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9r7g5h · 4 years

Text

Teach to Learn, Learn to Teach

Fandom: Fantasy High

Rating: T

Genre: General/Friendship

Summary: Ragh and Tracker both have a lot to learn from each other.

Words: 3269

AN: So, the topic of Ragh taking a level in cleric and Tracker taking a level in barbarian came up on tumblr, and I was so intrigued I had to write something for these gaybies. It will probably be three parts, one focusing on Ragh, one on Tracker, and one about them going home, or something like that. Just enjoy chapter one.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fantasy High.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

They had both known, when Tracker first brought up her goal to Ragh, that it would be rough going. Fallinel wasn't the most welcoming of outsiders as it was, though at least High Elf decorum granted adventurers safe passage, so long as they weren't causing issues. But causing issues was the entire reason they were there, and Ragh's official adventurer certification he had received at graduation only did so much when he was helping Tracker constantly shoulder her way into temples of Galilea, trying to turn back the carefully placed lies the high priests had said to turn their goddess away from her wilder ways.

The fact that she was actually making headway with the younger elves, the ones who saw how prim and proper their elders were and balked against that fate, only made things even worse for them. Add in the newly formed 'Pack of Galilea,' younger elves who not only wanted to worship the wild of the night but become wolves themselves, their leader constantly trying to convince Tracker to bite her so she could turn the rest of her pack and give more strength to the wild form of the goddess they loved, and, well.

Honestly, they really should have expected something like this. Should have expected that the high priest would deem her a problem. Should have expected him to decide to end it. Should have expected him to know that only silver could hurt a werewolf, and armed the elf he had hired to do his will properly.

Had they expected it, maybe she wouldn't be gasping in the back of their van, the silver poisoning from the arrow still stuck deep in her side seeping into her veins while Ragh tried to avoid the trees, putting distance between them and where they had been attacked. Had they expected it, maybe she would have cast Moon Haven earlier, ensuring their safety. Had they expected it, maybe they wouldn't have been goofing off, listening to music and chatting while their dinner cooked.

Maybe, maybe, maybe she wouldn't be dying before she got to see Kristen again.

"Ok, I think I lost them."

She wasn't sure when Ragh finally pulled the van over, or how long it had been or how far they had gone, just that now he was besides her, talking. A knife in his hand, cutting through her second favorite shirt (damn them for that), pulling the cloth away from the wound.

"Sorry sis, this is gonna hurt."

She barely felt him cut into her skin - the head hadn't gone all the way through, couldn't be broken off and the shaft pulled out, it had to be cut out and stitched up - but she did feel as he began to pull it out, the silver arrowhead brushing against the dying skin, making her howl in pain as everything within her wanted to flee. Flee the pain, the sheer burning agony of every single one of her cells dying, flee into the night and the moonlight until she could curl up somewhere that felt and smelt like home.

But then it was gone. The silver was gone, she could think again, and though everything hurt, she could focus on Ragh's words.

"Shit shit shit sorry sis, I had to get it out, shit. Fuck, god damn it, what was next? Think, Ragh, you know this." His voice fell to muttering for a bit as he pressed a cloth to the wound, looking through the medical kit. She wanted to say something, give him a hint or encouragement, but she was so tired. "Sterilize it, fuck, that's right! Where are you, you tiny little shit, you're hiding better then Riz to get out of PE... there you are!" He held up a small bottle triumphantly, used his teeth to undo the top, and splashed a generous portion directly into the wound.

Tracker thankfully passed out immediately, her thoughts a dozen swirls of pain and Galilea thanking her for her efforts and wanting nothing more then to just sleep.

It was morning when she next woke up. Her tank top had been replaced with a sports jersey, her side covered with enough bandages that she was almost sure she now classified as a large creature instead of medium, and the smell of burning fish covered everything else. Her stomach growled, despite the acrid smoke, and that was enough to get her moving, sluggishly kicking open the door to see what kind of trouble Ragh was in now.

He was, surprisingly, doing well for himself. He had built a decent fire pit, had managed to grab a dozen fish or so from a nearby river, and only two of them seemed to have caught fire. The others actually looked amazing, and before she could even think the actual thought, she had grabbed one, sinking her teeth into the flesh, ravenous.

Ragh just chuckled. "Good morning to you too, sis. I'm so glad you're ok. I was worried I was going to have to call Kristen and give her bad news, and honestly, your girlfriend scares me."

She couldn't help but laugh through her mouthful of fish, forcing it down so she could respond in a timely manner.

"Full honestly, and I'll kill you if you ever tell her? She scares me a little bit too. Love her, but she has some weird shit going on with the gods that's just on a whole nother level."

She had been sleeping for two days. Ragh had done the best he could, keeping her comfortable and hydrated, just glad he had remembered enough from his mandatory healing class to stabilize her. He didn't know enough to actually heal, he had spent too much of the class mooning over a cute cleric guy in the front row, but cutting out arrows used knives, so he remembered that at least.

"I just always relied on having a cleric," he admitted with a shrug. "Never thought much more about it."

"You thought enough to save me," Tracker pointed out, resting her non-cash covered hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

It took another day for her spells to come back, her energy finally high enough after gorging on fish and the few rabbits Ragh caught to finally cast a healing hand on herself. Ragh watched with a new found fascination as she unwrapped the wound, showing his shoddy stitches to keep her held together, only for the silvery light to flow from her hand, popping out the stitches and leaving her with healed, slightly pink skin.

"Sis, you gotta teach me how to do that."

A raised eyebrow, a glance over at him as he half reached out, as if he wanted to touch her newly healed wound to make sure it was truly one, a tilt of her head as she waited for him to continue. He didn't, instead his skin flushing a deeper green as he shuffled his feet.

"You want to become a healer?"

Ragh just shrugged, rubbing at the back of his head. They both needed to get haircuts soon, Tracker noticed and mentally filed away, watching as he felt the longer hair tickling the back of his neck and tried to move it away. Her own shaved side was growing out as well, much to her annoyance, though she quickly shook her head, forcing away the random thoughts as she looked back at her friend.

"I know I'm not that smart," Ragh muttered, giving a shrug as if his lower intelligence score wasn't that big of a deal to him, "but even doing my best, there wasn't much I could do to help after, you know." He waved towards her and the pile of bloody gauze next to her. "I've never had to take care of someone before, someone else always did that, but now it's just the two of us, sis. What if it's worse next time? I don't know about all this religion stuff, but I've thought about it a lot over the last few days, and while I'm still gonna be the tank, it might help if I can also help take care of us."

She wasn't sure what he was expecting, but Tracker could tell he wasn't expecting her to lean over and pull him into a giant bear hug, only to pull back a few moments later and punch him in the arm.

"Don't sell yourself so short, big guy," Tracker said sternly, waggling a finger at him. "You kept me alive, which is the best thing you could have done. As for the healing, well, do you have a god in mind?"

Ragh immediately perked up, a half grin as he began to think. It would be a process, they would both soon find out - when he had come up blank, she had immediately begun with the most obvious of the gods: Cassandra and Galilea. Going over the pros, the cons, how both goddesses would easily accept him, though Cassandra might be a bit happier about it then Galilea was. But, eventually, neither of them just felt right to him, which was the most important thing.

And so began their side quest - finding Ragh a god.

"What about Tempus, god of war," Tracker asked one evening, gutting fish by the fireside as Ragh attempted to mend a hole in his shirt. "A neutral god, popular with a lot of fighters."

It took him a long moment to answer, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips as he tried to keep his stitches straight. Tying off the line, he gave a small shrug.

"Nah. I'm not much of a war guy. I like bashing heads, not overthrowing other governments for whatever reason I come up with, yah know?"

“What about Gruumsh,” Ayda asked a few days later, pulling out the many goods she had brought from Riz’s borrowed suitcase of holding. She didn’t come often - Tracker had made it clear that this was her mission, and while all of their friends were ready to come the moment she said she needed help, she wanted to do this on her own first, or at least try. But every few months Ayda would show up in their camp with care packages and letters (Gorgug had made them satellite phones, but not all of them had planatar fueled vans to keep them charged with, so those were for emergencies only) and a few creature comforts they missed from home, stay for a meal, and then take back whatever they wanted to send with her, letters and keepsakes of their own to their own loved ones.

It was always wonderful, getting the stack of letters from Kristen and Jawbone and the others, and this time she brought advice as well.

“He is already the god of the orcs, which you are at least half of. I would need some of your blood to analyze the exact genetic makeup, and while that is a topic of conversation we will have to revisit in the future, for now I do believe Gruumsh would welcome you into his army.”

Ragh was already shaking his head before she even finished, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “Nah sis, Gruumsh isn’t my kind of guy.”

For a moment Ayda just stood there, watching him, her head tilted to the side. But then her eyes glowed just a bit brighter, and a look of understanding appeared. “Of course. You are neutral good. He is chaotic evil. Your alignments wouldn’t be compatible. I apologize for not thinking of this beforehand.”

Ragh waved her off, giving her a fanged smile. “No harm, no foul, sis. I just get tired of people always thinkin orcs are evil, you know? I’m not, my mom’s not, Gorgug’s for sure not. So I really don’t want to get mixed up with an evil god if I can avoid it.”

Ayda gave a deep nod of understanding. “On my honor as a wizard, and as both the mother and the daughter of the same quite wonderful half-orc, I swear to you, Ragh Barkrock, I shall not make that mistake again. Would you like an orange?”

Ragh happily took the fruit from her outstretched hand, and Ayda gave a small, happy trill before returning to her unpacking, crying a few tears when he handed her a slice.

“What about Talos, our lord of the storms and tempest that ravage our forests almost as well as you ravaged me last night?”

Tracker could barely hide her eye roll and fake gag as she paid for their rooms at the inn, Ragh’s lately hook up hanging off his arm and batting his big elf eyes at him. She had known this was going to happen, again, and had warned him, again, that he needed better tastes in hook ups, but Ragh seemed to had a soft spot for elven twinks, and always ended up bringing one back to the inn whenever they were lucky enough to stay in one. She was just glad that they had separate rooms this time, and hadn’t had to sleep as a wolf in the nearest bush.

“I’m not really a ravishing kind of guy,” Ragh said, trying to free his arm from the elfs’ grasp. “Sure, it’s fun to do every once in a while, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to commit to a ravishing lifestyle yet. What’s that, Tracker? We need to go?” Ragh looked at her with such desperation that she couldn’t turn her back on him like she had last time.

“Come on Ragh, I have important things to do for Galilea.”

“You hear the boss, important god cleric wolf stuff to do. I’ll call you, bye!” Ragh almost ran out the door past her, leaving the poor elf boy pouting at the table, wondering what Ragh meant when he said ‘call.’

“You need to work on your taste in guys, my dude,” Tracker said with a shake of her head as she slid into the driver’s side, glancing over her shoulder at the half-orc hiding in the back seat. “At least stop choosing the clingy ones?”

“Please, just drive.”

In the end, it was Ragh himself who found his god, as was strangely right.

The small town they had stopped in was, by far, their favorite stop so far. Mostly high elves, sure, but high elves strangely welcoming, much more like Adaine then the others they had met so far. A few other species were there too, half elves, a few fairies, and even a couple of gnomes that had taken residence in a nearby cave, turning it into a mix of apartment complexes and work stations. It was the most welcoming town they had been in; it almost felt like home.

And, centered in the middle of town, were their shrines.

It was common for towns this small, Tracker had learned, to not have a temple dedicated to every single god worshiped in the area. While for some towns that meant only one temple, maybe two if there were multiple families with influence, other towns had too many to count, each family or inhabitant following their own deity. So, instead, they had a shrine building instead, each deity with their own table and candles and cushions in front of them so those who worshiped them could pray.

It was there, after he had gone missing for hours on end, that Tracker finally found him. He was just sitting there on one of the cushions, staring at the flickering candle, eyes both vacant and seemingly touched with a new found peace. He didn’t even notice when she sat down next to him, only starting out of whatever trance he seemed to be in when Tracker put her hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

“This is him,” Ragh immediately said, his face lit up with almost the same happy glow as whenever he reminded people he was gay and was met with acceptance instead of the hatred he thought he would find. “I was curious what was in here, so I walked in and thought it was some kind of weird like, massage parlor, but I found my guy, and this dude totally rocks, Tracker! Hoot growl, up high!”

Tracker immediately gave him his high five, giddy with excitement for her friend. And taking a look at the shrine they sat before, she couldn’t help but agree that it fit. Torm, god of courage and self-sacrifice, a provider of protection. Symbolized by a white gauntlet raised against a coming sword. For her bodyguard and best friend, yeah, it felt right.

Of course, finding the god was only the first step in becoming a cleric. Then there was the training.

Not all clerics were as blessed as she and Kristen were (though, of course, no one was as blessed as Saint Kristen Applebees, chosen and denier of Helios, creator of the planatar YES!/?, healer of the Goddex Cassandra). Some clerics had to work to gain their deity’s blessing, to prove that they were good enough vessels of the gods’ holy power. Some were just pains in the asses to get a hold of.

Luckily, Torm seemed to approve of Ragh.

It took a while, a few days after they left the town, Ragh standing between her and a weird lizard creature neither of them could remember the name of, for Torm to finally respond to the prayers Tracker had been teaching him. An almost imperceptible white light seemed to surround Ragh's hand as it came down against the lizards' jaw, just bright enough that Tracker's wolf enhanced eyes caught it as she bit deep into the creatures' tail. And each time he fulfilled his role of protector, showed courage as he walked by her side into the temples of Galilea, took up his weapon to protect her against whatever else Fallinel had to throw at them, it grew a little bit brighter.

Until one day, without even thinking about it, he cast a Sacred Flame at an enemy on the other side of their camp site, the burning bright light zapping into the creatures' side, sending it scampering back into the wilds of the untamed woods in the far reaches of the country. Together they quickly finished off their enemies, Rahg wielding his weapon and a new found spells with an enjoyable ease, taking joy in the blessing of his god.

She remembered that feeling, the power and joy from being blessed by one of the gods, the sudden innate knowledge of exactly what to do to make everything perfect and wonderful and right.

The fight eventually ended, Ragh having taken the brunt of the damage, though one of them did get a slice at her flank. Before she could shift back and heal it herself, Ragh had reached out and touched her shoulder. Another burst of brilliant white light, something she would have to teach him to control later, raced through her veins and across her skin, invigorating her and closing most of the wound, leaving a scratch where before there had been a gash. All while Ragh stared in awe, eyes and smile wide, though clearly he was exhausted from the small use of magic.

Another moment and she was back in her human form, healing him herself as he sat back, staring at his hands as his wounds closed around him.

"Tracker..."

She raised her head from examining her work, making sure there wasn't something she had missed.

"This fucking rules."

An easy smile shared between them, Tracker knowing exactly what he meant.

"Yeah it does."

#Fantasy High #Dimension 20 #Tracker #Ragh #Tracker O'Shaughnessey #Ragh Barkrock #Fanfic #Fanfiction #They're great friends who help each other out to become better versions of themselves and I love it

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aqvarius · 4 years

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What do u think what will be the instructor reaction (including toru, momo, tsugaru) if they found out that MC martial arts r that of assassin's level. I am literally dying to know cause she is sorta clumsy.¿¿

ahh i had another request for this a while back as well which i started working on and then... forgot to finish lol

to be honest her fighting skills are actually pretty good i think? we love talking about how noob she was in season one, but the one thing that she’s never had an issue with is her physical ability. then she becomes a national kendo champ, top out of every single cadet, and then basically only gets better and better in terms of physical skill. she gets overpowered or beaten a pretty reasonable and realistic number of times but also fights back really well at other times - kind of like the love interests, who also sometimes get beaten and kidnapped bc sadly (for them, not me) that’s just the life of a public safety officer.

but anyway i try to give a sense of how they relate specifically to a great fighter mc:

goto:

he’s.... proud yet insecure? obviously he loves having a partner who can fight her way out of a pinch, but he’s also still worried for her and he also still wants to be able to be needed by her and to protect her. he hopes that she won’t feel like she can just fight through everything on her own and will rely on him as an equal too.

kaga:

tbh kaga’s not easily impressed by anything - and he’s not that impressed by this either. he also thinks that this is about the standard she should be at because of her training (and also his extra training... 50 laps of a standard oval is like 40km?! plus all his extra crunches + pushups training, i mean this girl at least has the strength and stamina of a tank, not to mention all the actual skills-based physical training they get on top of that) and is just more concerned that her body stays soft tbh lmao.

ishigami:

this is the standard that she should be at, as a trained public safety officer - any less and what’s the point of the academy? but he’s proud that all her training and practice and hard work has paid off, and is probably more impressed at that attitude than her actual physical ability. so long as she can apply that same level of work to all the other skills she’s learning (which she does) and learn how to strategise and write a good plan of action, he’s sure she’ll be a great and all-rounded officer without relying solely on physical ability.

soma:

honestly he’s... turned on. i mean this is actually canon lol, since soma has basically become peak horny multiple times and/or expressed admiration and attraction to his mc’s physical skill. he’s (canonically) got it reaaaally bad for seeing her all sweaty and working hard in the dojo. he’s so proud of her for winning her matches at the national tournament. he gets genuinely fuckstruck lovestruck that time when she takes down and secures a dude way bigger than her in an alley with an umbrella (which also... he did that too before with a random pipe ;~~; we love these parallels), so yeah basically he’s crazy attracted to her.

shinonome:

the number of comments he makes about brawn over brains is unreal? it’s neither here nor there to him that she can choke a man out in the blink of an eye but unless she masters advanced level hacking then he... doesn’t care. public safety is so much more than just beating people up and when will she learn how to think outside the box?

namba:

he kind of has mixed feelings about his hiyokko being a hot lil action star. on the one hand, she has so much potential for being a public safety agent and he’s very proud of her, on the other hand it exacerbates his insecurities about being too old for her and whether or not she deserves better. he’ll make positive comments/boast about it publicly, but can’t help but worry a little bit on the inside still.

kurosawa:

he’s wildly proud and will NOT shut up about having an action hero girlfriend. he literally will take every single sentence you say and turn it into him bragging about how cool she was fighting this or that time. he literally turns goukons into group lectures where he can’t help but just go on and on about how badass she is until all the girls are like why the f are you here when you have a girlfriend?

tsugaru:

he... tries to brainwash her into becoming another one of his loyal pawns so he basically has another human weapon under his belt? he’d loooove to have a hitman squad of momo and usa - he basically admits to this in goto’s battlefield. tsugaru (initially, and only sometimes, to be fair) sees her as a tool for his disposal, and having another tool who can kick perps’ asses without breaking a sweat? great for him. with that said, he kind of has a complex about the academy so honestly it would be more of an issue if she had all that training and wasn’t as good as she is.

momose:

he’s surprised and impressed. again, this is basically canon (i think a lot about that scene in the warehouse where momo and usa fight perfectly in sync without a plan or a word and momo is like shocked), but for someone like momo, demonstrating physical ability is the quickest way to win him over. if she can fight at his level and even teach him some extra moves, that’s a surefire way to earn his respect. although let’s be real.... no one is a better athlete than momo ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#Anonymous #snow answers #seiji goto #hyogo kaga #hideki ishigami #shusuke soma #ayumu shinonome #jin namba #toru kurosawa #takaomi tsugaru #takeru momose #her love in the force #hlitf #headcanon #love 365 #voltage inc #otome romance #otome game #love 365 find your story

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fisheoctrashdump · 3 years

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Lillie........ I keep thinking about Lillie, so you should give me Lillie content uwu 1-20 pls

Holiday

Idk what kinda holidays would be on kartoffel?

So instead, I'm gonna do a kinda similar headcanon lol

Lillie is super big into anniversary dates. She keeps dates locked in her brain like a walking calendar, so she keeps certain dates close to her. One example is the day she met Daedin, but she also has an anniversary date for the first time Kiyan won against her. She likes to do this to compare where they started to where they are now. She does have a few bad anniversary dates, however...

Cooking

She is terrible at cooking, but she's learning to be a little better.

Her whole life she's been able to rely on other people to cook for her. Even after she started living with Daedin, he would cook for her so she didn't have to.

Currently, she tries to avoid cooking if she can, but she's been teaching herself to do better. Some of her stuff turns out edible, if she's lucky Iol

She found crockpot type meals to be the easiest, but she doesn't like eating them often

Sleeping

Lillie sleeps in the middle of her bed to feel like it's fuller. She of course started doing this after Daedin died. She tends to have a hard time falling asleep, but once she is sleeping she is dead to the world. She's an incredibly heavy sleeper, but she wakes up naturally about the same time every morning.

Driving

She shouldn't be allowed to drive, but she is. That's all I will say on that XDD

Bathing/showering

She prefers baths over showers. She finds them more relaxing, and uses the time to clear her mind. She sometimes stays in the bath so long that the water is cold by the time she's done.

Hugging

She doesn't hug people. She feels disconnected from the people around her, so hugging always comes off as awkward. She doesn't really know how to react to someone hugging her, but she doesn't necessarily hate it.

Kissing

It took her so long to have her first kiss with Daedin. She always looked for some kind of excuse to escape when it felt like things were leading to their first kiss.

Lillie and Daedin finally had their first kiss when he caught her off guard after she came home from practice. After the shock of it finally actually happening, Lillie realized that she had been scared for nothing. Afterwards, she kissed Daedin all the time. Before and after leaving for the day, before bed, out in public, while Daedin was working, etc. It didn't matter to her, she loved it and she loved him

I'm not sure what kissing would be like for her now. She's not in a relationship anymore, and I'm not sure if she will be? It would largely depend on how much time has passed, who the person is and how comfortable she feels with them, and the moment the other chooses to initiate.

Sex

This was something else she avoided, but it wasn't something Daedin pushed for all too much. For a while, they both felt rather uncomfortable whenever the subject of sex came up, and they would drop the conversation almost immediately. Lillie and Daedin only slept together once through their whole relationship. Daedin was killed maybe a month after it happened.

Lillie feels even worse when she entertains the idea of sex now than before. She also feels confused about her sexual identity. But mostly, sex is the least of her concerns currently.

General physical contact

After losing Daedin, Lillie feels in need of physical contact now more than ever. However, she doesn't feel that anybody around her can provide the comfort she needs.

Physical appearance

Okay finally did a picrew for her XD

Additional:

She's 5'6

She is kinda muscular. She's not insanely buff but it is noticeable, especially when she is wearing her training clothing

Her hair color used to be orange, but her hair unexplainably started growing in purple one day

Wardrobe

I imagine her dressing in pretty clothes, but it's loose fitting stuff. She dresses like she's still a wealthy princess, but barely acts like it. I can see a lot of lacy stuff being her go to tbh

Her training outfits are super plain. She generally just wears tank tops and shorts

Jewelry

She has a lot of jewelry, but rarely wears it. Lillie loves shiny stuff, she doesn't care how cheap it looks (or actually was). She wears a lot of jewelry on special occasions. On a normal day, she wears only the necklace Daedin gave her

Nickname

Daedin called her Princess, both to tease her and as an affectionate nickname. Kiyan calls her Boss as a joke, and pretty much everyone calls her Lil. I imagine her being the type of person to like giving nicknames to others, but I can't think of any examples

Dancing

She is terrible at dancing. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Singing

Her singing is average. She has a decent voice, and she could improve and sound really good with vocal training, but I doubt she'd want to.

Regardless, she sings fairly often. Sometimes for fun, and sometimes as a self soothing method.

Anger

She gets very impulsive when she's angry, and she's done some really horrible things to other people when mad. Daedin was her voice of reason for the longest time, and the only one who could calm her down when she was so angry she might just hurt someone.

Because of all the conflict of emotions she's been having since Daedin died, she hasn't been quite that angry since then, though I imagine if and when she finds out about Kiyan and Julius being responsible for Daedin's death, she might not be able to keep her cool and will try to hurt them.

(An interesting idea would be if Lincoln was the person to keep her calm this time, whether directly or indirectly,,,)

Soft spot

Daedin was, of course.

Kiyan

Shiny stuff. She collects shiny things because she feels very content staring at them.

Pastel colors she loves them

Big animals

Favorite possession

The necklace Daedin gave her. I don't know what it looks like yet, I just know it exists and she is always wearing it.

Her other favorite possession is one of Kiyan's old swords he gave to her. Despite them both having numerous swords in their collections, Kiyan gave her that one because it was his very first one and he wanted to have something special to give to Lillie, though I'm not sure what the occasion was

Favorite photograph

Shortly after Lillie, Daedin, and Dallon met and returned to Kartoffel, they were avoiding telling anyone about what happened. Lillie wanted to confront her parents immediately, but Daedin was trying to keep Lillie calm before they decided to do that. He took Lillie and Dallon to the area he used to live with his parents, and the three of them got cleaned up and settled in to stay there for the night. Dallon decided to take a picture of the three of them as they were considering their next moves, and told them he was glad he met them, even if it was under bad circumstances. Lillie was gifted the picture by Dallon later on, and even with the bad memories surrounding it, she considers it to be one of her favorite pictures.

Relationship with ___

Kiyan

They have been so super close since they first met. Kiyan wanted Lillie to teach him how to sword fight, and since that point their friendship was incredibly close.

Lillie has always seen Kiyan as the little brother she never had. They interact just like siblings, right down to the stupid occasional arguments over nothing. She would do anything for Kiyan, though.

Leading up to Daedin's disappearance, Lillie wasn't blind to the change Kiyan was going through. She couldn't pinpoint the source, but it almost seemed like he couldn't stand being around Daedin for whatever reason. She worked this out to be a possible issue Kiyan and Daedin had with each other that they didn't want her to know about.

She hasn't been handling being pulled away from Kiyan well. She trusts Jax, because he's been just like a father to her since they met, but between not knowing what happened to Daedin, and not knowing if Kiyan is safe, it's been wearing her down.

Josine

She's not quite as close to Josine as she is with Kiyan, or even Dallon. They have had a few bonding moments, however. When they do hang out, it feels super comfortable and relaxed.

Lately, she has been feeling that Josine is probably the only person that will understand how she's feeling about Daedin's disappearance, but she isn't exactly able to contact Josine, either. Lillie wants to feel like someone understands her, and believes Josine is the only one.

Daedin

When Lillie and Daedin met, she had no intention of getting close to him. The three of them (including Dallon) had all been through so much, but all Lillie wanted to do was get herself and the other two to safety. Past that, she didn't care what they did.

But when she saw the look on Daedin's face, the fear and uncertainty of what comes next, she felt bad for him. The three warmed up to each other a lot by the time they reached Kartoffel again, and she knew that there wasn't any coming out of this alone.

Daedin became the one person in her life she trusted entirely. Being around Daedin felt like he completed her in a way she didn't even realize she needed. They walked through the problems they were still facing together, and came out inseparable.

Daedin and Lillie came from completely different lives, brought together by a single unfortunate situation. She found a lot of her strength in Daedin, and she knew he probably felt the same about her.

Also, before they both met each other, they didn't have really any close connections to speak of. Lillie's interactions with her parents were always stiff and uncomfortable, because she felt she had to act a certain way. Daedin never even felt noticed by his parents before they died. Meeting each other ultimately led them to a better part of their lives, even if they hadn't quite made it to safety yet.

Extra:

I haven't actually decided if Lillie knows Daedin is dead or not. He will go missing, but Kiyan and Julius will bury Daedin's body themselves. I've entertained the idea of a fake suicide note, but I'm not sure. It would… be believable, considering Daedin has been suicidal before, so

Lillie has the ability to mind control. It's very limited, however. She has dramatic negative side effects to using her power for too long. Her body temperature drops, she gets a migraine, and if it goes on for too long it will lead to vomiting. After a particularly long episode, Lillie was rendered incapacitated for nearly a week as a result.

#SCREAMING #i didnt add a bunch of info to the bottom cause i didnt know if i should im sorry :c #i.... well #if you have anything you want me to expand on just lmk #for the most part i do have more info related to the answers #and a good portion of her backstory is developed #ahahahah anyway #lillie #hnmp gen2

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7deadlycinderellas · 5 years

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The Starks at War, ch2

AO3 link

Catelyn had been a girl still, at the outbreak of the Great War. In her youthful naivete, she had believed the propaganda; that the war would be brief and the boys she knew would come home in glory.

Her vision had been shattered.

Her engagement to Brandon Stark had been a terribly childish decision in retrospect, the last act of tradition, the union of two great families before the walls came down.

When he had died, she had felt that her world would end. Ned had held her when he could, and when the war ended they had fallen in love amidst their shared grief. Lyanna’s death had dealt another blow to Ned, unexpectedly. Lyanna had somehow managed to thrive during the war instead of being crushed by it, and in the end, her work managed to crush her anyway.

Yet here Catelyn is, hanging blackout curtains and watching as her children leave Winterfell one by one.

Sansa had been the first, seemingly both terrified and impatient to leave. Ned and Cat had half considered pulling her out of school, but everything was already prepared, her fees paid, and her school was in Kent, far from London.

Robb was eighteen in June. He joins up immediately, taking a spot in the RAF before he could be conscripted.

When Ned raises an eyebrow at his choice of service, Robb grins softly and says,

“I get seasick.”

Jon joins him soon after. Theon has joined the regular British army, haunted by his father’s words about choice of military service.

Catelyn had looked at Ned when all three of them left, with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“They wouldn’t...not again?”

“No,” Ned insists firmly, “Everyone remembers exactly what happened then”.

When the Great War had started, all the men who could had enlisted. The army had often posted men who were from the same villages and towns together, in hopes that their already created camaraderie would make the transition easier.

It had resulted in some villages losing every single one of their young men. The idea of losing even one of her sons, even Theon, who had already left, even Jon, who she was sometimes embarrassed of, made Cat want to weep. She was so grateful for Bran’s condition, and Rickon’s age, even if thinking so made her feel a traitor.

Ned had left almost immediately afterwards to return to London. He says the government will likely want him to turn production towards the war effort, and he wants to get on top of it, especially once most of his work force disappears. He doesn’t tell anyone that watching Robb and Jon and Theon all walk down the road together broke his heart.

Bran and Arya stare after them with jealousy. They’re both supposed to be doing their schoolwork, but it’s hard to focus on maths and history when history feels like it’s happening around them.

Arya has her own responsibilities though. At the end of the month, petrol is rationed. She rides her bike to the shops every few days, to buy and carry home whatever they need. They have to cook and keep up the house mostly themselves now. The cook and the older maid have both left to return north to their families, and Beth looks like she wants to leave every day. Old Nan moves back in with her sister down the road by the church, though she still comes by to help out with Rickon

At the end of September, Arya gets another unwanted surprise.

“You’re joining up too?” She demands.

“I’m eighteen next month,” Gendry tells her, “And if I don’t join now, I’ll get drafted and might not get a choice where I end up. The Navy says they need mechanics. All the planes and tanks and everything now.”

Arya bites her lip.

“I know, it’s just. It feels like everyone’s leaving. Father’s in London again now, and Robb and Jon and now you too. It feels like everyone’s leaving and I’ll be stuck at home cleaning and knitting socks and listening to the wireless and trying not to pace and panic.”

Gendry sighs a bit.

“You’re fourteen now right?”

Arya nods.

“Keep your eyes open. With all the men enlisting, they’ll need women to do everything we would be, they did during the last war. They’ll be opening up the services to women more soon I’d bet too. But let’s hope it doesn’t go on long enough for you to be able to enlist.”

Suddenly, he starts to look a bit shy.

“Could you…”

Arya furrows her eyebrows. Shy isn’t a look she’s ever seen on Gendry, and she’s fighting the urge to make fun of him.

“Well, soldiers are supposed to have people to write to and write to them.”

That’s what this is all about?

“Soldiers are supposed to have sweethearts write to them.”

“I don’t have one of those,” he takes a long pause, “Or parents or siblings. Or that many friends really. I know you already have your brothers to keep in touch with, but could you write to me?”

Arya feels her face flush. Her stomach is twisting with a feeling she doesn’t understand.

“Sure, sure I will.”

She turns away back home and tries to forget how lonely he looked.

Beth can handle most of the cooking now, as long as it’s nothing fancy. That leads to Arya having to help with most of the cleaning. There’s less of it now, now that there’s two fewer people in the house, but Catelyn insists that they don’t close anything up.

“We may need it soon,” she says cryptically.

Because Catelyn is a lady with a capital L, and if there’s one thing a lady is good at, it’s saving face and keeping together with other ladies.

And the ladies of the country are organizing.

Children flood the countryside, from London mostly but also Cambridge and Bristol and a few even from Leeds and Manchester. Everyone’s terrified of air strikes, but no one seems sure of where will be hit. The children are large and small, dirty and clean. Siblings together grasp hands, and lone ones wrap their overcoats on tightly. They all have cardboard signs hung around their necks.

They stick them wherever they can fit. Nearly everyone in the village takes at least one. The Reeds take in a rather fat young man who had worked in a bakery in London and had screamed when he first saw a frog. Jyana Reed had said that the house was already beginning to feel empty, with her husband having rejoined up with the service, despite his age. Winterfell even hosts three; a small girl not yet speaking much, whom Arya calls Weasel, and a young woman from the East End with a newborn baby.

“I’m calling him little Sam,” the mum says, “After a man I knew.” Her name is Gilly, and she looks to Cat like she’s never had a proper meal before.

The news is almost strangely quiet. Hitler keeps trying to do things, and occasionally a ship sinks, but for a country at war, it feels rather calm.

And every once in a while the air raid sirens blare.

The pamphlets sent out with the black out directions also give safety instructions during an air raid. Everyone keeps their gas masks handy. They’ve all been drills and false alarms so far, but the raids take a special toll on Bran.

“It’s bad enough having to be carried down into the cellar every time, but what if one happens when I’m alone? I can probably drag myself down the steps- slowly- but I’ll be stuck having to hope that someone comes by and finds me. If I get down into the cellar before the bombs hit anyway.”

“At least your cellar has a proper staircase. Ours is just a ladder.” Meera tells him. She’s got a suitcase with her and has come to return something to Arya. She’s just turned eighteen, and is joining the women’s Navy. They’re so close to Portsmouth, but she’s being sent all the way to Liverpool to train.

She’s come by to say goodbye.

“I wanted to dodge Arya. I’ll write to her, but I don’t want to give her another face leaving to stick in her mind.”

“If you’d worn your uniform, you might have scared her off. I’m not sure militarism would suit her. “

“I haven’t been issued my uniform yet. Everything is being requisitioned. All the clothing factories are making service uniforms now.”

“Aren’t you...scared?” Bran had asked her when she had first told them.

“All the posters and things keep saying Wrens are “Never at Sea”, but I’m not sure I buy it. They’re throwing everything at the Germans. I’m not sure how long it will even be.”

She tries to smile, but can’t quite, and tries to lighten the mood.

“Besides, I can swim. Swim and row, so basic training might be easier on me.”

Her face goes serious again. Meera not being able to smile feels like something deeply troubling to Bran.

“Can you take care of Jojen for me? With Dad gone too...Mum will have enough to worry about without having to worry so much about him too. Make sure he takes his medicine. Make sure he remembers what’s going on when it doesn’t work and he seizes anyway. “

“I can try, “ Bran says honestly.

Jojen’s been bringing over his charts and books, and the two of them are trying to teach themselves morse code.

“I wanted to get licensed to do amateur radio broadcasting before this all started,” Jojen admits, “But the government shut down all the bands. It’s too bad, it could be dead useful.”

No one remaining at Winterfell gets much from the outside world, except through letters.

Ned writes that London has transformed. So many businesses have closed up, and houses lie empty, abandoned. He says he will return to Winterfell as soon as he can.

Sansa says that nearly half of her classmates didn’t return to school.

It means classes are all super small now, which is sort of nice. I finished up senior-level French last year, so I’m doing more in independent study. The teacher says she doesn’t know why, I’m already top of the class. English is much the same as it’s always been. Only one of the history teachers returned, so we’re all stuffed in one class.

Headmistress says that because of the war, they’re offering several extracurricular courses for girls who wish to support the war. I’m taking typing and first aid. I do miss my dancing lessons- the dancing master has joined up- but some of us girls still practice in the common rooms in the evenings.

Margaery got into some trouble when she decided to start a German club. She’s nearly as fluent in it as she is in French- it sounds so much lovelier coming from her than from me!- and she insists that it could prove useful for all of us if the war continues.

All the blackout rules are terrifying though. The dormitories are such a big building, and seeing it in total darkness is like a whole different world. And the sirens. I fear I will hear them in my dreams.

She doesn’t tell them about the girl who was outside past curfew when the sirens went off. She’d returned to campus hours after, her head bloodied, having been struck in the dark by a carriage before pulling herself to the side of the road and cowering in a ditch until the all-clear blew. Headmistress had sent her home with nary a word to the others. Sansa still didn’t know how badly she’d been hurt.

Catelyn sighs again at Sansa’s letter. Typing and first aid. Sansa should have been spending her days imagining her debut into society, of meeting someone she could marry, of being a true lady as she was born for. She’d so hoped her starry eyed dreamer of a daughter could be spared the horrors that this conflict was going to bring. She could just see Sansa going into nursing with her huge heart and no idea the sorts of things she would see.

First Aid though. That sparks Catelyn’s mind, for her more wayward daughter. She reaches out to Mya, who was the daughter of a groom who had once worked for the Starks, but knew her daughter in an entire different role.

And a week into November, Arya does something she hasn’t done in over a year. She puts on her Girl Guides uniform, and goes into the village for a meeting. Her former patrol that had dwindled last she had been there, now was swollen to bursting with evacuees from the cities.

I’m old enough to be a Ranger now she says when she writes to Gendry, Though my uniform isn’t right for it. It’s no matter now, no one’s getting any new ones. I used to go a lot, I loved the camping trips and cook outs. I even learned to use a knife there. But Mother always fretted about me spending all my time around the village girls, told me I was destined for a different life, and when I got older all the girls started wanting to do needlework badges and stuff about babies and so I bailed.

This week we went around painting the sidewalk curbs white, so people can see them better in the blackouts. Next week we’re helping dig public shelters and starting our first aid training. I still think the songs are stupid though.

Most of Gendry’s letters have been him whingeing about basic training. Arya’s not sure to what end- he’s not going to get much in the way of sympathy from her, and she’s more than capable of whingeing right back. Besides, she thought, he should be used to terrible food and spartan living conditions, having basically had to care for himself since his mother’s passing when he was twelve. Perhaps he shares her opposition to being told what to do, she thinks, and wants someone to agree with him.

Robb and Jon also send letters, more once they both finish basic. They’ve both passed qualifications and are assigned to become fighters. This horrifies Catelyn and excites Arya and Bran.

Robb’s letters are more of what’s expected. Complaints about the food, the lack of privacy. Arya snickers at that, it can’t be as bad as boarding school can it? How much he misses everyone. That hurts.

Jon repeats all of Robb’s sentiments, but also speaks of his pilot’s training.

Story is they picked Robb and I because we went to a “good school”. Apparently having ridden horses or handled yachts is a good base for learning to fly. I didn’t really do much of any of that, but the instructor’s say I’m a natural. The steering, handling the g-forces, it comes easily to me. I feel like this is what I should be doing.

He doesn’t give too many elaborate loving descriptions of the planes they practice on, for fear of making Bran too jealous. He does send drawings though, as amateurish as they are. Bran tries to improve upon the crude sketches on his own, planning to send them back to Jon as a Christmas gift.

Because 1939 is coming to an end, and Christmas is coming with it, no matter what else is happening.

Ned returns home in December, once the snow is falling heavily and the countryside is as cold as it gets. He brings with him several boxes, that he claims they can’t open until the 25th. He returns to hugs and great cheer, at last, a Stark returning to Winterfell in time for Christmas.

Especially since he’s the only one.

“Last letter,” Arya says, morose when the envelope in Sansa’s pretty script arrived accompanying a large parcel.

It had been awful enough learning that Robb and Jon weren’t going to be coming home. No one was getting leave this year, no matter how little seemed to be going on.

No one can get train tickets to go home, the government has cracked down on it so much. Some of the other girls come from as far away as Scotland. A few of us as staying with Margaery’s family for Christmas, they have so much room and are just over the hill. I miss everyone, I hope you all like your presents.

She resists the urge to gush about Highgarden, the most grand estate she had ever seen. The Tyrell’s were hosting several girls from the Land Army, and there were so many people and so much cheer that Sansa felt like an ingrate how much fun she was having.

Arya was still a bit sour when Christmas Eve comes. They couldn’t put lights on the Christmas tree even, because of the blackout rules. None of the shops in the village had window displays either. The church still held their Christmas Eve service, but they didn’t ring the bells.

The person who gives Arya back her spirit ends up being of all people, Gilly.

“I’ve never really had a proper Christmas!” She admits when they’re stuffing the Christmas goose to put it in the oven overnight. Jyana has come by for Christmas Eve with Jojen and the boy they've taken in, who it turns out has lots of Opinions about food. They will have a proper feast, if not as grand as in previous years, where they were usually entertaining guests, but there’s a goose and potatoes and lots of baked biscuits, even if they came after very long lines.

“What do you mean by that?” Arya asks her.

“We were terribly poor, never had a tree or nothing. The rain and snow would leak in through the roof bad in winter. And most Christmases Papa would just extra drunk and we girls would hurt for it.”

Catelyn comes over and cuts her off.

“You shouldn’t ask things like that Arya,” she whispers to her, “That girl’s had a hard enough life, without you drudging up memories of it.”

Arya can do that. She’s old enough to realize that she shouldn’t ask where little Sam’s father is.

And when Christmas morning comes Gilly claps her hands at the Christmas tree and the red and gold decorations on the tables and staircases, and even little Sam looks delighted no matter his size. Even Weasel, usually so stoic, looked dazzled.

There are gifts. Sansa knitted and sewed things in class to send to everyone. The pullover she’s made Arya is terribly soft and goes along perfectly with the enormous wooly hat Gilly had made her. Ned and Catelyn give all the younger Stark’s books, even Weasel and Gilly. Bran and Arya had collaborated with the Reed’s boy who had come to be nicknamed “Hot Pie” to make everyone fudge. And the boxes Ned had brought from London turned out to be new clothes, sizes that would fit everyone for some time.

“I remember the last war,” Catelyn comments later in the day when the others are full of Christmas dinner, enjoying their gifts and listening to the BBC’s Christmas programme.

“Buttons, ribbon, wool. Everything was in short supply,” Ned says completing her words. “And if Bran and Arya sprout up like Robb and Sansa did at their age, we would be in trouble.”

Cat stares out the snowy window.

“Tell me this won’t last as long as the last one Ned, “ she begs quietly, “Tell me this might not be our last Christmas together.”

Ned takes her in his arms and stares out the window into the world outside Winterfell and tries not to fear what the next year might bring.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #gendrya #breera #sansaery #fic #i can cite sources

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your-dietician · 3 years

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What college football coaches learned from the pandemic last year

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/ncaa-football/what-college-football-coaches-learned-from-the-pandemic-last-year/

What college football coaches learned from the pandemic last year

WEST VIRGINIA COACH Neal Brown is hesitant when he says there are positive things to be gained from what he and his fellow coaches went through last season.

“Maybe ‘positives’ isn’t the right word,” he corrected himself.

Brown doesn’t want to paint a rosy picture of what was a frustrating situation for everyone involved. Talk to enough coaches and they’ll tell you how exhausting it was going through a pandemic, juggling safety and practice and those endless pages of protocols and, oh yeah, the games themselves.

They’re creatures of habit who thrive on structure and routine. But as North Carolina coach Mack Brown told his staff one day last year, “The only thing consistent is inconsistency.”

So, no, it wasn’t much fun, and there was very little in the moment that felt positive.

But the further away they get from what Neal Brown says was the most challenging experience for anyone in leadership, whether they were a coach, a CEO or a principal, the more there’s something to be gained from the experience.

2 Related

“I think there are opportunities that have come out of the adversity that we’ve been through,” he said.

Opportunities to rethink the way they practice and recruit. Opportunities to rethink the way they teach and communicate. Opportunities to not look away from social justice issues that for so long were ignored.

Like millions of Americans, Neal Brown has learned to embrace Zoom, which is why he was able to participate in this interview from his home one day last month.

That may not sound like much — it is the offseason, after all — but it runs contrary to an entire career of waking up early, going into the office for daily staff meetings, and since he was already there, staying a while even though there wasn’t much work to be done.

But on this day, he held the staff meeting virtually and drove his kids to school. Then, he returned home and spoke to a reporter from his own couch about coaching post-COVID-19 and how there’s a need for a better work-life balance in his profession, which for too long has embraced the lifestyle of the workaholic who sleeps in his office at nights.

After the call was over, his plan was to take the rest of the day off.

“There was no more, ‘This is the way we’ve always done it,'” Neal Brown said. “That’s probably the most growth that I made not only as being a head football coach but personally as well — adapting and embracing change.”

THERE WAS ONE curveball coaches were thrown that they all almost universally enjoyed and want to integrate moving forward.

The NCAA dubbed it “enhanced summer practice,” but what it boiled down to was a sort of pre-preseason practice to help players ease into more traditional training after so much time away because of COVID restrictions.

Similar to the NFL’s organized team activities, colleges were granted two extra weeks dedicated to weight training, conditioning, film review, walk-throughs and meetings. Players couldn’t wear helmets or pads during walk-throughs, but they could handle a football.

Alabama coach Nick Saban was a proponent of the plan, stressing how the practices would be non-contact and how they would provide more education, focusing on things like technique and fundamentals.

“It was awesome,” Georgia Tech coach Geoff Collins said.

Because of the limited contact and slow build-up, Collins said, “I thought we were fresher the early part of the season than we had been in the previous four years.”

Neal Brown has learned to embrace the benefits of Zoom meetings and working from home. Frank Jansky/Icon Sportswire

Iowa State coach Matt Campbell felt the same way about the health benefits of the extended preseason, except he noticed a difference on the back end of the season. In an interview with The Athletic, Campbell said he saw better practices from his team late in the year and quicker recovery times.

The Cyclones finished the regular season as winners of five straight, reaching the Big 12 championship game for the first time in school history.

“I thought the week of preparation, going into our bowl game, was maybe the best practices we had all year,” he told the website. “We were able to continue to add fuel to the tank instead of extracting some of that fuel. When we needed it most, we were able to find it and use it.”

Stanford coach David Shaw, who is chair of the NCAA rules committee, said coaches are hoping to adopt the extra lead-in time on an annual basis.

While there wasn’t enough time to change the calendar this year, next year is a possibility.

First, Shaw said, they need to talk to medical professionals to see whether their hunch that it’s healthier for players is backed up by actual science. Second, there’s the coaches’ quality of life to consider, because it’d be taking away two weeks of vacation.

Time will tell whether everyone gets on board, but in the meantime, Neal Brown has a more radical approach he’s considering.

Last season, out of necessity in order to limit a teamwide outbreak and to make the most out of the limited time they had to prepare, he essentially split West Virginia’s roster down the middle. Instead of holding one practice and one set of meetings for players each day, the Mountaineers held two.

What it did was confront the fact that if there are 85 scholarship players on a team, not all 85 are at the same level of maturity or understanding. So teaching them all the same is going to inevitably leave some players bored and leave others behind.

It’s simple, Neal Brown said: “You don’t want to slow them down where you lose the fourth-year player just so the first-year player has a chance.”

By dividing the roster along the lines of experience and readiness to play, he provided more targeted coaching and, perhaps most importantly, more reps for everyone.

He hasn’t made a final decision on split practices in the future, but said, “There’s a thought that maybe that’s the best way moving forward.”

IT’S SURPRISING THAT the pairing of Zoom and recruiting didn’t happen sooner.

After all, the growth of recruiting departments in college football and video communication technology like Zoom and FaceTime have coincided over the past decade. But before the pandemic, there was very little integration on those two fronts.

Well, not anymore.

Virtual visits allow for recruits to experience places like Fayetteville, Arkansas, they might not have ever been able to go to. Nelson Chenault-USA TODAY Sports

What happened out of necessity during a year of no in-person recruiting — namely FaceTime calls and virtual campus visits over Zoom — is here to stay.

Instead of hoping for an unofficial visit to show off their programs, coaches are now able to make a more tangible first impression online, which could be a huge win for difficult-to-reach places like Arkansas and Stanford.

During the pandemic, Shaw said his staff got creative and learned how to “bottle” the Stanford experience. That meant virtually introducing prospects to their professors and students, and showing off the beauty of campus, along with its terrific weather.

“We can’t wait to get people on campus,” Shaw said, “but we have a good program now to show them as much of campus as possible — the people as well as the scenery — to entice them to come.”

While Arkansas coach Sam Pittman says there’s no substitute for in-person contact, the value of virtual visits makes too much sense to ignore.

It’s a matter of logistics. Because Fayetteville’s nearest major recruiting hubs — Atlanta, New Orleans and Dallas — are all at least a five-hour drive away, it’s difficult to get recruits to campus.

“Instead of saying, ‘This kid can’t make it to Junior Day,’ why don’t we take the Junior Day to him?” Pittman said. “I learned that and we may use that in the future.

“We may have a weekend totally committed only to Georgia or Florida or someplace where the kids can’t get here.”

Neal Brown, whose West Virginia campus is a hike for many of the country’s top prospects, said it’s a win three times over to go virtual in recruiting.

“Players save money getting to and from campus, and universities save money, and it’s a better life for an assistant coach,” he said.

Plus, it’s fewer nights on the road for everyone.

MACK BROWN FOUND himself pouting last year.

During the first wave of the coronavirus, when everyone was forced to leave campus and it looked like the football season might not happen, he wondered why he bothered to come out of retirement.

“Why am I doing this?” he thought. “I came back to be around players and try to help them and help younger coaches, and I can’t talk to anybody, I can’t see them, they can’t even come around. What are we doing?”

That’s when his wife, Sally, spoke up.

“[She] jumped on me and said, ‘You know what? There’s never been a more important time for leadership. You need to help people understand this. You need to help solve the problems. You’ve been around a long time, so you need to figure it out,'” he recalled.

“And at that point I kind of woke up and said, ‘All right, I got it.'”

He had to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.

That meant acknowledging what he didn’t know, whether it was about the pandemic or the social justice issues playing out in Raleigh and cities across the U.S.

At 69 years old, Mack Brown confronted some harsh realities.

Mack Brown told his staff one day last year, “The only thing consistent is inconsistency.” Grant Halverson/Getty Images

For so long, he saw the locker room as a place free from racism. But then he heard the pain in his players’ voices as they discussed the murder of George Floyd. And then he found out that two of his coaches — one white and one black — hadn’t spoken in days.

“That really bothered me,” he said. “I could tell there was pressure, there was tension.”

Rather than sidestepping it, they confronted it head-on as a team.

“We talked hard,” Mack Brown said.

And he also listened. A lot of what was said surprised him.

He kept hearing about white privilege, which he took to mean that he had money and a good life. So he asked his players questions about it and began to understand.

“I’m white privilege,” he realized. “I don’t feel race. I don’t see it. I don’t get stopped going home. I don’t get shot in the back.”

Talking it through brought them closer together, and it led to conversations about mental health, drugs and homelessness.

“I’m not sure it wasn’t the closest team I’ve ever been around,” he said.

Kentucky’s Mark Stoops was one of many coaches across college football who walked arm-in-arm with his players last summer to protest police violence against people of color.

But just because the protests have subsided doesn’t mean the issues have.

“I’ve learned that we need to continue to not let this matter go away,” Stoops said. “We have to continue to address it. We have to continue to work at it. We have to continue to do our part to be part of the solution to grow closer together, and keep that at the forefront of our program through communication and education.”

BAYLOR’S DAVE ARANDA says he saw the worst in a lot of people and the best in others.

He doesn’t name names, nor does he cite specific issues. He doesn’t want to be polarizing. But the last year revealed a lot to him.

He referenced the TV show “Ted Lasso” and a scene in which the lead character, a soccer coach, is playing darts in a pub and quotes Walt Whitman: “Be curious, not judgmental.”

“Keeping that approach all the way through COVID when there’s really good and really bad things happening and you’re seeing bad parts of people, I think is the key,” Aranda said. “When you come out on the other side of it, there’s an opportunity to blossom.”

But to blossom into what?

Whether it’s a global pandemic or a life event, Eli Drinkwitz sees a need for coaches to be more amenable. AP Photo/L.G. Patterson

Aranda sees a shift taking place in college football in which the old-school ways of coaching are fading.

“I’m not saying we’re it,” Aranda said, “but I do sense that along with the NIL and all of it, the birth of a modern coach — of someone that [deals with] social justice issues, race and inequality, the transfer portal, social media, mental health. It’s self-talk, positive talk, negative talk. It’s perfectionism. It’s bullying. It’s parents and expectations. It’s all of it.”

Missouri coach Eliah Drinkwitz talked about that trend toward a more holistic approach as well.

This generation of athletes is so flexible and adaptable, he said, and coaches are generally more rigid and routine-oriented.

There’s a fine line, of course, but whether it’s a pandemic or a life event, Drinkwitz sees a need for coaches to be more amenable.

He brought up Abraham Lincoln’s first inaugural address and the idea of striving to become a more perfect union. That notion of striving — admitting you’re not there, but you’re working toward it — is where he finds meaning.

It’s about listening and learning and working together.

“I’ve learned there’s a lot more capacity to do things than I ever thought possible if you take it one step at a time,” he said. “Then, before you know it, you get somewhere. You don’t look at the totality of the task, you take it one step at a time and put one foot in front of the other.

“And that’s really what we were trying to do the whole time — keep moving forward and try to make a positive impact, whether it was the pandemic or social justice, whether it was our football team trying to improve and establish our identity, every day let’s take a little step forward.”

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ladystylestores · 4 years

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Graphic novel on the Tiananmen Massacre shows medium’s power to capture history

As a young man in Beijing in the 1980s, Lun Zhang felt like he was taking part in a new Chinese enlightenment.

The country was undergoing paramount leader Deng Xiaoping’s “Reform and Opening Up,” and previously sealed-off areas of knowledge, arts, and culture were becoming newly available.

People who had only years before been living in the stifling, hyper-Maoist orthodoxy of the Cultural Revolution, in which anything foreign or historical was deemed counter-revolutionary, could now listen to Wham!, hold intellectual salons in which people read Jean-Paul Sartre or Sigmund Freud, or even publish their own works, taking aim at previously sacred political targets.

“In those days, our thirst to read, learn and explore the outside world was insatiable,” Zhang writes in his new graphic novel, “Tiananmen 1989: Our Shattered Hopes.”

But with this intellectual awakening came a growing frustration with the pace of reform in China, particularly how economic liberalization was taking precedence over any suggestion that the Communist Party give up its tight control on the country’s politics.

An apocryphal quote attributed to Deng captured the mood at this time, that “to get rich is glorious,” but for many people, it was increasingly apparent that only a handful were becoming wealthy, while others were suffering due to growing corruption and the destruction of the social safety net.

Small demonstrations against graft and for greater political reform ballooned into what would become the 1989 Tiananmen movement, in which hundreds of thousands of people protested across the country, with the largest demonstration in Beijing led by workers and student groups.

The pro-democracy protesters occupied Tiananmen Square for months, even holding meetings with top officials. At the time, many felt hopeful that these actions would bring about wider societal change in the one-party state.

Crackdown

Zhang was on the square that spring, when the protesters put forward seven demands, including for democratic elections and an end to state censorship. He was there as the crowds paid tribute to the late reformist leader Hu Yaobang, and he was there as the occupiers sang and danced on what had become the people’s square.

He was not there when soldiers opened fire on protesters and fought with them in the streets of the Chinese capital. He was not there when the tanks rolled in. Zhang was in the suburbs of the city with another activist, recuperating in preparation for what some thought would be a last push before the government gave into the protesters’ demands.

“When we heard the army had entered Beijing, we tried to reach the square, but our efforts were in vain,” Zhang writes of when they learned of the bloodshed.

Far from reaching the center of the city, Zhang’s attention turned to escape: the authorities were rounding up prominent protesters and leaders, and he was worried about arrest. He fled first to rural China, eventually becoming one of dozens of Tiananmen protesters smuggled into Hong Kong by activists in the then British colony.

An excerpt from “Tiananmen 1989: Our Shattered Hopes.” Zhang (pictured wearing a sash on the bottom left) was a young sociology teacher in the late 1980s. During protests, he was in charge of management and safety. Credit: IDW Publishing

Graphic novel

Zhang eventually moved to France, where he has lived ever since, and is teaching at the Cergy-Pontoise University near Paris. While he writes about the Chinese economy and geopolitics, he has largely left out his own personal history prior to this month’s publication of his graphic novel.

“I worked with (French journalist) Adrien Gombeaud, who wrote the script for the format,” Zhang told CNN. “We read some graphic novels about historical events, and together came up with the plan, for example, to imagine a theater scene to link all the parts of the story.”

While the Tiananmen Square Massacre has been widely covered in the media and in documentaries, with many focusing on the iconic image of the Tank Man or utilizing archive footage from the square itself, much of the events leading up to the infamous night have been lost to history, available only through witnesses’ accounts. Zhang said that the comics format provided a key means of capturing the emotion of the demonstrations, in a way that does not necessarily come across in text.

“It is difficult to find a satisfactory way in which this kind of big event is reported, in my opinion,” he said. “In some reporting on Tiananmen, the authors didn’t reflect enough on the will of students to cooperate with the authorities in peacefully reforming China.

“When you take into account the emotion involved, we can understand why the peaceful way of demonstration was chosen, why there was the huge hunger strike.”

After the initial script was written, the authors worked with French artist Ameziane to develop the comic’s visuals, by sourcing images of the various characters, and referencing archival photos of era-appropriate objects, such as clothes, cars and teacups from 1980s China. “We spent a lot of time in discussions on how to arrange the scenes, how to convey the essential message, what limits we might have on a given page. It played to the style and skill of our painter,” Zhang said.

The shift in artistic style is most notable in the scenes depicting the massacre itself. Prior pages feature white backgrounds and muted colors, but as the crackdown begins, the pages turn to black, with a heavy use of oranges and reds. Ameziane’s illustrations become looser and full of movement, emphasizing the chaos and panic experienced by the characters.

The book is structured in several acts, with Zhang as its narrator. He said the play format was an obvious storytelling device, given “the protest movement itself felt like a drama, with its different phases akin to great acts.”

Comics journalism

Zhang, Gombeaud and Ameziane’s book joins what has quietly become a major strand of modern comics: graphic journalism or historical comics dealing with topics that were once considered out of the art form’s remit.

American cartoonist Art Spiegelman’s “Maus,” a Pulitzer Prize-winning account of his parents’ experiences as Holocaust survivors — with the Jews depicted as mice and the Nazis as cats — has long been considered a masterwork in the graphic novel genre.

While adult themes and history were features in comics long before “Maus” debuted in 1980, including in Spiegelman’s own work, its use of accessible, black and white art combined with a sweeping historical narrative broke into the mainstream, and set a new standard for “grown up” comics with political subject matter and potentially upsetting content.

Works like Maltese-American Joe Sacco’s ground-breaking comics journalism in “Palestine” or “Safe Area Gorazde,” and French-Iranian Marjane Satrapi’s “Persepolis” have further driven this trend, with the latter turned into an Oscar-nominated movie in 2007.

The popularity of comics and graphic novels has only grown in recent years — with the help of blockbuster film adaptations. This has happened in conjunction with the rise of comics journalism, in everything from newspapers to dedicated publications such as The Nib, which has long recognized the medium’s ability to tackle serious issues, interweaving reporting with satirical cartoons.

Sacco has talked about how the use of comics, the presentation of the artist and writer as a figure in the story, helps remove “the illusion that a journalist is a fly on the wall, all seeing and all knowing.”

“To me, drawing myself signals to the reader that I’m a filter between the information, the people and them. They know that I’m a presence, and that they’re seeing things through my eyes,” he said in a recent interview.

This is very much apparent in Zhang’s book, as he uses his role as narrator to critique both the protest movement and himself.

“Tiananmen 1989: Our Shattered Hopes” cover. Credit: IDW Publishing

Asked once about whether drawing helped him deal with being the child of Holocaust survivors, Spiegelman answered: “I’ve had therapy, and I’ve made comics. The comics are cheaper.”

Part of “Maus” deals with Spiegelman’s guilt over his difficult relationship with his father and in comparing his problems with depression and work to the experiences of his parents. Zhang too writes in “Tiananmen” of his own survivor’s guilt and of questioning his decisions made as a younger man in the midst of history.

In an interview, Zhang said he did not write about Tiananmen for so long, because his role, his involvement, seemed inconsequential compared to what some went through.

“The way I saw it, there were many people dead or wounded in the aftermath, and many people lost their jobs; their families were never the same after,” he said. “The real heroes were the ordinary students and people in (Beijing) and other cities. By comparison, what I did personally didn’t seem worth telling. The most important thing I could do was live my life in a way that wouldn’t dishonor the dead.”

He was eventually convinced by an editor to write the book last year, around the 30th anniversary of the massacre. “She convinced me that I had a duty to the memory of that time,” Zhang said. “I accepted it. ‘No justice, no peace,’ but I think also, ‘No memory, no justice.'”

“Tiananmen 1989: Our Shattered Hopes,” published by IDW Publishing, is out now.

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stevedonnellyfaith-blog · 5 years

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Penance at Discharge (Post 111) 10-14-15

Last Wednesday evening I traveled from work in Youngstown to Cleveland to pick up Stephen and take him home after the completion of his week of testing for epilepsy. I decided to work the full day and arrive at around 5 PM because I believe I had previously tried every conceivable pick-up time at John Muir Medical Center and a dozen other hospitals and have always still found the hospital staff woefully unprepared to discharge either Pam, Nick, Abby, Stephen or Natalie on almost every single occasion. Because I spend my professional life using Lean Manufacturing tools to carve minutes and seconds out of processes to achieve savings, unnecessary hospital discharge delays always grate on my nerves. Luckily, in a former life, decades ago, I wore the uniform of our country and am hardwired to tolerate circumstances where a “hurry up and wait “outcome is assured.

Upon arrival in Stephen’s room, I was greeted by mysteriously mixed signals. Stephen was already garbed in sweatshirt, sweatpants and sneakers like he was ready to head home, but he still had an IV visible on his hand. Usually when a person is being discharged after a serious illness, removing the IV is nearly the last precautionary order of business. Stephen, though, had checked in for testing in a relatively healthy state and had not had any unexpected issues during the tests. His nurse soon arrived to dispel my confusion; he let me know that Stephen would be ready for discharge immediately after completing an MRI, for which he had waited all day. Evidently, University Hospital’s policy is to assign the highest daytime priority for MRI, CT, Ultrasound and probably every other possible test service to outpatients, because, theoretically, inpatients can stay all night. We left the hospital about three hours later at 8 PM. Not the most customer pleasing denouement to our visit, but otherwise Stephen was treated very well.

If I were a cradle Catholic, I probably would have remembered to offer up the entire experience, but, in actuality, Stephen’s hospital room was equipped with a passable selection of cable television channels so I think I passed the time treating my senses to an electronic barrage following the entertainment fasting conditions we have been living under since we moved out of my parent’s house. I can’t remember what I watched. Maybe I didn’t watch television at all and instead scrolled through Facebook, but I don’t think I could have whiled away three solid hours weaving through all the pages of what my friends have posted. Usually I can only take so much Facebook as the recycled memes are often very repetitive. Also I have a number of Libertarian, atheist and Pro-Choice friends that rake my scrolling sensibilities with morally questionable material or untruths that I generally try to identify and pass by like the doggie deposits that Natalie’s pets have peppered across my lawn – mowing my lawn is somewhat like hopscotch. For instance, I am friends with one of my high school football coaches, with whom I seem to agree and am able to “like” for less than ten percent of his posts. Luckily he has children and grandchildren, but I digress.

By Thursday morning I had largely forgotten the ordeal of disembarking from UH the previous evening. Natalie and I shared a last breakfast together as I planned to return to my regular morning schedule of 3 AM reveilles and 4 AM departures on Friday morning. The work day proceeded and ended without significant event as I prepared notes and outlines for a leadership course that I intend to teach for supervisors this week upcoming. At the end of my shift I felt quite relieved to be headed on only an hour commute home to Streetsboro instead of orbiting onward for an extra forty five minutes north eastward through Cleveland and only back to our cozy two-story after visiting Stephen. Normality seemed an alluring flavor after a week of passing time in extra driving and all too familiar clinical surroundings.

My phone buzzed as I was pulling into a gas station to top off my tank near the on-ramp of I-76, my tollless thoroughfare of choice from the Eastern border towards north central Ohio. I thought it would be a receptionist calling to provide information for Stephen’s follow-up appointment, but instead I recognized the heavy accent of my son’s neurologist who was calling to provide the results from the forgotten MRI. I made her give me the date and time for the follow-up appointment first as we were both surprised that no scheduling information had been provided at discharge. She then let me know that they had found something abnormal on Stephen’s MRI. It was a sunny afternoon, but my soul seemed to darken with her words.

There was an unusual but small spot on his scan, that hadn’t activated with contrast so she thought it was unlikely to be cancer. I asked clarifying questions with the concerned detachment of a person used to the responsibility of interpreting medical information for others including the patient. The spot was not in the vicinity of the locus of Stephen’s epileptic activity as determined by a PET scan during his hospital stay. The spot was being termed an “incidental finding” to be monitored by a follow-up MRI before Stephen’s next neurology visit in November. The spot was consistent with the lesions often found in the brains of people who suffer from migraine headaches. Stephen doesn’t get migraines. The phone call ended and I resumed my drive.

As I drove, I slipped back into long practiced habits. I finished my Divine Mercy Chaplet for the afternoon and offered a few extra prayers accepting whatever the overall outcome might be but also with hope that Stephen’s continued bad health not lead us down the cancer trail into a terminal cul-de-sac. Then I picked up the phone and gave Pam’s mother the first call as I drove. It is not the type of phone call that I relish making, but I prefer to give correct and realistic information directly to Barb rather than have her hear half-information from second-hand sources. I called my brother Sean next because I’ve found that giving several key people complete information is much better than giving lots of people partial information. I called Abby as well and repeated almost verbatim what I had told Sean and Barbara.

I knew that none of them would splash the news onto Facebook, but all would be able to provide clarification once the news did hit social media. Everything eventually ends up on Facebook. Nicholas, unfortunately, found out that his mother had died via social media while he was on break at Straw Hat. I hadn’t considered that possibility when I informed several family members of Pam’s death, but chose not to tell Nicholas for safety reasons. I didn’t want him driving home in a condition where he couldn’t pay attention. I have since remembered to consider the possibility of a Facebook spill with sensitive information.

By that time I had arrived my parent’s house to pick up Natalie. (The bus drops her off there in case I am held up at work.) I let my parents know about the spot on Stephen’s MRI face-to-face. That is my preference for difficult news, but personal conversations are not always possible once the pebble has dropped into the pool in our information age. With both sets of grandparents dutifully briefed, I drove the couple of miles remaining through Streetsboro boulevards and avenues so that I could pass the bad news to Stephen. I expected that he would have questions. My son is in a much better place now with regard to paranoia, but I remember some very bad times with him after Pam’s death.

Instead Stephen smiled at the news and asked me why I didn’t remember watching Nicola Tesla. At first I thought he was talking gibberish, but after several minutes of further conversation, I realized that Stephen had remembered a forgotten incident from a decade previous back when we lived in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

A bi-polar child misdiagnosed as hyper-active, Stephen’s made a long promenade through various unsuccessful treatment plans until eventually a doctor decided that Stephen needed a brain MRI. In preparation for the scan Stephen had to stay up all night the day previous to his test. I stayed up with him. At about 4 AM we ended up watching a long documentary about the imminently brilliant and simultaneously wacked-out physicist Nicola Tesla. I had totally forgotten about the entire experience. Nothing to help Stephen’s condition was found by the MRI, but Stephen did remember being petrified by the discovery of an “incidental finding” of a spot on his brain that was not immediately dangerous but should be monitored in the future. I guess I forgot to do so.

I spent the next half an hour reeling back in the thread of incomplete information that I had earlier cast out. It made me chuckle to have finally found the missing bookend of experience to complete the short-lived horror from all those years ago. An incident that had appeared to be random and pointlessly scary until its import made its comet-like return to my solar system at a time so remote that only my most distracted son remembered the original occurrence. Because there is a God, I know that everything in my life has a purpose and a reason even when the mosaic of occurrences appears too close to be deciphered from my vantage point.

Unhappily, I was reminded that life can be hard to understand in a different way on Sunday. A 16 year-old daughter of a good friend from my youth died unexpectedly from a brain hemorrhage at Saturday field hockey practice at a high school in New England. I could see no purpose to the death of a young girl within a close proximity to her teammates. I have seen the impact of that type of situation on servicemen and can’t fathom how a bunch of young women will suffer the impact of witnessing the loss of a friend in those circumstances. Unfortunately, my imagination is probably sufficient to paint the details of the scene in my head if I try to do so: a teary-eyed teammate sprinting for help, an adult coach working to revive or fix something in a little girl’s body that cannot be repaired, a collapsed collection of sobbing teenagers left at the scene after the ambulance has departed. I can make no sense of what has become of the poor girl’s short and seemingly glorious years – she tutored underprivileged kids.

While there is a Mass card for her waiting for pickup in my mailbox, I have no adequate words to send to her teammates or family. Yet I do know that flowers of love will sprout from the death of Casey Dunne in Braintree, Massachusetts just as good things have come from Pam’s death years removed and a continent away. That does not mean that I am happy to have lost my wife, Barb’s daughter and the mother of my children. I accept the experience and understand that good was achieved through God’s plan. While I am very happy that it does not look like Stephen will need a craniotomy, I am no longer naive enough to believe that Pam’s death was the last tragedy that I will experience. I do know that I will accept what comes and trust in God’s goodness even when my human understanding is insufficient to grasp the providence of a horrifying situation.

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tipsycad147 · 5 years

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How to Work with a Familiar

Okay, so you have a familiar- great! Now’s the fun part- working your craft with them.

Safety first!

Whenever working with an animal familiar- the first and most important thing to consider is their safety. Things I always consider when working witchcraft around my animal friends are:

Is anything in this spell toxic to this animal?

There’s a lot of little, totally innocent seeming herbs even kept in your kitchen that is best kept AWAY from your animal friends. For example- garlic, even in the smallest dose can be deadly for dogs and cats. And if your animal familiar is anything like mine- they tend to want to taste/stick their nose in it. A quick Google search of “type of animal, ingredient, toxic” will often bring up an answer- like “cat garlic toxic”. But always err on the side of caution- if you are uncertain, do not let your animal near it.

Burning things

While you can sometimes find candles and incense that is okay for some animals, do be careful when having anything that can burn an animal near them. Either keep the item out of reach or opt for something else- like an LED Candle. In the case of incense, always make sure your animal stays downwind (the opposite direction the smoke is blowing) of it, and make sure they don’t have any allergies or issues with it. If they start showing any signs of distress- coughing, sneezing, rubbing their eyes, remove it immediately.

Small animals, like rats and gerbils, are especially sensitive to smoke and it can really give them problems, so I avoid incense when near them. Most of your generic tea light candles and scented ones are going to be okay, if they are kept safely away from the animal and the animal is in no way in the path of the smoke from it. Some special notations are: birds are often extremely sensitive to smells and undiluted essential oils (which are often used in scented items) can give them severe respiratory problems. Reptiles have a similar problem with cedar-scents. In both cases (birds and reptiles) I try to avoid anything heavily scented around them to play it safe.

Is the animal comfortable with what I need them to do?

In general, your animal being comfortable is going to be best for them AND your spell. Just like you being upset can mess up a spell, so can your animal’s feelings! Sure you might have to rework a spell here or there to accommodate, but if you want your familiar to assist, you need to do so on their terms. Personally, I always ask the animal if they are willing to help me before every spell I work with them. And sometimes I choose not to ask them (curses, anything I’m afraid might rebound in a nasty way, etc) to make sure they stay safe. Always always always put their needs and health first.

Okay, so I’ve checked my ingredients and made sure my scented items are all a-okay with my animal friend. Now what?

Each animal is going to be different, given that they are all their own unique selves, but overall the following are my methods for working with familiars.

Your spell space

When working with your familiar, the area where you work your spell is probably not going to be normal. Since we are accommodating our assistants- we often must either choose a place they will come to us at or choose a place they are at.

Sometimes you’ll have an animal that loves to come get pets from you while you take a bath- great spell spot! Use those natural locations when the pet comes to you to create a spell casting area.

Get your ingredients together, then go to the place and wait for your pet to come to your call.

This might mean you are doing a spell in the bathtub, or in bed, but it gives you the bonus of having the extra energy of your familiar to help cast it- so it’s an equal trade off, I feel.

For those animals that either cannot (live in a cage/tank) or will not come to a certain location- take the spell to them.

If your cat loves laying in the middle of the hallway during the afternoon to sunbathe, you’ve just found a spot to cast your spell with him or her!

I always bring along something (a large book, box, TV tray, etc) to put anything burning or seemingly edible a top (let’s face it, most cats or dogs will try to eat just about anything) if I’m working on the ground with an animal, but otherwise, just work from there.

For our tank/cage dwelling friends- depending on their temperament and if they are able to breathe air (hi aquatic familiars!) you can always take them to your normal spell casting space. If not, camp out on the floor near their tank/cage and go from there.

Once you have the location figured out, your ingredients are there and you’re ready to cast your spell- do all your normal things.

If you cast a protective circle, call the quarters, invoke deities- whatever your normal method is- go for it. The difference is when you define your magical space, you are now giving the okay for your familiar to be a part of it.

Since I know my familiars might decide mid-spell that something else is far more important at that moment, I often note something along the lines of “May the boundaries of this expand as far as needed to encompass me and -familiar’s name-.” That way if my cat really needs to go get a snack, he can, and he’s still inside the big ole bubble of magic helping me out.

The help. During spells you are drawing from your own energy to fuel the outcome, so having a familiar means you have EXTRA ENERGY.

Think of it as that kick you get when your morning caffeine drink finally hits your system, but with magic. Sometimes I consider which familiar (if you have more than one) would be best for a certain spell. Rats, for example, are seen as good luck with money by some cultures, so I might use a rat familiar with a money spell. An extra cuddly dog or cat would be great for a love spell, or anything with warm, positive vibe. And you can bet your fish, frogs and other aquatic animals will definitely help any spells with water-connections.

When you are visualizing the energy from yourself, you can also visualise it from your familiar entering your spell. Sometimes I will touch or hold my familiar while casting the spell to help forge our two energies together into something stronger.

When finished, go through your usual post-spell methods (close the space, extinguish flame, etc) and give your familiar lots of love and praise!

All my familiars will vouch for the importance of post-spell treats, pets and love. Just like when you teach your animal a trick, rewarding your animal gives it a positive association with the activity. This way they will be happy to assist you again!

In short, working with a familiar is basically getting a nice helpful energy boost on a spell from a willing animal companion. Make sure they are safe, accommodate the ingredients and space to what works for them, and remember to thank them with love and treats afterwards!

https://themanicnami.tumblr.com/post/146858184396/familiars-102-how-to-work-with-a-familiar

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lordofthebigtimesupernatural · 7 years

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a concept i have been thinking about since reading your au of the single dad shiro au (au-ception woah): shiro being THAT dad who sees teenage keith in a crop top for the first time or super tight jeans and being like????? PUT ON THIS PARKA IMMEDIATELY YOUNG MAN because he will not and can not stand the thought of anyone ogling his precious gift to this earth. nope.

Omg, can I say that I laughed so hard when I read this prompt? Like just imagining this in my head was so funny. Protective Dad Shiro trying to protect his boy’s innocence. No one deserves to look, no matter how cute Keith is. I loved this and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! And whoops, something super happy turned into an emotional realization and all. ha. Ha. ha. But it’s still very fluffy. Enoy! I love when you guys send in these prompts.

x.V.x

“Andwhere do you think you’re going young man?”

“Um,out? With my friends?” Keith paused in the doorway, hand still on the handle ofthe front door. He turned around to face his father, who had appeared out ofnowhere (so it felt like) with arms folded over his chest. He tapped his footgently and one of his perfect eye brows rose. Quickly, Keith ran a list throughhis mind.

Did I forget anything today? It’s not hisbirthday. Or grandma or grandpa. I already did the dishes and took out thetrash. My room is never a mess. We already went grocery shopping. It’s Saturdayso he has to go into the office, meaning we couldn’t have anything planned.

“Um, Ican’t think of anything that I’ve forgotten. Can I go now?” Keith asked,rubbing the back of his neck when he heard a familiar honk outside of hishouse. That meant that Hunk was here, and everyone else was probably already inthe car.

“Whatare you wearing?” Shiro asked, trying to keep his voice from sounding tooshrill or upset. When Keith was younger, Shiro never had to worry about whatKeith wore. He often wore the same type of cotton t-shirts and shorts all thetime, year round. However, as Keith got older and older, diving into his teenyears, Shiro noticed Keith beginning to explore with his sense of fashion. Now,Shiro wasn’t ever going to judge Keith, because after all, he was thedefinition of a military man, and yet he wore the “Baddest” eyeliner and eye shadowon his eyes (according to Lance and Allura) and he kept good care of his face.

Shirowas happy that Keith was starting to get comfortable in other clothing that heliked. However, now that Keith was fifteen, there was the issue that Keithmight be interested in…dating. AndKeith was a good looking young man already, meaning there would be no doubtthat others would be ogling Shiro’sson.

Andthat was unacceptable.

It wasShiro’s job to protect his baby’s innocence for as long as he could. It was ajob Shiro took seriously too.

Currently,Keith was about to walk out of the safetyof their house, with the tightest black pair of skinny jeans, with rips alongthe knees and thighs. That wasn’t even the worst part of the whole outfit; no,on top Keith wore an actual literal crop top.

Shirohad to admit it looked good, but that top revealed way too much skin of Keith’sbelly and back. Not to mention the skin showing along Keith’s leg. And Keith had his hair pulled back intoa messy pony tail which meant Shiro could see some neck skin. Neck skin.

Hisbaby’s innocence would be lost by those vultures in society.

Shirocould not let that happen.

“Myoutfit?” Keith blinked, confused by his dad’s question. “It’s supposed to bereally hot today, and I don’t like sweating. You know that.” Keith shrugged andattempted to exit the house once more. He was stopped by Shiro moving quicklyin front of the door.

“Thenwhy don’t you wear regular jeans? That are looser and not black? Then it won’tbe so hot and a tank top?” Shiro smiled quickly and nodded. However, Keith onlyfrowned.

“Dad,it’s going to be like 35°C today. That’s what too hot, even for a tank. This isairy.” Keith gestured to his top and Shiro could only see how much skin wasshowing. “Can I go now? The others are all waiting for me, and that’s rude.”Keith pushed against his father and opened the door. Shiro bit his lip whenKeith made his way for the car before snatching something off the closet by thedoor.

“Youngman, you put on this Parka right now!” Shiro finally shouted, causing Keith tofreeze in his steps. Shiro ignored Lance and Pidge poking their heads out ofthe car, curious about what was taking Keith so long. Eventually Keith turnedto look at Shiro in disbelief.

“What?”He asked.

“ouheard me. You put on this Parka immediately young man.” Shiro thrust thearticle of clothing outwards and held it out for Keith. Keith only gawked athis father.

“Dad!It’s going to be too hot for that!” Keith argued with a pout and Shiro snorted.

“Doesn’tmean you have to show off your whole body for everyone out there. There are lotsof pervs and creeps who will want to feed off your innocence!” Shiro snappedback and held out the parka for his son again. Keith sighed dramatically.

“Oh no.No. No. No. We are not having this conversation now. It’s hot, this outfit iscool. Goodbye dad.” Keith threw his hands in the air in disbelief beforespinning around and storming off.

“Don’tyou dare walk away from me! You put this parka on right now or I will shoveyour winter coat on!” Shiro threatened weakly but Keith kept walking.

“I knowhow to take care of myself, dad. Give me a break.” Keith waved absently overhis shoulder at his dad, who was now standing around with his mouth sputteringlike a fish.

Lancepoked his head out of the window and waved to Shiro. “Don’t worry Shiro, Keithis wearing that really because it’s hot. Not because it’s a rebellious fashion statement.”

“LanceMcClain, you better not also be wearing a crop top or I’ll be calling yourmother.”

Lanceyelped before shoving his head back into the car. Luckily, Keith had reachedthe passenger seat and threw himself into the car. He buckled up and motionedfor a nervous Hunk to floor it before looking back at his dad.

“Youforgot your PARKA!!!!”

x.V.x.

“A croptop Allura. It was an actual crop top.” Shiro moaned into his hands, at thesmall café that he was at with Allura and Coran. He’d tried to call Keith abouta dozen times after the teen left, only for his calls to go straight tovoicemail. Shiro knew Keith was just mad, and he would actually pick up if itwas an emergency but calling about a parka wasn’t exactly an emergency.

“So?”Allura sipped her drink quietly and shrugged. Shiro turned his head so that hecould stare at her in disbelief. “Crop tops are cool. Plus they’re super cute.I wear them all the time.”

“Wellyeah, but you can beat off any pervs…” Shiro argued weakly.

“So canKeith.” Allura pointed out and Shiro groaned again. “He is a champion ex-boxer.He’s knows Judo. His father was aspecial operations military man who know doubt helped to teach him self-defense,and Keith doesn’t care for “suitors.” You know that.”

“Suitorsis too nice. Let’s just call them creeps.” Shiro sighed dejectedly while Allurachuckled.

“Youcannot hide Keith away forever. He’s a handsome young man, and no doubt manyother girls and boys would agree.” Coran added, earning a sharp glare fromShiro. Even after all these years, Coran was still afraid of the younger manafter losing Keith and the kids in a park.

“Coranis right Shiro.” Allura gently gave Shiro’s arm a pat. “Keith is growing him. Hemight want to have girlfriends or boyfriends. It’s what teenagers do and surelyyou remember what being a teenager was like?”

“Yeah…butKeith is so innocent…”

“And he’salso very blunt. I doubt Keith will let any person walk over him or be weird.He knows how to take care of himself. You gotta let go of some of theseridiculous restrictions.” Allura laughed when Shiro whined into his arms beforesighing. He nodded slowly and sat slumped in his seat with his arms over hischest. “Like you could even let go of these restrictions for yourself.” Allurasaid causing Shiro to frown.

“What?”

“Shiro,it’s so hot that I’m practically melting in shorts and a tank. You’re wearing ablack long sleeve shirt and pants. I can feel your sweat from over here.”Allura said and Shiro gasped.

“I amnot! I am perfectly fine like this.” He cried and Allura only rolled her eyes.

“You’regoing to pass out.”

Shirochewed on his bottom lip. Actually, he wasreally hot. And there was probably sweat stains everywhere (how embarrassing). “I just don’t…I don’t want anyone to see them.”

“Seewhat?” Allura cocked her head but Shiro only bit his lip some more. SuddenlyAllura’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh. Youmean your scars. From your time in the military?” Finally Shiro nodded.

“I havea lot on my back and my shoulder by the prosthetic. They’re kinda gross.” Shiroshrugged.

“Whocares?” Allura frowned deeply, concerned for her friend’s insecurity. “It doesn’tmatter what anyone else thinks except for you.Those scars are proof of how strongyou were; of how far you’ve come since them. I’m proud of you. Keith is proudof you. Coran is and your parents. We all know that you’re not weak or ugly.You’re perfect, just the way you are.” Allura’s smile softened when Shiromanaged a teeny grin.

“Besides,I think any of your suitors will betoo busy with your perfect face to notice the scars right away.” Coran added, causingShiro and Allura to laugh.

“I justdon’t want you to pass out from heat exhaustion on me.” Allura said with alaugh and Shiro nodded.

x.V.x

Keithsighed when he and his friends arrived back at his house. It’d been a week ofShiro trying to get him to wear a parka, and a week of Keith ignoring his dad.However, his dad hadn’t tried to stop him from leaving in another crop top andskinny jeans this morning. He’d simply smiled and wished Keith a good day.

“Dad!We’re home.” Keith called out as Lance already began rummaging his fridge withHunk while Pidge kicked off their shoes.

“Outsidein the Garden. Welcome home!” Shiro called out from outside and Keith made hisway out. However, upon seeing his dad kneeling in the garden, Keith froze withhis jaw dropped.

His dadwas putting in the last of the plants for this year with a baseball cap overhis head to keep the sun out of his eyes. However, unlike the usual longt-shirt or long-sleeve, Shiro was wearing a loose (very loose) tank top and shorts.His dad never wore shorts. Or tank tops.

WhenShiro turned around after finishing his work, he looked at Keith biting his lipnervously. Keith could instantly see how uncomfortable his dad was like this, lookingfar more vulnerable than ever. Keith’s eyes lingered on the visible scars on his dad’s skin, that heknew all too well from Shiro’s time in the military.

Finally,Keith beamed and laughed. “Purple looks good on you dad. You should wear thatmore.” I’m proud of you for overcomingyour fear. Shiro’s whole body sagged with relief at the unspoken words fromhis son before grinning brightly.

“Wellit was hot out and these are cool.” Shiro said playfully before he wasinterrupted by several loud whistles and one annoying cat call.

“Wh-oa.Looking good Shiro!” Lance yelled from their porch and Keith rolled his eyes.He smiled a bit at the relieved look on his dad’s face before rolling his eyes.

“Youperv. Stop checking out my dad. That’s weird!”

“I can’thelp it.” Lance shrugged, entirely unashamed. “Your family has genes that aretotally unfair.”

“That’strue. Completely unfair.” Pidge nodded in agreement while Hunk smiled. Keithsighed dramatically at his friend’s antics, but couldn’t help but grin at hisdad. He was proud of his dad for stepping out of his comfort zone, and backing off of Keith.

Plus,this meant that Keith could wear a crop top whenever he wanted.

Score.

#single dad shiro #single dad shiro AU #kiddie!AU #kiddie paladins #voltron legendary defender #thanks nonny #this was a good laugh #Shiro and Keith are too good looking for us mere mortals

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hcolleen · 7 years

Text

Title: Clubbing Rating: 18+ Warnings: F/F, BDSM, public places Note: I usually write m/m/.... so this is a bit of an experiment and I’m not sure how I did with it, but leaving it just in my doc files isn’t going to solve that problem. Summary: Rachel wants to explore and the club seemed the place to do it.

It wasn't the type of place she'd normally go, nor was it very easy to find. The warehouses along the road hid the smaller building, blocking even the scant street lights, leaving most of the parking lot only lit by the light of the quarter moon and the single bare light bulb above the door of the smaller building. Several people had gone in, most dressed in coats that hid them from shoulder to mid-thigh or calf, though some, like the couple she'd just watched go in, were dressed in clothing that better suited the still-warm summer evening, the woman in a short skirt and tank top, the man in cut-off shorts and a t shirt.

She'd been sitting in her car for half an hour, unable to get out, unwilling to leave. Her eyes were adjusted enough to the dim light that she could check her makeup in the rearview mirror, and had done so several times. She'd put her hand on the door handle five times and each time had pulled it away and twisted it with her other hand in her lap, heart pounding.

Rubbing her hands on the steering wheel, she decided to try again, this time with a pep talk. "C'mon, Rache, you wanted to do this, so it's time," she said, taking a deep breath and reaching for the door. If she could just get it open, the rest would be easy. "Keep telling yourself that," she muttered, wrapping her hand around the handle. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She could feel herself shaking, her heart making her breasts pulse against her shirt, the shirt moving against her stomach. "Okay, you can do it," she gasped and pulled the handle, pushing the door open with her elbow.

The sounds of the night, the distant roar of the traffic on the freeway, the occasional car passing on the surface street that cut through the warehouse district, the sounds of night creatures, muted music from the building and the grinding of tires on gravel, filtered in. She saw the lights of a car cut through the parking lot as it angled toward her. She managed to get to her feet behind her door by the time it parked next to her, though she gripped the door frame tightly, hoping the courage it'd taken to open the door didn't fail her.

"Hi, you're new here?" the driver of the car, a red Toyota, said. "I'm Becky," she said, holding out her hand.

"I'm Rachel, yes, new," she said, forcing a hand to let go of the car to shake Becky's hand. "I...well, yeah, new," she said.

Becky smiled. "It took me almost two hours the first time and I didn't get out of my car," she admitted.

Rachel managed to laugh. "Yeah?" she asked, sliding away from her car, though she still clung to the frame.

Becky nodded. "Yeah. It was an hour the second time and I did manage to get out. I had a great time when I got in," she said. "If it helps, I'll hold your hand," she offered, extending a hand again.

Rachel looked at her car, a classic green Bug, then back at Becky, at her hand. She drew her lower lip between her teeth and nodded, closing the door after checking she had her purse and locked the door. "Yeah," she said, the word more an exhalation than anything else. She liked Becky, her smile, her laugh, her admitting she'd been scared the first time, too. "How long have you been coming here?" she asked, though she made no further move away from her car.

"About six months," Becky said. "Once or twice a week, depending on what I need." She tugged Rachel's hand gently. "Let's sit on the trunk of my car," she suggested.

Nodding, Rachel convinced her feet to move the short distance to the rear of Becky's car. When Becky actually propped her heel on the bumper and pushed herself up, she did the same. "I thought...well, it'd be...different," she said, running her fingers through her hair, watching a man cross from his car on the other side of the lot to the door.

"Zoning regulations make it a challenge," Becky said. She looked up at the sky and then over at Rachel. "What are you expecting?" she asked. "Maybe I can help set you at ease that way."

Rachel laughed, nervous again. "Well," she said. "I kinda...well, an orgy? Sex everywhere. Um...chains and whips? Y'know, general debauchery?"

Becky chuckled. "In a way, but not really," she said. "In the door, there's a coat check and a register. It's twenty for entry and all the juice and soda you can drink."

"Alcohol?"

Becky shook her head. "Not a drop. See, consent is utterly critical and you have to be sober to really consent, so no alcohol is allowed. Also, if you feel pressured, there're people with badges, you can talk to them and they'll make sure you're left alone by that person." She looked at the door. "If you don't or can't say yes enthusiastically, it's not consent," she said.

"Seriously?" Rachel asked, looking between Becky and the door.

"Seriously," Becky said, looking back at Rachel, her eyes serious. "The point is to have a good time, not to prove anything," she said. "Besides, there's more than enough predators everywhere else," she added, shuddering a little. "They get weeded out here pretty quickly."

"Really?" Rachel asked.

Becky laughed. "Yeah. There's a one warning rule. More than one complaint against someone for consent issues and they're banned."

"And…well...what about," she bit her lip. "I guess defense?" she asked.

Becky tilted her head, looking closer at Rachel. "I've only had one issue. They took us to separate rooms and asked us both what happened. They do try to make sure it wasn't just a miscommunication, but they talk to you both, or however many, separately, to figure out what's going on and take actions appropriate. I didn't feel like they were just dismissing me when they told me I'd misunderstood what had happened. I've seen other people banned, and so I know it happens." She shrugged. "I did talk to the person I'd had the misunderstanding with and we did work it out, but no one forced us to. And I did see how I'd misunderstood what had happened, so it worked out."

Rachel nodded and drew her lip between her teeth. "What about...more?" she asked, her cheeks flushing visibly even with the poor lighting in the parking lot.

"More? Like what more were you thinking?"

Rubbing her hands along her calves, Rachel said. "Well, like...kinky stuff," she whispered.

"What do you mean by 'kinky'?" Becky asked. "From experience, I can tell you that there are a lot of definitions for kinky, so what are you wanting to try?" she asked.

Watching her hands as she smoothed them along her thighs, trying to tug down her skirt, Rachel thought a moment then said, "Well...I've read…"

"That book that we won't mention the name of?" Becky asked. "All three of them?" she added when Rachel nodded. At her second nod, Becky said, "Those books don't really teach about kink. The acts can be kink, but they don't talk about consent and safety, so it's not kink, it's abuse." She paused, taking a deep breath as she realized her voice had been rising. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I had an ex try to convince me that was what kink was. I started to come here after we broke up. I knew better, but I couldn't really voice it then," she said, smiling apologetically at Rachel.

Rachel winced a little, but her curiosity was aroused by Becky continuing. "I...I'm sorry, I didn't know," she mumbled. "I'd...I want to try. If...I know this is a lot to ask, but if you want, I'd really appreciate the help," she whispered, looking shyly at Becky.

Becky reached over and caressed Rachel's hand. "I have one question first," she said. "Would you mind me teaching you directly or do you want me to show you a good guy?" she said.

Rachel flushed deeply again, looking at Becky's hand. "I...I…" her jaw worked a bit. "Both?" she said. "But, you first," she breathed, looking over at Becky.

"I'd like to teach you," Becky said smiling warmly. "I really would," she said, bringing a hand up to caress Rachel's cheek. "Let's go in and get to know each other," she suggested, sliding from the trunk and holding Rachel's hand.

Rachel slid from the car and took Becky's hand, blushing again. "I...before we go in," she stammered. "I've never been with a woman before. I've wanted to, but…" She looked at Becky, trying to read her expression to see if there was anything negative in it.

Becky smiled at her. "I'm bi, but wasn't with a woman until a couple of years ago. A lot of lesbians are afraid of us, afraid that we'll fly away for cock," she said. She pulled Rachel closer. "I'm willing to experiment with you if you promise to communicate with me," she said. "I need you to tell me if you're uncomfortable. I need you to tell me if you want to move on. I promise to communicate with you, too," she said.

Nodding, Rachel took a moment before she could talk. "I'll communicate," she said.

Becky squeezed Rachel's hand again and then led her into the building. Inside, there was a man and a woman at a counter, taking coats, clothing, and entrance fee after checking IDs. Becky paid both their fees and handed over her shirt, leaving a sheer black bra on and her skirt.

Rachel considered a moment then took off her shirt as well, leaving her with a floral and lace bra. She rubbed her stomach nervously and looked at Becky.

"If you're not comfortable, you can keep your shirt," Becky said softly. "But I love the way you look."

"Hippy with a bit of a pooch?" Rachel asked.

"Oh, yes. I'll show you how much when we dance," Becky said, winking at her.

Rachel laughed a little nervously. "I'll go like this," she said. "I'm good."

Becky grinned at her and thanked the two in the coat room before leading Rachel through the curtain that separated the entry from the main room.

Rachel paused, looking around the room. The lights were dim, brightest on a dance floor where there were four groups, two couples and two groups of four, were dancing, grinding up against each other. There was a bar where several people were talking and drinking. Along the wall opposite, in the farthest corner, was a jacuzzi where five people were all exploring each other. Between the bar and jacuzzi was a doorway, a small table with a bowl. Rachel frowned at the bowl.

"Condoms," Becky said. "And there's a couple of bowls of condoms on the bar and one by the jacuzzi," she pointed out. "Safer sex is required, no sex without a condom here," she said. She slid her arm around Rachel's waist, caressing her back. "Drink or dance first?" she asked.

Rachel looked between the bar and the dance floor, listening to the music, feeling it. "Dance first," she said.

Becky drew her over to the dance floor, keeping their distance from the others, then turned Rachel to face her, holding her close, starting to sway with the music. "Now, if anything I do makes you uncomfortable, tell me," she said. "Tell me now nervous you are now, one to ten."

Closing her eyes a moment then opening them to look at Becky. "Three," she said.

"How nervous were you in your car?"

Rachel bit her lip. "Seven."

Becky nodded. "When should I stop?" she asked.

"Seven," Rachel said.

"If you get to seven before I ask, tell me," Becky said, drawing Rachel closer, her hands going to Rachel's ass.

"Four, and okay," Rachel said. "It would be higher if you weren't talking to me," she confessed.

"Then I'll keep talking," Becky said, massaging Rachel's back. "Now, let's address the hippy with a pooch comment," she said, narrowing her eyes at Rachel. "I want you to look around at the people here. You'll see several different figures."

Rachel looked at the people around them again, paying more attention. There was only one woman who looked 'normal' weight. One looked really skinny, but the others in the room were rounder, heavier. She actually felt pretty 'normal' in the room, size wise. The guys were the same, too. She turned back to Becky. "Yeah," she breathed. "I...guess I'm normal," she said.

Becky leaned forward and kissed her gently. "Yes, though, I also find you rather attractive," she said.

Rachel felt heat pour down her head and chest. "I find you attractive, too," she stammered, feeling her heart pulse through her body.

"Good," Becky sighed, drawing Rachel closer. "May I pull your skirt up?" she asked. "Like that," she said, glancing at the couple next to them. The woman was straddling the man's thigh, her skirt up around her waist, lip-locked together. When Rachel looked back at her. "We can go a little slower, but I'd like you to ride my thigh and I'd like to ride yours," she said.

"Yeah," Rachel said, shifting her hands to Becky's ass to gather her skirt up. "Glad I went with a skirt and not slacks," she said, her heart pounding harder through his body.

"Where are you, anxiety-wise?" Becky asked, shifting a little so she was straddling Rachel's leg, encouraging her to bend her knees a little.

"About like I was outside, but also that aroused, too," Rachel said. She gasped when she felt Becky's hand on her panties. "More on arousal," she breathed.

"I can work with that," Becky said, rocking her hips against Rachel's thigh, encouraging her to do the same. "Let your body move, just relax and enjoy yourself," she breathed.

Rachel groaned, amazed at how good it felt to grind against Becky. She glanced around quickly and saw several people watching them. Strangely, it sent a spike of arousal through her, drawing a moan to her throat. "I...I think I like being watched," she breathed, looking back at Becky.

"Good," Becky said. "You know they want to find out more about you, to find out what you feel like, which I can attest is very good, how you taste," she said, leaning forward, giving Rachel time to pull back, but when Rachel tilted her head and leaned forward a little, she kissed her. They lingered in the kiss this time, deepening it, their tongues coming out to taste each other at the same time, then slid along each other.

Rachel's hands slid up Becky's back then back down to her ass, squeezing as she leaned into the kiss. Knowing that people were watching them, wanting her, that Becky really did seem to care about her, the way she felt with Becky's thigh against her pussy, feeling Becky's pussy warm against her, feeling her wetness as Becky rocked against her, all of it pushed nervousness from Rachel's mind, leaving her wanting, hornier than she remembered being in her last relationship. She gasped as Becky pulled them closer, pushing her thigh between Rachel's lower lips, against her clit, feeling Becky do the same on her thigh. She rocked harder, kissed harder, her orgasm beginning to grow, making her warm and needy. She came, grinding harder against Becky's thigh, pulling Becky closer, wanting to feel her come, too.

She gasped, pulling away from Becky to try and catch her breath again, then realized people were actually watching them. She hid her face against Becky's shoulder. "I don't believe I did that," she whispered.

"Did you enjoy it?" Becky asked, still moving them gently in time to the music.

"Yes," Rachel said. "I...just...wow, I didn't know I had it in me," she said, laughing a little. She raised her head and looked at Becky. He breathing was still a bit quick, her pulse dancing through her body. "I'd...can we keep dancing?" she breathed.

"As long as you want. When you're ready, if you want, we can move into the back. A little more privacy, unless you want me to lick your pussy in here," she offered.

Rachel moaned. "Can...will you spank me?" she asked, her voice quivering a little.

Becky caressed Rachel's ass at the edge of her panties, kneading her ass. "We'll use a one to ten, one for not good, ten for amazing," she said.

"Okay," Rachel said then gasped, squealing a bit as Becky slapped her ass. "Five, more," she breathed. She squealed and groaned, rocking harder against Becky's thigh as she slapped harder. "Oh, god, seven," she panted.

"That's as hard as I do out here," Becky said, smiling. "Very nice reaction. Until we find your limits, we'll use the one to ten, okay?" she asked, digging her nails into Rachel's ass.

"Oh, god, nine," Rachel moaned, pulling Becky closer to her, feeling her pussy start to pulse again. "Yes, good," she groaned.

Becky laughed a little. "One more song, then I want you to sit at a table and drink juice while I suck your pussy," she breathed, leaning forward, kissing Rachel hard, nipping at Rachel's tongue when she slid it in. They danced, ground against each other, Becky digging her nails into Rachel's ass, until they both came again.

Swaying slowly together until the song ended, Rachel and Becky had time to catch their breath. "That was a lot more than I expected," Rachel said softly.

"You came to a swingers club and didn't expect sex?"

Blushing and laughing a little. "I...well, I haven't felt like that before," Rachel admitted.

Becky wrapped her arms around Rachel's waist. "That is one of the saddest things I've heard," she said. "We'll have to make sure you have enough orgasms to make up for it," she said.

Rachel reached up and brushed Becky's hair back away from where it clung to her cheeks. "Really?" she asked.

"As many as you want," Becky promised. "But first, a drink," she said, guiding Rachel to the bar, her hand remaining on Rachel's ass, keeping her skirt raised. Very softly, she said, "If anything I do bothers you, tell me. I want to make you feel good, not uncomfortable."

Rachel leaned a little closer to Becky, wrapping her arm around her waist. "I do feel good with you and the uncomfortable is a little part of that," she said softly. "But, it's a good uncomfortable, not like you're forcing me or anything, but like you're encouraging me to do what I want to do and haven't let myself." She looked over. "But, I know what you mean, the bad uncomfortable, the kind that makes me feel sick, not excited."

Becky seemed to think about that a moment. "Okay, yes, if I do anything that makes you queasy, tell me," she said. "Don't wait to see if it feels better, don't think you'll hurt my feelings. You'll hurt me more if you don't tell me."

Rachel nodded. "I will," she promised.

"I want you to tell me a word you can remember and will say when things go wrong in your head," Becky said.

"What?" Rachel asked, confused.

"You need a safe word, a word that you can remember, even when you're panicked, that will signal to me when you've had too much or you're not feeling safe or comfortable."

Rachel frowned. "I don't remember hearing about that," she said.

"Those books don't talk about real BDSM. Real BDSM is about safety and consent as well as kink. Do you know a word you'll remember?" Becky pressed.

Rachel thought a moment then nodded. "Patches," she said. "I can remember that," she said.

"Good. Now," Becky continued in a more normal tone of voice, "what would you like to drink?" she asked. "Juice, soda, water, tea, coffee? I'm going to have pineapple juice with coconut, a virgin pina colada," she said, grinning. "The drinks are the only virgins here," she laughed.

Rachel groaned. "That's hideous," she moaned then laughed. "Cranberry and orange juice," she said.

"Thank you," Becky said, relaying their orders to the bartender who smiled warmly at both of them. Becky returned the smile, though her hand remained on Rachel's ass, massaging it gently. She leaned over while their drinks were being made and asked, "Do you want me to eat you out here where everyone can see or do you want to go back to a room?" she asked.

Rachel looked at her, saw her hand going to the bowl next to them and pulling out a packet that said it was a dental dam, and then around the room. There were a few more people in the room now, some dancing, some sitting at tables. "A room," she said, looking back at Becky. "I...also," she hesitated, smiling at the bartender as he handed them their drinks. When he walked away to help other people, she continued, "I want to try more. And...umm...get another of those," she said, gesturing at Becky's hand, blushing deeply.

Becky smiled at her, picking up another dental dam and her drink before guiding Rachel to the doorway to the rooms.

A woman came up and looked at them both. "Room for both of you?"

"Yes, please. We're not expecting anyone to join us," Becky replied.

The woman looked over at Rachel. "Agree?" she asked.

Rachel nodded. "Yes, the two of us, not expecting anyone else," she said, her cheeks still red. "It's...my first time here. I'm not ready for anyone else yet," she said, moving a little closer to Becky.

Nodding, the woman handed Rachel a board that had a two with a line through it. "Room four," she said, moving away.

"The two says how many are in the room, the line through it indicates we don't want any company," Becky explained, guiding Rachel into the hall.

Room four was the second on the right. Each room only had a curtain over the door and there was a hook on the side. Rachel hung the sign on the hook and looked around. Some of the curtains were open even though there was a plaque on the hook. By one open curtain, a man and a woman stood, both masturbating, leaning against each other as they did

"Some people like to be watched," Becky whispered, guiding Rachel into the room and pulling the curtain closed. "Later, we can try it, if you want. For now, I want to explore you and your limits," she said.

"Why...aren't they fucking in the hall?" Rachel asked, looking over her shoulder at the curtain.

"Against the rules and they can't go in without an invitation. Masturbation is fine in the hall." Becky took a sip of her drink and set it down on the floor beside the bare mattress. She pulled a sheet off the shelf above the door and flicked her wrists to spread it over the mattress. "Now, my dear, shall I take off your clothes or do you want to take off mine?" she asked, her hands going to Rachel's waist along the waistband of her skirt.

Rachel took a sip of her drink. "Let me put this down and let's do both," she said. She bent and twisted, liking the way Becky's hands remained on her body. She looked at Becky's body, loving the way her nipples pressed against her bra and how her bra did nothing to hide it. "I...I want to start with your bra," she breathed, licking her lips.

"You want to suck my tits?" Becky asked, drawing Rachel's hands up her back, encouraging her to do as she wanted. "Would you like me to order you around?" she asked.

Rachel nodded, unhooking Becky's bra. "Yes, please tell me what to do," she breathed, her eyes locked on the flesh she was exposing. She licked her lips again, her hands came forward and caressed Becky's breasts, her thumbs brushing her nipples.

"Take off your bra," Becky ordered, her voice carrying a moan as she did.

Rachel looked at Becky's face, the desire to argue obvious in her eyes, then she lowered her face to Becky's shoulder. "Yes, Mistress," she breathed, reaching around behind her own back and unhooking her bra, sliding it out from between their bodies before she moved away enough for Becky to see her body.

Becky smiled at her, her hands going to Rachel's breasts. "You have beautiful tits," she said, pinching her nipples. "Now, take off my skirt and panties," she ordered. "Don't hide this time," she added, pinching hard at Rachel's nipples.

Groaning, Rachel reached around found the fastener of Becky's skirt. With Becky teasing her breasts so much and so expertly she found it a bit hard to concentrate on anything else. "Yes, Mistress," she breathed. She pressed her thighs together, aroused again, more than she had been before. She pushed Becky's skirt and panties down, moaning as she saw that Becky was very obviously aroused again, her panties soaked through. "May...may I touch you?" she asked, looking back up at Becky.

"Not yet," Becky said. "Now, take off your clothes then on your hands and knees on the bed," she ordered, swatting at Rachel's tits.

Yelping, Rachel moved her hand to her waistband, having to trace it around to find the fastener, her hands shaking too much. She had to try a couple of times to manage to get the hook to release and the zipper down, but once she managed to get them undone, she shoved her skirt and panties down quickly, kicking off her shoes and knelt on the bed, her side to Becky, looking over at her, wanting, needing more direction.

"Show me your ass, bitch," Becky ordered.

Rachel groaned, moving so her ass was pointed toward Becky. She rubbed her face against her arms. "Please, Mistress," she whimpered. She was more turned on now than she had been on the dance floor. She whimpered when she felt the mattress moved under Becky's weight kneeling behind her. She screamed as Becky's hands came down on her ass hard, striking both cheeks at the same time.

"One to ten?" Becky asked.

"Ten, oh, god, a ten. Do it again, please, Mistress," Rachel begged.

Becky caressed Rachel's ass, then dug her nails in. "My little bitch likes that, does she?" she taunted, her thumbs pulling Rachel's ass open then she dug her nails into Rachel's ass, drawing out groans. "Answer me," she ordered, bringing both hands up and slapping Rachel's ass harder.

"Yes, Mistress," Rachel screamed, her back arching, her hands fisitng the sheet into balls. "Oh, yes, Mistress, I like that," she panted.

Becky caressed Rachel's ass again. "Good, now all I want to hear out of you, my sweet bitch, is screams or 'patches' if it's too much," she said.

"Yes, Mistress," Rachel panted then was left to scream as Becky slapped her ass over and over, moving so that she was slapping her thighs as well. She felt herself drifting wonderfully, anchored and sent to fly by each smack. She felt her pussy draw tight then came again as Becky kept hitting her. She screamed hard, her body arching, twisting. She gasped as Becky flipped her over and spread her legs wide. "Mistress," she panted.

"I didn't give you permission to say that," Becky growled, slapping Rachel's thighs, drawing out another scream from her. She opened the packet and laid the thin barrier over Rachel's pussy. "Now, my little bitch, you're just going to scream for me now. Lace your fingers together and put them over your head," she ordered.

Rachel had to bite her tongue to keep from saying 'yes, Mistress' as she moved to obey, feeling incredibly vulnerable and incredibly turned on at the same time. She watched Becky, her anxiety and need in her expression.

"Your safe word is always allowed," Becky reminded her then dragged her nails down Rachel's stomach.

That helped Rachel's anxiety a little, but being so exposed and not being sure what Becky was going to do, though she very much liked what Becky was doing as her nails along her thighs.

"My little slut," Becky moaned, leaning down and kissed at Rachel's pussy, lingering to help warm the dam.

Rachel whimpered, rocking her hips as well as she could. She fought the urge to bring her hands down and hold Becky where she was. She gasped as Becky pushed her legs apart as far as she was able then pushed them up. It was a strange position, leaving her pussy so very open and making her feel even more vulnerable, but that was starting to add to her arousal.

"Now, my little slut, I'm going to make you come so hard," she said, looking up at Rachel, smiling wickedly at her. "When I decide I want you to," she added, licking her lips.

Rachel whimpered, afraid and aroused. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Becky pressing her face into her body. She gasped, feeling Becky's tongue through the barrier against her clit. She tried to rock into that touch, but the way Becky was holding her kept her from being able to move effectively. She squealed as Becky bit at her thigh, then moaned as she went back to her clit. Over and over, until Rachel was writhing on the bed, fighting the urge to bring her hands down by having them behind her head now, her nails digging into her scalp. Her skin was slick and she wanted to come so badly and didn't want Becky to stop.

Becky turned her attention to Rachel's clit, watching her as well as she could, focusing on making Rachel come, watching her, her own fingers working her own clit, moaning as Rachel screamed with orgasm, pushing herself over as well with a groan before crawling up along Rachel's body, kissing and licking, until she could see Rachel's eyes, how dazed she was. Smiling, Becky arranged Rachel's legs more comfortably and held her, stroking her, crooning to draw her back slowly into her own skin.

Rachel shuddered, her whole body shaking as though she were cold. It comforted her that she could feel Becky's arms around her, could hear her, the crooning sounding almost like a lullaby. She shuddered, relaxing, calming, taking a deep breath and relaxing against Becky's body. Slowly, she blinked, opening her eyes and looking over at Becky. "My god, that was wonderful, Mistress," she said, her voice ragged.

"Good," Becky said, kissing her shoulder. "I think for today, that'll be all," she added, caressing Rachel's stomach. "You're not ready for any more yet," she said, kissing Rachel's neck. "And I'd like to see you again," she added, pressing herself closer to Rachel.

Rachel moaned. "I'd like that," she said, sighing. "Seeing you again, more," she breathed.

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almost-hysterical · 7 years

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So @infpbandgeek and I were at lunch today talking to a couple of friends and were talking about misogyny, racism, nativism, LGBTQ+ animosity and religious discrimination. The two friends that we were talking to argued that none of that is a thing. That there's no white privilege. That there isn't true racism. That men don't have any advantages. That America doesn't need immigrants. That Christians aren't favored. Says the white, straight, Christian, American born males. As a woman I have to consciously choose my routes based on where I am least likely to be assaulted. I can't look around without seeing my body and my fellow sisters' bodies sexualized and attuned to what will fill MEN'S sexual appetites. I can't be angry without being disregarded because of my monthly cycle. I can't make a mistake without it becoming a reflection of my gender. I cannot speak for what I believe in because then I'm loud and bitchy. I cannot say no without being called shrewd. I cannot say yes without being called a slut. I can't wear tank tops or shorts to school, even though I've seen men with practically no shirts on. I can't question the wrongdoings of a man without being called a "feminazi." I can't bring up the idea of gender equality without being shamed for my identification as a feminist. The list goes on, so don't you dare say there isn't male privilege. Racism is rampant. My black and Latino friends are treated differently than other kids because their pigmentation determines their intelligence according to some. And Asian friends are all assumed to be smart and shamed when they aren't. And a white kid acting up is just a kid being a kid, but a black or Latino kid making a mistake is a reflection of their entire race. Latino friends of mine feel uncomfortable speaking Spanish to other Latino friends at school for fear of being assaulted, verbally or otherwise. Muslims can't wear religious clothing because it's seen as dangerous. People avoid them and call them terrorists, despite the moral codes of the Quran preaching quite the opposite. Because apparently ISIS is a fair generalization for all Muslims and Arabs. So don't you dare say racial issues are only happening within our police force. I have never met an immigrant with ill intentions. No matter the part of the world. Central/South American, African, European, Asian, and Australian immigrants all attend my school, and I get along perfectly with them. They are kind, and smart, and funny, and passionate just like anyone else. Their birthplace is not a reflection of who they are as people, and yet most are afraid to talk about their homelands because they know people will attack them for it. Kids with undocumented parents can't reach out for help or get insurance or go to the doctors because there is no protection for immigrants and no help for them to become citizens (which isn't cheap, by the way). The place these people are born determines their worth as a person and that is NOT okay. So don't you dare say that there isn't nativism. (Not to mention our newly inaugurated president wants to ban Muslim/Arabic immigrants and wants to build a fucking wall on the Mexican border) As a bisexual women, men ask me all the time if I'm interested in a threesome with two girls and a guy. The answer is and will always be no. But the point is that my sexuality is used to assume that I am easy. And I'm not. I am complicated and dedicated and focused. I am not ANYBODY's property or sex object because I am a woman, not a thing to be owned. Gay men are always assumed to be feminine and flamboyant and boy-crazy, when they are just as smart and kind as any heterosexual. Lesbians are expected to be butch, which doesn't have anything to do with sexual orientation. Speaking of gay couples, to people who ask, "Who's the boy and who's the girl?" The answer is no. Saying two gay people in a relationship are different genders kind of defeats the purpose. And gender equality is dismal. Gender fluid, non-binaries, transgendered, and undecided friends are all afraid to show what gender they truly are because they know people will attack them. People get accused of being too sensitive when asking for specific pronouns. And people who are displaying their true gender are often pushed down, and told they still look like their sex. While on the topic, gender and sex are not the same. Gender is in the brain based on hormones and brain chemistry, sex is what genitalia a person is born with. Saying they're the same is saying that thinking with your head is the same as thinking with your penis and that's fucking stupid. So don't be a dick and use "gay" as an insult or purposefully use the wrong pronouns, despite how much of a trend it is these days. Don't tell me there isn't discrimination against LGBTQ+ people. As a Jewish woman, I can't really talk about my heritage or religion. When I mention that I'm Jewish, the Jew jokes and Holocaust jokes roll in. People say they can tell by the shape of my nose. They make fun of traditions and degrade me for not agreeing with the teachings of their own religious denomination. Once, I mentioned I was Jewish in a class discussion based on the idea of Jewish culture and when I came back from the bathroom that class period, my notebooks and class work was covered in swastikas and horribly offensive, obscene language. Muslim friends can't wear the hijab because "it's not safe," but white boys can wear hats. Let's just say these issues aren't really based on the idea of safety. And no one is allowed to leave class to pray except some Catholics. During some Jewish holidays and many Muslim (sorry if I leave out your religion, I'm just not very informed about some of them), it is expected to pray in a specific way at specific times of the day. And not allowing people to practice those religious traditions is taking away their ability to feel close and safe with their God. Not to mention that as much as Trump supporters rally around the Constitution and the idea of America, they've seriously overlooked the part about religious freedom. There is religious discrimination and thinking there isn't is ignorant. This is a long post, but put basically: Our problems aren't because of gender, race, origin, sexuality, or religion. Our problem is that we focus on those generalizations too much to realize that in the grand scheme of things our political and social situations are what's wrong. I promise that someone being born with dark skin doesn't inherently make them a terrorist. Swear to God. So if you're a white, Christian, American born, straight male, great. I don't really care, I guess. But don't pretend there aren't issues because you haven't had to face them, and don't pretend that the way you were born is somehow a writ of passage into being a better person.

#sorry for the rant #rant #long ass post #idgaf #misogyny #racism #nativism #religious discrimination #lgbtq #against trump #not my president

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trendtshirtnewposts · 4 years

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katedoesfics · 4 years

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Under Shadow: Chapter 62

The rest of the survivors made their way into the valley where the Gotoro army waited for the attack. They stood anxiously beside their tanks and weapons, or hiding in trenches and behind man-made walls. They covered a vast, circular area of the valley in an attempt to catch the Shadow People, no matter which direction they came from.

“Well, if it isn’t the valley people,” one of the soldiers said, approaching them.

“The valley people?” Alex said. “We’re not hippies.”

The man laughed forcefully. “What are you doing out here? There’s an army of Shadow Brutes on their way here.”

Gil rested his rifle against his shoulder. “Well, we’re not just here to watch, now.”

The soldier looked Gil up and down with a skeptical expression. His eyes moved over the rest of the group and he smirked. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Hey,” Sebastian said. “We don’t have to help.”

“This is our valley,” Marlon said. “We’ve been protecting it, and ourselves, long before you folk got here.”

The man before them shrugged. “You should know our orders are to protect the valley, not the nut jobs that live there. No one’s going to protect you from whatever may happen.”

“Like he said,” John muttered. “We can take care of ourselves.”

“We don’t sit back and hide,” Lewis said. “So put us to use.”

The man looked them over once more. “I suspect the crazy old guys can handle their weapons,” he said, giving them a nod. “As for the rest of you...”

“I’ve played my share of Call of Duty,” Alex said. “I had the top kill ratio on my team, Dogs of War.”

The man nodded and rolled his eyes. “Good, because this is exactly like Call of Duty.”

“We are all capable of hitting our targets,” Gil said, his voice hard as he grew irritated with the arrogant soldier.

“Fine,” the soldier said. “It doesn’t look like you’ll be leaving us alone, anyway. Dog of War, since you’re so capable, why don’t you take the front line?”

Alex swallowed. “I mean, I’m not that good.”

The soldier smiled at him. “I suspect you’ll get pretty good then.” He turned to the rest of them. “If you can really hold your own, I could use some help on the cliffs. Who can handle an M39 EMR?”

They stared at him blankly.

The soldier sighed. “I need snipers.” His gaze settled on Shane. “You’re up. Bring Blondie, too. You guys look the toughest.” He turned to the older men in the group. “Sorry, fellas. I won’t deal with brittle shoulders.”

“What makes you think we’ll go with you?” Shane muttered.

“Because that’s how the army works, boys. Get moving.”

Shane and Sam made their way up to the cliffs as instructed. Sam muttered the entire way up.

“He’s not even anyone important,” Sam said. “Who is he to think he can boss us around?”

“Quit bitching,” Shane growled.

“No. I’m going to complain about the fact that this guy thinks we’re nothing but meat.”

“We are,” Shane hissed. “They don’t give a rats ass about us.”

“Fuck them.” Sam spat at the ground. “Fuck every last one of ‘em.”

The soldier caught up to them quickly, pushing passed them and leading them the rest of the way to his hideout in the trees.

“Pick your poison and don’t fuck up,” he said simply as he squatted on his legs next to his rifle. He watched Sam as he inspected the rifle. “Trigger’s over there, Blondie,” he pointed out.

“Sam,” Sam said in a huff. “It’s Sam.”

“I don’t care what your name is, Blondie.”

“You know,” Shane said to Sam. “I’m sure no one would even notice if he went missing.”

“He’s got a point,” the soldier said as he peered through the sight on his weapon. “I’m just another body to Michaels.”

Sam watched the soldier carefully. “Michaels runs this pathetic army?”

The soldier ignored him as he adjusted the weapon. “Better get ready. Those brutes’ll be here any minute. Try to keep up, hm?”

“We can’t all be trained soldiers,” Sam muttered.

The soldier leaned back on his hands, his palms against the pine needled forest floor. “That we can’t,” he said. “I was never involved in the military before the invasion. But when times get tough, they’ll take any pathetic body who offers themselves. They teach you how to handle an AR and throw you into battle. That’s it.”

“And you just do whatever the hell they say?” Sam asked.

“That’s right, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam hissed.

The soldier turned to Shane. “You should have warned me he was a whiner.”

Shane smirked as he got onto his belly, peering down his own sight. “You didn’t ask.”

The radio on his hip buzzed with static as a voice broke through. “Eagle Eye Seven, this is Mark One, what’s your fix?”

“In position, Mark One. At the ready.” He turned to Sam and smirked. “His name’s Mark.”

“Copy, Eagle Eye. Stand by.”

“Eagle Eye?” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Code name for snipers, you nit-wit,” he hissed.

“And yet, Mark is Mark,” Shane muttered.

“Mark is an idiot that should have been shot ages ago.”

“Someone has Mark issues.” Sam smirked at Shane.

They turned quickly as a chilling hissing filled the air. In the darkness, they could just barely see the glowing eyes of the Shadow People. Tiny spots of light dotted the valley as soldiers ran to their positions.

“Heads up,” the soldier said. “It’s show time.”

Shane watched through the sight as the Shadow People, just glowing eyes in the night, quickly made their way into the valley. As they neared, he cocked the rifle and took aim.

Barrels flashed on the ground as the soldiers ran towards their enemy. Before he knew it, the valley had erupted into sounds of war. Beside him, Eagle made his first shot.

“Gotcha,” he whispered into his gun. He cocked the rifle and made another shot. “I’m going for three,” he said to them. “Try to keep up.”

Shane aimed between a pair of green eyes. He pulled the trigger and the weapon fired, recoiling into his shoulder. The eyes disappeared instantly.

“Keep shooting like that and we’ll make a soldier outta ya.”

“I’ll pass,” Shane muttered as he searched out his next target.

They continued in this manner for some time. Shane quickly lost track of the night as he picked out brute after brute. It wasn’t until he heard Sam shouting that he was pulled out of his trance of aiming and firing. He turned to Sam as he stood and pointed through the trees, towards town.

“Wassa matter, Lassie?” the soldier muttered. “Timmy fall down the well?”

“They got through,” Sam said. “They’re heading towards the tunnel.”

Shane jumped up from his rifle and pulled his gun out of his pocket. “C’mon,” he muttered.

“Don’t get killed, now,” the soldier called after them.

Sam and Shane sprinted through the forest, sliding down the dead leaves as they made their way off the cliff and into the valley. Barrel blasts ignited the walls of the tunnel as someone fended off the brutes. They raised their guns as they ran down the road. Flashlights darted off the walls as the creatures hissed loudly. A flare ignited and was tossed into the tunnel, causing the Shadow People to scatter and scream.

Abigail stood in front of Alex, who clutched at his shoulder on the ground. Her arms were still raised, gripping a gun tightly as Shadow Brutes lay motionless on the ground just yards away. Shane and Sam ducked as the brutes flew out of the tunnel, but they quickly doubled back, just out of the safety of the light, heading towards them once more.

More shots fired as Sebastian, Marlon, and Gil stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the flare, back to back.

“Not on my watch,” Marlon muttered as he raised his sword at an oncoming brute. He swung viciously as the creature attacked, throwing his body against it.

Shane stepped over the shadow corpses as he made his way to Alex, holding out a hand and pulling him to his feet. “That’s no way to get out of being a father,” he muttered.

“I’d die before something happens to Haley or my child,” Alex hissed. “No damn brute is getting passed me.”

“Funny,” Shane said with a smirk. “Looks like Abby was the one saving your ass.”

“I’m still in the positive,” Alex said, pushing passed him and shoving a clip into his gun. “Gotta keep that K-to-D up.”

#under shadow #chapter 62 #us62 #stardew valley #fic #fanfic

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