you’re sorry.” He breathes heavily. His eyes scanning the way your body submitted to him. He smirked hard. It was a pretty sight.

“I think I’m getting close!” You panted out, still using his arms as leverage. In response Hobie let go of your throat and positioned his hand back to your breasts as he knew they were sensitive by now.

“Let go for me angel.” He whispers breathily. Fondling your nipples and fingering you with pure desire you thought you would pass out. The feeling so overwhelming, it brought you to the edge.

You practically screamed as the exploding sensation bursts across the nerves of your body.

“That’s a good girl, ride it out.” You hear his voice, it’s almost soothing as you embrace your high.

Fuck did you miss him.

As you came down from your high, your senses slowly but surely started to clear up. You flinched at the feeling of Hobie pulling his soaked fingers from your heat. You sluggishly turn around to properly face him and you’re met with him looking straight at you. You see him bring his fingers up to his mouth before sticking his digits inside of it, sucking your juices as if it was his last meal. All the while maintaining eye contact. It made you fluster up a bit.

“Mmm, absolutely divine.” He closed his eyes before opening them back up slowly. “You’re perfect.”

“Alright, alright it’s embarrassing.” You look away in slight annoyance.

“What? Can’t take a compliment?” He tilts his head to the side, leaning over your frame.

“Oh whatever.” You rolls your eyes although you’re not necessarily upset at his statement.

You lean your back on the stall door as Hobie moves closer to your body. A hand grabbing your hip.

His face leans in closer until your lips are centimeters away from colliding. Your hands take a hold around his neck as you bite your lip.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this.” You say it, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to your own words. The man in front of you, with an allure so captivating, the only thing you want is to be suffocated by it.

He doesn’t answer you, instead he just chuckles, before he smashes his lips to yours. His hand grabs the back of your hair as he pulls you deeper into him. Tongues messily colliding, entangled in one another. You can’t help but moan. He’s so intoxicating…

and you can’t get enough.

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Part 2???? 🥱 Also y’all this my first ever completed fiction!! (what?? omg) Anyways hope y’all enjoyed, I may make a part 2 but I need to figure that out lmao. I’m thinking of maybe taking requests but I’ll need to think that through too lmfao… (I love me some Hobie <33)

#hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader smut #atsv #atsv x reader #astv smut #fanfiction #atsv imagines

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andy-jam-blog · 3 months

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Dipping my toe in the water

Something I am anxious about under the cut.

I could talk at length about the pro column and con column that has been running in my brain for the past few months re: discord. I will spare you (most) of that though. (This post could be a lot longer - can you imagine???)

My fear is that a server meets expectations. Like, forget about worst case scenarios (I sure haven't); The most successful version of a server, in my mind, is something that is going to divide my attention from the game if I'm responsible for moderating it. The server functioning in the best case scenario is going to have good stuff, bad stuff, jokes, drama, people becoming friends and people becoming enemies.

But it is still something I am strongly considering. I think it would be great to have a cool online hangout where the community surrounding this little experiment can grow, and a place that has some more immediacy in communication than tumblr or youtube does.

I used to run a pretty big server for which I was mostly responsible, and nuked it when it got too stressful. I learned a lot from that, including (perhaps most importantly) that I don't want to be in that position ever again. So that's what this post is about. If I could find and line up some moderators who would be willing to help maintain a healthy distance between myself and the responsibility of a server, it would make the decision a lot easier.

I loathe asking anyone to help out in any capacity; it has taken me a long time to edit and release this post & the accompanying form. But if you're willing to lend some of your downtime/energy to help run something like this, I have a form here: LINK

Thanks for all your time & support, I appreciate it it. PS: It goes without saying, this is not confirmation that I am going to even establish a discord server. Like the title of the post says, I am just dipping my toe in the water.

#toe jam #gamedev #discord

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verdemoth · 9 months

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Phoenix! On-and-off member of the EEG field team. A self-employed mechanic and electrician otherwise (and local dilf)

-> Until recently Phoenix wasn’t a super official nor consistent member of the team. He maintains that he’s not one of The Scientists, he’s a maintenance guy and an outdoorsman and he’s good for lugging supplies around the strange alien wilderness. In recent years though he’s around a lot more often and participates in most expeditions. Can’t hurt to have more eyes looking out for them.

-> As a teen, Phoenix pursued sciences in school, taking some of the same classes as friends like Tune and Odyssey, but Phoenix ended up dropping out when he couldn’t keep up with the work. It stung at the time and they have a tendency to discredit their own intelligence as a result, but despite this they’re content with the path their life’s taken.

-> Generally a casual and laidback kinda guy. One of the only folks on the team who has a healthy relationship with their emotions. Dude knows how to cope. that one post like ‘dude i’m emotionally vulnerable as shit i’ll cry on any of you’ that’s Phoenix-core.

-> He enjoys the fruits of hard work as much as anybody else but he’s a big advocate for the importance of rest and leisure. Can’t be giving it 100% all of the time or you won’t have anything left to give. You gotta find time to take it easy and enjoy where you’re at.

-> Phoenix looooves camping and outdoor recreation. They try to rope their friends and family into joining him out in the wilderness a couple times a year. The normal wilderness, working in the Otherworld doesn’t count.

-> While he’s not one to butt in on other people’s problems uninvited, he’s always got advice on hand if asked. Sure, some of it’s bullshit. It can’t all be gold.

-> Phoenix has been broken up with an unfortunate number of times. Amicable breakups, no hard feelings, but man this guy is unlucky with his romantic endeavours. Two of his coworkers are past exes (but remain good friends with him thankfully).

-> Phoenix an uncle to Maven and Perseverance, through being friends with their parents rather than blood relation. Perse in particular he was able to spend a lot of time with through her childhood and the two are very close. She takes after him in regards to extroverted personalities and enjoying physical activities like hiking and sports. They’ve got a good understanding of each other and a very playful relationship. There’s more distance between Maven and Phoenix, but they still have a good relationship. Phoenix is less sure of how to interact with them, how to tell when Maven just needs a little prompting to get outside their comfort zone and build confidence vs when Maven really does not want to be involved and just wants time alone. Phoenix is just trying to do right by the both of them.

#image #alt text #my art #my characters #char: phoenix #set: eeg #flight rising #flight rising art #named after the Phoenix Mars Lander!#they’re not wearing the field team colours bc they don’t see themself as Part of it really

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tortured-demigods-department · 4 months

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an unhinged (and unofficial) dissertation on the pjo fandom

so i don't usually post anything that isn't my-works-related, but i had a...mildly heated discussion with a fellow film student tonight about the pjo show and it's got me thinking. bear with me, we'll be here awhile.

as we all know, the first season of pjo has ended. i've stayed relatively OFF tumblr and other social media during this time, but i know there are a lot of OG fans who are (in their words) "massively disappointed" in the show. most of the complaints i've heard have been during in person conversations though, so this post is mostly going to be referencing real complaints i've heard.

i've been a part of this fandom since i was thirteen. that's nearly eight fucking years of my life that i've devoted to the pjo universe. i have written and consumed YEARS' worth of fanfiction, i have read and reread every book so many times i can quote them forwards and backwards, and i went to the bookstore every single year on the new books' release dates to pick up my copies in-person. this fandom, these characters and this world have brought so much joy to my life, and i don't think i could ever fully articulate that in words. when i think of this series, i genuinely feel nothing but happiness.

but a few years ago—around the time i started college—i started distancing myself from the fandom for one glaring reason. this fandom can be such an...angry place? like, genuinely, i don't know how far it goes back—maybe all the way to the release of HoA, honestly—but i wasn't here pre-HoA, so all i know is that i very much remember how much people hated ToA when it came out.

here i was, having the TIME of my life with apollo and his silly little haikus, and people are going to war over how the series' writing quality has gone to shit and how everything was better before, blah, blah, blah. IN SPITE of everything that series gave us—discussion of the repercussions of child abuse and ptsd, representation of lgbtqa+ characters, and deep psychological messages that really teach young readers, i think, how to better understand themselves and their emotions and deal with them in healthy ways. and it just wasn't fun to be in a fandom where, as soon as you go "hey, did you read the new book?" they scoff and roll their eyes and only want to talk about how terrible it is. (i also missed all the discourse on the sun and the star when it came out—PHENOMENAL read, btw—but i've read some things that lead me to believe that it wasn't well received either, in spite of how lovely it was.)

so...it's dramatic to say i "left" the fandom, but i certainly withdrew from it. deleted my pjo ao3 and tumblr, started over with a different fandom. but the love has always been there, and the show starting really helped spark it fully back to life.

but now, the same thing is happening again, i'm noticing. remember back in the day, when we only had the shitty fucking movies, and we were like "man, ANYTHING would be better than this garbage. literally just give us actors who are the right age and we'll be happy." well, now we have PHENOMENAL kid actors who genuinely are having a good time playing our beloved characters, and instead of supporting them, we're STILL complaining about them not being "portrayed correctly"?

i've talked to so many people who complain that percy is "too smart," which is kind of a bullshit insult to percy's canon character. in the books (at least the first five) we're seeing things ONLY from percy's pov. he's a kid who's struggled with learning disabilities and been told he's an idiot all his life by everyone except his mom—but as others have pointed out way more eloquently than i could, percy is a very intelligent and powerful individual while maintaining his goofy fun personality, which is WHY so many people love him so much. he's complex, and i think they managed to capture that really well in the show even amidst all the changes.

don't get me started on the fucking racism towards leah sava jeffries—i'm honest to gods ashamed that there are racists who call themselves pjo fans. she is so talented, and everything we ever could have hoped for in an on-screen annabeth. ALL of the kids are—there's literally no argument to be had there.

and then, if people aren't complaining about the casting, it's the series' writing. or there's too much exposition. rick is changing too many things. the directors don't know what they're doing. it's not a TRUE book adaptation. (someone said that to me, and i genuinely laughed because i thought they were joking. when the MOVIES exist, they wanted to make that comment about the show.)

are there some things i would change about the show, given the opportunity? god, yes. the set design for the underworld was horrendous. (in my opinion, of course.) but here's the thing. i have spent eight years of my life waiting for this show to happen, and in that time, i've learned a lot about how much goes into successfully producing such a complex series. how much money and time is spent, and how many people have to be on board to make it happen. it's genuinely kind of miraculous that we're even getting this show at all, considering all the ways it could have failed before it even made it out of pre-production.

and i think we, as fans, sometimes forget that we aren't owed this. we don't own the percy jackson franchise. it makes me so sick and tired when authors or artists in any capacity feel like they have to cater their works to the masses, because they know they'll get thrown into the fucking fire if they don't. rick and becky riordan didn't have to got to the trouble of producing this show for us. they chose to—everyone involved chose to—because they wanted to make something fun and enjoyable not only for the fans, but everyone who chose to be a part of it.

do you know how insane it is that, when you read pretty much any interview of pjo bts, everyone talks about how fun the production was? i've been on film sets. they can be ABSOLUTELY miserable when they're not done right. but eight months into production, the kids were still laughing and having a good time, everyone's still giving 100%, they're excited, it's fun. walker was willing to go into a diving tank for a full fucking day in order to get one scene—i know i would never have that kind of dedication, and i bet 99% of you wouldn't either.

i know this has gotten really long-winded, but i've said all of that to say that...i'm kind of tired of fans trying to bring down the show, and more than that, trying to bring down each other for having a good time. as i've said before (many times, i'm sure), i waited eight years for this, and i have had SUCH a fun time watching it. assuming we get a season 2 renewal, there are going to be even more new fans coming in than we've already gotten from season 1, and i want this fandom to be a fun and positive place for them. for all of us. we don't have to miserable and angry all time. we can critique the show, sure—it's not perfect, and it was never going to be—but we have to remember that television is an art form, and that art is subjective even when it involves our favorite characters. and we can accept that and still have a good time, because it's just more fun to have fun, you know?

this fandom has always had so much potential to be the BIGGEST, most supportive and kind and loving fandom. with how much representation this series has, with how much content we've been given, with the SHEER massive number of us...i've always thought we could be a really, really great community. maybe it's impossible to hope that we could be the best fandom on earth, but if nothing else...could we all try to just be a little bit kinder? genuinely, as cheesy as it may sound...it's just nicer when we're nice to each other. and when there's so many real things in the world to be mad about...i would much rather this be a place where we can come to at the end of a long day and just...feel at home. personally, i just think that would be really, really nice.

#percy jackson #percy series #percy jackson tv show #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson fandom #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #pjo show #pjo fandom #pjo series #me ranting for five million years #i wish i could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat and be happy...#she doesn't even go here #with all of that said i'm going to bed #i have class at 8am tomorrow and really should NOT have spent this much of my night writing this

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5eraphim · 1 year

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Engineer and the reader are both engineers, and basically like rivals. At one point, Engie starts to feel like the reader might actually be smarter or better than him, and this makes him feel terrible. What would he do?

Like, he's conflicted. She's caused a lot of damage to his ego and sense of self worth, but he also has feelings for her.

(Please I want power over him)

Character: The Engineer 🦦(Team Fortress 2)

Rating: T

Content Warnings: yandere, unhealthy relationship dynamics, possessiveness

Word Count: 1.8k

Master List

Song Inspo

(This was partially inspired by this other one-shot I made for Engie which can be found here. It’s not exactly a re-hash or a prequel, but they do fit quite nicely together.)

Given how long he'd worked in this industry, Engie thought he'd seen it all, working harder than anyone to get where he was today, and he was proud of that. Sure he came from a long line of some of the best Engineers in the industry, and he loved his family more than anything, but he knew he didn't need their help to make it far as an engineer.

He was no stranger to newcomers coming hot out of the gate. The type of people who thought they were ready to revolutionize the field just because they were the new guy. Engie was always prepared to challenge this type, joyfully knocking them down a peg. Not in a cruel way, but more in a tough-love sense. Healthy competition could do wonders for motivation.

Needless to say, when he first met you, or even beforehand, he was just about positive you were the same type. Though, he was still ready to welcome you with traditional southern hospitality.

Imagine, in this scenario, he doesn't actually meet you for the first time face-to-face but hears about you after learning you'd been training under his own father. His father, the infamous recluse, hardly ever took on mentorships, let alone newcomers to the field, as the old man was well-known for keeping his secrets and tips of the trade firmly to himself.

Even before he met you, hearing that you mentored under his father only spurred his competitive side. When asking his father why he decided to start training now, he merely shrugged, claiming it was "just one of his last projects before settling into retirement, nothing special." Though this low-key explanation did little to quell his rising interest in you.

For almost all his life, Engie considered his father's work a family secret. What right did some stranger have to that information? While he wouldn't exactly call this feeling jealousy, it became more difficult to maintain his typical optimism to meet you in person. Caught between the feeling of obligation to warmly welcome a new friend of the family and holding you at a distance until you proved yourself able to keep up with the rest of the Conaghers.

When the two of you eventually met in person to work on a project, Engie expected he would need to hold your hand and carefully walk you through the process, as this was your first real job out of training. Regardless of who trained you, he didn't want you to feel intimidated and wanted to offer as much help as you needed. Engie might've even expected to do most of this work himself, which he certainly wouldn't complain about.

Though Engie found it harder and harder to remain kind and accommodating when you decided to not only forge ahead without consulting him first but were just about disregarding his advice altogether.

This sort of thing pissed him off, but he did his best to remind himself of how common this kind of behavior was. Rookies were constantly showing up to their first day on the job, acting as though they knew everything. You were nothing special. While it bothered him at the moment, Engie believed all he needed to do was be patient. All he had to do was give you time. Hotshots always cracked under pressure eventually, and it was only a matter of time before you got yours.

As much as he wanted to believe he could keep his composure, his indecisiveness continued to torment him. Usually, the more brazen and overconfident the newcomer, the more satisfying it was to watch them fall, but it wasn't so simple when it came to you. As much as he wanted to think of you as his rival and nothing more, another part of him wanted to befriend someone already in his family's good graces. It wasn't like you were trying to fight with him. You just preferred to follow your own method. Engie knew he didn't really have a valid reason to hate you, but he simply couldn't ignore the suspicion you weren't to be trusted.

Damn it, none of it made sense! Why was it so hard to be nice to you? This sort of thing almost always came so naturally to him! He hated working with you, feeling like you were constantly trying to one-up him, but for some reason, watching you work with others and all the attention they gave you pissed him off even more. Engie wishes you would just leave already, but he knows not even that would give him closure.

The anger he felt watching how friendly you were around the others only amplified his jealousy and guilt. His mental state only worsened watching others express interest in partnering up with such a promising worker. Watching others take his place was the only thing worse than working with you.

With you taking up so much of his attention, a near-constant distraction, he began making little blunders in his work. He knew he'd never make these careless mistakes if it weren't for you.

As much as he tried to bottle up these feelings and hostility, you knew how on edge he acted around you. It was impossible to tell if he liked you or hated you. As the son of your mentor, you likely felt a similar obligation to make a solid first impression with him as he did to you. But you couldn't ignore this unsettling behavior and began opting to work alone, hoping a little space would mellow him out. You also worried trying to have a friendly relationship outside of work would only further complicate things, so you mostly avoided him off the clock.

Not to say you were trying to "fight back" per se or anything. Still, the constant scrutiny you felt working around Engie seriously got under your skin, and you became less cooperative and efficient working with him. Of course, you studied hard under his father and weren't trying to show off, but you were no pushover and wanted to show how hard you worked to prepare for this job.

Engie couldn't take any more of this. He hated feeling so distracted around you and decided he ought to contact his father and learn more about you, and he wanted to know everything. Better to figure out this way than suffer in silence and let his insecurities get the best of him. He had a feeling in his gut, an unshakable intuition you weren't just another rookie, his father must've seen something special in you, and he wanted to know more.

Imagine how floored he would be to learn his father and you maintained correspondence.

"We still talk, you know. She said she likes you just fine but doesn't understand why you're so tense. You ought to lighten up, son. A woman like that is hard to find. You two could be good together, but not if you let her slip away. You're a smart one, boy, always have been. I trust you'll make the right decision."

Upstaging Engie at his own craft was one thing, but keeping contact with his sullen, stoic, practically cloistered father? Now that was the real accomplishment here.

Finally, he felt he had hope of ending the awful indecision once and for all! His father offered him a call to action, a suggestion to act on the possessiveness he harbored for you. Perhaps this was inevitable, and it was only a matter of time until his darker side won over, though he reckoned it was all the same now.

Engie never thought of himself as the possessive type before, but by God, did it feel good to act on this impulse. So he devised a plan to stage an accident. Nothing too dangerous, but enough to send a message. Just minor property damage, starting a fire where you were working on one of your latest machines. You wanted to work alone so bad, so be it. He hoped you were ready for that kind of accountability.

You were so stubborn about following your own method, so content to work apart from everyone else. It was easy to stage the fire at a location you worked alone to properly ensure no one would take the blame for the event but you.

After the fire was extinguished, no one was injured, but the damage was undeniable. You knew you would never recover from this. Even if you worked hard to befriend the other engineers, and even if they thought you were a good person, they could not overlook your comparative lack of experience now. As well as the evidence of your contraption at the crime scene. All the goodwill you built up for yourself was snuffed out in a matter of hours as you were labeled a liability and untrustworthy by the others.

As much as the betrayal hurt, you couldn't blame them. While you were sure you deactivated the machine before clocking out, the evidence spoke for itself. No way in a million years would you make a mistake so preventable as this! It didn't make any sense, but you were forced to accept your fate all the same as all the evidence was stacked against you.

None of this dismay came close to the despair felt upon realizing your only hope to cut it as an engineer now was to swallow your pride and beg Engie to take you back on as his partner. You planned to try and contact his father first, though. If Engie really hated you as much as you feared he did, you hoped having his father in your corner would be enough to convince him to go easy on you.

Even if you couldn't make sense of the event, you felt the shame all the same and didn't have the heart to look anyone in the eye the following day. This only intensifies your hopelessness. The man you'd been avoiding like the plague before now would take enough pity on you not to kick you out.

Your drive and ambition were just as diminished as your reputation. The excitement and creativity you'd always felt before tinkering away at the workshop simply wasn't there anymore. Now everything felt like a grim reminder of what once was- what happened, rather than what could be.

Whenever Engie micromanaged or insisted you follow his method, you complied, no longer having the fire and passion to fight back like you used to. Not when he invaded your personal space or kept you working late into the night, knowing you'd fall asleep and he'd take it upon himself to take care of you.

Work never felt as rewarding as it used to, now that you were forced to bend the knee and obey your new boss' direction. Fortunately, he was less tense around you now, or maybe you just stopped caring about how overly personal he acted around you. Socialization with others was practically nonexistent beyond the Conagher family. It felt all too expected when you were eventually consummated into the family.

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thatguymao · 9 months

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Totally binged pb today because I decided to fast all day yesterday. Should've expected this.

I'm just gonna do fuck-all, this is my breaking point. I want a normal metabolism again and eat food like a normal person. If I relapse then that's that but for now I don't give a damn about reaching an ugw. I've already reached my lowest weight, it's damn frustrating to lose progress but it feels even more frustrating knowing healthier people can lose weight still eating twice as much as i do regardless of it taking them longer.

I'm going to start eating at my bmr. I walk 10k steps everyday, run 3x a week, each time running longer distances, and I try to incorporate strength and core workouts whenever I can. I eat meats and veggies, take my vitamins if I'm lacking anything bcus I'm broke and don't have many options, and I drink 2L water daily. I'm doing so much to take care of myself and be at a healthy weight, if all that's left is eat a normal amount even if it means temporary weight gain, then fuck it I'll do it. I've got too much shit going in with school and work to continue spending so much time distracted and worn out from my hunger.

I still want to lose more weight, but I'll do it right from now on. I'll do it in a way that doesn't compromise my work, my health, and my overall future.

I'll stick around still, bcus this acc has been a safe space for me to vent. I can't guarantee that I won't go back to old ways a couple times. Plus I'm still on a weight loss journey. Whether that means maintaining weight but losing fat, or losing 0.5-1 lb a week, it's still a weight loss/fitness journey that I want to record here.

#ftm ed #tw restrictive ed #male ed #tw 3d vent #notprojustusingthetags #ed recovery #ed recovery hopefully??#idk we'll see #genuinely hope so

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newwwwusername · 11 months

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I'm not sure if you take specific requests through here, so if not, go ahead and ignore this ask because I don't have an ao3 and wasn't sure how to submit my request.

Could you write something with autistic!Beca for Pitch Perfect? Preferably hurt/comfort, and any pairing is fine, platonic or romantic.

Again, I'm new here, and I'm not fully sure what your guidelines are regarding requests but if this crossed a line in any way you can just ignore it. Thanks.

Chronology : Post-Pitch Perfect 2 Pairing : Beca/Chloe Headcanon : Autistic!Beca Author's note : I'll technically accept requests from anywhere that I see them but I generally prefer to get them through here (good job), my prompt collection on AO3, my Google Form, my Twitter, or the submissions board on my forum

Beca had been oddly quiet all rehearsal and Chloe could tell something was wrong, but there wasn't much of a good time to say something so she tabled it until afterward.

As soon as rehearsal was done, Beca made a beeline for the lesser-used exit door. Everyone stared at where she'd gone, mainly because people hardly used that door.

"Is she okay?" Emily asked. No one else seemed as concerned and that just threw her even more off. Chloe smiled weakly at her before leaving through the same door Beca did.

Everyone got the hint and left through the normal door.

"Hey" Chloe said softly, sitting next to Beca on the small staircase out the side. She was sure to maintain a healthy distance so as to not overwhelm the other woman further but was still close enough for Beca to know she was there.

Beca was rocking back and forth slightly and was humming the melody of the song they were working on to herself. It was always a bit jarring, seeing her like this, because she just seemed so functional most of the time, but Chloe was working on getting rid of that mentality when it came to Beca's Autism.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked awkwardly after a moment. Beca paused in her motions, seemingly only then fully realizing that Chloe was there. She shook her head.

"Sorry"

"You don't have anything to apologize for" Chloe said with a small smile. "Do you want water?" she asked. She always kept a few water bottles (as well as a bag of cough drops) in her bag in case anyone needed it- Vocal health and all that.

Beca thought for a moment and then nodded, so Chloe handed her a bottle, which she promptly chugged almost in its entirety. "Thanks"

"Was it too loud inside?" Chloe asked, unsure of what else to say. Beca shrugged.

"Not necessarily" she said. "Just a... Bad sensory day, I guess"

"Do you want to come back to my dorm and watch a movie or something?" Chloe offered. "Or do you want to be left alone?"

"I'd rather be alone for the evening, if that's okay" Beca replied, examining Chloe's face for any hint of anger or annoyance but coming up empty. Instead she was greeted only with a warm, loving smile and a nod.

"Of course" the redhead said. "But call or text me if you need anything, okay?"

"Thanks"

"I love you"

"Love you too"

Do not repost on other sites!! This will be reposted to AO3 under the same username

#fanfiction #fanfic #requests open #this was a request #fanfic request #pitch perfect #bechloe #beca mitchell #beca x chloe #chloe beale #autistic beca mitchell

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heart-of-copper-dog-training · 3 months

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What are timelines?

I've mentioned reactivity and socializing (under and over) in the past and sometimes I have clients wonder, "when will my dog be done being reactive?" Well, unfortunately, I can't say. I can't say they'll ever be truly 100 percent untriggered by a trigger, but I can say we can work until we get into a manageable range.

So, what is a good timeline? Let me tell you about my pups. I have two right now. One is a shelter dog who was picked up off the streets a little under a year old and the other is a purebred from a reputable breeder. They are both about 3 years old now, and I've had the shelter pup for two of them.

My purebred was oversocialized (see, I told you trainers make mistakes) due to the fact that I had not personally owned a puppy in well over a decade. I'm usually a pick up someone from the shelter, usually at least two years or older, type of trainer. But my child wanted a puppy and after prodding for what type of expectations she had for a dog, we picked a breed, did our hunt for a breeder, and got this little dog named Donut, a Bichon Frise.

Donut has never met a stranger, dog or human. He loves everyone and anyone who he can get to and wants to play with all of them. Which was really great when he was a puppy, but as soon as he passed into adolescence, he became a VERY frustrated teenager. He didn't understand why he couldn't go to EVERY dog and EVERY person we see and pass. He didn't know that not every person wants to see him, and not every dog wants to play.

And so, he became my little reactive guy, all from being a little too socialized. Any dog within probably thirty feet was a dog to be barked and lunged at, and people were to be lunged at as well. So we began our reactivity training.

Using classical conditioning, I began to change his emotions behind this reactivity. I had to maintain our threshold and create distance when necessary. I had to have the highest of value cheese (string cheese is his favorite thing) and be prepared to mark with good timing.

We started this journey of addressing his frustration and transforming it into a healthy curiosity about a year and a half ago. Hitting off the tail end of his adolescence and going into adulthood, a very formative time for a young pup.

Today, he is able to be within five feet of stranger dogs and sit/lay calming next to me. He likes to look at them and give a really good sniff, but no more barking or lunging. He will redirect right to me when I say his name, and many times without prompting. And today he went nose to nose with an adolescent rottie he'd never met (another great little guy going through puberty) without ANY discomfort, frustration, or vocalizations. Rottie was a little too teenager brain and got closer than anticipated, and Donut handled it like a champ, immediately turning back to me.

Is he perfect? No, he still needs treats for hard dogs. The ones who give "the stare" or do the same frustrated behavior he displayed if they get too close. But that too close is now less than 10 feet. A calm dog can walk right on past us without an issue, no treats needed. Will he get to the point of being able to ignore those louder, harder dogs, without the treats? Eventually, I'm sure. But I couldn't tell you when.

What about the humans? Well, that actually went quicker than the dogs! We started teaching him human neutrality, the ability to ignore people and just enjoy himself or pay attention to me even if the human looks really fun to play with. We don't need treats for them anymore. I'm able to tell people when he's training and needs more focus on new things to back away, and if they ignore it, he ignores them while we train. I'm able to walk him through or past people when we're just having a stroll and he can also ignore them, even without treats. And he has a "go say hi" command now with people so he can still get his good pets in while showing good manners. I think we hit that level of success about four or five months ago, if I were to guess.

So that's Donut's timeline so far.

What about my shelter girl?

Well, she's a 45lb whatsit name Pancake. I have no idea on her history other than that she was a street dog and spent a couple of months in the shelter. She was maybe a year old when I got her, give or take a little. She spent the first year with me working through her shelter trauma (shelters are very traumatic for many dogs, despite their good intentions, I'll expand on that in a future post), learning to trust me, learning to trust my family and other animals (there are some cats in the house lol).

We spent that year learning what a leash is, learning what a loose leash is, learning to walk just to our mailbox and back without feeling overwhelmed and terrified. (It's about 30 feet from our door, give or take). She couldn't do long walks. She couldn't even do short walks. She did the mailbox and back. She did the backyard. She did indoor enrichment. She didn't meet other dogs besides Donut. She wasn't interested in them at best, and afraid of them at worst. She would hide behind me when people approached, or go hide in her crate when people came to the house. I wouldn't call her reactive in the traditional sense, in that she didn't bark or growl or jump at anyone or anything. But she did hide, she did shut down if overwhelmed, and she had many stress signals at the approach or sight of people and dogs.

She could do great sits, she didn't jump. She was actually very well mannered in the house, she just couldn't really handle the outside world. So I began calming exercises with her. She just really needed to learn to relax. I didn't ask for anything of her. I just brought her out to observe the world. I continued our daily mailbox walk. I started to stretch it, juuuuust a little bit, once she relaxed on the mailbox walk. We went two feet past it and back home. Then five feet past it. Very slowly, we increased how far past the mailbox we could go down the street. It took me most of that year to get her to walk an entire lap around our neighborhood without shutting down, freaking out, or feeling stressed in any way. (it's about 3/4s a mile for distance).

We had our good days, where the entire walk went without any events. We had our bad days, where an off leash dog or sudden loud noise terrified her and we had to hurry away from those scary things. We added Donut to our walks and they had to learn how to leash together. (He'd learned with my prior dog his first year of life but she passed due to old age and Pancake was NOT my prior dog lol).

Year two came with Pancake and we were making solid progress. Walks were regularly a full lap, sometimes more. Leashes were figured out with less trip ups and mix ups. We could go to some trails and parks. We could walk past dogs without her hiding, and she had developed a good recovery from sudden loud noises (usually within a minute she was back to calm).

She stopped hiding every time someone came over, even if she didn't really want to approach immediately. She began to show her goofy wild child side every time water was brought into the picture.

And today, she was able to do a full settle in park with three other dogs she'd never met all within twenty feet. (Yes, I brought both dogs and did separate sessions with the same group for the benefit of all the dogs there including mine). She was focused, relaxed, and really paying attention to me. She ignored one of the adolescent dogs who got a little excited and barked at her, she did some figure eights with the other dogs there.

Is she perfect? No, she still needs breaks. Her endurance is lower than most other dogs when she's out and about. But it grows every day. She can now do quite a lot more outdoor time and actually ENJOY it. This was a dog with a lot of unknowns, yet with patience and careful conditioning mixed with desensitization, she has achieved quite a lot.

So that's her timeline for now.

What is the point of all this rambling? Timelines are flux and unknowns. We don't control the world. We don't even really control our dogs (they aren't robots, after all). We ask them to trust us and ask them to follow our lead. We teach them manners and fun cues and tricks. And when they need us to listen to them, when they give out signs of needing help, we sit down with them and work through it, together.

I can't ever tell you what the timeline for you and your dog is. I can't even fully tell you what my timeline for my dogs is. They are individuals who each take different levels of work to make progress. And progress is measured differently for each of them. For Pancake, making it to the mailbox was her first giant hurdle. Going even two feet past it was too much initially. That was her progress.

For Donut, being in sight of any dog within 30 feet was his giant hurdle. Getting even two inches closer was too much. That was his progress.

I'm proud of their progress, and I see how far they've come. I know they can become even more comfortable in their environment, with other creatures and people in the world, as long as I help them cope with it. I will be there every step of the way with cheese, love, encouragement and support as they make baby steps and giant leaps of progress.

Timelines aren't really important. They're just vague ideas of success. And success, as I've said before, is not definitively measured. Where one dog learns to cope with the outside world, another may learn to safely interact with other dogs. One dog may never interact with other dogs but can learn to cope with their presence.

We don't want to set exact timelines or exact expectations on our dogs. They aren't robots. Just like people, they are individuals. Just like people, they will each have individual potentials and limits.

Let your dog show you who they are, and help them get back up when they fall down.

Dogs are always there for us when we need them most, without any judgement, expectations, or pressure for us to "get better, faster". Let's do the same for them.

#dogs #dog trainer #dog training #positive dog training #dog reactivity #behavior modification

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rickie-the-storyteller · 1 year

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Happy Tender Tuesday! If you could choose your favorite traits in any of your character's romantic relationships, what you it be? What would you say is the most important thing in said relationship for each of the characters involved?

Soooooooooooooo sorry for the late response! I've been suuuuuuuuper busy.

Thank you for the ask. This is a really good question!

I personally believe that communication is a key element of a healthy, positive romantic relationship (or any relationship, for that matter - even with family). I mean, when you think about it, a lot of the biggest issues in most ships on tv/books/movies and stuff all come down to misunderstandings and disagreements that could have easily been avoided by having a proper conversation lol.

(It's super annoying to me when a pointless misunderstanding pops up in the middle of a movie JUST as a contrived way to trigger a "third act break up" scene...)

I don't typically want to give my characters this problem. This is why for most of the ships that I write, I tend to have at least one character that isn't entirely useless when it comes to effective communication.

For my two Steph's Crew ships, I try to incorporate this rule. I'd say that Ben is the emotionally mature one in his and Steph's relationship overall, but they have pretty solid and effective communication all around... mostly. I mean, at the start, it's great! But once they go long distance, things change a bit. Mostly from Stephanie's end. She kind of closes herself off and downplays how much she's struggling with the distance. The thing with her though, is that she hates not expressing how she truly feels, so this is all kind of building up to a moment when she has this huge breakdown, leading her to make a change in her life.

(Can't really give more away without spoiling future posts lol)

But I'd say that's probably the thing I like most about Stephanie (in regards to her romantic relationships). It's the fact that she's honest about her feelings and she has the nerve to make tough choices.

Bret and Elise are a slightly different case, though (mostly because they are a newly formed couple, not a long-standing one like Stephanie and Ben. They're in the honeymoon stage lol). I wanted to give them a few weeks of just happiness and sweet moments and fun times before things go off the rails... because of course it will.

These two are comfortable sharing stuff with each other - they're besties, after all. Bret loves being with Elise - she makes him really happy, and he just wants to make her as happy as she makes him. That's the nice thing about Bret, in my opinion - he's a sensitive soul (more so than he lets on lol). People that feel deeply tend to love deeply also. However, he has a lot of issues that he struggles to open up about (with anyone, not just El) for a couple of reasons, and this puts a lot of strain on their relationship later on in the story.

And Elise doesn't really know how to deal with him. She's out of her depth, for a couple of valid reasons - she's never been in a romantic relationship with anyone before, so she's navigating all this stuff for the very first time, she comes from a family that's kind of cold and private and rigid, preferring to deal with things like this in a particular way, so her upbringing may not be the best preparation one could have for dealing with matters of the heart lol, etc. But the good thing about El is that she's very mature, perceptive, and she learns quickly. She gets the hang of things and finds a way to deal with their problems properly. This is the reason why she's rather good at maintaining relationships in her life (she makes friends really quickly, despite the fact that she's naturally quite shy and super introverted, and she's the only person in her family that still has a close relationship with Adam after he got kicked out).

So yeah. Needless to say, there were already several issues going into this ship that they weren't properly taking the time to address (because they're just having too much fun on ~Honeymoon Avenue~ lol) until things start to go crazy later on in the story. That's all I'm going to say about that.

So yeah! These are the main traits from my ships that I admire a lot (from each character).

Hope this answers your question!

#rickie-the-storyteller #writing #writerblr #steph's crew #ships #stephanie smith and her friends #tender tuesday #writeblr ask game #character asks #asks #Brelise #Bephanie

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naturalrights-retard · 5 months

Text

There was a period where they were claiming that obesity was healthy. The media was doing this because it’s run by Jews, and they just always claim the opposite of what is true.

They called the pro-obesity movement “body positive” and “healthy at any size.”

Remember when people were outraged when the singer Adelle lost weight, as if she’d betrayed the fat revolution?

However, after a series of high profile deaths in this movement, of people in their 30s and 40s, the media seems to be backing off of the narrative.

Still, fat people have not yet totally disappeared from advertisements.

KTLA:

Founder and former CEO of Lululemon Chip Wilson caused a stir this week when he made remarks about the company’s diversity, equity and inclusion program. Wilson told Forbes that he was displeased with Lululemon’s “whole diversity and inclusion thing” at the apparel brand he founded in 1998 and maintains an 8 percent share in. He also commented that the actors in Lululemon commercials were “unhealthy,” “sickly” and “not inspirational” before saying “You’ve got to be clear that you don’t want certain customers coming in.” The company has distanced itself from their former leader, telling CNN in a statement that Wilson does not speak for the company and that his views don’t align with the brand’s values and beliefs.

Historically, women were supposed to see the Victoria’s Secret ads and say “I want to look like her.” Now, no one wants to look like this fat tattooed slobs in their ads.

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empty-masks · 2 years

Text

Book Four, Chapter Five

CW: Strong Language, Sexual References, Graphic Violence, Fantasy Bigotry, Smoking, Alcohol Use, Light Body Horror

There’s no small amount of dedication needed to maintain a backyard the way that Samson Parrish does. Firstly, the yard has not been cleared of its trees. Normally, this would only be a seasonal problem, as the deciduous trees native to the Eternal Autumn usually only drop their leaves during certain periods of the year, but as the name might suggest, the Eternal Autumn has a unique environmental effect on the local forests that makes them drop leaves year-round, slowly but surely. Some say it’s the soil, some say it’s magic, but regardless of what it is— it’s a labour of love to keep a yard clear of leaf cover year-long. Sam’s yard is, as noted by Azariah as soon as they show up, almost completely clear of leaves and creeping underbrush in favour of some natural species of clover and moss that would normally make their home on the sides of rocks and trees. And while there is no lack of small boulders in the yard, there’s a sense that they’ve been moved to the edges of his property by the efforts of a couple large folks and a case of beer, rather than a backhoe.

Nearest to his freshly painted split-level, Sam also keeps a rather impressive row of neatly trimmed perennial bushes and a well-loved vegetable garden, both marked off with simple iron fences. Heads of painted pumpkin and crimson cabbage poke their way through their thick foliage and vines, and the pink leaves of pigmentine carrots sprout feet above the soil they originate from, though the carrots haven’t been as good this season since he switched off his usual fertilizer, according to Sam.

This, with the well-washed grey brick, hickory wood porch, and the ambiance of a cool afternoon, sets quite an impression for the group as they gather around a picnic table to eat their first proper home cooked dinner in a good, long while. Charred painted pumpkin soup filled with veggies and a sprinkle of cured bacon— excepting in Azariah's serving— alongside a fresh, local loaf of brown bread. Evening peeper toads have begun to sing in the distance, and during the course of the dinner, things almost feel normal between the six of them. It certainly feels normal for Sam.

“Now, I’m glad y’all are appreciative of the hospitality, but I believe it’s due time that you learn what Pickman’s Hope really all about,” he starts, raising his glass. “I’m gonna give y’all a little history lesson, so long as Azariah’s willin’ to let me venture forth uncensored.” He winks at the Hare, who gives him a brief nod. Then, he begins to weave his tale for everyone to hear. Everyone who’s willing to listen, anyways.

In the beginning, when this place was still called Gutter’s Glade, it was about as peaceful as the town you see today. The bakery I got your bread from was there. The bar you showed up at was there too, just under a different name and management. Most importantly though, there were a lot more craftsmen around, see. Lots of jewelers, mystics, the kinds that’re attracted to shiny stuff that comes out of the ground. People like that would find Gutter’s Glade on their radar thanks to it being a mining town, but not a mining town as y’all know it— we were independent, and we cared for one another.

Everything was connected, and we all understood that so we looked out for one another’s backs. The artisans would teach the miners what to look for, how to crack geodes to damage the least amount of product. The miners would teach the artisans their methods of dowsing the ground for product, and would keep them updated on finds and prospects. Medical folk would work with the both of them to keep’em happy and healthy, and everyone else in town provided what they could to keep the gems flowin’. I remember days when guys would come up from the mine coughin’ up their lungs and full of soot and dust and completely empty-handed, no product to speak of. And even on those days when you could see how pathetic they felt, they were still taken care of by everyone around ‘em. In fact, one of my old friends who, well, passed away, had developed some kinda apothecarial gas that’d get into your lungs, clean ‘em out, and ‘bout thirty seconds later, it’d come right back out as black gunk. We’re still tryin’ to find out how she did it, but the point is, the town was dedicated to itself and we were dedicated to each other.

Now, while I spawned back in Kiln with Azariah and a few of our old buddies, I found myself makin’ a home in Gutter’s Glade soon after. I was never cut out to be anythin’ but a miner— I didn’t have any particularly useful technical skills, and my hands were too big for those tiny jeweler’s tools anyways. I took to it naturally, in a way. I swung picks around for a couple years, made myself known to the locals, and soon enough I was bein’ treated like family. It made me the man I am today to have had such dedicated people lookin’ out for me, and I don’t dare to think who I’d be without them.

Though, I didn’t stay with ‘em forever. Miners around this region know that there’s an untold number of caves sittin’ just below a certain footage in the stone, and that if you dig too deep, there’s a good chance you’ll wake up some beasties you didn’t know existed. Now, I’m gonna be frank here, this is somethin’ that happened pretty often. Guys would have to take their weapons down into the mines if they knew that they’d hit a deep vein. I was no exception to that rule! Back in the day I had a cheap sword that looked like it’d been a fence post in a former life, and I always took it with me on dives.

And I did my fair share of Monster killin’. Skitterbears, a heap’a those mushroom things, a few of those boulder serpents, and near the end of my career, I had the displeasure of runnin’ into a Cave Shadow. If you’ve never heard of one, the first thing you should know is that they’re beasties basically made’a magic. They hide in the darkest spots of caves, and ambush ya’ when you’ve got yer’ hands busy. They barely even make sense’ta look at, all eyes and teeth and claws— and one decided to jump me while I was with an exploration party. Gave me a big nasty scar on my belly, but I killed the damn thing, and lemme tell ya’, the adrenaline kept me alive for days while the medics patched me together. I was ridin’ high on that and while I was bedridden, I decided that it was time to put down the pick and take up the sword for a living.

So, after I made a full recovery, I left to adventure on my own. I went beyond these mountains, headed west for fame and fortune. And though I found some of both, lookin’ back on it? I would say I had let my success go to my head. I was self-absorbed to a point where I’d given up on the people who’d saved my damn life, and all because I was obsessed with the idea of seein’ how far I could take my heroism. Maybe it’s the guilt talkin’ there, I dunno. I’ve yet to talk ‘bout that era of my life with my counselor.

But while I was gone, Gutter’s Glade was havin’ the life choked out of her. Somewhere along the line, one of the miners found themselves a plot of land near the foot of the mountains, called it the “big one”. Now, since we were a minin’ town, we attracted the attention of many mining conglomerates who wanted to move in and run shop in our stead. Most of them, we told to beat it. Emphasis on “most,” ‘cause this miner received a massive lump sum of cold, hard cash for the plot of land from, you guessed it, Shepherd Gemstone. And from there, things went downhill.

While I can’t give ya’ specifics since I wasn’t there while this was happening, I trust in my friends enough to give ya’ a summary. The company established itself by hiring off a bunch of our miners at a pretty penny, since they knew that the vein was going to pay back tenfold. From there, they installed foremen and company stores, which respectively completely alienated the rest of the miners from their pals, and began keepin’ the local businesses from their cash with their prices. It hardly took a year before the entire town was workin’ for Shepherd Gemstone, breakin’ their backs strippin’ those mountains of everything they were worth. Everyone, even those artisans who’d never been the blue collar types to begin with, had to grab a pick to survive. That company was fast, efficient, and real goddamn thorough in the way that it destroyed our lives and our land. It got to a point where even if we wanted to, tryin’ to go down into those mines again would cause cave-ins like we’d never seen the likes of prior.

It was three years of adventuring before I came back to Gutter’s Glade. I had seen enough of my life flashin’ before my eyes, but as fate would have it, it wouldn’t be the last time it’d happen. I saw the life I once knew shattered into a thousand pieces, the people I loved stripped of their health, dignity, and freedom. And my old adventurin’ buddies, the people I’d suffered and strived for greatness with, saw it too.

It awoke somethin’ in me, somethin’ that I hadn’t even had while I was out there chasin’ the Dragon’s tail. I vowed that day to free that town from the company, even if it were to cost me my own life. And from then forth, I dedicated myself entirely to the organization and proliferation of the union that you saw runnin’ the town today.

Now, if you think I make it sound like a piece of cake, I don’t know what kinda cake you’ve been eatin’, cause I don’t think I’ve seen more misery in my entire life than that point there. I put my heart and soul into these people, and there were times where I was afraid that they didn’t have any left to give back. There were times where I had to put my body on the line just to relieve some of the fear that they had toward the foremen.

God, the first fight I got into with a foreman was a guy who they’d hired specifically ‘cause he was the unhinged type. A real sadist, the kind that you’d see and think that they picked up outta banditry work. He was beatin’ down one one of the miners real hard, and in response I knocked the everlovin’ shit outta him. I made that motherfucker eat his own goddamn teeth for breakfast, but I was lucky, since there weren’t any other foremen watching and I knew nobody present would speak a word about it. Not even him, since his pride was too hurt. Not long after the vindictive bastard tried to sneak a knife under my ribs while I was sleepin’, which didn’t work, and I ended up puttin’ him six feet under with the little number I carry on my hip.

Point is, whether by conversation, union pressure, or by force alone, we worked our way up the corporate ladder, dismantling each pawn on the way up. It took years, but by the time I was just startin’ to turn grey ‘round the chops we had forced the company to pull back entirely from the town. Their profit margins were in the red, and so they abandoned everything where it stood, movin’ on to wherever the fuck snakes like them move on to.

Buildings upon buildings of corporate supplies and spoils, ours for the takin’. Though they left a little product around, it wasn’t enough to sustain ourselves off— and so, we had to get creative with our reconstruction. We also abandoned those mountains, as we learned quickly that there was nothin’ left for us either. At first we tried to invest in breweries, since the valley tends toward cool, dark weather. But, brewin’ takes time, so we did everythin’ else we could to bring the town back on its feet.

Odd jobs for nearby towns, sellin’ and movin’ stuff made by the artisans who still knew how, doin’ a little protection work for passing-by caravans; we were the handymen of the ridges, and our plan B turned into our plan A by accident. After a certain point we were on-call anytime a neighboring town needed somethin’ built, somethin’ torn down, somethin’ reconstructed, designed, you name it. Money flowed in the direction of our blue-collar labor force, so we leaned into it and let it carry us wherever it led.

It led to us renaming the town; “Pickman’s Hope”, the name you know today, was what we agreed upon. We’ve helped Fusillade rebuild itself a dozen or so times since our independence, we’ve helped carve out the hills of Kiln for their expansion project, we’ve helped build the road from here to Honeysett and further. And while our brewin’ work’s only now startin’ to pick up some traction, we’ve got a nice, healthy community goin’ now, and that’s what matters the most.

And that’s how Pickman’s Hope came to be, folks. Don’t listen to the folks ‘round here who refer to me with these nice titles, they did this, all this, themselves. All it took was me showin’ them they could do it. The only reason I’m the head of anythin’ at the moment is ‘cause I’m old, and ‘cause I’m good at diplomacy, even though there’s plenty’a fresher spawns here who’re lookin’ like they’ll surpass me someday.

“I’m surprised you didn’t tell ‘em more about your shotgun, Sam,” Azariah chuckles, having finished his soup. “Practically gnawed the rest of my ear off with that earlier.”

“It ain’t all THAT important to the story. But if you insist,” he says.

In one swift motion, the sawed-off shotgun is pulled out from its holster, and set gently on the picnic table. “She used to be a little longer in both directions, but I found that she was harder to carry ‘round. I’ve turned quite a few of those nasty foremen inside out with ‘er, and I’ve never found somethin’ I couldn’t handle with her in my hands.”

“She?” Judith asks, frowning.

“Don’t be disrespectful, now, Judith.”

“I was just making a comment.”

“You just ain’t human if you don’t attach a pet name to somethin’ you love. Ain’t that right, Charlene?”

“I guess I’m not human, then. I’ve never gendered my gear before.”

Sam lets out a hearty laugh. “Oh, I’m just pullin’ your chain, don’t you worry. ‘Sides I knew you weren’t human from the moment I saw you.” He points at his nose, sending a pang of realization toward Judith. “You got the werewolf smell whether you like it or not. Was worried too, since most of our werewolves don’t smell the same as anyone from Shepherd Gemstone.”

“Anyway,” he says, sliding his gun back into its holster. “I’m glad to have given y’all a little bit of history. I hope it means somethin’, considerin’ y’all are on the run from the same company we beat.” He stands up from his seat, bowl in hand. “If we did it, y’all can do it too. Remember that.”

==============================================================

“You’re a buzzkill, L. I think it would’ve been funny.”

“And I think the fact that I’m still awake is bad enough, Piper. Jules needs his rest, don’t aim for potholes.” Hypocritical, she knows, but Jules is really in a bad way even if he’s faster to recover than just about anyone when he’s had his fill. Lucille’s not in the mood to have to climb into the back of the car— again— to help fix the Vampire’s bandages after a particularly nasty bump or dip in the road just because Piper might get a kick out of jostling him.

Piper’s eyes roll, then settle back onto the road ahead, lit only by the now faint lamps at the head of her car. Her car, her car. It feels delightful to roll that around in her mind, settle on it for a while longer, and enjoy the smooth finish of the thought. She leans back a bit in her seat, easing on the gas. It’s long past being late and has breached into that strange territory where it’s beginning to become early, though the sunrise has some hours left before it claws its way over the horizon. It’s a long ride between Fusillade and Pickman’s Hope, but one somebody can make if they’re willing to take about most of their waking day to drive it, and Piper is nothing if not deeply and entirely dedicated to her work.

Lucille’s eyes, dark as the night itself, linger on Piper’s shoulders, drifting to her throat and then to the snake’s features. Her gaze narrows. Since the ride started, there’s been something eating at her, something about Piper she can’t place, and after a lengthy, engine-noise filled silence, she feels obligated to attempt to place it while she has the time.

This isn’t her Piper. Not the one she had spoken to uncomfortably often over the matter of stolen product back on site for some years during her tenure as head of security; no, this Piper is someone vastly different. It’s hard to notice, but this line of work leans heavy on information, and unless you’ve got someone to handle it, you either do it yourself or you die. She learned that lesson well enough on her way out of the frostbitten shithole she calls home, she learned it well during her traveling freelancer nights, her job as security head, and it seems she’s learning it all over again right now, in the passenger seat of this disgustingly lavish fuckmobile. Survival in a world of snap decisions and split second deaths depends upon power and honed senses, and if you don’t have one, pray you have the other.

Jules on his good nights is a powerhouse. Jules on his bad nights is a piece of cardboard recently soaked in rainwater. Lucille is always attentive, or at least believes herself to be. She’s attentive enough that, after a certain point, she begins to reach conclusions passively, without thinking, as the thoughts coalesce somewhere in the back of her skull, pooling close to where the base meets her spine, before they spring as fully formed ideas into the forefront. It’s a highly developed and effective collecting process that utilizes every scent; it’s that sixth sense that screams in the back of her mind when there’s enough external stimuli to tell her that, despite not seeing any direct signs of it, she is being followed by some monumentally skilled sneak. It’s what tells you you’re being watched. Her gut instinct, in time, has been honed to a razor’s edge. It’s what saved Jules when they first hauled up that corpse. It saved her on her way out of the frozen wastes. She thinks it might save her again, soon, but only if she’s right.

It’s rare she wants to be wrong. Much as she might complain about Piper, she’s not one to want to see her develop like this. The gloves would be a sign on anyone else, but she knows Piper to have been a mining foreman and a Weresnake, gloves with thick material leave little trace compared to bare hands but when one has claws and doesn’t wish to knick anybody, they’re practically a necessity unless you file often, a problem those with simple fingernails don’t run into. Largely it’s the coat, because she knows it.

She’d never really gotten all that chummy with the guy during his brief passes through, but she knows well enough that the coat belonged to Blondie at some point. Hard not to when she once had to endure the constant complaining Gilroy had in store when it comes to Blondie’s ideas regarding the structure of the whole operation top to bottom, especially when near the tail end of her time there many such ideas involved liquidating her own part of it. It’s not an easy coat to miss, it’s a custom job and it’s made to be wrapped around already large lycanthropes and hopefully survive a shift in the heat of battle. Aside from that, there’s an identifiable shape against the snake’s ribs— a weapon.

Piper’s tail shifts and runs against Lucille’s side before curling back behind the seat again. The driver smiles, offering a brief glance at her fangs alongside a sidelong look, the gold in her irises unsettlingly vivid amid the reflecting moonlight. Piper has some height on her, even sitting; she has to look up for her own dark eyes to drink in another change.

Posture, attitude, expression. Surprisingly, you learn to read people pretty well when you fight them for a living, just another set of information for her gut to digest. A person’s face can tell you when they’re about to punch you if you can really get it down pat, or it can tell a lot more. Piper reminds her, in this moment, of those idiots back north who wear their enthuse on their sleeve, or more aptly, on their faces.

The sun burned high in the sky behind cloud cover as Lucille wrapped her arms with rough leather straps, sitting in the back of a ramshackle pickup truck-sled monstrosity as it screamed across the ice. Half of her face was painted with vivid red, some crushed plant, as was what bits of her torso could be seen beneath patchwork leather and metal. Her feet were bare, but they were not cold.

Too recently had she stepped through the smoldering embers of burned tents, rendered to ash by the torches of crazed warriors, raiders and fiends. Those tents which were not crushed by the stampede of motor vehicle abominations were put to the flame by the wilder fighters on foot, those who’d leapt from their rides in pursuit of battle and plunder, taken by the throes of absolute and total war. Many of them wore less than her, painted from head to toe in a myriad of flaming colors, claiming that their flames would warm them so long as they were worn. She found no warmth in the paint, not like the fanatics did.

Across from her sat three other women and a couple men, all of whom also bore the paint and symbols of the gang, though unlike Lucille they were clawing at one another, screaming, laughing as they tossed around trophies from the latest excursion against a small sect of a larger rival gang. The trophies, when not stained by blood, were marked with blue smatterings and swirling symbols in contrast to her group’s sharper, geometric flame-based design ethic.

Between her feet sat a set of knives. Simple knives meant for tossing, they weren’t large or ornate, nor were they particularly expensive, but what drew her to them was the simple fact that they were still in a package marked with an actual brand. Like a cutlery set for throwing knives, though Lucille would not come to know what a cutlery set is until she headed down south.

Her hands balled into fists as she noticed the stares of her companions lingering dangerously on her prize, her lone and simple treasure. She had taken no trophies from her fights, taken no trinkets from the burnt tents, save for this single knife set. It was a set of six, marked with a title: “Crescent House — Daggerist Starter Kit.” A brand name. It did not confuse her, as some might think. It fascinated her. In this place if something had a name it was that of its creator, often in memoriam, so it was strange to see something named as such. After all, she’d never heard of anyone called “Crescent House.”

A man of chalky white skin and of wild hair, half-dyed with the red paint, grabbed the set from between Lucille’s legs. All the while he smiled, casting her only a passing glance, offering little but the derision one shows to someone unfortunate enough to be forced to give tithe. Though he was merely the single largest person on a single truck among a sea of such vehicles bearing the banner of their gang, a no-name like the rest of them, he held himself as the king of this tiny, metal realm, standing amidst his subjects as treads beneath them hauled it all alongside tens of similar machines, with many such similar men claiming many such familiar fantasies.

Lucille crushed his nose beneath the heel of her palm with a shout, pouncing upon him as she swung her leather-wrapped arms. The tall man went down, and she was on top, and the others were screaming with her, beating their sides, stomping their feet, the wind whipping around them as she continued to bring her hands down on him. They’re screaming words, but she heard none of them over those of her own, those of her normal mouth and the ungodly noises of that maw below her ribs as with every raising of her fists into the air it opened wide to let loose a battle yawp the likes of which none of her companions could have dared to match.

Her arms didn’t stop moving until she heard the whimpering admittance of submission, and the smug expression she so detested was ripped from his features by way of might, as all things were, as all things are.

Lucille blinks. Piper’s got that look, that “you owe this to me” look, the sort of entitled expression only backed up or put down by quick and decisive force. Her gut instinct is to strike her now, car crash be damned, but she’s been wrong about plenty lately. She had no clue Jules was working for the Carnevale, and even at this moment holds some reservations that he might start working for them again almost immediately after he recovers. Not to mention she hadn’t been able to predict any of what happened in Kiln, and Fusillade in near totality was an absolute shitshow. She’s been wrong a lot lately. She’s probably wrong right now.

“You’re staring, L.” Piper’s forked tongue slips between her fangs to extend the soft c in the shortening, a play to lighten the mood. It’s flagrant, as though taunting Lucille to question, to urge, to press and poke where she shouldn’t. It’s the rattle of a snake ready to bite, her guts scream. Kill her now, before she can take initiative.

Lucille settles with her head against the window, her arms wrapped around herself as though to shield her body from a chill far, far away. “The new coat looks good.”

“Thanks. It’s a Quilting Club custom piece, you know,” Piper replies.

Lucille’s head turns only slightly toward the dark, faintly moonlit dashboard. “Quilting Club? You can afford Quilting Club with this new job? Even Jules and I haven’t gotten a catalogue…”

“Hey, when you’re on the rise the major players take notice. Get on the ground level, invest in your big spenders. I didn’t buy it, instead just got it from the last guy, but that’s just being cost effective.” A laugh escapes the driver, but she calms herself quickly enough as her eyes drift along the road ahead. “Maybe sometime later on I can forward a letter of recommendation, but I don’t see you guys doing too many jobs that need this tier of gear in the near future.”

“I suppose you’re right, bounty hunting doesn’t need heavy ordnance. Usually just prep time and a decent execution.”

“Yeah.” Piper nods. “In my line of work we don’t only handle random miners, even if that’s my job right now.”

“Of course.” Lucille’s jaw refuses to settle. She needs to keep talking, but the words are awkward. Forcing her gut instinct down alone is enough to give her trouble, but the fact that it’s Piper doesn’t help. “Haircut?”

“Nope.” A grin is offered again. The smooth scales of Piper’s tail rub against Lucille’s hip once more, only to settle right back into position behind the driver’s seat as Jules turns over in the back, as if caught.

“This really isn’t the time to talk about this,” Lucille says, largely to herself.

“Just messing with you, L. Teasing.” Piper’s shoulders roll as she speaks, voice low. “I’m spoken for now anyway.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Seen the beautiful brunette on the big makeup signs down south?” Piper asks with raised brows, expectant.

“Yes,” Lucille admits. It’s hard not to considering they’ve been up for years. Makeup’s apparently big in cities as far as she can tell, but there are some things a bit of foundation really can’t make look nice. Aside from that, any man or woman interested in her, ignoring the snaggle of fangs she calls a mouth and the maw in her torso, probably isn’t the type to be enticed by the prettier, more human looking sorts. “Hard to miss, considering anytime you enter a big city around here they’re up everywhere. Really? What’s her name?”

“Janet Campbell, and she’s even better looking in person.” Piper nods in faux humility, her smile widening. “Nice place. Wonderful kids. Her boy’s really taken a shine to me, L. I might take him hunting one day, if she lets me, like my daddy used to take me out hunting. The driveway is great, and the backyard—”

Lucille clears her throat. “I didn’t ask about her kids or what she has, I asked about her. What’s she like?” There’s no hint of jealousy, really, it’s just curiosity. “Let’s talk, Piper. We haven’t talked in a long time.”

“What’s there to talk about?” The tail wraps a little more firmly around her seat. “She’s beautiful and caring, that’s fine enough. There’s nothing to talk about, L, that ship’s sailed, the offer’s off the table. I’m seeing somebody. A model.”

“I wasn’t trying my luck,” Lucille mumbles. “You don’t have to repeat yourself.”

“Look, Lucille, I’m sure there are plenty of folks out there looking to get into all of… That. Plenty. Lots of people who’d adore to sort out your icicle hellhole baggage. Just not me, of course, because I’m a bit busy getting all up in—”

“I said I get the point, Piper, I get it.” Lucille sits up, away from the window. “Don’t be an ass.”

“If I find any nice guys, any decent fighter types without the fear that they’re going to wake up bitten in half, I’ll send ‘em your way, promise. Well, if they’re pretty enough then Jules might get to them first. Women too, if I meet any good matches, I’ll send ‘em on over. If anything that might be the safer bet, what with how Jules—”

Lucille lightly but sharply punches Piper’s tail with a rumbling growl not from her mouth but from the maw beneath her clothes before saying, in no uncertain terms, “Do not finish that fucking sentence.”

The pain’s enough to cause Piper’s grip to jerk as she hisses, said jerk subsequently translating into a much larger, more dangerous jerk of the car’s trajectory, sending them dangerously close to the right edge of the road before she compensates and brings them back to the center of the right half as the soon to be conscious Jules tumbles into the floor of the car. “Alright, I won’t. Bitch,” she spits.

Jules raises himself with a groan, using only his left arm, as the two women lock eyes. He blinks, then points out ahead between the both of them. “Sign.”

It’s a big, well carved and well tended wooden sign off the side of the road, with large text lifted out of the carving and painted white for reflection’s sake: “PICKMAN’S HOPE.” Beneath it is the sweet and simple statement, “Welcome home.” On either side of these statements are carvings of wild roses, painted yellow, and plentiful local vegetables painted onto the flat space beside.

Piper and Lucille both collect themselves as Jules settles back into his spot behind them.

“They’re not gonna like us in there,” Jules mumbles from beneath his drooping mustache.

“Of course they aren’t, we’re pretty obviously not your run of the mill migrant workers. You’re too prissy, she looks like she’s ready to kill anybody in the room, and I like to dress for the job I want— which means I’m not going to bother with a disguise. It’s why we’re riding in now rather than later.” Piper straightens herself out, narrowing her eyes at the town far, far ahead. “There’s a Shepherd connection in here that’s been feeding information to us for years, apparently. I’ve got an address, that’s our new base for the time being. Don’t screw it up by starting any random fights in bars over that stupid hat of yours, Jules. Keep civvie casualties to a minimum, ‘kay?”

“You think we’re idiots.” Lucille scoffs.

“No, I know you’re idiots, but you’re my idiots. World of difference. Both of you get ready to get your shit out of the car when we get there, we have to get in fast.”

==============================================================

AH, ONYX. I EXPECTED YOU TO REQUEST A VISIT EARLIER IN YOUR JOURNEY, BUT IT APPEARS AS THOUGH YOU HAVE BEEN DOING WELL FOR YOURSELF. HOW IS YOUR EGO?

Azariah, opening his eyes to the wall of fog before him, rubs his head and laughs. “Well, if I’m bein’ honest, on top of the world. What kinda question is that?”

ONE OF IMPORTANCE TO CITRINE, AS WE BOTH KNOW.

“You’re right.”

I KNOW. WHAT IS IT YOU NEED? the voice booms. The Hare can see something massive rotating into place from beyond the fog wall.

I’d like to know when I can expect this all to end, he thinks to himself. Things have been going a little too well for them recently, and while he’s enjoying himself, he can’t shake the feeling that it won’t last. They discovered both Judith and Leons’ powers, they got in and out of Fusillade without a hitch. Sam’s still alive and kicking, which is a great bonus, and the only person he’s worried about right now is Roxanne (even if she is one of the hardest people to kill he knows). As far as he can tell, he’s sleeping with the guy right now— things are sweet as candy, and as everyone knows, too much sugar causes problems.

I MUST APOLOGIZE, BUT I AM NOT A SEER, ONYX. I CANNOT TELL YOU YOUR FUTURE. the voice booms again, much to Azariah’s confusion. I UNDERSTAND YOUR SENSE OF DREAD, AS IT IS WHY I CHOSE YOU TO BEGIN WITH. BUT MAY I PROPOSE A QUESTION IN RETURN?

“Of course,” Azariah responds. “Ain’t like I’m gonna refuse you in your own… home?”

OFFICE. REGARDLESS. The shape shifts in the dark again. WHEN DO YOU WANT THIS HAPPINESS TO END, ONYX?

“Well, that’s easy. If I could, I’d want it to keep goin’ ‘til I drop.”

ARE YOU PREPARED TO FIGHT FOR THAT FUTURE?

“Depends.”

I MEAN WHAT I SAY. SO, I SHALL SAY IT AGAIN, IN THE CASE THAT YOU DID NOT UNDERSTAND— ARE YOU PREPARED TO FIGHT FOR YOUR HAPPINESS, ONYX? THERE IS ONE WAY FOR YOU TO SECURE IT, AND THAT IS FOR YOU TO ACT WHEN THE TIME COMES.

Azariah wants to answer right away, yes, of course yes, I’d do anything for it. But something stops him before his mouth can carry him away. It’s a feeling, an old, gripping feeling that had recently slipped away from his conscience. That fearful trap that he had built for himself, the idea that while he can’t stop things from getting worse, the best he can do is enjoy himself while he can in the now. It wants to pull his tongue back down his throat, wants to keep him close in its overwhelming feeling of resignation.

He knows it’s there, he knows it’s a demon of his own design. And for the first time in his life, he realizes just how pitiful it is. The fire inside him had been replaced with a skittering, cowering little beast of burden, willing to carry the weight of his sins so long as he didn’t dare light the flame again. And now that there’s fire once more in his belly, it begs with him, pleads him to just let the future go, as it’s out of his grasp anyways. Something he knows to not be true in the slightest.

The Hare looks back up at the fog wall. He can feel It staring at him, knowingly. It did this on purpose, didn’t It. It put these rocks in his bones for the sake of helping him kill this imp in his gut. All those cryptic messages, all that painful adventuring. It was out to test him, to see if he could make it through this. By god, he certainly did.

So, he folds his arms and looks back at It through the fog. “Yeah. I’m prepared to do anythin’.”

THAT IS GOOD TO HEAR, ONYX. I QUESTIONED WHETHER YOU’D BE ABLE TO OVERCOME YOUR CRACKS, IF I AM TO BE HONEST. BUT, YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF ABLE TO FIX THEM YOURSELF, GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY.

“Opportunity is a pretty light term, considerin’ you single-handedly changed my life,” Azariah chuckles. “I’d say you handed me a one-way ticket to something new.”

THINK WHAT YOU PLEASE. KNOW THAT MY GIFT WAS SIMPLY THE NUDGE, AND NOT WHATEVER FOLLOWED.

“Landslides gotta start somewhere.”

It is silent for a moment. PERHAPS I SHOULD INVEST IN A BETTER ANALOGY. REALLY, IT WAS YOU WHO CRAFTED YOUR FUTURE, NOT I.

“I suppose so. Thank you, by the way. Is this somethin’ you do often?”

YOU ARE VERY WELCOME, ONYX. YES, THIS IS MY JOB. YOU WOULD BE SURPRISED AT HOW FEW BEINGS ON THIS PLANET GIVE EVEN A SIMPLE THANK-YOU FOR MY SERVICES. OF COURSE, DESPITE MY SERVICES NOT TECHNICALLY BEING FOR THEIR GAIN.

Is this thing like, an HR employee? he thinks to himself, without remembering who might be listening.

I AM NOT ENTIRELY CERTAIN WHAT “HR” MEANS, BUT I BELIEVE I HAVE ALREADY OVERSTEPPED MY BOUNDS IN THIS CONVERSATION. IT HAS BEEN GOOD TALKING WITH YOU, ONYX. I WISH YOU THE BEST IN YOUR CONTINUED JOURNEY.

“It’s been good talkin’ with you too, uh. What should I call you? I don’t think I ever got your name.”

THAT IS INFORMATION I SADLY CANNOT SHARE— BUT IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER, KNOW THAT YOU WOULD NOT BE CAPABLE OF HEARING IT WITHOUT SUFFERING A PARTICULARLY PAINFUL HEADACHE. OR, SO I HAVE HEARD.

Chapter End.

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[ Table of Contents ]

#empty-mask #b&tsm #writing #oc #fantasy #adventure #serialized fiction #b&tsm-judith #b&tsm-azariah #b&tsm-piper #b&tsm-jules #b&tsm-lucille

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