#my hand is still borked from that one

[dizzybevvie]

If I die within the next week know it wasnt an accident

#I dont have the energy to elaborate rn and this is a /lh #i just have sooo much nostalgia for rob/dob and every plot point is wrapped up in a lil bow instead of stretching for 9373927393 episodes #i get thats some peoples style! its just not rlly mine :3 #as a kid i loved every dragon from Book Of Dragons having its own episode #and i feel like ppl forget that when rtte was coming out; they could only go so far! #like the second movie had already come out. they knew where they were going #which is definitely a strength of the show in some regards #but rob/dob didnt have that #we hsd no idea where rhe franchise was going #which made big lore revelations so meaningful #Hiccup discovering the box with a present from his (thought diseased) mother??? THAT WAS SO WILD TO 5 YEAR OLD ME #or Borks papers and the isle of night (which turned out to be a ruse but like!!!! IT STILL FELT SO BIG AT THE TIME!!!!!!) #idk. #i feel like ive been trying to downplay my love for rob/dob which really ignited my love for the franchise to begin with #bc the animation was janky and no one had really seen it and no one in my entire life had ever valued it like i did #(read: i was autistic and didnt realise caring so much about something wasnt “normal”) #But i rewatched it this year and yknow what? it holds up. i ADORE riders of berk. FIGHT ME. #(Sonic destruction Knuckles voice) Try some shit youll catch these hands #FIGHT ME. YOU'LL WIN #httyd #rob/dob #riders of berk #defenders of berk #race to the edge #NOT RTTE NEGATIVITY BTW!!!!! I LOVE RTTE TE WRITING IS RLLY GOOD ITS JUST THE FORMAT OF ROB APPEALS MORE TO ME PERSONALLY #how to train your dragon #hiccup how to train your dragon #beverly says stuff

[gentlethorns]

lol i got decisions back from all four of my grad school apps and none of them were acceptances. i got waitlisted by one and outright denied by the other three. fuck man

#she bork #idk i have mixed feelings bc on one hand after moving once already this year i'm not super keen on moving again like four months from now #and across state lines to boot. i've never REALLY moved like w furniture and i have exponentially more shit to move now than i did as a #freshly graduated teenager and it turned out to be so much more stressful and work intensive than i anticipated. trying to move in one #weekend fucking sucked. on the other hand i do still want to go to grad school and i would never forgive myself if i let one (very small) #failed round of apps derail my plan to get my masters. idk it just sucks bc now it's like on hold bc i clearly need to beef up and #strengthen my portfolio but i hardly ever write anymore bc like who the fuck has the time. so i actually have to get disciplined w writing #more as well as sending out submissions so i can get more publications under my belt. so it's not like i'll automatically just reapply to #more schools next year bc i'm not wasting hundreds of dollars on apps when clearly i need to do some work on my #portfolio. idk it just sucks bc now idk what to do not only if i don't get in but even if i do bc again moving sucks and unless i majorly #downsize before moving again it's gonna be terrible. idk i feel like shit man

[qqueenofhades]

Don't act like this isn't the Democrats fault. They didn't codify Roe when they had the chance, and now they're paying the price.

Hooweeeee. Normally, I just block these kinds of asks out of hand and go on with my day, but you've caught me at the end of two solid days of Rage, and unfortunately for you, I'm not gonna do that. Instead, just to start, I would like to politely ask the following question:

Hello! Have you ever considered the possibility that you may be A Total Fucking Idiot?

Since there are many of us, present company regretfully included, who struggle with history, let's start out with a quick lesson. Roe was handed down in 1973. It took a while to really get evangelicals hot under the collar, but by 1987, in Ronald Reagan's second term, it had definitely happened. To further the Republicans' cherished goal of overturning it, Reagan nominated far-right whackjob Robert Bork to the Supreme Court. The Democrats, led by then-Senator Joe Biden, fought back on a massive scale and defeated the nomination, leading to Anthony Kennedy joining the SC instead of Bork.

In 1992, another abortion-related case reached the Supreme Court: Planned Parenthood v. Casey, wherein Roe was pretty much reaffirmed in its entirety. By 1992, George H.W. Bush had finished one term, generally underwhelmed the public, and was voted out, thus to be replaced by Bill Clinton. In 1994, in Clinton's first midterm election, the Newt Gingrich Republicans took the House and the Strom Thurmond and Bob Dole Republicans took the Senate. This GOP control of at least one branch of Congress remained the case until 2001, when George W. Bush became president. (Also, the GOP Clinton-era Republicans had other things to do, such as the Lewinsky scandal in 1998, back when they still pretended to have moral values and impeached Clinton accordingly). Considering the fact that any attempt to pass a national law to codify Roe was obviously doomed with Dubya in the White House, since he would have vetoed it, and that the Democrats didn't fully control the House, Senate, and Presidency again until 2009, one might feel that formalizing a twice-affirmed decision by the Supreme Court maybe wasn't the top priority. Abortion rights were and are popular (in fact, that's why the three Trumpists on the SC had to lie to the Judiciary Committee about their plans to repeal it), and Obama had other things on his plate. Like, you know, saving the national and global economy from total meltdown after the crisis of 2008, and trying to jam through the Affordable Care Act in the short time he had before 2010, and once more losing the House to the Tea Party. The loss of the Senate followed in 2014. Once again, we didn't get it back until 2021, when the three wingnut justices were already seated on the Court and Trump had run his reign of terror.

Considering those empirical circumstances, the fact that the Democrats have only had control of all three branches of the federal government for two-year periods at MOST and were busy fixing all the other most pressing messes, and that the Republicans have said for decades that this is exactly what they want to do, I am truly gobsmacked (if not surprised) at the sheer number of morons who want to make this, yet again, the Democrats' fault. Apparently the Republicans are just a force of nature who can't really be blamed or actually considered to have agency; it's only ever on the Democrats for Not Doing Enough To Stop Them. Instead, we now have hordes of told-you-so-ers swarming out of the woodwork and acting like this was a five-alarm fire that the Democrats willfully ignored and/or fanned on. That is incredibly moronic on multiple levels, but hey, that kind of seems to be your Brand. That is, when you're not labeling smug inactivity and self-professed moral superiority as the most pure and correct course of action, but again, we all have our talents.

There was no way for the Republicans to overturn Roe without the exact kind of judicial skulduggery, right-wing extremism, and scads of dark money that finally came together in the perfect storm. (Ever hear of Citizens United in 2010, and the way in which hard-right interest groups have been funding this planned takeover of the judiciary for years? Or does that conflict with your predetermined hypothesis?) Apparently Democrats should have Done More to stop Trump from choosing Supreme Court justices (a Very Smart White Man on twitter made the argument that it was actually Senate Democrats' fault for not stopping McConnell on procedural grounds, or.... something). This was after actual Democrats begged the Holier Than Thous to vote for Hillary Clinton in 2016, explicitly because we pointed out that the Supreme Court was in a precarious position with elderly justices and open seats, and the next president would be poised to reshape it for the next generation. You all laughed at us, more or less openly called us a bunch of bootlicking neoliberal traitors, and told us that the Supreme Court didn't matter and we were all delusional. Then you didn't vote. Then Trump won the election by squeaking out wins in a handful of key states. Then.... well, we all know what happened next.

So tell me, Oh Wise Internet Sage. Where, in what Congress, and according to what actual rules of reality, procedure, and priority, should the Democrats have passed a law to codify a popular twice-affirmed Supreme Court decision that was not under serious threat precisely until this confluence of circumstances took place under the Trump presidency? Be specific, and point out exactly how it would have happened. Otherwise, your argument is bad and you should feel bad.

Biden, Harris, Pelosi, Schumer, Warren, Obama, and all the other prominent Democratic leadership and/or congresspeople have already made strong statements within hours of the draft opinion being leaked. Republicans are screaming in unison that whoever leaked it is the actual story, not the content or impact of the decision (literally what McConnell said today on CNN). The DEMOCRATS DO SOMETHING!!! crowd need to, uh, actually say what they're fucking supposed to do now. Instead you blame RBG, you blame HRC, you blame the Democrats, and absolutely everyone and anyone except the actual people responsible for doing this. You may think it's an enlightened and complex stance that reflects the Realities of the World, or whatever. You may think that Joe Manchin doesn't exist (believe me, I wish he fucking didn't) and that Biden can wave a magic wand and overturn SCOTUS. Do they need to do more? YES! MANY OF THEM HAVE EXPLICITLY SAID THEY WILL BE EXPLORING ALL OPTIONS! BUT WE STILL LIVE (FOR THE NEXT FEW MONTHS) IN A DEMOCRACY AND THAT REQUIRES US DOING OUR JOB AND VOTING IN NEW AND BETTER PEOPLE TO HELP THEM!

I'm sick and fucking tired of this pissbaby whining from the exact same people who make us beg and plead for their vote every single election, feel morally justified in withholding it, and have done literally nothing to advance any of the causes they claim to care about. "Hindsight is 20/20" some of you like to point out, but with the expected irony, you miss it completely when it comes to reviewing any of your own (non) actions and any hint of genuine acknowledgment that your apathy and nihilism helped this happen. So. Suck on that, then go step on a rake. If this should knock some sense into you, we can then talk again.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #rant #i'm not gonna take it right now #fair warning

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 2, Episode 21- Lorelai’s Graduation Day, Aka Lovesick Stepcousins In The Big City, Part 4

In my previous post, I stated this was the first time Rory and Jess had ever touched each other, but my friend @kimberly-stocks pointed out that was technically not true.

However, in the two previous instances, Rory shoved him out the door in There's The Rub, and then dragged him home by his sleeve in Dead Uncles and Vegetables, so I stand by this being the first display of real affectionate touch shared between our stepcousins. We know why Rory isn't in school, but the same can't be said for Jess. Look, it's something of a tossup between him flat out skipping school like Rory did (coincidentally, on the same day she decided to surprise him) or Liz just flat out didn't re-enroll him and so he's wandering the streets like a feral cat, poaching hot dogs and records and wandering stepcousins.

I was expecting an Okuh but I'll take a Whatever.

I really wanted to know if this shirt was based on a real band or musical tour. So I googled "Hardkore Kidd" and found this amazing bit of trivia.

Thank you Women in Revolt for that bit of interest. I googled it a bit further and indeed, Hardcore Kidd was the stage name of a wrestler. I thought it was the name of a band, and I'm sure 98% of you reading this thought the same... As far as him wearing something other than a band tshirt being "out of character" for Jess, we must agree to disagree. The "he actually watches wrestling sometimes" and "he only wore it ironically" are both plausible angles in my opinion. But he's also our thrift store king, and he probably just thought it looked rad. And it is. It's a rad shirt.

"From (someplace) to (Sudan?) to (someplace) to Baltimore"

Mmm, good tofu dogs. Rory is weirdly over the top delighted by the taste of this street wiener like she's never eaten a hot dog before in her gosh dang life. I will not sully this wholesome thing they've got going on here with tasteless wiener jokes. I will not make wiener jokes...I will not make wiener jokes.. Ladies and gentleman of the Jury, I will now present my findings as to whether or not Milo Ventimiglia Actually Ate A Wiener. In Exhibit A, It looks as if Mr. Ventimiglia actually partially consumed the wiener, as you can observe there is some definite mouth-to-wiener contact. In Exhibit B, Mr. Ventimiglia's wiener appears to have at least one nibble mark; while on the other hand , Ms. Bledel only pretended to be eating the wiener Mr. Ventimiglia had so generously procured for her, and there is no chunk missing from her wiener until several moments later.

Damn it, I'm weak.

Milo's wiener still only has one bite taken out of it, but he's been chewing for about a solid minute. If I didn't already know Rory was going to respond "do they allow hot dogs on the subway", I'd have scripted her to respond "But I already have a hot dog, I don't want a sandwich" when Jess said he was going to Subway. Come on, admit Rory would say something like that and that I'm hella funny. ADMIT IT. (Subway is the name of a chain of sandwich restaurants). He is adorably patient with her cluelessness, god bless him.

(The above is supposed to be a video; I apologize, since it's likely that by the time you read this, Tumblr will have borked it and made it unwatchable. If you can see it, be sure to click to watch it. You’ve been blessed).

There's my Okuh! A high pitched one, so you know he's happy. It was perfect. Sigh. Bless. If this episode were a human person, I'd marry it. I'm freaky like that.

#milo ventimiglia #jess mariano #rory gilmore #gilmore girls #denise rewatches gilmore girls #gilmore girls season 2 #lorelais graduation day #okuh #hot dogs #wieners #literati #step cousins

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #2: Drumming Song

Prompt: bark || Master Post || On AO3

--

“I think I’ve found it,” Synnove muttered to herself, examining a rhombic dodecahedral honeycomb made of tiny, glittering aetheric equations repeated over and over in a perfect tessellation, floating amongst a ribbon of other geometries.

Her new carbuncle, Tyr, was a lovely, sweet boy, gentle despite his enormous size, but he was…quiet. Unnaturally so: he made no physical sounds like the purring or chittering common of carbuncles, nor did he communicate via the aetheric harmonic that Galette uses with her. The lack of it has clearly frustrated the lad, and so Synnove had spent this first sennight of possessing a new summon on unspooling his physical form into a single line of code to examine each and every fragment of his full manifested array. The written array was perfect, so clearly something had gone pear-shaped during summoning.

And now, finally, she’d found it. This equation tessellating into the honeycomb, at a glance, seemed to be related to sound; Synnove jotted down the full equation in her notebook, as well as a sketch of a flat rendering of the shape it formed, to better study it later. Her current theory was that the sheer density of aether contained in Tyr’s topaz had caused some sort of interference and so far, the evidence supported it. That this was the only hiccup was a pleasant surprise.

For all that he couldn’t communicate in a traditional manner at the moment, Tyr was still aware and able to make himself known: the ribbon of his unspooled-self did an excited little shimmy. Synnove grinned as she began to pluck the honeycomb apart, pinching a dodecahedron here, smudging one with her thumb there.

As she worked, something rhythmic began to niggle at the back of her mind, thumpthumpthump, like someone rattling a door, growing steadily louder as the honeycomb. Her grin widened. “Patience, Tyr,” she crooned, and despite her growing excitement, she kept to her own methodical pace.

Finally, as the penultimate dodecahedron melted away, leaving but one behind:

--ama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama!

“Hello, Tyr,” Synnove said, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. Tyr’s aetheric harmonic was the comforting thrum of gazelle-hide drums and tolling brass bells. “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

MAMA! MAMA MAMA MAMA HI HI HI!

Synnove shoved her chair back, and the long, glittering ribbon of golden light abruptly rolled itself up with an audible snap! As the roll completed, Tyr burst back into full materiality, and he landed with a wood-creaking THUD. For such an enormous carbuncle, he was fast, and in the blink of an eye he had rushed forward to shove his head into her stomach, his tails lashing as he tried to crawl into her lap, and chattering at a high pitch.

She aggressively cuddled him back, leaning down to plant a smacking kiss between his ears, and laughed when the action elicited in an adorable tippity-tap from Tyr’s paws. “All right, my boyo,” she said, drawing away and cupping his head in her hands, “want to give me a nice big bork hello?”

Yeah! Tyr chattered. He backed up a few steps and sat down, so excited he was visibly vibrating. His chest expanded and he opened his mouth and—

[the agonistic colliding of tectonic plates and the melting of corruption into coal into diamond and the igneous iron at the heart of the star and the tintinnabulation of limestone water into stalagmites and stalactites and the ever-wait as fire becomes stone and the ancient humming at the root of a mountain and the patient rumbling as crystal becomes Self]

—Synnove’s  eyes snapped open and she wheezed for breath as she stared up into Tyr’s worried face.

Mama, did I do it right?

Synnove was not sure what he had just done. Her scientific brain was furious about that. Her common sense brain told her scientific brain to shut the fuck up and reminded it that sometimes stupid mortals Did Not Need To Know Things. Synnove listened to common sense brain, and promptly let her memory go fuzzy and grey.

Instead, she reached up and patted his cheek. “Think so,” she croaked. “We’ll work on volume. And tone.”

Tyr promptly dropped down onto her in a full-body sprawl—she wheezed again—and began to purr. It was deep, almost soundlessly so, but it sunk down into her bones and caused every muscle in her body to relax and woah. All right, yes, that. That was good. And amazing.

Synnove wrapped her arms around her carbuncle, and decided this was probably as good a time as any for a nap.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

#ffxivwrite2023 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #oc: synnove greywolfe #synnove's carbuncles #dt's writing #a reminder that the carbuncles are just a little bit eldritch

[brightgnosis]

I feel like today's just been one giant emotional doom spiral of sorts?

On one hand: I'm at the point where I'm recovered enough to move around and mostly converse without losing too much breath- or being congested to Antarctica and back. I'm also not in pain anymore unless I explicitly bump myself on something- at which point I get Explosive Pain from Fibro, mixed with Covid's fucked up ability to dial up the knob on that because I have Fibro.

Though I am still congested. The brain thought -> word output highway still isn't working entirely properly. And brain fog is still a thing, unfortunately. Plus my ear is still clogged to Antarctica and back and ringing like a Demon's playing the Trombone right next to my head.

But on the other: I've still got Covid. So I can't touch, or hug, or kiss my Husband. I have no contact with my In Laws (even if I am upset with them right now). I can't leave the tiny little side of the Basement I'm confined to, or go anywhere; the best I can really do is go out to the garden for whatever time I can tolerate before the 40f and lower temps make me feel too cold- and that's maybe about 5 minutes on average.

And because I can't really do anything still, I have exhausted all of the online things I can do and already blown through all the books I can read. And I still have who knows how many days to go. So now I've reached A state of boredom I can't do anything about except for sleep off- except I've been sleeping upwards of 14+ hours a day already and my body's now hitting that level of sleep hypersaturation that means my sleep schedule is definitely, absolutely, positively going to be borked for the next 5 months. Without a doubt.

So I am understimulated and isolated and alone in a way I have never been before, and which I wasn't the last time I had Covid. And I cope with neither of those well individually when they happen in a good month. I am not coping well with it at all mentally with both of them occurring in lockstep right now. I feel like I'm literally spiraling into a new level of insanity previously unreached at any point in my history. And I suddenly understand, I think, why the first year of isolation was so bad for so many people.

If I believed in hell, I think this would absolutely be it.

#Hell Is Real and Having Covid Is It #Personal #Alphabet Soup #2024 #Covid #Depression #Actually Disbaled

[manonamora-if]

April Check-In

HI! I AM NOT DEAD I PROMISE, ANON!

Just... Ugh... It's been a stressful end of the month. I have not kept up with the weekly devlogs at all, partly because I had little to share each week, but also IRL was just too much. Head seems out of the water for now. Though I will be MIA for the rest of the week.

Onto the usual index:

Recap of last month’s progress

IF Events in the Next Month

Plan for the next month

Still long post under the break. If you want a mini version, head on over to itch.io as usual!

March Progress

From last month, what did we do:

Complete my French Comp entry. ✅ Not only did I write it all in less than two weeks (and it was full of typo that was so embarrassing), I also managed to...

Complete my SpringThing entry. ✅ Because that's the same game but in English.

Play more games! ✅Obviously having finished playing the Smoochie Jam AND all the French Comp game (quite a few good ones, voting was so hard), but also the SeedComp! and the Revival Jam (maybe?). The harvest of games for this month was bountiful!

Finish the Code Ch5 ❌ of Harcourt and edit Ch6 ✅

Finish fixing The Roads Not Taken. ❌

Things, it turns out... No, really...

Yay! Still managed to make a decent chunk of stuff.

Let's start with the bummer: still haven't fixed the borked games. Yeah... I really should sit down at some point and get down to it. BUT I did get some feedback for the Egg-game, and got extra code to fix the container issue. So... I just need to get to it.

Still haven't worked on coding on Harcourt, though I finished my part of the edits of Chapter 6. The file, full of comments, is back on his desk which... Well. Herm. MelS's computer just 💥(not like fire everywhere, but sudden forever black screen), corrupting about half of his data... which included his progress on that chapter and the endings. We've been working on getting his data back (tbh this project is the least of his worries, more important stuff is still gone), so hopefully we can get him back to editing and writing by next month (best case scenario). YEAH...

But before that happened, I managed to finish Les lettres du Docteur Jeangille for the French Comp, at the last possible minute yet again. I had the idea for month, but didn't start working on it until I was truly done with Teatime with a Vampire. It still managed to write over 15k words in 18-19th century French style (and full of typo because, only two weeks...) in essentially 1 and 1/2 week. EPISTOLARY STYLE game :D

After that was done, I got to play the Smoochie Jam and the French Comp games (it's on the IFDB), and started with the SeedComp entries (it's hidden because I'm the organiser). Lots of fun little game, some very sweet and humorous, some VERY DARK, some suuuper hot, and some that required a bit of noggins.

And halfway through the month, I sneaked a mini-parser game for the Revival Jam. I wanted to try my hand out with the old-style Speed-IF jams, that ran all the way back at the start of the century, which were just 2h long. TWO HOURS! No preparation, just you starting to code and stopping after 2hs. I tried my hand at Inform but... didn't have time to learn a whole new program and make my mini puzzle work in time. So I switched back to Adventuron, and managed to make something... in just over 2hs... I ended up Reviving old versions of the EctoComp instead (3h limit). Still it was fun to try to make a parser game in such short amount of time. It's called FIA: The Vacuum Cleaner, it will take you maybe 5min to play. And... it was so fun I kind of want to make basic micro-parser in that little universe. Some sort of multi-episode series where you have a small puzzle in front of you to solve. Like an intro to parser type of thing. Maybe in different parser programs? We will see. I might end up popping up here and there as tiny little games.

When THAT was done, I went back to work on the English translation of Jeangille, cutting it so close for the SpringThing deadline I thought I would not make it (for real, my files were sent at 23:58! I honestly don't think this was my bestest translation. It probably would have needed a few more rounds of polish and maybe some beta-readers but... :/ the computer explosion happened in the middle of all this so. I guess it was enough... I hope it was enough... But yay! I made it! No bug! Probably just typos! I didn't manage to make the cool animation tho...

AND I updated my website to add all of these juicy thingies!

AND AND! I was interviewed by the Rosebush Magazine last week!

So that was my month. We did good, we did bad, we are exhausted.

What’s happening in April?

Oh wow, already April. WHAT DO WE HAVE HAPPENING? So much, we have so much happening.

First off, we have competitions looking for voters:

Vous pouvez lire le français ? Venez jouer et voter pour les entrées du Concours de FI Francophone ! La date limite est le 4 avril.

Also on the 4th of April, is the deadline to vote for the SeedComp! (@seedcomp-if) games! You can find the forms here. We really really need voters!

The Spring Thing just released a new harvest of games (including meee :P ), and will open voting in a bit less than 2 weeks. Come play!

Looking to create some games instead?

The next @neointeractives jam just opened for submission! Come participate in the Dialogue Jam!

Looking to attempt creating a parser that is easy enough for beginners? Come check the Text Adventure Literacy Jam! You need a tutorial and 5 puzzles to solve!

If you want a deadline to finish your project, maybe check out : Finish Your Project Jam 2024

And for lovers: Amare Games Festival 2024

On the shorter side, and in May: Narrative Design Awards 2024 (ranked), 🔥 Fuck Capitalism Jam 2024 🔥 (unranked)

Interested in other IF events?

April 1st is Source Code Amnesty. Come share the code of your creations! (I've added a bunch of mine on Github today)

You can now register to attend the 2024 Edition of the Narrascope! IRL or Virtual, there are a lot of great talks this year!

We had so far 10 actual entries for the Interactive Fiction Showcase 2024 ! If you made something in 2024, consider showcasing it there too!

Note: @neointeractives will have jams all year long. One a month/or so. And the next Planting Round of @seedcomp-if will start as soon as the results are dropped.

The PLANtm for April

I, erm... should take it easy this month. But also, actually finish stuff, because the more I start, the more I have to fix/finish and it's becoming A LOT...

Play more games: I haven't covered the Revival Jam yet (I'm getting on it!) and the SpringThing has just started. So I have a lot of new treaties just for me! (And also that 2nd Rank is so close I can taste it!).

Finish the Code of Ch5 of Harcourt and edit the Ending Chapter: the latter should be easy since it is pretty short. The former... I just need to bite my tong and get to it! It should probably take me a day to code those last passages...

Finish fixing The Roads Not Taken. Or An Eggcellent Preparation. Maybe the other parser too (it just needs a smidge of polish).

Complete the TALJ entry. The deadline is at the end of the month. I already have the basic structure. I need: a tutorial, commands to actually make the game work. And words. So many words. (Did I mention here I'm making a maze?)

I think that's good. I'm trying REALLY HARD not to tack on another Neo-Interactives entry (we're doing dialogues and I LOVE THOSE). But I WILL TRY MY BEST TO KEEP IT FOCUSED ON THE CURRENT PROJECTS!

~

The 2024 To-Do List:

LOL, I've only done the website! :D

The hopefully maybe easy to handle To-Do:

fix the bugs in EDOC + overall the French version to match (waiting for Adventuron to get the French language)

fix the bugs of TRNT + find a way to add the missing pieces (giving up on the translation)

fixing the interface of LPM and the popups + check animal interactions

figure out the One-Button JavaScrip/jQuery issue...

edit the loading screens of the completed tiny games to include the program/format logo at least.

The 'Need a Bunch of Content to update but it's planned!' To-Do:

Update my website (bunch new title - also I don't think the logo clicky thing work...) + redo my itch page

Finish TTATEH (MelS dependent - this year should be it - for real)

Finish Exquisite Cadaver (half-way mark by this summer - manif)

Finish P-Rix - Space Trucker (main path at least)

Update CRWL (it's been almost two years... I'm getting ashamed)

The Unlikely But it Would be Dope To-Do

Finish The Dinner as it was planned (and translate)

Finish In the Blink of an Eye as it was planned (and retranslate)

Finish The Rye in the Dark City

Fixing TTTT (at least fixing, maybe try adding some storylets)

And finally The 'It's impossible, but one can wish' TO-DO:

Remaster SPS IH (if I managed to start this after completing the rest... I'm going to eat a whole sheet cake).

Start the IFComp project (2025? Might end up being a ST?)

#progress #update #interactive fiction #check in #monthly check in #Ok yall #I'm going on a break until next week! #Hope yall have a lovely month #(and maybe try my new stuf??)

[konzokomo]

Thirain's affection quest as a male character is so funny to me...

You know, in the way that if you're not laughing you'll start crying

Smilegate went out of their way to kind of rewrite the progression of the questline in a few minor ways depending on what character you're doing the quest on. I knew what I was getting into ahead of time XD but still wanted to see how things translated for the English version.

I didn't get a screenshot of the end, but he extends his hand instead of going in for the kiss. Part of me knows WHY they were scared to keep the more explicit romance bits out for male characters, but it is still disappointing. If it isn't to avoid upsetting a certain type of gamer, I can also get that maaaybe they don't think it makes sense for a monarch to get with a guy with the whole system being about bloodlines etc. But man.

That being said... I think it's so interesting that smilegate basically created a world state where Thirain has no intention of marrying you/is just not in love with you, but is also not considering marrying anyone else and is so consumed by how much he cares for you. When playing a female character and doing his rapport, it's very clear you will be the future queen if you want to be. For male characters the current queen candidate is... no one? At least for now. Wanting to be with you instead of all the other suitors on the balcony, mirroring his parents meeting and falling in love, and ending it with a firm handshake is so so funny.

The changes for specialists I can understand though, that can get real weird real fast if they leave things as is. And the headpat is really cute (I wish Thirain would give my paladin a head pat at least T-T ).

I'm still not sure how much actual dialogue changes in the questline itself. I know they started early by giving you different ending dialogue in his previous quests, where for ladies he hints at a future confession and for the bros he's glad you'll be around to take care of future generations.

But at the very least, the highlights are still there: the chaste hand-touch, the rumors being spread about you two, and the cinderella moment when you enter the ball. I'm at least grateful for that. What are you going to do now Meehan?? Thirain doesn't want to marry he wants to exchange high fives with me in the corner.

Of course Amazon borked up and forgot the characters whose hair color was changed.

which is something they tend to do in events and stuff that bring back older characters. I hope they don't mess up poor Jederico in the upcoming story continents he's featured in, I really like his new look in our version.

I'll end it here, but if I had to nominate a queen that isn't our adventurer, I pick Adeline from your stronghold. She already knows how to basically run a town all on her own (sorry Adeline), and they can chat about how well they know the Adventurer. If I didn't camp exclusively at the pier in my stronghold I would chat with her more (sorry Adeline!)

#lost ark #thirain #lost ark spoilers #lost ark rapport #at the end of the day we are multiple characters of varying gender identity who are all the main hero #who can jump in and out of the timeline at will without question

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Witches and Wizards Job 23-24-25

Advance warning, the wizard cuts a little bit loose here. Tagged for some fantasy violence.

I'm aware the links to the back chapters are borked up, but it's nearly midnight right now and I just finished uploading everything to the queue. I'll try to fix them between Thursday and Friday.

AO3 Link

Buy me a Ko-fi?

Remember: Tumblr has no algorithm. Reblogs give me life.

1-2 + 3-4 + 5-6 + 7-8 + 9-10-11 + 12-13-14 + 15-16 + 17-18-19 + 20-21-22 + 23-24-25 + 26-27-28 + 29-30 + 31-32-33 + 34-35-36 + 37-38 + 39-40-41-42

Keep reading

TWENTY THREE

I think no one expected to get together that night and count nothing but wins. But no one was hurt and our knowledge of the situation had grown by leaps and bounds - at least, that was what Ford claimed.

"I'm not happy that you all have Dresden working on the side," he told the room, throwing me a quick look.

I put a hand up; I really didn't mind. I was still trying to digest the truth both Eliot and Hardison had offered me. I'd done my job, and I'd done it well, and with their help I'd done it so quick I was still trying to get used to the fact that both cases were done, had been done nearly as soon as they'd been picked up. But the technology Hardison had used just wasn't something I could ever, would ever, have permanent access to. On the other hand, my expertise, my knowledge, everything I knew about magic and the creatures of that world, was information to be found in no database, no internet search. It was maddening.

"But it's done, so we move on to the auction. Odds are both our targets, as well as the mark, are going to be there: the lady, the portrait and the man in black."

The last bit seemed to startle the night's guest, who'd been lounging sedately on a brand-new couch near mine while nursing a vodka neat. Ford had introduced him as the client. He'd introduced himself as Vanya Fedorov. His accent had introduced him as part of the Russian mafia. Mouse had lifted his head from the moment the man had walked into the loft, and he'd never once looked away. Between him and my dog, I was getting more than a little nervous.

"Nate, there's a problem with the auction," Hardison pointed out as he rejoined us around the coffee table with its sharpie'd circle and anti-tracking ward, as well as a few other newly added protections. He'd left his phone behind by the row of desks after sorting out the delivery of the selkie skins, and he gestured at me.

"Most of the people attending aren't human," I informed the room.

Fedorov's drink paused on the way to his mouth. "My uncle is a hard man," he said levelly. "But his first loyalty is to our business. He knows I am good for it. He would not betray me."

"I don't think he has," Sophie replied. "The bird-woman, the -"

"Alkonost," he supplied.

"She wasn't there to harm you. She was there to protect you."

I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this gorgeous woman had decided, on the fly, to bluff one of the most powerful creatures of Russian lore, and she'd stuck the landing. God but I could only hope Ford knew how lucky he was.

"We were immune thanks to Harry," Sophie pointed out, "but you weren't affected at all. She did come looking for you, but to keep you safe."

"Safe from what?" he demanded restlessly.

"The man in black?" Eliot suggested.

"He doesn't want Fedorov hurt." Ford said mildly. I was beginning to recognize that tone as a warning signal. "He very nearly derailed one plan already for you," he told the Russian.

"For me?"

"The museum!" Parker exclaimed in sudden realization.

Nate nodded, then looked at Fedorov. "You made plans to go visit the Sokolov collection. Made them in advance. I had a look at your electronic ledger. You did have plans - for the day after, the last day of the exhibition."

"I did," the Russian admitted readily.

"You changed those plans when someone told you we were there."

Fedorov grinned ruefully. "I thought to press my case and enjoy Sokolov's work. Two birds with one stone. It seemed efficient at the time."

Nate nodded thoughtfully. "See, I was wondering about that. Because our presence there wasn't really important enough to merit derailing anyone's plans. It was you. When he came up to the room, it was to make sure you were there and he had to cancel the plan. You weren't supposed to be there that day."

"But then he did come up, and saw Grandmother," Sophie pointed out. "And getting her was worth more than protecting you."

"Mm," Nate nodded. "It was a rush job; the sort of rush job that happens when someone first says 'go', then 'stop', then 'go' again, and tempers are getting frayed, the timeline is off, everything just this much out of whack…" He waved a hand at us all. "You know the sort."

I did know the sort; I couldn't help but be amused that, from the look on their faces, so did the rest of the Leverage team.

"Explains why the guy was still there fiddling with the system when I got there," Eliot muttered. "He was waiting to put the Witchwell back in place. That's why the nitrogen tank was attached, but still closed."

"How do you know all this?" Fedorov demanded.

"The cameras," Ford replied. "Our… consultant pointed out that it's only the presence of beings like the man in black that blows up technology, and Hardison has created a number of failsafes so we can tell when a screen is about to fail. Turns out you can track someone by their absence nearly as much as by their presence."

The Russian took all of this in slowly, carefully, and finally frowned minutely. "I don't think I care for the Blackbird's interest in me. Or my family. Or my business."

Ford said nothing, but I could see in his face that he was holding back. I risked a glance at the other deadly intelligence in the room. Sophie was looking at the mastermind very closely. She caught my eyes and shook her head tinily.

I said nothing. I had just noticed that, behind Sophie, Parker was frowning, staring at nothing. Apparently Ford was contagious.

"I think your uncle's loyalties are a matter between you and him. For what it's worth, I believe he honestly thinks meeting with these people will help you take over from your father."

"By binding the family to these creatures." Fedorov scoffed. "What do they know of the family business?"

I didn't need to see the look Ford shot me to recognize a cue when I heard one. I picked up the printed photographs next to me on the couch and started handing them out one by one. "The lovely lady in white? Fey. Specializes in erasing evidence. The man next to her in red? Also fey. Specializes in erasing memories." Another picture. "Fat toad-looking man? He's actually a toad. His people love toxic waste. If someone gets a contract with them, they'll never see another fine for dumping again. The gorgeous thing next to him might be the deadliest we've identified so far. She's from Bangkok. Jade Court. Vampire. Human trafficking. This one? I'm not sure, but gosh, things sure do seem to catch on fire whenever he's around, mostly out at sea. Mostly when they're well-insured."

Between Hardison and me, while the 3D printer churned away and I stuck mirror-masks to everything it was spitting out, we'd sifted through enough information to identify thirteen of the twenty four people who we knew were going to the auction. It had been risky, using Koschei's invite to create a resonance spell that would let me find where the other invites were, but God it had paid off so well. We'd done weeks, maybe months of footwork in one long afternoon and half an evening.

It was enough to impress Fedorov - and to worry him. "No. I will not deal with these creatures. They are no better than the Blackbird, and if he's involved then each of them is a trap."

"I'm not telling you this to impress you," I corrected him. "I'm telling you to warn you. They might wanna make it look like you have no choice but to agree with whatever they say. You need to be prepared."

Fedorov took the stack of printouts and stared sightlessly at them. He looked oddly familiar at that moment, as if a touch of deja vu had come at me out of nowhere; he looked like something out of antiquity, like one of the paintings I'd seen in Hardison's screens while he studied Sokolov's work. "Can they die?" he asked.

Ooops, nope, we were back in mafia mentality. "Depends what you shoot them with. And in some cases, where."

"Then I believe you and I should speak, wizard." He shook his head and gestured impatiently. "He just stole the damn portrait. Why is he turning around and selling it already?"

"Because after the auction he won't need it anymore. Or at least that's what he thought, until he met Parker and she stole his key, and all of those." He waved a hand idly at the table's worth of knick-knacks. "So between now and the end of the auction he has to get that key back. You," Nate told Fedorov, "are going to trade it for the portrait. Make sure to tell them that when you RSVP."

"You are sending me into a den of monsters alone, Ford," Fedorov gritted out. "If you want me dead have the decency of doing it yourself."

"Not alone, no. You're bringing Sophie with you. If Dresden can get the tracker off of the other invitation we have, we'll even send Eliot in with you. And we will all be nearby to provide support. We don't want another 'situation', Fedorov, no one wants that."

Fedorov eyed Eliot, who shrugged calmly. He eyed Sophie, who smiled at him. "No offense," he told Eliot, "but I will feel safer with her."

Eliot beamed at the man. "None taken."

I had to agree with both of them, honestly.

"What about Grandmother?"

"She'll be there," Ford assured him. It was the only part of the plan I didn't like, because Ford had no explanation, no reason as to why he believed Baba Yaga would show up at the auction when Koschei was sure to be there. Last I'd checked, and from all Bob had taught me, those two were not on speaking terms, and got along about as well as fire and gasoline.

Fedorov looked thoughtful. "Wizard."

Oh, I did not like where this was going. "Uh."

"Since you are taking jobs on the side, will you take one more?"

"Uh." I looked at Ford, but he said nothing. He was giving me a keen, level look. I liked that even less. "That depends on the job."

Fedorov grinned at me. "He has tried too many times to harm Grandmother. Perhaps to kill her outright. I don't know if this is possible, if he can do this thing. I know he's trying, and I do not like it. I will pay whatever you ask, wizard. If you're there and do your best to protect her."

I felt as if the silence in the room were crushing me. "You want me to protect Baba Yaga."

"You are what I have."

"This is Baba Yaga. Grandmother Winter. Close to a living god as it gets. Not to mention I've already met the Blackbird. He won both times, in case you weren't listening."

"Did he? You walked away and he did not follow. Twice. The way I see it, you won the only victory that matters."

I wanted to scream. To walk away. I would have laughed in Fedorov's face but the truth was, I was scared. He was asking me to stand between what I saw as an unstoppable force and an immovable object. However, and I hated that he was right, but he uh. He was right. I'd stood up to Koschei twice, and I'd walked away both times. Either the man sucked at killing people, and I knew that wasn't true, or I was doing something right. I just didn't know what.

I felt as trapped as Fedorov did, but I could also see his reasoning. Koschei was an asshole. An unparalleled one. No one disagreed on that. But Baba Yaga, even if she was mercurial, alien, inhuman, still cared about the land and the people in a way her pupil didn't. If there was a line on the sand, I knew which side I was on. "I'll do what I can," I couldn't make the words come out civil, but at least I could make them come out.

Fedorov nodded at me. "In that case," he grinned minutely, leaned forward and picked up one of the chicken bones and the little carved wooden cup from among the many knick-knacks on the table and dropped the one inside the other. The bone let out a little rattle. "Let me tell you a fairy tale about Koschei and Grandmother."

TWENTY FOUR

The leshy came back that night, and they brought friends once again.

I was dead asleep in spite of every thought and worry wrecking chaos in my mind. I was worried, and I was pretty sure I had a right to be. We were about to throw a bluff in the face of some of the deadliest, smartest monsters ever to come out of the Nevernever, Leverage also wanted to steal from them at the same time. There was just so much going on that I'd given up trying to keep track of it all, and resigned myself to doing my part of it and never figuring out what, other that stealing, these people did.

Mouse's low growl woke me up as if someone had punched me. He'd been asleep at the foot of the bed, which was big enough for five of me or two of him, and when he stood up I could see his ruff standing up on end, outlined against the faint light coming in through the window. I sat up just in time to hear a muffled yowl of pain, and the creak of the door swinging open.

They'd found me. Of everything we'd picked up, all the trinkets, all the traps, I was still the easiest source of magic to find. I just hadn't known if they'd be willing to gamble that Koschei's stuff would be with me and not in a vault somewhere, or with the Leverage people.

The house had no lintel to speak of, no doorway. It was a safehouse, a fancy storage unit where I'd spent two nights. I'm sure the leshy had expected some trouble getting through the door, but I already knew they had humans in the roster, and humans could pick a lock or break a window, slip inside and invite the leshy in. There wasn't enough of a presence in the house, mine or otherwise, to kick up a passive defense out of habitation alone.

Which was why Eliot had lined every doorway and windowsill with iron nails.

Another muffled yowl and I was quietly on my feet, reaching for my shirt and my duster. There were a few traps between the leshy and what they sought, but once again I was counting mainly on them not being able to use magic to find the stuff. I drew a deep breath, stepped back from the bed, called Mouse to me, and flicked a throw blanket on the bed.

I'm not good at Veils. I know people who can hide entire stadiums worth of people, sight, sound, scent, every sense. Me, I was counting on it being dark so that when the leshy came up, as they must, it would look like I was still asleep on the bed. It didn't make sense for them to risk waking me up while they tore the place apart, which they'd likely do. Not to mention they could always ask me where everything was, and provide all sorts of incentives for me to tell them.

I managed to get my sneakers on before I heard the stairwell creak minutely. I fell back into the shadows of the closet, Mouse by my side, staff on one hand and wand on the other, and waited.

The door to my bedroom opened very slowly. The same dim, reflected streetlight glow that had shone on Mouse showed me the paw-like hand of a leshy as it stepped forward, sniffing the still air in the room. Its eyes locked onto the bed and it moved forward with a little more confidence. It cleared the door and another one came in behind it. They moved to flank the bed. A third one came in.

The moment it was clear of the door I surged forward, slammed the door shut, and pointed my staff at it. "Forzare."

It might have come out a little angry. I was getting real tired of leshy, to be fair. The blast of force threw the leshy through the window in a shower of glass and wood; it screamed as it went, the iron nails on the windowsill scraping it raw.

Mouse flew at another leshy with a snarl. Its nature betrayed it; not only was my dog very big and fairly terrifying despite his youth, leshy were creatures of the field, their nature very close to rabbits, to hares, to moles. It shrieked in immediate terror and went down, scrabbling and writhing, all the fight gone from it, wanting only to get away from its natural predator.

The last one didn't stop to think. It leapt up and kicked me in the chest. I went through the bedroom door like the old oak wasn't even there. The pain was immediate, immense, blinding. Next thing I knew I was on my knees out on the hallway, and I couldn't breathe. I'd be lucky if nothing was broken. Leshy kick like the hares they look like, and the fairy-thug's reaction had been so quick I'd had no time to summon my shield.

Mouse was barking furiously in the bedroom; I couldn't get wits or breath enough to get back on my feet, but I had just enough of them to see motion coming up the stairs. I swung my wand around and let a stream of fire blaze out. The figure in front shrilled inhumanly; behind it, someone cursed entirely too humanly.

I had to get up. I had to move. I was easy prey if I didn't. I got one leg under me just in time for one panicked leshy to come sprinting out of my bedroom, and we both went down in a tangle. It tried to bite my face, and I just barely put an arm up. Its teeth caught it, but couldn't quite punch through the duster's defenses. It didn't feel like roses, though, and someone let out a very undignified howl of pain. Couldn't have been me.

I'd lost my wand when we'd gone down, and I didn't have enough room to bring my staff to bear, so I let go of it, put my free hand on the leshy's face, and let go with all the electricity I'd collected the past day. I didn't have the breath to call it - the words aren't part of the magic as much as an exercise in focus, a visualization aid. I could throw everything around without them, but I'd been using the word to try not to get zapped myself. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

Electric fire lit up the leshy's skull from within, made its ears stand up on end; it rolled down my hand and up my arm, but I was far more interested in the fairy-thug not getting another bite in. Fortunately, it crashed down limp on top of me, smoking faintly.

I shoved it aside and groped around for my staff. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I threw my shield up instinctively.

A net crashed over it and came to rest on the gleaming half-bubble, and I was in trouble. The net had magic, unknown magic, probably meant to counter mine. I couldn't let go of the shield without getting caught in the net. I couldn't do magic without dropping the shield. The hallway was narrow, and they couldn't get to me any more than I could get to them, but that left them free to tear my house apart.

Which was apparently the going plan. The leshy I'd singed on the stairwell called out something to the human behind it, who shouted in Russian down the stairs. I heard the door to one of the rooms slam open, and a crowbar start work on the crates.

I forced myself to draw a deep breath. Mouse was still engaged with the last fairy-thug in the bedroom. My ribs were still screaming. My lungs had mostly forgotten how to work. But I needed that breath, I needed the focus of it.

At the peak of it, I dropped to a crouch, dropped the shield and called out, "Ventus!" more or less at the same time.

Have I mentioned I'm a hammer when it comes to magic?

Wind roared out, coming out of me in every direction. It threw the net for parts unknown, it sent the people on the stairwell flying back, stumbling down the steps with startled squawks and something that sounded very much like cursing. I wouldn't know, I don't speak Russian. I found my wand under my foot, lifted my staff and for good measure threw a second gout of wind down the stairwell. "Mouse!"

He came charging out of the room. I peeked in. The leshy was crawling away for the gaping hole in the wall that had been a window, both legs a ruin of greenish blood. I closed what was left of the door between it and us and began to inch my way down the stairs.

There was a hissed, angry argument going on at the bottom of the stairs, probably wondering if I was worth the trouble. Oh, I was not. So many people could've told the thugs, I'm very much not worth the trouble. I'm a burr, and at that point I was an angry burr, and to compound their misery I was an angry burr that could do magic.

Someone shouted a warning in the dark of the first floor. I threw my shield up.

Three bullets bounced off it, along with a shower of sparks. Oh, ok. Uh. I hadn't expected them to decide I was that kind of trouble. Hell's Bells. Boston had powered up my shield, but I'd apparently finally hit on the limit of what the damaged bracelet could do. If it hadn't been made to hold back more mundane threats as well as magic, I would have been very much in trouble.

I could see, vaguely, four of them gathered in what was supposed to be the living room. I was pretty sure there was at least one more crashing and wrecking one of the rooms. I saw one of them grab and yank at another, and some tiny part of me was glad to know the leshy themselves didn't want me shot, but that didn't mean one of their number, likely one of their human buddies, didn't have a gun he was entirely too willing to use. I had to finish this quick, before someone else got trigger-happy.

I dropped the shield. Mouse leapt the moment it was gone, with a snarl like a roar. I love my dog. I know my dog. At that moment I was absolutely terrified of my dog.

So were the thugs. I slammed the butt of my staff on the ground before any of them could get any ideas. "Forzare!" The shockwave sent two of them tumbling - the humans. The leshy tottered, but managed to stay upright. One of them immediately went down with a panicked screech when Mouse slammed into it.

The other twisted one hand sharply and threw something at me that glittered in the dark. I threw my shield up automatically.

The night's breath powder settled on it and began to burn.

I heard a howl, realized belatedly that it was mine; my shield-bracelet had gone instantly white-hot while it tried to defend against the very thing that was attacking it. I dropped the shield, felt the poison sink into my magic. The leshy charged me, as aware as I was that I couldn't throw magic around wildly anymore; I could very well run out of energy mid-fight.

So I swung the staff at it as hard as I could.

The impact drove it into the wall and it staggered back, dazed. I stepped into its space and punched it. Hey, it worked for Eliot. It went down on its knees with a cry.

But the two human thugs were getting up, and one was lifting his arm in a familiar fashion. I couldn't gamble, I called up my shield, gritting my teeth against the pain. The goon slammed the taser into it, electricity arcing from it over the roiling surface of the half-bubble.

I put my hand out, the one with the wire bracelet, dropped the shield and called the electricity to me. It burned down my already singed fingers, and into the bracelet, and I threw it at the other man before he could get it into his head to start shooting again. He made a sound like a broken police siren and crashed down, twitching.

I'd been keeping my eye on the group in front of me and that open bedroom door, but in the middle of the chaos I forgot that leshy are like roaches: there's always more than the ones you see. Something came at me from the kitchen and hit the back of my head. It wasn't even painful; it was just instantaneous darkness; everything shut down. My cheek hit the floor, but I didn't feel it so much as vaguely registered that my perspective on things had changed radically. I heard Mouse snarl, and someone screamed - the natural order of things.

Things went blurry and uncertain for a while. I heard the group talking, and Mouse barking furiously, but I was only aware of it because it was Mouse, and I was worried that they'd hurt him. The night's breath had settled on me like the weight of the world, burning, hissing in a way only I could hear. I felt crushed. I couldn't breathe. My magic felt sluggish and foul, like blood poisoning.

"It's not just the circle, he's got a ward of some sort around them," a man's voice said in English. Someone else spoke in Russian. I was beginning to understand Hardison's comment about learning a language by infection.

"Koldun", a hoarse, gravelly voice said. Something grabbed my face and picked me partially up, talons prickling my cheeks. "Wizard," the leshy said in terrible English. "You hear me?"

"I thought leshy didn't speak." I was trying to get myself in the game, but the night's breath was burning into my bones, my ribs hurt like someone had kicked them out of my chest, and my head was pounding.

The leshy growled - its way of laughing, I realized. It said something to one of the people around. We were in my basement. There were glow-sticks all over, illuminating my work: the brass circle on the concrete floor, closed and holding strong around a small shoebox full of Koschei's knick-knacks. Inside the circle were two more wards: the tracking foil I'd copied from the key, and a little bubble of force, very much like my shield, meant to keep things and people from this side of the Nevernever from getting through.

See, I could learn. I'd remembered that the leshy had been working with humans back at the museum, and I'd been ready.

"He says, 'the world changed, we changed with it'." It was the man who'd shouted a warning earlier, likely the one who'd shot at me. He was wearing all black, the better to be impossible to distinguish from the rest of the group. The leshy growled something at him. "You will dismiss the circle and remove the rest of your protections."

I gritted my teeth. Those talons were like shoe cleats, sharp and solid, and the fairy's grip was incredibly strong. They'd stripped me down to my pants and tee, and I was pretty sure they'd taken off anything that wasn't nailed down. I couldn't even feel the familiar weight of my pendant around my neck. My arms were bound behind me and my shoulder was really unhappy about that. They'd even taken my shoes off. "Bite me."

The leshy growled again and it occurred to me that it probably wasn't a good idea to invite him to do that. It said something a little longer this time. I was trying to figure out if I could use their ignorance to my advantage: the outermost circle was just that, a circle. Any of their human buddies could have made it past it. But because the leshy knew magical circles to be impregnable, they apparently hadn't thought to have the humans try.

"You will dismiss the circle," the translator said. "Or we will shoot your dog."

My lunge was instinctive. And pointless. The leshy stopped me before I could get an inch closer and slammed me back against a wall. It was just hard enough to be painful, but not enough to knock me out again. He even gave me a few minutes to find the wits he'd just send scattering all over with that casual bit of controlled violence.

"I drop the circle, you shoot us both."

The translator spoke. The leshy examined me, head cocked, golden eyes throwing an occasional red gleam when the light hit them just right. He said something long-ish.

"He considered it," the man translated. "But is not worth a death-curse, and you obviously love dog. What assurance can he provide?"

"Lock my dog up in the bathroom. Everyone else waits outside. I'll break the circle for him, and him alone."

"Nyet." The leshy wasn't stupid, though I'd hoped. He spoke at length, the translator asking a couple of questions.

"The dog stays in the net, goes in the bathroom. Three of us stay here. You drop the circle, remove the wards. We take you to the bathroom with your dog. You do not follow."

"I get your gun, you keep the bullets," I added.

That created a brief argument between the man and the leshy, but the translator caved eventually. Not that I didn't think they had a dozen other ways to kill me and Mouse, but the gun was the quickest one.

"And I'll need my hands free."

The leshy didn't wait for the translator. "Use feet."

"Fine."

He dragged me to my feet. Off to one side I could see Mouse, all but wrapped into a net, bound up inside a blanket that had been secured with duct tape. Ah, the net hadn't been for me, it'd been meant for him all along. He snarled, but didn't bark, probably out of pity for my throbbing skull. In the basement the sound would have echoed like thunder. Two humans picked him up warily, and while he tried to snap at them, he couldn't do more than twitch and drool. All but two leshy and the translator followed them out of the basement.

The translator pulled out the gun, removed the clip and the loaded bullet, and I twisted so he could give it to me. He didn't look happy. I made a show of muttering under my breath and calling up some magic. The effort bent me over double and I nearly felt my legs go to jelly. Bile rose up in my throat, and the lead leshy had to hold me up. I had to make it look like I was doing something, though, otherwise the leshy would catch onto my bluff about the circle.

But Boston, ah, Boston. The night's breath couldn't corrode what the city was giving me fast enough. If I could just get away, purge all of the corroded magic, I'd be fine. As it was, I had the power to throw a punch, I just had no way of knowing if it was going to blow up in my face or theirs.

I took a couple of deep breaths, tried again, and scuffed my foot over the circle and the two wards beyond it. And very calmly said, "Ignitum".

The circle broke. The lead leshy gestured the other two forward. The shoebox was plain, empty of anything but the rough dozen or so things Parker and I had got from Koschei. Everything was there, even the feathers and the invitation.

Except for two things.

The leshy grabbed me by the throat. "Key, koldun." He snapped at the translator.

"You are missing things. Where are they?"

"I only agreed to break the circle. It's not my fault if you didn't check your shopping before you paid the bill."

The leshy didn't like that. It slammed me against a wall and snarled. The translator opened its mouth -

The other leshy, who'd managed to grab the box, squealed in pain when something hot dripped down on it, then shrieked, clawing at its shoulder as a sizzling sound and the smell of burning fields began to fill the room. One of the ceiling tiles crashed down.

Everyone looked up. I just grinned at them.

Eliot had set up the trap for me, and he'd honestly had a blast doing so. The basement was bare concrete in every direction; to hide the fact that he was putting iron everywhere he could reach, he'd put up styrofoam ceiling tiles. He'd glued them to the concrete.

He'd laced the glue with iron filings.

Throwing a magical punch? Fifty-fifty. Melting fresh silicone that wasn't even hard yet? Child's play.

The lead leshy barked an order. The translator started for me. While they were both distracted I balanced myself on one foot, lifted the other, and kicked the leshy as hard as I could in the gut. He went sprawling back and crashed down on the floor. I snapped out the word of command. The circle snapped into life and cut him in half.

I dropped to my knees, most of my focus on not throwing up. The rest I channeled into forcing all the corroded magic the night's breath had poisoned out of me. I didn't even bother giving it shape, I just threw it out. It flattened the last two thugs and sent me crashing down on my face, even as I tried to force myself to get up, get to the box, I couldn't let them have the box -

More melted silicone dripped down. The last leshy squalled something that didn't sound nice, and the one human cursed. He came at me, trying to take his gun back. I drew in a deep breath and threw what little clean power Boston had given me in his face as a flash of light. He staggered back, blinded, swearing.

His buddy caught him and they both ran out of the basement, and I was left there, breathing hard, wondering if I should pass out. Or throw up. Or both, maybe. Somewhere above me Mouse was barking fit to bring the house down.

Passing out it was.

TWENTY FIVE

The gunshots woke up the neighbors. The neighbors woke up the cops, who expected to be summoned to such an address to bar brawls or petty theft, not to shots fired in a staid, elderly Boston neighborhood.

The gunshots also roused Nate. He came sprinting down the block to find half a dozen people peering out nervously, each one demonstrating vividly what they considered a safe distance, and none of them agreeing. The mastermind, who knew exactly how far a bullet could travel on kinetic energy alone, never mind inertia, didn't want to think of what would happen if there were more shots. He began taking stock of the problem by waving his phone at three of the people on the street. "Did someone, uh, did someone call the cops?" When the neighbors confirmed, he let out a long breath. "Good, good. Hey, those weren't gunshots, were they?" he asked as he dialed. "Hardison."

The Leverage team roused like a nest of wasps. A Crime Scene van and a two-man team nearly beat the cops to the site; the truck from Animal Control rolled in with them, and the one man joined the two masked people at the door, the cops making a path for them. All three of them winced as they walked in, pausing to yank their earbuds off.

"He's here," Eliot confirmed to the other two as they lit their flashlights, everyone taking a moment to hold their breath and see if they held - which they miraculously did. "You go ahead with the distraction, I'll find him." They had to find Dresden, get him out of the line of fire, and set up something appropriately gunshot-like but wholly accidental before the cops started looking in earnest. At the moment they weren't setting foot in the house, but Leverage could only guess as to why, rather than confirm.

"I need three minutes in the kitchen," Hardison said from behind Parker.

"I need two in his bedroom."

"I think we can buy you that," Eliot assured them.

"We?"

Despite the worry gnawing at him that the wizard had gone and gotten hurt (again), Eliot could only smile faintly. He whet his lips and whistled lightly.

From somewhere in the dark Mouse started barking immediately in response, a sound like thunder. Nate and Sophie, part of the crowd outside, saw every cop wince and twitch away. None of them went for their guns; none of them looked willing to go into the house. The crowd shifted restlessly, and stepped back without being urged to it. They crossed a look, but said nothing.

Parker threw a clean suit and a mask at Eliot and they split up. Alone in the dark, Eliot launched himself to the guest bathroom, just to one side of the stairs. "Harry!" When he got no answer he tried again, just a little louder. "Dresden!" No answer. He sniffed; there was a faint, familiar scent in the air that he couldn't readily place, but which left his gut tightening in anticipation of a punch he couldn't see coming. That, however was immediately set aside when he opened the bathroom door and found Mouse trussed up like a Bolivian hostage. "There you are."

Tied up or not, the Temple dog wagged his tail at him. Eliot started sawing on the duct tape, then paused; there was something sticky on either the ropes of the net or the blanket. Or the dog. Eliot considered shining the light on it, then decided he was better off not knowing. "We need to be quiet," he told Mouse, who whuffed nearly soundlessly at him. "And we need to find Harry, fast."

The moment he was loose, the mastiff sprang up on his feet and charged out of the bathroom. Eliot followed him down the stairs to, where else, the basement. The air was hot and full of the scent of burning plastic. Styrofoam tiles had fallen and shattered, leaving the tidy space a wreck. Eliot smelled rotten candy and recoiled. "Mouse, don't!"

The dog froze, and stepped back, whining.

Eliot knew that smell. He'd only smelled it once before, but sometimes that was all it took. He'd smelled it again, faintly, by the stairs. Rotten candy. Burning licorice. The basement cloyed his senses with it. Someone had come in prepared to take down both wizard and dog, and the hitter gritted his teeth. "Night's breath," he murmured, looked down at the dog. Moused looked up at him, ears perked. "You gonna be alright in there?"

Mouse eased himself gingerly into the basement. Paused. Whuffled.

Eliot followed. "Harry?"

A groan answered him, and he charged in. His boots squished on something very much not blood, but he didn't stop to check what it was. "Harry!"

"I'm gonna be sick," the wizard moaned. Eliot found him slumped in a heap against one side of the basement, tied up very efficiently, looking ashen under the light of the flashlight, Mouse licking his face enthusiastically.

"Place reeks of night's breath, man."

"That was me," Dresden admitted as Eliot worked to free him. "Someone dosed me upstairs. Burned it off here." He let out a vague sound of pain when his hands came loose and he started working feeling into them immediately. "They took the box."

"Who's surprised," Eliot grimaced when he nearly lost his grip on his knife sawing at the ropes around Harry's feet. "What… Why is everything slimy down here?"

"That was me, too," the wizard admitted. "I killed one of the leshy. Things from the Nevernever kinda melt when they die."

"They m- You mean- " Eliot found himself suddenly realizing he was, apparently, wading knee-deep through someone's equivalent of bodily fluids. "You mean we're covered in fairy blood?"

"Blood, guts…" Harry waved a hand to encompass a nebulous whole.

Full of violence as his life was, Eliot definitely had feelings about the situation, and none of them were good. "Damn it, Dresden!" he snapped as he helped the wizard to his feet and dragged him up the stairs.

"It'll evaporate to nothing soon!"

"And what part of 'don't get hurt' didn't you get?"

"You also said 'make it believable'," Harry protested wearily. "And they had humans with them. Again. And the humans had guns so. You know. The night's just been full of surprises."

Eliot hissed a breath out. Of course they would. "Alright. Get dressed." He thrust the clean suit and the mask at Harry. "We're going out the front door."

"Out the - They're gonna notice there's more people going out than came in."

Parker choose that moment to pop up next to them, making them both jump. "I'm not going out the front door." She had Harry's duster on, which made her look even more elfin than she already was, and looked terribly pleased with herself. "I found everything. They had it all stashed together. Amateurs."

Eliot merely imagined strangling the thief. Only a little. Just to soothe his rising temper. "They weren't thieves, Parker." When she gave him a pointed look the hitter realized what he'd said. "Ok, yes, they were thieves, but they weren't here to rob Harry!" Her brows went up. "You know what I mean! Is Hardison done?"

"I'll go check." She turned to look at Harry, and frowned minutely. "Are you hurt?"

"If I answer that, Eliot will get mad at me," he told her as he zipped up the clean suit.

To the hitter's chagrin, she took in that answer solemnly, nodded, and raced off for the kitchen.

"You are hurt," Eliot accused mildly.

"Leshy like to kick."

"Is anything broken?"

"No." Dresden breathed in, deep and very slow. "I don't think so. I'll get back to you on the concussion, though."

"You have a helluva sense of humor for someone I just found hogtied in his own basement."

Eliot saw the wizard grin, hard and bitter. "Eliot, I'm used to going down. I'm also used to waking up in a cell of one kind or another after." He popped the medical mask in place and put up the hood. "This is a distinct improvement."

The hitter had to pause at that. "Harry, don't you have anyone? Anyone that has your back?"

The wizard paused, went very still. "People… don't do so good when they get involved in a wizard's affairs," he admitted slowly, and the burden of pain and guilt and regret in his voice brought Eliot up very short. It had been years since he'd heard such a refined, complex mix of exactly those emotions from someone, but he remembered the day well enough.

He'd been staring in a mirror at the time, and he'd been horribly young.

"And not a lot of people accept that 'men in gray and big swords' trump a lot of the answers they sometimes want out of me."

The hitter caught the wizard's good shoulder. "Harry, for what it's worth," he said evenly. "I know it's hard. I know how it is when you've drawn a line on the sand and no one sees you holding it. Me, I'm here to keep my team safe. Twice, so far, I wasn't there - but you were. And that's enough for me. Thank you."

Dresden blew out a long breath. "Don't suppose you guys want to move to Chicago?"

"No more than you wanna move to Boston." Eliot looked up to see Hardison coming out of the kitchen, passing his backpack to Parker and taking hers in exchange. "Come on. The timing Hardison cooked up is tricky."

They marched out, the Animal Control guy first, leading the friendliest, most gigantic and slobberiest ball of fur out, leaving all the cops vaguely embarrassed that they'd been afraid to step into the house. Mouse hammed it up, tongue lolling to one side and tail wagging cheerfully. The crime scene people cleared out, the cops poured in, and everyone jumped into their respective vehicles.

It took a while to put both the Animal Control pick-up and the Crime Scene van back in place, none the worse for their small adventure, and everyone reconvened back at the loft. Sophie reported that there had been plenty of cops in the kitchen when the same security system that had destroyed the bedroom window interacted badly with an ancient electric board, entombed in the walls. The system had blown the garden door out onto the overgrown grass, and the antique board had gone off like a gun once again. A report had been written; fines would have to be paid. The owner had been summoned, and she'd been most grateful for everyone's prompt response, gracious and elegant even in her concern. Everyone had gone home somewhat disappointed and secretly reassured that life could go back to what it should be: quiet.

While Sophie soothed the mood at the safehouse, Nate came to see Dresden as Eliot, once again, patched up the wizard in the small spare bedroom behind the kitchen. Harry's entire chest was a rising, ugly bruise. When Eliot moved away to wash his hands, he spoke very quietly to the mastermind. "You know, when I said I'd like a job where I wasn't a punching bag, this wasn't what I meant."

"I know." Nate's mouth was pressed to a thin line. It wasn't just the injuries, or the attack. Violence threatened them all, that was just part of the job. But the violence that kept coming at Dresden was unpredictable and far too big for any countermeasures to readily work. "He's getting more hurt than you have in our worst jobs," he murmured quietly at the hitter.

"He's a civilian, Nate."

"So are you," the mastermind pointed out. "But I know what you mean."

"He doesn't have the training, he doesn't have the mental firewalls."

"Can you teach him?"

"In what, two days?!"

Nate gave the hitter a very keen, very level look. "I think he'd be grateful, and better off, with whatever you do give him." He pitched his voice to carry. "Dresden, what did they get?"

"Everything," Harry replied, testing his arm until Eliot flung a sling at him. "Everything but the key and the Witchwell."

"Mm. But he doesn't need those two back nearly as urgently as everything else. Not once Fedorov's offer gets to him. And he already has the portrait, he doesn't need help stealing it."

"He does if the Witchwell's not his and he needs to return it to the proper owner," the wizard pointed out, frowning thoughtfully.

"Does he?"

"He might. I'm guessing," Harry admitted, "but I don't think it's his. It's too modern, it doesn't fit what we know of the guy."

"I agree with Harry," Eliot added.

"So do I," Nate replied. "His reaction at the bagel shop was very telling. But the man in black has to know we can't destroy it, and he has to know it'd be much easier for him to recover it after the auction." He seemed momentarily lost in thought. He was wondering if Koschei would think of the many ways in which the Witchwell could be turned against him; if that potential danger would force him to divert attention and effort to its recovery.

And in three days' time, I will grant you and your people your heart's desire.

"He'll wait. He'll wait until he can simply take it back."

"He could take it back right now," Harry muttered.

"Could he? That's twice you've faced his hired thugs, and twice you've survived, Dresden. Twice you've almost won, until an external factor stepped in. Have a little faith in yourself. From his side, his odds don't look good."

Eliot understood. "He doesn't gamble. When he wins, he likes it to be by overwhelming force."

The mastermind nodded. "And every time Dresden steps in, it doesn't matter what the man in black throws on the field, it never ends up with a clean victory for him. He'll wait. We go on with the con. Get some rest, Dresden. You're no use as a monkeywrench if you're in pieces."

"I live to please, boss," the wizard declared wearily.

#the dresden files #leverage #my writing #fanfiction #crossover #harry dresden #alec hardison #nathan ford #parker #sophie deveraux #eliot spencer #urban fantasy #fantasy violence

[quipxotic]

Spoilers for Campaign 3, in particular Episode 68, below...

Who could Bell's Hells call on for help at the Malleus Key? Here's a running list of some of the options, although how likely any of the people are to give aid is still up in the air.

Planerider Ryn - If she's alive and no longer a statue you know she'd be there.

Any remaining members of the Grim Verity - They're mostly academics, not fighters, which is why both the Ruby Vanguard and the Judicators/forces of Vasselheim so easily whittled them down. Still, there may be more out there if BH could figure out how to contact them.

"D" - Seems like they're going to find them anyway, so we'll see what they have to offer.

Jiana Hexum - Always a dicey proposition, first of all because Hexum (while a wonderful villain who I hope we see again) is a terrible person who enjoys holding power over others and making them do things they otherwise wouldn't. I'd hate to see what she'd ask of BH, more specifically Ashton and FCG, if they do go to her for help. Plus they don't know if Hexum was just hired to do work for Paragon's Call/Ruby Vanguard or if she believes in their cause.

The Green Seekers - Gus and Olly are more detectives than soldiers but it's all hands on deck right now.

House Lumas and Oshad Breshio - I'm sure Ela would love to bring some justice to the people who murdered her sons and the Anger would probably like another shot at them too.

Orlana Seshadri - One of the things I most wish BH had done while back in Jrusar was talk to Madame Seshadri. I'm not sure how much power the Chandei Quorum could bring to the fight, but they at least ought to know what's going on practically on their doorstep.

Ira Wendagoth - Like Hexum, this one is tricky. Ira's powerful and can be an ally, but he's fundamentally untrustworthy and will betray them one day. But if BH can survive this event without that or a TPK, they can worry about that eventual betrayal later.

The Verdict - Yeah maybe they still have beef with BH, but the team did heal them before they eventually beat them to the prize they were all after. Maybe that little bit of kindness counts for something?

The Calloways - I'm not sure how much help Ollie would be, but Birdy is no slouch in a fight and they've both got multiple reasons for trying to stop what's going on at the key.

Imahara Joe - I'll admit part of my reason for putting him on this list is just because I want more of Joe, who is a delight. He wouldn't be able to help them fight, but if they need tech he's the guy.

All-Minds-Burn - I'm not sure how much help Justi Pross and the gang could be outside of Bassuras or if they'd even want to pick a side in what's going on, but they'd be able to take it to whatever is left of the Paragon's Call, so maybe?

Grandma Morri - She would probably be helping already if travel and communication between the planes weren't part of the magic that got borked due to the solstice. Still, if there is a way, always count on Nana.

Delilah Briarwood - I mean, what could go wrong? I really hope it doesn't come to this, because if it does and they survive the battle on the moon or at the key, then they'll eventually have to fight her and possibly Vox Machina...and nothing good can come from any of that.

The Gorgynei - They'd probably be reluctant to leave the Gloomed Jungles and expose both their existence and their number, but this is a desperate situation. Bonus! Matt might have to voice Manad and Teven Klask in a scene with Fearne, Ashton, and Chetney and wouldn't that be an awkward delight?!

FRIDA, Deanna, and Prism - Get the Lore-sonists on the case! (This is HIGHLY unlikely, but we can dream.)

The Diarchy of Uthodurn - Team Wildemount promised to report back and never did. And while the rulers and the city may be a long, LONG way from the fight, they should have some sort of force to send and quite a few reasons to fight Ludinus.

#critical role spoilers #critical role #bells hells #lists #quipxotic stuff

[ferallester]

okay I no longer have the energy to finish this, pls enjoy a third of pinof react #3 and my rereaction

oh wow immediate smack with literally zebras and conclussy— DAN

when they said dapwe pinof my reaction was ‘nobody’s called it that’ and then I think someone did so

I fucking love their conversation about the algorithm

their outfits do in fact suck in pinof 7

nose pressure <3

“Spock sideburns” FUCK OFFFFF YOU’RE RIGHT BUT NOW I WANT TO KNOW YOUR TREK OPINIONS (I have already said this but I reiterate it anyway)

“oi!!” *Phil laughs in the background*

I’ve paused on a very Dan derp of his I’m way too tired for this

Phil: *attempts to explain himself and gives up* (dork)

what the fuck is going on in the bottom of Google

grass hair babey!!!!

Dan’s hair evolution apparently boils down to side parting straight to side parting curly

what even were those boxers Phil

piss mention

Phil fails at the singing but not entirely the Scottish accent, nice

fuck the stress mushroom!!!! I’ve never seen how truly gross it was until now tho ewwwww

they make fun of them moving to Dan’s room and then their only reaction to it is that the lighting sucks, okay

wish they’d reacted to the king of the universe moment

Dan fails maths, and worse, I believed him in that second because I was sleepy and on my way to work LMAO

god bless the John Cena memes

phulge 🙄

rubber chicken scream my beloved!!!!

LADDERS YEAHHHHHHHHHH

SOUND BARRIER I keep referencing it in my fics help, it’s up there alongside ‘stay still’ ‘stencil’ from the bloopers

the fucking heart hole— 😭

the nacho fic makes me incredibly uncomfortable

Phil shut the FUCK UP we KNOW you’re touching (affectionate)

I’m trying to read their reactions to Phil saying exhaust pipe sexily and currently I’m just getting gay disgust

Phil’s Grandma’s Lore is fucking iconic

hand thing

boys shut the fuck up

I cannot fucking believe their window was open

I also can’t believe Dan actually trusted Phil enough to do a trust fall

old merch talk!!!!

sneeze fetish 😭

love that the sneeze fetish site is not only in New Zealand, but that it’s a government site

pinof 8!! my first pinof!! their haircuts are fucking awful

ADORE the outfits tho

they say that haircuts make them look startled— yeah that tracks

fucking cowards, Bork and Boof are both heckin valid

did we even fucking realise that they were probably trying to get that ad bc I distinctly remember we were just excited to get so much content

Phil can’t spell <3

weird soft launch

pokescream

YAS CAT!!!! YAS CAT!!!!!!!!!!

violence, “we touch very early in this one” shut the FUCK UP

tiny dan on Dan’s thumb is so fucking funny

C H O M P

WHY DIDNT THEY REACT TO THE INHALE A KOALA QUESTION AAAAAAUGH

Dan is INCREDIBLY violent as a lawnmower

can’t believe Phil said yaoi

Dan meanwhile is just a horny mess who likes Wang™️ (and can I blame him? nah)

the boys, upon hating the mannequin challenge: fuck it we sleuthing

I am too tired to figure out what film posters are hanging up

the weird water edit leading into the boys talking about how they used to edit together 🥺

also fuck I’m only a third through and it’s a quarter past one in the morning, I’m doing the rest of this tomorrow

#the feral speaketh #dan and phil #phan

[keanureevesisbae]

tales of love - a fight to remember

Vision impaired!Syverson x Molly Sweet (asian ofc)

Summary: Sy and Molly have their first real fight.

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 674

Masterlist // tales of love masterlist //

｡◕ ‿ ◕｡

It had been a long and straining day on him. Listening to stories, painful stories he resonated with by fellow former military men and women. It took a toll on him. Emotionally drained, tired. But when he heard Molly came home, he tried to put on a brave face.

Emphasis on tried. 

As she continues on to talk during dinner, Sy’s mind is somewhere else. 

The loud cling of Molly dropping her utensils on her plate snaps him out of it. ‘You aren’t listening,’ she says. ‘You’re zoning out.’

‘I was listening.’

‘Great, tell me what it was about.’

Okay, yeah he doesn’t know. Stupid him for lying.

‘See, you weren’t listening,’ Molly says. ‘Sy, how hard is it to muster up the human decency to just listen to me?’

‘It’s just not my day,’ he tells her.

‘It hasn’t been your week,’ she harshly clarifies for him. ‘I’ve been taking it all week long, but now you’re just being incredibly rude.’

‘I’ve had a long day.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ Molly bites back. ‘And I’ve been getting it off my chest now for the last ten minutes, only you have not heard a word of it.’

That isn’t very nice of him, he now realizes it. ‘Darling, I can listen now,’ he says.

She scoffs. ‘Ask Axel about it,’ she says and from the sound of it, she’s standing up from the table. ‘Unlike you, he listened to the whole damn thing.’

He lets out a deep sigh as he hears her march out and he thinks she’s going to the backyard. Axel whines. ‘Oh, so you say this is my fault?’

Axel whines again.

Sy places his elbows on the table, before rubbing his face with his hands. He knows he’s in the wrong, he should’ve just told her about how bad his day was, instead of pretending he was listening. If he told her about his day—or week for that matter—she might’ve understood him zoning out.

It was the first time her tone went from deep, husky and friendly, to a harsher tone. It was almost like the words were knifes that hit him. 

‘Should talk to her, right?’ he asks Axel, who gives him a confirming bork. He gets up from the table and makes his way to the backyard, Axel following suit. ‘Where’s Molly?’ he asks the canine and despite him not wearing his uniform, Axel still manages to guide Sy to Molly.

He takes place next to her on the grass, however she does not talk to him. ‘Molly?’ he carefully approaches her.

‘I’d say something to you, but I’m afraid I might bore you to death.’

Okay, he deserved that one. ‘I’m here to apologize. It was incredibly rude of me to not listen to you. In all honesty, I had the shittiest week and today was the worst day of all.’

She sighs. ‘Then why didn’t you tell me that? If you just say to me you had a shitty day, I’ll give you the space and alone time you need, if that is what you need.’

Sy rubs his face again. ‘I’m sorry, darling. You’re right. It’s just that I never really spoke to anyone I deeply care about… About my feelings. It’s either a therapist or someone in the support group. But never someone like you.’

‘We can practice,’ she says, wrapping her arm around his thick one, before placing her cheek against his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry I snapped.’

‘Nah, I deserved that. It’s just that… You’re the first person who acted I wasn’t made out of porcelain. Before the accident, I got in all sorts of arguments, but now people just pretend I can’t handle it.’ He presses a kiss on her forehead. ‘Thanks for keeping me in check and I’m sorry too.’

They stay there in silence, as Molly nuzzles against his side. ‘You know,’ she then says. ‘We just had our first fight. Kinda cool if you think about it.’

He scoffs. ‘Well, never again,’ he says. ‘Never ever again.’

｡◕ ‿ ◕｡

｡◕ ‿ ◕｡

Taglist: @diegos-butt // @crazybutconfidentaf // @lyrarodriguez // @thelastsock // @cherry-gemz // @oddsnendsfanfics // @kebabgirl67 // @abschaffer2 // @bourbonwithice // @eldarwen333 // @needmorereading // @gearhead66 // @kingliam2019 // @omgkatinka // @liecastillo // @xuxszx // @sofiebstar // @pterodactylterrace // @inlovewithhisblueeyes // @viking-raider // @identity2212 // @kneelforloki // @pretty-toxic-revolver // @evansabove1981 // @little-brattyangel //

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill x asian ofc #captain syverson #captain syverson x asian ofc #captain syverson x ofc #captain syverson x oc #captain syverson x molly sweet #molly sweet #tales of love

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - Does Anybody Have A Scrub Daddy™️

For: @catalystofthesoul @lunastarthecat @currentlylurking @buff-borf-bork @zombiemerlin @lexosaurus @higgidigs @what-even-is-sleep @language-of-ghosts @ crazydragonlady

The G.I.W. litterally invited all this chaos. So there is absolutely no sympathy to be spared. Plus, they’re just stupid face bigoted meanies with about as much colour to them as unbaked potatoes

Mr. Lancer looks over the class before nodding to himself, “so as you all know there is a G.I.W. compound just a little way outside of Amity Park”, nodding slightly at the class paying more close attention, “tomorrow, yes I know this is quite last minute, the G.I.W. have extended an invitation for us to tour that very compound”.

Todd jerking up a had, speaking before Lancer even calls on him, “can we bring flamethrowers”.

“Absolutely not”; Lancer throws a bit of a glare at the teen, who rolls his eyes.

“What about a bazooka!?!”.

“A collection of knives?”.

“What about pro-ghost propaganda t-shirts?”.

“Can I bring a blob ghost?”.

“Oh mi god yes! Blob ghost army to their doorstep, girl!”.

Lancer sighs and gestures for the class to be quiet. Daniel having not said anything and just chuckling in the back of the class is honestly more worrying that everyone else. “Quiet down. There will be no weapons, beyond standard ecto-weapons for personal protection”, glaring slightly, “and that does not include bazookas or flamethrowers or knives or bombs. Only pen-blasters, lipstick-blasters, and personal mini shields”, eyeing Daniel, “and Daniel, please try not to destroy anything”.

Daniel smirks, “you know… technically I am certified to wield a bazooka”. Lancer simply sighs.

Lancer truly has no idea why his principal thought this was actually a good idea.

---

Danny laughs to himself as he walks into the classroom the next day. He knows shit is going to be fucking CRAZY crazy. Especially since Wes looked like he had at least eight major recording devices on him, not including his phone. He’d bet money on the teens necklace being a disguised mini camera too. But hey! At least that’ll keep the G.I.W. from being too fucked up due to fear of being recorded!

And Lancer eyeing Wes with a tired look tells Danny that the teacher felt the exact same way as him. Lancer clapping his hands together, “alright everyone! To the bus please! Single file!”. Everyone runs out, decidedly not in single file or in any kind of orderly way. Danny’s not sure why the man still tries to control the chaos, all things considered.

…

By the time they actually get to the compound, everyone on board is getting a little rowdy. At least eleven games of seat surfing have happened, one guy had begun doing some seriously outdated planking, it smelled like someone had lit a joint that Lancer had yet to successfully find, and there was a very heated debate about proper Tamagotchi care while calling Lancer old for knowing what they’re talking about much to the teacher's confusion.

And once the G.I.W. compound was actively in sight, damn near everyone went out of their way to stare meanly or hungrily at random G.I.W. men to just be randomly creepy or scary. Why? Because fuck the G.I.W. that’s why; the whole fucking town actually really hated them pretty much.

Lancer sighing as the bus stops, “please, everyone, behave yourselves”. Emilie lifts up a paint can and laughs meanly, chucking it out the window and immediately causing a code brown. Off to a fucking GREAT start.

Danny’s the last to get off, hands in his pockets, “Lance?”.

“Yes Daniel?”.

“You know this is going to be a right shit show, yeah?”. Lancer sighs, nodding slowly. So Danny pats him on the arm, “you have my pity”, then moving to join his classmates.

The most surprising thing about the first five minutes is that absolutely no one has punched one of the agents yet. What’s also not legitimately surprising is the way Danny can feel the agents all eyeing him. Why? Because the G.I.W. plus last-minute plus him really only equals them having figured his shit.

Should he maybe have skipped out of this? Probably. But he wasn’t a chuckle fuck like that and it’s not like they could end his ass? Sure torture was totally on the table, but who doesn’t get a little dose of torture in their life every now and again these days? So long as whatever happens in the near future doesn’t involve Dash’s underwear, Danny couldn’t be paid to give a flying rats ass about what happens in this shitty little middle of butt fuck nowhere compound.

Lancer eventually noticing the staring, approaching Danny some, “Daniel… is there something going on between the Fenton’s and the G.I.W. again?”. It wouldn’t be the first time after all.

Danny snickers, “eh they’re probably just playing a lets abduct Danny game”.

Lancer looks concerned.

-

Annnnnnnnnnd not even five minutes later Danny winds up getting separated from the group via weird moving floor tiles and being knocked out. Apparently a strange ‘pop the balloons full of powder’ game to teach ghost hunting somehow was really just a way to release an ectoplasm-specific knock-out drug. But of course that kinda went wrong, knocking fuck all everyone out ‘cause fuckin’ everyone and their mother was ecto-contaminated these days. But anyways, Danny winds up getting dragged into some over sterile room… all the while all the live footage Wes had been taken suddenly goes live, due to his unconscious finger no longer holding down a certain little trigger. Queue the G.I.W.s image and name getting tarnished even more for knocking out a goddamn group of teenagers. But also queue a now slightly panicking and very pissed off Jazz Fenton, who was currently hauling ass to rain down wrath on some shitty men in shitty suits. Though she forgoes weapons purely because she knows, and unlike everyone else actually cares, about the fact that the G.I.W. have sensors for literally anything ectoplasmic; including stuff powered by ectoplasm. So she was going to take a page out of her brother's book, and her mother's training, and punch a couple of people in the face.

---

Danny wakes up blearily. Blinking and chuckling faintly, speaking up from the table he’s definitely strapped down on to, “well good morning gentlemen, a lovely fucking day we’re having right?”.

One of the men glares at him, tightening a restraint just to be a dick, talk about a totally dick move right? “Silence, ghost”.

Danny, in fact, does not go into silence, “do I look like I’ve got a glow or whacky ass glow-stick eyes? You been smoking Johnny’s good shit”, Danny waving a finger mockingly from inside the restraint, “you know he gets really pissed about people stealing his shit, right?”.

Annnnnnnnnd he gets a cattle prod to the side. Nice. What is it with people and jabbing him with cattle prods specifically. Valerie did that, his mom that one notable time, Vlad keeps doing it for funsies Danny thinks, and Walker actually has a specialised cattle prod with Phantom’s name branded on it.

Why couldn’t someone spice it up with bear mace or something?

Anyway, some fuck stick rolls out a cart of scalpels, Exacto knives, and other medical thingamajigs and doohickies; and Danny sighs. This shit? Really? Chuckling anyway at the men, “oOoOoOo, now that the sharp silver friends are here can I officially dub this area the stabbin’ cabin?”, beginning a little cheer of: “stabbin’! Cabin! stabbin’! Cabin! stabbin’! Cabin! stabbin’! Cabin! stabbin’! Cabin!“; until one of them gets fed up enough with his shenanigans that they just stab him one in the leg with a knife or some shit. Danny sticking out his tongue at them, “awww are you trying to butter me up with a nice little butter knife”, that earns him another stab, “hey can we at least play rock, paper, Caesar over what gets actually used first?”.

One of the men scowls, “no. This isn’t up to you”.

“Well don’t worry about any medical sensor shit, I promise I’m in stab-le condition”.

They just ignore him and move on to cutting off his shirt. Him muttering, “well this sure as shit ain’t my preferred type of exposure”, blinking, “oh wait! Make sure to take pictures please!”, smirking, “I came pretty and proper for my all my close-ups!”, and winking. They slap a piece of white duct tape on his mouth, him promptly eating it, “now that’s what I call pointless”.

One with a particularly excessively shaved head -like really, the dude had a really fucking ugly head shape and should thus never ever shave almost down to smooth scalp ever again- just gets this party popping n’ hopping by shanking him one right in the sternum. Which is not how you do a fucking dissection, man. Have class why dontcha? “Bro, you're supposed to start happy stabby time higher up, did they not train you for shit? Like the right proper dick weasel you are?”.

Some other guy decidedly starts the actual dissection process. Baldy was a basic bitch that probably didn’t know his scold’s bridles from his bone saws. Danny makes a point to whistle the most annoying song he can think of followed up by whistling a good old fashion Rick Roll. They cut a little more meanly for that, “really cut in deep there, fuck sticks. You know… y'all should start stabbing clocks too, it’s a great way to kill time”.

And then the dick on the right decides to jab him right in the fucking heart with a fucking tazer like an ASSHOLE. Danny forcing down a wince with comedy, “awww that’s touching. Really heartwarming. You’re the ecg to my heart, babe”, blowing a cheeky kiss, “we’re really getting to the heart of the matter, eh?”.

The G.I.W. douche canoe snapping, ”you are, by far, the worst ghost we have ever captured”.

“Oh please do sing my glorious praises more!”, Danny breaking out into song, “🎵You wooo me so! Just look at my heart palpitations go!🎵”. He even manages to keep up the mild tune when one of the fucking asses rips out a solid wad of Danny’s very own intestines. Danny spitting a bit and eyeing the mound on the floor, “wow that is very officially eight metric fuck tons of my exposed steaming innards! Nice!”, looking back to the men, “so how we gonna cook it?”, groaning, “oh wait don’t tell me, you guys are the ‘we like it raw’ kinda cannibals?”.

They ignore him and keep going, peeling away bits of skin and muscle, moving around organs.

…

“You know, US stats say a guy gets stabbed every fifty-four minutes; I think I’m really skewing those rates”, barking out a laugh, “soon it’s gonna be a guy gets stabbed fifty-four times every minute!”.

…

“What? You gonna use knitting needles next? Really start following a pattern?”.

…

“Guys, I promise I’m not a Pikachu, you can’t play poke a man with me”.

…

“You know, I bet y’all’s therapists have all said time heals all wounds, and your responses were to stab them and see how long it would take“.

…

One of the guys stabs something that is definitely not part of Danny’s insides, it sounding vaguely like an over pressurised gas canister being pierced, followed by a loud bang and peanut butter getting absolutely splattered fucking everywhere. The G.I.W. guys screaming about cleanliness breaches, while Danny glances at his entirely popped open and exposed stomach, “huh. I forgot I stored a jar of peanut butter in there. Man that must be so expired”, at the men beginning to scream and the globs of peanut butter beginning to attack the men, “and definitely ecto-contaminated”.

Needless to say, Danny was having a very exposing fun time.

---

Meanwhile, while Danny’s busy torturing his tortures, Jazz gets to the compound at the same time as Lancer, one of the less ecto-contaminated people, wakes up.  Lancer quirking an eyebrow at her, “Jasmine? Why are you here?”. Jazz sighing, “I saw Danny getting abducted over Wes’s stream”.

“He was streaming this?”, Lancer sighs to himself, slouching for a bit before walking after Jazz as she begins moving around the compound, kicking open random doors. Lancer muttering, “never mind. I really need to ban Wesley from carrying any kind of camera”.

What neither of them were aware of, was the fact that there was actually a second stream coming straight from a mini cam Wes slipped into Danny’s back pocket. Danny totally noticed, Danny totally didn’t care, Danny was totally letting Wes take the blame if the G.I.W. tried suing over the footage.

Jazz humming, “that would be an idea but currently I’m glad you haven’t”, kicking in another door and sending the G.I.W. agent on the other side flying into a wall. Her smirking and walking over, “okay you, where is my brother”; even Lancer’s a bit thrown by the threat to her voice.

“As if I would tell some ghost lover”. Jazz punches him in the kidney and then slams the heel of her shoe into his forehead. Turning on the next G.I.W. agent in the room, “where is my brother”.

“You’re probably a ghost too”.

Jazz breaks his fucking jaw, before moving on to the next man.

Lancer stares a bit, officially believing those odd comments he’s heard about Danny beating the Hell out of the school bullies. Size really meant nothing when you knew what you were doing. Jazz steps on the next guys fingers and rams her knee clean into his eye socket; before body slamming him through a wall and moving on to the next man in the next room.

At this point, Lancer’s just following in an attempt to ‘supervise’ the situation and the one teenager just going on a rampage; this was so far above his pay grade.

And at that very moment the wall next to Jazz, who’s currently holding a man up by the collar, gets blown in; bits of rubble and… peanut butter? going flying by their heads.

Lancer whipping some off while men shout about cleanliness breaches. Jazz blinking before decking the man she was holding up in the face, knocking him out easily. Groaning sounding from inside the room the peanut butter came from, followed by thumping, some screaming, someone that sounds suspiciously like Daniel Fenton, “awwww, you look disappointed. What’s the stigmata?”.

Jazz damn near running into the room, shouting, “Danny!”.

Lancer just stands near a bit of destroyed wall, Daniel chuckling while half attached to some kind of experimentation table and having seeming been completely gutted. Lancer can’t help but turn to the side and vomit. While Danny speaks up, “oh uh, hey, some totally unneeded but needed help would totally be appreciated here. This is limiting my range of motion so much that I’m just really not interested in getting e-motional attachment”.

“Danny, oh my god”, Jazz ripping the straps off him.

“Oh hey now, surely these guys just grabbed me up specifically for all the cutting remarks, right?”.

Jazz smacks him one over the head, his skin flaps flapping around and bits of insides dripping out, “Danny this should not be funny to you!”.

“And how many fucks do I give?”.

“I don’t know, Danny”.

“Well I don’t know either, so you want the measurements in imperial or metric? Either way it’s still zero”, and flips her off. She cuffs him over the head for that.

A G.I.W. agent pops out around a corner, grabbing Danny by the wirst, “what are you doing out of containment!”.

“Pfffft. Fuck you, you peon”, and Danny’s arm just… pops off. Sending the G.I.W. agents stumbling over, the bone of the arm smashing him in the face so hard it breaks his nose. Danny blinks, “what the actual fuck actually”, looking to Jazz in shock, “I just delimbed my arm! I AM THE DANNY STARFISH!”. Lancer sighs, “I’m going to check on the other teens. Just, Daniel? Please put yourself back together again?”; he is decidedly not asking. He knows as well as Shakespeare knows drama, that questioning Daniel’s everything was simply not worth it and didn’t actually do anyone any good.

Danny chuckles, watching his poor poor son of a bitch teacher walk off, avoiding bits and bobs of rubble as he goes, Danny shouting after him, “I do not apologise for solidly wrecking shop!”. His teacher just waving over his shoulder at him. Danny turning his silly smile on his sister, “so, did you know that spinal fluid tastes like a mixture of bananas and a nine-volt battery?”, waving her off, “sure with a slight tingle of the ecto, but that one’s all on me”.

“I was worried about, you problem child”.

Danny cackles at that very loudly while Jazz jumps a little, spinning on her heel to punch some APPARENTLY FUCKING SENTIENT PEANUT-BUTTER. The peanut butter makes grabbled sounds of annoyance.

And off in the distance, another explosion rings out. Ahhh it sounds like all the teens have awoken, and now doomsday has finally come.

---

By the time Lancer got back to his students, utter pandemonium had broken out. There were fistfights left and right. One guy was being choked. Someone had seemingly forged a hammer utilising bits of metal torn out from a wall and their lipstick-blaster, they were screaming about ‘indoctrinating others into a good ol’ round of whack-a-mole!’ while chasing a G.I.W. agent. Emilie had an entire katana and was just going to town on anything that looked expensive. Eight people where jumping weirdly and chanting in gibberish around a tied-up G.I.W. agent. And then there was Wes… off in the corner recording with a smirk, he even had a tripod set up; it was probably recording live and streaming with Lancer’s luck.

Oh god the angry parents were probably coming.

One of the agents can be heard shouting, “this was not how this was supposed to go! What is wrong with this town!”. Receiving cackles in return. You know,  Lancer had once wondered why no one thought Amity Park was actually a real place, but of course they didn’t; the sentient peanut butter -there’s more of it?????- really selling the sheer insanity here.

Apparently, the peanut butter has congealed into a hulking goopy mass, with G.I.W. agents and other assorted things stuck in it and struggling to get free. Lancer has never heard peanut butter roar before, and he wishes it had stayed that way. And just then the angry parents arrive on schedule, being stereotypical as everything by currently wielding shed tools and torches, as they break through a few sidewalls.  Lancer’s not surprised to see James’s rumoured to be mob-involved parents at the forefront with hunting knives.

Danny walking up behind the teacher, looking wrapped up like a mummy and still sans an entire arm, “well this is some syphilitic insanity shit right here”. Lancer just sighs, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. Though he does side-eye Jazz, when she walks in dragging an unconscious man, “we found who was responsible for this whole plan”.

Lancer sighs, “good. That’s good”; sounding tired.

Danny giving a cheery, “yup! Now we know who gets to foot the bill! And who’s got enough of an ego to make my organs be or-gones”, gesturing to his rather messy self since the bandages and everything were just done over top of the blood splatter gore, “got a sponge? ‘Cause I could so use a good sponge bath scrub down. Seeing as I am the quirkiest of quirked up white boys goaded with the sauce and I deserve to get this everything hygienically busted down sexual style”.

“Will… you be alright”.

“Indubitably”. Danny then shrieks like a banshee, roundhouse kicks an agent in the face, and goes off whacking them and different things with his unattached arm.

One of the parents laughing at the entire situation, many of the teens having just started infighting for the fuck of it, “well at least the kids are having fun”.

Someone shouting, “hello hello! Oh my my my what have we here!”, is followed by a loud explosion that results in the peanut butter monster just kinda exploding everywhere. Danny snickering from being thrown into the ceiling, “ah I just love sticky situations. A lovely turn of events”.

Everyone can see the culprit of the explosion after a while, Emilie’s father strongman style holding up a questionable gas canister with a knife in it, “THE DRAGONS HEART HAS BEEN SLAIN!”. Far too much laughter followed that statement.

---

The clean up the next day was truly something to behold, and the peanut butter factories were confused for a few weeks by the aggressive amount of their product that was being sold and used in memes. And the Amity news absolutely paid to use Wes’s footage, including the audio taken from Danny’s back pocket which had already gone viral. The town's general consensus was that the Fenton boy apparently had one really disturbed sense of humour.

But the other notable thing that happened shortly after? Why the local Amity Ghost Relief Fund receives an honestly staggering amount of donations, why? Well someone *cough cough* Danny and Tucker *cough cough* had created a subscription-based donation service to supply the great world with weekly footage of Amity Park’s general insanity. Apparently selling the visual embodiment of a crackfic was lucrative business. No one was going to question how the actual fuck the teens got around the G.I.W.s tendency to screen and block footage from Amity getting out into world too heavily though. Maybe Phantom had helped them out to make up for it being him and his kind’s fault that the town had been months away from complete bankruptcy; eh, who were they to question their town hero? And hey, at least the town wasn’t all strapped for cash now? Right? Right.

End.

Prompts: Peanut butter. and Danny Fenton has been kidnapped! Unfortunately for his kidnappers, he finds this hilarious. and The Fenton siblings aren't just formitable with different types of ghost hunting weapons; their black belt of a mother taught them better than that! and Danny goes missing, and it's up to Jazz to find him. and Oh no! Danny has gotten himself captured by either his parents or the Guys in White. Hope nobody brought a scalpel with them hahaha…. unless? and Amity Park holds a fundraiser to try to profit off the ghosts in town, but with no one biting Danny and co. have to figure out how to con investors/tourists into supporting the town. and danny learns he can starfish his limbs. and The school field trip to the Guys in White facility goes wrong. and Mr. Lancer doesn’t get paid enough for this.  and Jazz, but make her terrifying. and Amity Park takes a lot of damage on a regular basis. The city government has disaster funds and the mayor donates some dough out of his pocket, but six months after Danny Phantom and ghost fights appear, the money is about to run dry.

#Danny Phantom #phandom #phic phight #phic phight 2022 #danny fenton #dissection #giw #field trips #mr. lancer #jazz fenton #chaos #crack fic #Dark Comedy #bad puns #peanut butter #fanfic #phanphic #my writing #have a fic suck my dick #phantomphangphucker #Danny's a little shit #captured by the giw #recues

[archaictold]

❝ I suppose that makes me rather lucky that, at least fundamentally, my world still has most things in common with this one. ❞ As interesting as her world sounded, he imagined it must have been quite a shock to be pulled into another so vastly different. He felt somewhat bad for her. ❝ You've probably had no shortage of new elements to grow used to. ❞ So the ocean was still a largely unknown domain, home to monsters... That wasn't so different than Teyvat, really. Rex Lapis had defeated no meager sum of leviathans in his time as the Prime of the Adepti. ❝ That sounds familiar enough to me still. Though we navigate its surface, there's still much we don't know about what lies within the ocean. ❞ A pause, and his brows pinched together while his smile turned sheepish.

❝ As a corollary, though, I can safely say there weren't insectoids in our oceans. Monsters, on the other hand, yes. ❞

The mention of an island in the sky had him lapse into thought. Wasn't that... like Celestia? No, on second thought, perhaps it wasn't. Only the divine dwelled on Celestia; no mere mortals would have called it home.

Setting aside his pondering, Zhilan instead laid his focus on the introduction of new vocabulary.

❝ Heh. Thank you for the clarification. It's not a word I've ever heard. ❞

❝ From what you tell me, I gather it wasn't just one collective society in your world but many instead. I can only imagine how they would all vary... ❞ Provided an example, the scholar perked up. ❝ Oh! So you're adept in martial arts? ❞ The glasses on his nose received a push at the middle, for all this excitement had led them to slowly descend down its bridge. ❝ I wish I could say the same, I only know a thing or two myself. ❞ His scrawny stature and the way his large robe looked thoroughly burrowed only emphasized this admission

@passthrough —— moved bc i'm transitioning to beta and tumblr borked it up. o(-(

#sorry for moving this! transitioning to beta and tumblr jumbled it up ugh #ALSO APOLOGIES FOR HOW LONG THIS IS #zhilan simply Never shuts up (nor does his narrative) #passthrough #passthrough 001. #man..... i want crab. bout to act up n go get me some seafood..