where that one post about Steve accidentally inventing pastel punk because he wanted to be edgier for a Corroded Coffin gig, but wasn’t willing to part with his soft colors

Season 3a; Episode 10: The Overlooked

Hello all! Just a few more chapters of season 3a and then I’ll be taking a short hiatus from this story. I’ve been really struggling with motivation but don’t worry, that does not mean I am giving up on writing it! Please answer my pinned post and as alway constructive criticisms is appreciated! Also remember to let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Season 3a; Episode 10: The Overlooked

Pairings: Scott McCall x Twin Sister, Lydia Martin x Best Friend

Warnings: Just the typical teen wolf things

Word Count: 2,756

Season 3a Masterlist

Stiles, Scott, and I hide in the shadows of Derek's loft. We just finished telling him that our teacher, Jennifer Blake, is the Darach. Not even a minute later the steel door slides open and Ms. Blake calls out, "Derek? Derek, where are you?"

Derek steps out of the dark, "Right here."

She spins around so she can properly face him, "Thank God." She runs over, wrapping the Alpha in a tight hug. "Something happened at the recital. At the school. I need to tell you before you hear it- before you hear any of it from them."

"From who?" Derek asks.

"(Y/N), Scott, Stiles- they're going to tell you things. Things you can't believe. You have to trust me, okay? You trust me."

"What is it?"

"Promise you'll listen to me."

"I promise." Ms. Blake presses her lips to Derek's right after the words leave his mouth. When he doesn't kiss back she pulls away.

"They're already here, aren't they?" The three of us step out of our hiding spot. Ms. Blake backs away, like she's afraid of us. "So they told you it was me? That I'm the one taking people?"

"We told him you're the one killing people." Scott corrects.

"Oh, that's right. Committing human sacrifices. Cutting their throats? I probably do it during my lunch hour. That way I can get back to teaching high school English the rest of the day. That makes perfect sense."

"Where's my dad?" Stiles shakily asks.

"How would I know? Derek, tell me you don't believe this."

"Do you know what happened to Stiles' father?" Derek questions.

"No. I have no idea."

"Well, how about why you almost killed Lydia?" I ask, my glare hardening.

"Lydia Martin? I don't know anything about that."

"What do you know?" Derek snaps.

"I know these three teenagers, for whatever misguided reason, are filling your head with an absurd story. One they can't prove, by the way."

"What if we could?" Scott asks, stopping Ms. Blake from continuing her rant.

She looks away from Derek and back over to Scott, finally noticing the vial in his hand. "What is that?"

"Mistletoe. My boss told me it's a poison and a cure. Which means you can use it, but it can also be used against you." Scott throws the mistletoe at Ms. Blake. She raises her hands but we can all still see how her face changes to show the slashed face of the Darach.

Derek flinches like he was punched then as soon as the dust settles he rushes towards Ms. Blake, grabbing her by her throat. "No, Derek wait- wait, just wait. You need me."

"What are you?" Derek asks through gritted teeth.

"The only person who can save your sister." Derek freezes, "Call Peter. Call him."

Once Derek is off the phone with Peter he starts squeezing Jennifer's throat harder. "Derek? What are you doing?" Scott questions.

Jennifer chokes out, "Her life- it's in my hands."

"Stop. Derek, stop." Stiles calls out.

"Stilinski-you'll never find him."

"Derek, enough!" I yell at the Alpha, hoping he'll listen to me.

Finally he releases his grip, "That's right. You need me. All of you."

 *_*_*_*_*_*

 In Stiles' jeep, we follow Derek's car to the hospital. "We're going to find your Dad." Scott says.

"Alive." I add.

Stiles sighs, "How do we know he's not already..."

"He's not. We're going to find him." Scott reassures.

"Something feels wrong about this. We proved it to Derek, but she had this look like it didn't matter. Like it was all still going according to plan. You saw it, didn't you?"

Scott reluctantly nods as I answer, "Yeah, and I have a feeling."

"You have a feeling?"

"I have a feeling." I confirm.

"Danger sense?" Scott asks.

"It- it's not the danger sense. More like a pre- danger sense. I know something bad is going to happen but it doesn't feel like someone's going to die."

"Well, that could be a good thing."

I shrug, "It could be."

 *_*_*_*_*_*

 Once at the hospital Stiles parks the jeep beside Derek's car. The hospital is in a frenzy due to people evacuating because of the storm. Stiles pulls a wooden baseball bat out of his car, causing Scott and I to pause. "You got claws. I got a bat."

We enter the hospital through a side door, stopping when we hear our mom call, "(Y/N), Scott?" We turn to look at her as she continues, "What are you doing here? The hospital's evacuating." 

"We're here for Cora." Scott answers.

"All of you? And why does Stiles have a bat?"

"Mom, trust me on this. You need to get out of here. Right now." 

She looks past Scott and I to see Derek holding on to Jennifer, "The building is supposed to be clear in thirty minutes. We've got two more ambulances coming back. One is ten minute's out. The other's twenty. Cora needs to be on one of those. They'll be picking up in the basement garage."

"Got it, be safe." I say, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

"You too." She whispers, watching us walk away.

In the elevator we all keep a close eye on Jennifer. "You don't need to keep me on a leash, Derek. I'm going to help." We all stay silent, Derek still tightly gripping her upper arm.

One we step out of the elevator Derek lets go of Jennifer to look for his sister. Instead of seeing Cora and Peter we see an empty bed and black throw up on the floor. "Derek." Scott calls, gesturing in the direction of the black drops.

We carefully walk towards the double doors, but before we can push them open a body soars through them. Groaning, Peter looks up, "We got a problem." He turns his attention back towards who attacked him, "Big problem." Through the doors are the twins in their combined Alpha form.

 *_*_*_*_*_*

 Derek, Scott, and I all quickly switch to our werewolf forms. I try and attack but am quickly overpowered. The twins throw me into the wall, "Ethan, Aiden-stop. You don't know what you're doing." Scott says.

"All we want is her." The twins say, gesturing towards Jennifer, who is slipping back into the elevator.

"That bitch." I grunt out as I shove myself off the floor. We all quickly run away from the twins. We run behind Stiles, Peter, and an unconscious Cora, who is being carried in Peter’s arms. 

Stiles, trying to be helpful, decides to try and take the twins by surprise. He hides next to the door and once the twins walk through he swings the bat at their face. The bat breaks as it comes in contact with their cheek.

The twins turn towards Stiles, who now has a look of pure horror on his face, and roars. Stiles begins to take steps back to put as much distance between himself and the twins as possible. 

I hear Scott say to Derek, "Give me a lift." Then a few seconds later Scott is flying through the air, ripping out the light fixture, and sending it to land on the twins head.

I quickly grab a hold of Stiles, getting him to run with me away from the twins. 

 *_*_*_*_*_*

 Peter and Stiles rush into an operating room. Derek, Scott and I are right behind them. "Where's the big guy?" Peter asks once he puts Cora down.

"Close." Derek states.

"What about Ms. Blake?" Stiles questions.

Scott and I shake our heads, "The last I saw her she was getting into the elevator." I answer.

"What? Like she's gone?" Stiles asks.

"Quiet." Derek scolds.

"Me by quiet? You're telling me what to do? When your psychotic mass murdering girlfriend- the second one you've dated by the way- has my dad tied up somewhere waiting to be ritually sacrificed?"

I walk over to Stiles and gently grab his face, "Hey, hey. He's going to be alright. I promise. Just breath, okay?"

"You can't promise that, (Y/N/N)."

"I just did. And I don't break my promises." Stiles swallows and nods.

From behind me, Scott asks Peter, "Is she really dying?"

"She's definitely not getting any better." Peter answers, looking down at his niece. As Peter answers, I finally let go of Stiles’ face so we can both properly listen in to the conversation.

"There has to be something we can do. We have to help her."

"You can't." We all turn to the new voice. Jennifer is back, standing on the opposite side of the room, "Only I can. I can save her and I can tell you where Sheriff Stilinski is. But there's a pack of Alpha's in this hospital who want me dead. I'll help you only when I'm out of here and safe. Only then."

Derek instantly tries to attack her but Scott stops him. "Derek, wait-"

"She was trying to get out."

"I was trying to keep from getting killed. You can't blame me for that." Jennifer argues.

"You want to show us you're one of the good guys?" Stiles asks, he then points to Cora, "Heal her."

"Not until I'm safe."

"That doesn't seem fair. We need two things from you yet you only need one from us. How do we know that the minute we get you to safety you won't just take off?" I ask.

Jennifer shakes her head, "I've never met a Zeta before but if they're anything like you I really hope I don't meet anymore."

"Yeah, well this Zeta isn't particularly fond of you either."

"I'd like to volunteer a different method of persuasion." Peter pipes up, "How about we torture her?"

"Works for me." Derek replies.

At the same time I say, "Sounds like a plan."

Before we get the chance to act on our threat, the PA system crackles to life. "Um... Can I have your attention."

"Mom?" I whisper.

"Mr. Deucalion- excuse me, just Deucalion- requests you bring the woman calling herself Jennifer Blake to the ER reception. Do this and everyone else can leave. You have ten minutes."

"He's not going to hurt her." Jennifer says the second the PA clicks off.

"Shut up." Derek snaps.

"He won't. Scott, you know why. Tell them it's true."

"What does she mean?" 

"Scott?" I ask, looking at my twin.

"You're not the only one he wants in his pack." Jennifer continues. "Deucalion doesn't just want an Alpha pack. He wants perfection. That means adding the rarest of Alphas to his ranks."

"A True Alpha." Peter says, a look of awe on his face.

"What's that?" Stiles asks.

"The kind that doesn't have to steal the power from another. The kind that can rise by their own force of will. Our little Scott."

"It doesn't matter." Scott says, he nods to Jennifer, "We still have to get her out of here."

Jennifer smirks, "You don't realize that it's not just you he wants." 

"What's that supposed to mean? Why would he want-" I pause, cutting myself off. "He wants me?"

Jennifer nods, "Took you long enough to figure it out. You may not be an Alpha, but Zeta's are incredibly powerful. And if he can find an Alpha for you to kill, maybe even sacrificing one of his own, you'll be even stronger."

There's a brief pause, Scott finally breaks it, "We need a plan to get her out of here."

"But your mom-" Stiles tries to argue.

"My mom said there was one more ambulance coming in twenty minutes. I don't think we've been here that long. If we could get down to the garage, we could get that last ambulance and get out of here."

"The twins aren't going to just let us walk out the door." Peter states.

"I'll distract them."

"You mean fight them." Derek says.

"Whatever I have to do."

"I'll help."

"Sorry, but I'm not going anywhere without you, Derek." Ms. Blake interrupts.

"I'll do it. But I'd prefer going out there with an advantage." Peter says.

"What's that mean? Like a weapon?" Stiles asks.

"Something better than a baseball bat, yes." We quickly start looking around the room trying to find something that Peter could use to aid him in the fight against the twins. 

Stiles raises a set of defibrillator paddles, "Do you even know how to use those?" Derek asks.

"No." Stiles replies.

"Then put them down."

"Epinephrine?" Scott asks, holding up a syringe with a clear liquid inside.

"That would just make them stronger," I answer, not looking up from my search.

I only stop looking around when I hear Peter ask, "How strong?"

 *_*_*_*_*_*

 Stiles and I lead Jennifer and Derek, with a still unconscious Cora, through the garage. "It's still here." Stiles states when he sees the ambulance parked.

Derek places his sister down on the gurney then walks over to Jennifer who just called his name. Stiles and I then hear Kali calling for Ms. Blake, though she calls her Julia, the name that Jennifer used to go by.

I quickly push Stiles into the back of the ambulance then hop in behind him, shutting the doors. I put a finger to my lips telling him to stay quiet.

When I know that Kali, Derek, and Jennifer are gone I look at Stiles, "Lock the doors behind me."

"(Y/N), what are you-" I don't let him finish the question though because I am already out of the door and moving heading back into the hospital.

Rushing inside, I strain my ears to hear anyone that is on my side. I tilt my head, listening to some people talking. I quickly realize that it's Isaac, Allison, and Mr. Argent and make my way to them. 

"What are you guys doing here?" I ask as I walk about behind them.

Argent turns around quickly, his gun aimed at my head. "Woah, just me." I state, raising my hands in surrender. 

Argent lowers the gun. "Don't sneak up on us next time."

"Noted. But seriously why are you here? The hospital is supposed to be evacuated and it's really not safe here with the Alpha pack on a rampage."

Allison opens her mouth to explain but before she can we hear Scott, "Allison?"

All together now Scott explains to us that Jennifer and Derek are stuck in the elevator. "So they're essentially trapped?" Argent asks.

Scott nods. "There's no way to get them out without turning the power back on?" Isaac questions.

"Wait, when the power's back on, they'll hear the elevator moving, right?" Mom asks.

"And they'll be on Jennifer and Derek as soon as it stops. we can't get into a fight with them."

"We need a distraction." I say.

"You've got us now." Argent replies.

"It's too much of a risk. They want her dead. And if she dies, there's nothing we can do about Stiles' dad or Cora."

"What if she's lying though? She could be just saying we need her so that we help her." Everyone looks at me with looks of wonder, "What? It's what I would do."

"I am so happy you're not the bad guy. You would be like an evil genius." Allison says, shaking her head with a small smile on her lips.

"I don't even think I know which teacher this is." Argent states.

"She's got brown hair, kind of hot." Isaac starts. We all throw him looks that pretty much say 'what the hell', "Just an observation."

"I've got an idea." Allison says.

 *_*_*_*_*_*

 Scott and I rush to meet Derek and Jennifer at the open elevator doors. But we stop in shock when we see an unconscious Derek. "Mom." We both whisper together, eyes widening at the realization that Jennifer was in fact lying to us.

"Go!" I scream at Scott. He rushes up to the roof to try and stop Jennifer from taking our mom while I rush to Derek trying to get him to wake up.

"Scott! Scott, wait!" I hear Stiles yell from behind me.

"Why are you here? I thought you were with Cora?" I ask as Stiles makes his way to me.

"They're getting out of here, we need to stop Scott." 

"What? Stiles-" I yell after him, but he doesn't listen as he chases Scott up the stairs.

I shake my head but turn away, trying to wake Derek up once more.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:  @crazy-fan-101 @rogershoe @judayyyw

fic (leverage, eliot/quinn)

title: (don’t think i can take anymore) wasted days and sleepless nights

summary: Sleeping together is easy. Quinn trusts Eliot with his body while he's awake and aware. He draws the line at actually falling asleep with Eliot.

contains: mentions of violence/torture, mild sex, banter

ao3 link

In the past thirty-six hours, Quinn had been shot at, stabbed, drugged, locked in the trunk of his own car, and nearly run over twice while making his escape. Every muscle in his body blazed like an inferno as he ran.

Running on empty, the coolly rational part of his brain chimed in. Quinn ignored it. He couldn’t stop; if he stopped, he was dead, and if he was going to die he’d do it on his feet. So he kept going, the soles of his uncomfortable dress shoes pounding along the pavement in the dead of night, every sense straining for the slightest rustle of an approaching attack.

When no one jumped him sliding down a fire escape to street level, he risked taking a quick breather. On silent feet, he ducked behind a dumpster in the narrow alley. His singed leg ached, and he made a note to add ‘near escape from a burning office’ as part of the litany of reasons he was never working for Hungarian arms dealers again. Unfortunately, that same burning building also meant the police were too busy investigating the arson downtown to notice the small war being waged in the otherwise silent streets. There’d be no interruptions or distractions that he could use to slip away.

He was quickly running out of options. And worse, ammunition.

When his lungs felt a little less like they were about to burn their way out of his chest, he took a last sweep of the darkened alley and got ready to move out. Unfolding from his crouch, he sprinted for the exit, keeping close to the wall as he rounded the corner.

And ran full speed into the man waiting for him on the other side.

There was no time to curse his bad luck as they hit the ground. Instead, he bit his lip to muffle the scream as his injured shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Not daring to stop and assess the damage, he rolled, coming up on top of his assailant, pinning him to the ground with his body weight as he brought his sidearm to bear one-handed. And froze.

Staring down the sights of his gun was the last person he expected. Long hair. Casual clothes. Keen eyes narrowed in an expression of imminent violence that would send a lesser man running for cover. Despite the job gone belly up, Quinn couldn’t help the pleasure unfurling in his gut. If he played his cards right, maybe he wasn’t completely fucked after all.

Quinn slowly withdrew his gun, careful to telegraph non-aggression as he put it back into the holster at his shoulder.

Eliot Spencer eyed him for a long moment. Until finally, with a twitch of lips, he pulled back the knife poised to strike Quinn in a very private and painful place. Quinn’s eyes widened when he saw the blade was his own, pulled from his ankle sheath without him feeling a damn thing. And here he thought Eliot Spencer was the type to fight fair. The man was just full of surprises. The warmth in Quinn’s gut flared and spread at the thought.

The hint of a smile curled around Eliot’s lips, and just like that the moment snapped, disappearing as quickly as it came. Quinn stood and offered a hand.

Eliot took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. “Quinn,” he greeted.

“Eliot.”

“Bad day?”

“Getting better.”

The merriment faded as Eliot gave him a more thorough onceover. He twirled the knife once, offering it hilt first. “Looks like you need this more than me.”

Quinn tucked the weapon away, happy to have the familiar weight back where it belonged. His eyes scanned the tops of the nearby buildings for movement before refocusing on Eliot. He was running out of time. “I didn’t realize you were coming to my party.”

“My invitation must’ve got lost in the mail.” Eliot eyed the angry red slash at the shoulder of Quinn’s suit jacket. A misstep he was still paying for. “Your friends don’t seem very nice, though.”

Quinn’s response was cut off by the sound of heavy footfalls.

Between the both of them, it didn’t take long to clean house. Soon they were the only ones standing amidst a sea of unconscious hitmen. Quinn would have preferred them dead—dead men couldn’t get back up and come after you again, or report to their boss about your unexpected new ally—but Eliot had knocked his hand askew when he’d lined up the first headshot, growling something about no killing. Quinn fell into line. If that was the price to pay for Eliot Spencer’s assistance, so be it. What the two of them had done in forty-five minutes would’ve taken him all night to do alone, and he might not have finished before getting himself killed.

Besides, Quinn could always kill the hired guns later if they made the mistake of coming after him again.

It had been good, working with another professional. At times like this, Quinn could maybe see why Eliot settled down with a team. Not that he had any intention of doing so himself. It had been pretty clear on the Dubenich job that Eliot trusted his people unconditionally; Quinn didn’t have anyone like that in his life. It was better that way.

For now, he was happy to hole up in a dingy motel under one of his more obscure aliases. Whoever set him up was still out there, no doubt hiring more people at this very moment, and until Quinn’s contacts came back with more information, he was happy to wait it out in relative safety. His next move was going to depend on whether this was an independent hit or if his employer had double-crossed him. He suspected the latter.

After double checking the room’s only door and window, he shrugged out of his jacket, hissing through his teeth as the motion reopened the wound in his shoulder. He fumbled at his tie one-handed. His shirt followed shortly after, landing in a heap on the bed beside the rest. The slight chill in the room prickled at his skin, one more item on the list of discomforts he was ignoring.

“Still here, huh?” he asked the silent figure by the window.

Once all the hired guns were too busy napping to run amok in the city streets, he half-expected Eliot to bail. Instead, he’d stuck close, watching Quinn’s back as he picked up shell casings, rifled through his assailants’ pockets, and finally holed up for the night. He couldn’t quite decipher if the other hitter was being friendly, weirdly protective of Quinn’s injured state, or if he figured out that Quinn had half a mind to break into the local police station and make sure all the hired thugs they’d taken down reached a more permanent end.

Whatever the reason, Eliot was still here, peering steadily through a crack in the window curtains. Quinn wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or annoyed. Instead he asked, “You staying all night?”

Eliot spared Quinn a glance before going back to his vigil of the street. “Got nowhere else to be.”

Quinn rubbed at his bare arms and settled for mildly grateful but cautious. “Thought your team would be waiting for you or something.”

“We ain’t all joined at the hip, you know,” Eliot answered, a thread of affection buried under the gruffness. “I like to head on out every once in a while. Wasn’t expecting to run into a street war on my time off.”

“Looks like I owe you the favor, then.” Normally, Quinn resisted the idea of being in debt, but he couldn’t deny the flush of warmth at the thought of Eliot Spencer calling on him sometime down the line. Quinn had always been a little bit of an idiot for a pretty face.

He was halfway through a shrug before thinking better of it. His shoulder was a raw mass of pain now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Every breath felt like a red-hot lance through the wound.

“Want me to take a look at that?” Eliot asked, correctly reading the pinched lines of his face.

Quinn paused, already halfway to the tiny bathroom. It was barely more than a toilet and a shower, both of which had seen better days, but it had running water and that was enough. “I’ve got it.”

“Gonna be a bitch to stitch that up one handed.”

“Yet somehow I always manage.”

Eliot shrugged, not turning away from his post. “Suit yourself, man. Give a holler if you change your mind.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. Twenty minutes later, sitting hunched on the dirty toilet seat and trying to tie off a knot with one hand and his teeth, he was maybe beginning to regret not taking Eliot up on his offer. Pausing to catch his breath, he cursed the wound, this job, his (probably) turncoat of an employer, and everything in between. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heart, which almost stopped as a silhouette suddenly filled the tiny bathroom doorframe. His hand was at his hip for a gun he wasn’t carrying before he recognized it as Eliot.

Quinn frowned. “Who’s watching the street?”

“If they haven’t showed by now they aren't coming.”

“Or they’re waiting for us to get complacent.”

“Then stop screwing around and get out here. You can watch the street while I fix this mess you call stitches.”

“They’re functional,” Quinn protested. “Doesn’t have to win any knitting awards.”

“Functional, huh? If that’s what you’re calling that mess, I’m gonna have to seriously reevaluate what I think of your skillset.” Eliot huffed and shook his head, then swiped an errant strand of hair from his eyes. “I won’t even count how that’s so far from pretty, it makes ugly look good. Come on, Huckleberry, let me patch you up.”

Using the dumb nickname Quinn had thrown out in a moment of adrenaline-fueled weakness wasn’t playing fair. But he was too tired to keep arguing, and so he let Eliot lead him back to the pair of armchairs by the room’s only window, perfectly angled as to be out of sight from any outside observers.

He kept his eyes trained on the crack in the window while Eliot hovered over him and fixed up his stitches in the dim light filtering in from the street lamps. The scratchy fabric of the chair itched against his bare back, and he focused on that rather than the unpleasant pinch and pull of his shoulder being mended. Eliot’s hands were hot on his skin and despite the pain, Quinn found himself relaxing.

When it was done, Eliot cleaned the blood from Quinn’s shoulder with a scratchy hotel towel and went to wash his hands while Quinn redressed in his soiled shirt and jacket. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch,” he offered when he was done, settling back into the hideously ugly chair by the edge of the window.

Quinn laughed. “Real cute.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Eliot to guard them both. Hell, he had no problem with Eliot keeping guard while he’d been cleaning up in the bathroom. But there was a world of difference between letting someone have your back while you were all there, and trusting someone to watch over you while you were slow and heavy with sleep.

The only person Quinn trusted like that was himself. He didn’t need to say it out loud, though. The look in Eliot’s eyes said he understood just fine.

What was left of the night passed in mutual silence, both of them on guard against the world.

Their patience paid off. Right before sunup, they both jerked to attention, noticing the same movement in the orange rays of early morning light. If whoever was creeping towards their room was expecting them to be caught off guard, they were in for a nasty surprise.

Quinn grinned like a shark and reached for his gun.

When none of their assailants were left standing (shot in the knee, courtesy of Quinn, and handed over to the federal authorities, courtesy of Eliot over Quinn’s fervent objections) all that adrenaline building since the previous night only had one place to go.

Looking back, he wasn’t sure who made the first move, him or Eliot. But it ended up with them back at Eliot’s place, their hands in each other’s hair and their mouths crushed together as they fell into bed. Casual touches and play-fighting quickly turned into something more heated and deliberate. Soon enough, Quinn found himself without his clothes and his weapons, Eliot’s teeth grazing his throat and his rough hands pinching along his inner thighs. Blunt nails raked down his stomach and Quinn arched up into it for more. And how delightful to discover firsthand that Eliot’s gravel-rough voice got ever rougher when Quinn held him down and kept him writhing on the edge.

When it was all over, they were tangled together across the dark blue sheets of Eliot’s safe house, struggling to catch their breath. Quinn felt his eyes grow heavy as the past couple days finally caught up with him. And that’s where he drew the line. Sleeping with Eliot was one thing; actual sleeping was a line he wasn’t willing to cross.

Not with Eliot, not with anyone. He’d learned that one the hard way.

“You leaving?”

Quinn paused with one leg in his suit pants and bit down the sarcastic reply about Eliot’s keen observation skills. He was almost surprised to find that his smile was genuine. “Thanks for the good time.”

Eliot nodded and Quinn finished redressing. He headed for the door, but Eliot’s voice stopped him as he was about to walk out.

“I’m too wired to sleep. Thought I’d make some coffee. Maybe check on the tomatoes in the garden. You’re welcome to stay for a cup.” Not bothering to wait for answer, he rolled out of bed and grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the large wooden dresser in the corner. He didn’t bother with a shirt and Quinn allowed himself a moment to appreciate the view.

He could picture the scene as clear as day. Lounging on the couch in borrowed sweatpants that weren’t quite long enough to reach his ankles. Sipping coffee and watching Eliot work shirtless on the back patio, the late afternoon sun washing warm across the naked skin of his back and highlighting his hair with gold. Pulling Eliot down on top of him afterwards until they were both sweaty and sated all over again. Falling asleep in his bed.

He should go. That much was obvious. Working with Eliot on business, indulging in sex with Eliot—that was all standard fare. Practically a perk of the job. But this? An invitation to stay in each other’s company like they were anything other than sort-of colleagues and occasional allies.

Now that was dangerous.

For all the dark rumors of his past, Eliot was a bonafide good guy now. How long until he remembered that Quinn was still taking the kinds of jobs he’d long since washed his hands of. As much as he liked the guy and could rely on him to have his back on a job or against a mutual enemy, Quinn could never fully trust him. He would be an idiot to forget that.

So, he shook his head and locked away the sliver of regret that slipped past his defenses. “Maybe next time,” he lied, straightening his tie so he wouldn’t have to look Eliot in the eye.

(The next several times they fell into bed—a combination of planned meets and one uncomfortable instance when they’d both been trailing the same mark—Eliot never repeated his offer to stay afterwards.

Quinn was grateful for it.)

Quinn liked working the occasional job for Eliot and his strange team. There were several reasons, but it all boiled down to three main things.

The first being that it was a nice change not to worry about being double-crossed when it came time to collect his fee. Not that he couldn’t handle that kind of trouble when it happened (“The perils of being a freelancer,” he’d told the last person to try that on him, right before putting a bullet in his head), or that he didn’t still plan for it, but it was like a little vacation to be able to wrap up a job without any dramatics. Quinn liked clean and tiny.

Second was that Eliot never asked for more than Quinn was physically capable of delivering. He was good at what he did, but even he’d go down if someone threw enough armed men his way. It worried him sometimes just how well Eliot knew his strength and his limits, but he consoled himself with the fact that his knowledge of Eliot ran just as deep.

Last and most fun was what Quinn considered his personal bonus of a job well done. Namely, that Eliot was great in bed.

They were at the safe house Quinn had procured for the week, celebrating the successful completion of doing bad things for a good cause. Quinn, his bank account newly full and wearing nothing but a smile, dangled the cuffs Eliot had pretended to slap onto him earlier as part of the con they’d run. “Looks like it’s finally my turn to put these to good use.”

“Nice try,” Eliot said, grabbing the cuffs and casually dropping them over the side of the bed. “Not gonna happen.”

Quinn pouted. He didn’t think Eliot was going to go for it but it was worth a try. With a dirty smile, he shifted his hips where he straddled Eliot’s lap on the bed. The friction made them both groan, so Quinn did it again, watching the tension slide from Eliot’s face as pleasure took its place.

“I let you put them on me,” Quinn countered, hands sliding along the sweat-slick skin of Eliot’s chest.

Eliot caught his hands. “And I didn’t lock them tight enough to keep you from slipping free.” His fingers clamped down on Quinn’s wrists. Like the cuffs from earlier, they weren’t nearly tight enough to keep him contained if he chose otherwise.

He didn’t choose otherwise. He did, however, concede the point.

Eliot slid his hands up Quinn’s arms, lacing his fingers together behind Quinn’s neck to pull him down. It was easy to let himself be reeled in, to let Eliot flip their positions in a move that was telegraphed slowly enough that Quinn could have countered it any time he wanted.

(Again, he didn’t.)

There was a fine line between fantasy and accidentally triggering the defensive actions Quinn had spent the better part of his life honing. Eliot rode that line with the same skill he did everything else, pinning Quinn with enough force to be real but not enough to make him feel trapped. It was nice, the weight of Eliot pressing heavy on his limbs. There weren’t very many people capable of keeping him down if he didn’t want to be down but Eliot had more than a passing shot of making it happen. He’d done it before, back when they weren’t anything more than two hitters on opposite ends of a job.

A rush of heat raced down Quinn’s spine and he grabbed a fistful of Eliot’s loose hair, arching his hips up until they were pressed together from head to toe. Eliot slipped a leg between Quinn’s, fanning the spark of heat into a raging fire until it was all he could think about.

Six hours later, in a business class seat somewhere over the Pacific, Quinn set aside the last lingering thoughts of Eliot Spencer and got his head back in the game.

There was someone in his hotel room.

Quinn had a fair idea who it was (he practically sent an engraved invitation, after all) but that was no reason to be stupid. All hitters came to end in an some kind of ugly fashion and Quinn had made his peace with that, but when it happened to him it wasn’t going to be because he was stupid.

Silently, he pulled his backup gun from the small of his back. Taking a last look down the hall to ensure he was alone, he opened the door with the electronic keycard, ducked, and burst into the room gun first.

The precaution was unnecessary.

“No word from you in months and this is the greeting I get? I’m beginning to think you don’t like me anymore.” Eliot detached himself from where he was pressed up against the far corner, partially hidden by the faux cherry wood armoire holding the room’s entertainment center. He gestured towards Quinn and the gun, the muzzle now pointing at the floor.

“Worried I don’t like you anymore? Do I need to check a box for yes or no and pass the note back?”

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Were you always this juvenile or is it a recent development?”

“You bring out the best in me.”

Setting aside the handgun on the nearest bedside table, Quinn carefully shrugged out of his worn leather jacket. It felt a little strange to not be wearing the suit around Eliot, but he wasn’t here for a job so there was no need to dress the part. He winced as the movement pulled at his back, quickly hiding it behind a lazy grin.

Narrowed eyes appraised him from head to toe and Quinn stilled. It was instinctive. Never let anyone know where the weak spots were. Any known injury could be used against you in a fight. It was a dumb thing to stick to in front of a guy he planned on getting naked with pretty soon, but Quinn never claimed not to be a creature of habit.

Eliot straightened, gaze turning leering and playful as he shook his hair out of his face. “I like the new outfit. Not a bad look on you.”

It was a safe topic, and as a close to an outright declaration that Eliot wasn’t going to press for details.

The knot between Quinn’s shoulder blades eased and he let his arms relax at his sides. Pushing the dark thoughts from his mind, he started unbuttoning his shirt. “I didn’t come here for fashion tips.”

“Well then,” Eliot drawled, stepping into his space and brushing Quinn’s hands aside to finish the job himself. “That’s good ‘cause I didn’t come here to give them.”

He never could figure out how much of Eliot’s midwestern charm was affectation verses actual upbringing. But as those rough hands swept over his chest with each opened button, he decided that he didn’t much care either way. Taking full advantage of his hands being unoccupied, he quickly fumbled Eliot’s belt open, popping every damn button on his inconvenient button fly jeans on his way downward.

They moved to the bed by unspoken agreement, hands scrabbling to cast aside the last of their clothes, mouths hot on each other’s skin. Fuck, he’d missed this. Well, he’d missed a lot of things these past several months, but he’d really missed this.

He’d missed Eliot’s broad hands pressing into the dip of his hips to hold him down, and the taste of his skin when Quinn traced lines into the muscles of Eliot’s stomach with his tongue. He’d almost forgot how It felt to press Eliot’s legs apart and take him into his mouth, watching beneath his lashes as Eliot fisted one hand into the sheets and the other into Quinn’s ponytail. He missed coming apart under someone’s hands in a way that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with heat and desire.

Eliot didn’t say anything about the new marks on Quinn’s skin save for how he meticulously avoided digging his fingers into those particular spots. There was nothing to say; they both knew the risks of their occupation. Not every fight was a win.

Losing a fight was the last thing on Quinn’s mind as he finally pressed inside the heat of Eliot’s body. Beneath him, Eliot’s breath hitched and his legs wrapped tighter around Quinn’s waist, drawing him in further.

“Come on,” Eliot growled, pushing himself forward to bite at Quinn’s shoulder.

Quinn licked his lips and obliged, happy to lose himself in this for the time being.

Once they’d cleaned up and got comfortable under the duvet, Quinn trailed a lazy hand down Eliot’s arm. “How’d you know I’d be passing through here?” Not that he needed to ask, but he wanted to hear the answer anyway.

Eliot laughed, a low amused rumble. “You practically left me a calling card, man. How could I turn down an invitation like that?”

Quinn smiled, something warm uncurling in his belly. There was no job, no enemy, no reason for Eliot to be here. Except that Quinn asked him to come.

Eliot’s gravely voice broke him out of his thoughts. “So, should I be worried about identity theft, here? First you grow your hair long after I kick your ass. Then you—”

“Hell of an ego you got there, pal,” Quinn cut in. “My hair has nothing to do with you.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Eliot shot back with a smile. “Anyway, you entered the freaking country under my favorite alias. Did you expect me not to notice?”

He’d counted on it.

Quinn rolled to his side and slung an arm across Eliot’s chest. “Thought all that hair might’ve finally rotted your brain,” he mumbled. “And anyway, it wasn’t your name.”

“Just ‘cause you rearranged the letters don’t mean it ain’t still mine.”

“It’s a real alias. And it got your attention didn’t it.”

Instead of answering, Eliot reached over to grab Quinn’s leg and hitch it over his hip to tangle with his own. “Damn, you’re heavy,” he teased as they resettled.

“I work out,” Quinn agreed with a lazy smile, letting himself be maneuvered.

It was pleasant to be sprawled across Eliot like this, to feel the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart. He’d debated for weeks about using that particular alias after the job in Jakarta. It felt too much like running to safety for his liking, and so when the thought had first crossed his mind, he hightailed it to the most dirty, corrupt corner of the world he could find instead. Took every job that came his way until they all blurred together.

When the dust settled and he’d still wanted to see Eliot, he let himself use the identity that would no doubt raise every red flag in the Leverage team’s playbook. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that leaving a trail for Eliot to follow was the right move, but the sex was great and the company wasn’t awful so he was calling it a win.

One of Eliot’s fingers stroked a steady back and forth along the patch of skin just under Quinn’s shoulder blade, skirting the edge of what had been one of the deeper wounds on his back. Serrated knife, he remembered. He’d screamed—he remembered that, too—screamed until his voice had gone hoarse.

He felt the intake of breath a split second before Eliot’s voice broke the silence.

“They dead?” The words were growled in a way Quinn had only ever heard in an empty airport hangar, when he was the one standing between Eliot and his team.

Raising his head from its place on Eliot’s chest, Quinn looked him in the eye. “Yes.” He paused, remembering how Eliot almost knocked the gun from his hand the last time he tried to kill someone. “If you have a problem with that, you can see yourself out.”

But Eliot didn’t leave. Or ask who they were or how long they had him or what they’d wanted. Hell, Eliot had gotten his hands dirty enough back before he’d turned white-hat that could fill in the details on his own.

After a moment, Eliot gave him a tight smile and nodded.

Quinn didn’t know what to do with that, so he just laid his head back on Eliot’s chest and closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time he wanted to throw out all his old rules and let himself drift off to sleep. Against all odds and good sense, Eliot had somehow wormed his way under his skin.

This is why he shouldn’t have used the alias.

Nothing between them had changed; Quinn was still a bad guy and Eliot wasn’t. There was no silencing the voice in the back of his head shouting how it was only a matter of time before Eliot remembered what kind of person Quinn really was. Maybe he’d decide Quinn was better off in jail, or thrown to rot in some deep dark government hole, rather than be allowed to roam free and do what he did. Lulled into complacency by sleep and trust, Quinn would be a pathetically easy target.

In the end, caution won out.

It didn’t escape his notice that although Eliot’s eyes were closed, he hadn’t let himself fall into sleep either.

Taking a job in Portland had the potential to go all kinds of wrong, but wasn't that half the fun? But the money was good, and he wasn’t one to turn down a sizable fee. Predictably, it got him tangled up in one of Eliot’s cons. Not so predictably, the whole thing went off relatively smoothly. Before he knew it, he was invited to a post-victory dinner with Eliot’s team and not long after that found the two of them tangled up in Eliot’s bedsheets.

Once they caught their breath, Eliot propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at him. “Would you tell me if you were gonna take a hit on me or my team?”

“If this is your idea of sweet nothings, it’s no wonder all those women you’re rumored to sleep with only do it once.”

“Hey, I never had any complaints.” Eliot flicked at Quinn’s nose, but his wrist was caught before it could connect. His other hand shot out and Quinn caught that too. Eliot didn’t resist as Quinn rolled them until he was looking at Eliot spread out beneath him.

The playful spark faded from Eliot’s pretty blue eyes. “I’m serious, Quinn. Would you tell me?”

Most people couldn’t pull off an intimidating scowl while naked and pinned by the wrists to their own bed. Then again, Eliot wasn’t most people.

Quinn considered. It was a fair question. The truth was, he wouldn’t accept a hit on Eliot, at any price. And anyone who came to him with one wouldn’t stay breathing much longer. He couldn’t say the same for Eliot’s team, however. He liked them, they were smart, deadly competent, and occasionally funny, but they weren’t Eliot. But they were important to Eliot and, when he stopped to think about it, that was apparently enough for Quinn.

“I’m not taking any hits on you or your people. Not now and not ever.”

All it earned him was a nod.

Quinn put the pieces together. “You already knew. So, why’d you ask?”

“Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it.” In one smooth motion, Eliot extricated his arms and rolled out from under Quinn. “That’s a long timeframe for that kind of promise."

“If I change my mind, I’ll be sure to give you fair warning.” In an echo of their first meeting as allies rather than adversaries, Quinn held out his hand. “Deal?”

Eliot grinned, clearly remembering the same dirty warehouse in Kiev. “Deal,” he said, and they shook.

Quinn braced for the inevitable sneak attack in retaliation for his earlier move, but Eliot seemed satisfied to let it lie. Resting back against the pillows, he resembled a large jungle cat, content and sated with the world. His hair was loose around his face, disheveled from their slight tussle.

Taking his cue, Quinn settled back against his pillows too, feeling like he’d accomplished something but not sure exactly what. He spun the thought around in his mind, poking at it over and over before giving it up as a lost cause. It would come eventually, it always did. Didn’t mean he liked waiting for it though.

It wasn’t until he heard the breathing beside him even out that he realized Eliot was asleep.

For a moment, he just froze in surprise. If Eliot was awake, he’d probably make some dumbass comment about catching flies. Or maybe a dirty joke about what else Quinn could do with his mouth. He did neither.

In his sleep, he was as restless and grouchy as he was while awake, forehead scrunching and nose twitching every once in a while. One hand was balled in a fist where it rested on top of the covers against Quinn’s leg. There was something comfortable in that, in knowing that Eliot didn’t turn into something drastically different just because he was asleep. Which brought Quinn to his current problem. If there was one thing he hated, it was a puzzle whose pieces didn’t fit. Aside from his fists and his guns, information was the other stock in trade that kept him alive and ahead of his enemies.

Was that all it took for Eliot to trust him? A promise that he wouldn’t go after Eliot or his team. Quinn had specified nothing about not going after him for any non-job-related reasons. Eliot was smart enough to know the distinction. The more he thought about it the more it didn’t make sense. Eliot knew exactly what kind of man Quinn was. Right now he could do anything, anything, to a sleeping Eliot and without that split second of reaction time consciousness gave him, he could inflict serious damage.

Before he knew what he was doing, he shook Eliot by the shoulder.

Eliot snapped awake in an instant, eyes scanning the room. That bright gaze fixed on Quinn when no threat popped out of the shadows, and the tension bled out of him. “The hell? What is it, Quinn?”

“I didn’t stop doing my job when I started sleeping with you.” It wasn’t what he meant to say but fuck if he knew what that was. He’d reacted and now he was running on instinct. And the jarring feeling of something poking at the inside of his chest, desperately clawing its way out into the open air.

Eliot blinked and squinted at Quinn. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Do you? Do you really? And you expect me to believe it’s not a problem for you?”

“Won’t say I like it. But until you do something that crosses my path, then I can live with it. Besides, I got it on good authority that most of the people you go after are scumbags in their own right.”

Most, but not all.

Quinn looked him in the eye. “And when they aren’t?” Because he needed to say it, to see Eliot’s reaction.

“What you said earlier. About fair warning.” Eliot put a hand on his leg. “It goes both ways, you know. If we have a problem, we’ll deal with it. I’m not coming after you in the middle of the night.”

Quinn tilted his head, studying Eliot. He had on his serious face, mouth set in a tight line and a little crease right between his eyebrows. He stared at Quinn like he half expected him to bolt and half expected him to fight.

Truth was, Quinn didn’t want to do either of those things. Eliot’s bed was comfortable and Quinn was tired. This was usually the part of the night where he put his clothes on and slipped back into his life. The pull of that was strong, but there was a part deep inside him that felt hollow at the thought of giving up whatever this thing with Eliot was.

In the end, he could either trust Eliot or he couldn’t.

It sent a cold chill racing down his spine. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to give that kind of trust anymore, against all the instincts that kept him alive. But he wanted. Wanted so badly he could taste it in the back of his throat. He glanced up at the ceiling as if the answers were somewhere in the expanse of dim white. As expected, they weren’t. Just a few streaks of plaster covering what must have been the remnants of old cracks. Quinn let his eyes trace over them, mind following not far behind, circling an answer he knew was inevitable but wasn’t sure he was ready to admit.

He sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist.

“You asked me a question, now it’s my turn.” Quinn didn’t bother to wait for Eliot’s nod. “Why’d you let me go?” He wasn’t exactly sure why he was asking, other than the fact that it had been burning a hole in his mind for years.

The corners of Eliot’s mouth pulled down. He propped himself up on his elbows, head cocked. “What’re you talking about?”

“When we met that first time. The hangar. You had me down. Why’d you let me go?”

Eliot snorted, like Quinn was asking an easy question, like he should have been able to work it out himself. He always was a bit of an asshole, which was part of why Quinn liked him. “Sterling wouldn’t have told you anything about his plans for us. He’s a pain in the ass but he’s a smart pain in the ass.” Eliot paused, his expression pinched. “Don’t you ever tell him I said that.”

Quinn nodded solemnly despite the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “On my word.”

Eliot smiled back before turning serious again. “Even if you had the information I needed, I was on a tight schedule. You’re too much of a pro to break easy and I didn’t have that kind of time to burn.”

Quinn nodded at the assessment but couldn’t help pressing. “I wasn’t just referring to information, you know.”

“You mean, why didn’t I torture you for getting the jump on me. For that payback you were so sure I was looking for in Kiev?”

Quinn trailed a finger along Eliot’s chest in an idle, invisible pattern. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Eliot looked up at him. “You know, your pillow talk really sucks, man.”

“Never had any complaints before. Then again, usually I just get up and leave.” He ran a hand down Eliot’s side to take the sting out of the words.

“Don’t I know it.”

For a moment Eliot just looked at him. Quinn stared back. They were both comfortable in silence, and Quinn wondered if they might spend the rest of the evening like this. There were worse ways to spend the night, he figured.

Finally, Eliot sighed, running a hand across his face. “I had more important things on my mind.”

“Ah yes, saving the team. They were family even back then, weren’t they?”

Eliot nodded once before settling on his back. After a moment, Quinn did the same, their shoulders brushing. They stared at the ceiling for a moment before Eliot spoke again. “It ain’t just them, you know. If some punk upstart hitter was between me and you, I’d drop him in a heartbeat..”

Quinn rolled, straddling Eliot’s hips in one swift motion. Leaning in, he placed his hands on the bed so they bracketed Eliot’s head. “A punk upstart hitter?”

He could feel Eliot’s chest vibrate with laughter, rich and low. “Quinn, man, your hair was gelled. And I’m pretty sure you had frosted tips like some boy band wannabe.”

“Since when are you the expert in boy bands? And what the hell are frosted tips? I don’t even know what that means.”

“I dated a hairdresser once.” Eliot gave a playful tug to the loose strands around Quinn’s face, down from their usual ponytail. “And it means I like it better long.”

With that, Eliot swept Quinn’s arms from under him. Quinn let him, not bothering to catch himself as he fell against Eliot’s bare chest.

To his surprise, settling back down at Eliot's side wasn’t nearly as difficult as expected this time around.

Eliot followed him, clicking the bedside lamp off and shifting to throw an arm over Quinn’s chest. “Now, we done here, or do you wanna keep talking all night? Maybe braid each other’s hair while we’re at it.” The words were barely audible, muttered into Quinn’s shoulder.

Quinn rested his free hand against the dip of Eliot’s back and let his eyes fall closed.

Untitled

Werewolf x Shawn

This is just a first part, I don’t know if I want to continue it. I had high hopes for this piece but it’s literally been sitting in my drafts for a year. Let me know what you think, and if you have any ideas for a title because I do not.

Warnings: blood, action, I don’t think there are any swear words.

Word Count: 1,930

The first time Shawn meets you, he’s 13 and he’s helping his mum in her home clinic. Karen is by the sink cleaning up after her latest patient.

“Grab my bag Shawn now!” She tells him before running out the door. He grabs her medical supplies and rushes after her. The sight before him almost making him throw up his pancakes from breakfast.

You’ve collapsed to your knees, covered in blood with a large wolf in front of you. You’re sobbing unintelligible words at his mother while she tries to console you. Her hands and eyes trained on the brown wolf in front of her. It’s chest barley moving as you hold onto it’s neck. Fingers threaded through brown fur, with it seeming to be consoling both of you.

[[MORE]]

“Y/N, where is Maki hurt?” Karen asks calmly, while you start hiccuping.

“H his chest. It got him in the chest.” She tells the doctor, sniffling and trying to take deep breaths.

“Shawn, go call her parents. Valarie and Michael, their number is on the fridge.” Karen tells her son, he stares before she says his name sternly. Causing him to rush off for the back steps again.

“Can you help me carry him into the house?” You nod numbly before holding his upper body while she grabs his lower half. Maki leting out a soft whine, before you shush him soothingly.

“Alright and up here, go and sit down sweetheart.” You shake your head, tears coming down your face again. Feeling the pain coursing through Maki as it filters through him. Your hands gripping his back leg, fingers pulling his pain away from him the best you can.

“They’re on their way.” Shawn mumbles as he comes back into the room.

“Grab the pain packs off the table, the dilaudid.” Karen tells her son, working quickly to get the wolf in front of her comfortable. He moves to grab the IV supplies and pain medications, before helping her hold his arm down.

“Shh Maki it’s okay.” You whisper sniffling quietly, he stills as they push the needle into his arm. Your head turning as you hear your parents car pulling up, both of them getting out. Their foot steps rushing up the stairs, before the door swings open.

“What happened?” Your mother asks as she comes over to her nephew, gasping at the pool of blood underneath him. You start crying harder, trying to keep your hands on him.

“Come here peanut.” Michael murmurs as he gently pulls you away, kissing your head.

“It’s okay, what happened?” He asks you softly, getting you into a chair against the wall.

“W we were running through the woods, chasing a butterfly. I I tripped and rolled down a bit before I slammed into someone. Maki came running down too and they ended up getting into a fight.” You explain hiccuping again, resting against his chest.

“He’s burning right through the pain medication.” Karen murmurs, trying to stitch your cousin up. Your mum helping to hold him down, pinning his hind legs. Tilting her head slightly as the smell of your blood fills her nose.

“Sweetheart you’re bleeding.” Michael says looking down at your ribcage. Before the only alpha in the room can say anything, the mated couple seeming to be on the same wave length.

“W what?” You murmur, confusion spreading through your features. His fingers moving across your sides to feel for injuries. Stopping when he gets to your left side under your sports bra and across your ribcage. Your dark green tank top torn and soaked in your own blood.

“Shawn, get bandages and apply pressure to her side.” Karen tell her son, while he stands in the background. Coming to terms with all of the wolves in the room. He looks over at you before rushing to grab the cloths.

“H here.” He stammers, watching as your father lifts your arm up to inspect your side.

“It might need stitches...it isn’t healing.” Michael murmurs to himself, brows furrowing as he presses the gauze pads to your sides.

“It’ll be okay...I’m Shawn.” The boy offers as he looks at you, trying to draw your attention from your cousin. Your bright amber eyes flick over to his face, fangs baring slightly as pain finally courses through you. Adrenaline having worn off, your hands beginning to shake in your lap.

“Y/N.” You murmur, feeling your dad’s fingers press into your side a little harder.

“That’s a pretty name, do you like butterflies?” You nod slightly and whimper quietly feeling Maki’s pain again. Your own mixing in, causing your eyes to shut as tears well on your waterline.

“Hey hey it’s okay!” Shawn begs, reaching for your bare knee and resting his fingers on it gently. You look down at his hand before your eyes meet again.

“He’s gonna be okay, my mum is the best.” He promises, rubbing his thumb against your knee cap gently. Looking over at the table and seeing both women bent over the large wolf. Quietly talking to each other, your mother’s hands never leaving Maki’s side.

~25 minutes later~

“When he shifts back I will dose him again with medicine.” Karen says as she and Valarie come out of the bedroom off to the left.

“Okay sweetheart, let me see your side?” Michael gently helps you up onto the cleaned table, Shawn tossing away dirty towels. watching carefully as he gets ready to grab pain medication for you.

“You’re going to need some stitches, this isn’t healing. What kind of wolves were they?” Karen asks as she gently lays you back, propping you with a pillow behind your spine.

Your body tilted as she stands behind you, your left arm above your head. Exposing your side to the warm air of the cabin, her gentle fingers inspecting you further.

“I’m okay mama.” You say as Valarie comes and kneels in front of you. Her hand resting on your forearm, nose brushing yours. Forehead resting against your cheek gently before she takes a deep breath in of your scent.

“You’re sure pup?” She whispers, you nod slightly before wincing when Karen starts cleaning off your wounds. Shawn’s stomach twisting, wanting to help but knowing he needs to stay out of the way.

“You’re such a strong pup...brought Maki all the way here. Did you carry him?” Your mom asks you, brushing your hair from your eyes. Her voice soft and gentle, a tone she only ever uses with her littlest and youngest pup.

“Had to drag him, he’s heavier than he looks.”

You reply, getting a quiet chuckle to leave her mouth. A smile matching your own gracing her face, your father even cracking a smile in the background.

“Yes he is, isn’t he?” Shawn smiles softly as he watches you both. Almost feeling the bond between alpha and wolf pup. His mother working quickly as she stitches you up. Making sure not to make any sudden moves or touches on your skin.

“What kind of wolves were they?” Valarie asks the question from earlier, able to hear how your heart has evened out. Body relaxing as much as it can, knowing your alpha is there to take care of you.

“I think alphas...maybe a beta. But they smelt weird...like dead leaves or rotting meat.” You mumble, wincing when Karen gets closer to your stomach. Shawn bites his lip as he watches, itching to touch you, just wanting to comfort. Valarie nodding her head slightly as she breathes deeply through her nose. Already planning her next move in her head, knowing she has to take care of it soon.

“I’ll be right back pup.” Valarie says quietly, kissing your head gently. Your eyes closing as you hear Shawn’s heart beat, his soft nutmeg scent filling your nose.

“Okay sweetheart you’re done.”

“Can I stay with Maki?” You murmur, drowsiness starting to take affect. Adrenaline completely leaving your system as you yawn into your hand slightly.

“We’ll make a cot up for you, and get some food in you.” Karen says gently helping you sit up, your mom coming back inside.

“My sweet pup, come on let’s get some food for you. Then Maki can see you when he wakes up, dad is with him right now.” Valarie says as she gently lifts you. Your arms and legs coiling around her neck and waist.

“Shawn, can you make her some eggs and toast please?” Karen asks, looking at her son as she cleans the table up. He nods a bit and goes to the kitchen, watching as both of your parents cuddle you.

“I put some cheese in them...I hope that’s okay.” Shawn says as he comes into the dim room, looking at your tired face. Color coming back to your cheeks as you rest against the wall your makeshift bed is against.

“I like cheese.” You respond nodding your head and taking the plate from him gratefully. Shawn looks over to see Maki has shifted back, a blanket pulled up to his stomach. The slashes across his chest almost matching yours.

“You’re pretty tough aren’t you?” Shawn asks looking back at you, while you raise a brow in questioning.

“I mean...to have been able to help your cousin like that. It’s really cool, I would never be able to do something like that.” He quickly adds on, nervousness making his heart jump slightly. You tilt your head towards him, leg moving so your ankle subconsciously touches his knee cap.

“Maki did most of it...I just got in the way.”

“But you got him to safety, and you saved his life. If you hadn’t of been with him, who knows what could have happened.” Shawn argues, you nod a bit and chew your food slowly. Your ankle not moving from his knee, your eyes slipping closed again.

“Thank you Shawn.” You murmur once you’ve finished the plate of eggs.

“You’re welcome Y/N.” He replies, taking your dishes before slowly leaving the room. You curl up on the cot next to your cousin’s bed, being mindful of your stitches. Before your eyes slowly drift closed, brain starting to shut down after the eventful day.

~2 weeks later~

“Dr. Karen?” You ask as you come into the cabin.

“Oh...hey my mum just went to get us lunch.” Shawn says as he comes out of a room, holding a baby raccoon. The critter drinking from a bottle, greedy sucks coming from his mouth.

“Oh...I’m sorry for barging in. My mum wanted me to bring these for you both as a thank you.” You say holding up the picnic basket full of baked goods. He nods a bit and steps over to take the basket. The raccoon chittering softly as it’s eyes land on you.

“Hi buddy.” You murmur gently scratching between his ears, the baby seeming to melt. Pushing up towards your hand, forgetting about the bottle full of formula.

“It took me four days to get him to let me touch him.” Shawn grumbles watching your fingers effortlessly run through the animals fur.

“My mama says I have the ‘touch’ with animals...and people.” You respond looking up at him with soft eyes. Shawn smiles softly as he scans over your face slightly.

“Yea...I can see that.” He tells you honestly, getting a quiet laugh to leave your mouth.

“Well I better get going...gotta train with Lyssa...I’ll see you later Shawn.”

“I’ll see you later Y/N.” He watches as you leave with a final scratch under the raccoons chin. Before stepping out of the back door, letting the screen close behind you.

Taglist

@shawnm521 @justanothershawngirl @esoltis280 @nervousaroundmendes @yellowitsmendes @sinfulshawn @rosecth @song-bird-shawn @artemissravenclaw @planstonightbaby @dancingafterdeath @someoneunimportantxx

A Rose of Unconscious Beauty (Part 6)

When Vergil arrives at your garden, he did not foresee having to deal with a horde of demons or his nosy little brother. Nor was he expecting his lovely rose to be caught in the middle.

It’s finally finished! Hope ya’ll enjoy. ❤❤❤

Here’s the link to the list of all the flowers featured in this part. 🌹🥰🌹

Chapter 2: Dealing with Dante

Vergil has always taken pride in being calm and collected at all times, especially when he wields the Yamato. Extreme emotions can cloud one’s mind and cause amateur mistakes on and off the battlefield. He has mastered the ability of supreme focus. He thought nothing could shake him out this state once he has put the flame into the void…that is until he witnesses a Fury demon hurling itself straight at you.

The flame within the void bursts into a roaring fire as he quickly jumps into action. Dealing with demon is an easy task, but he is still fuming as he inspects you. His eyes roam all over your body, frantically checking for any sign of injury. The very thought you getting hurt turns the flame bright blue as his body starts to hum in rage, so close to entering Devil Trigger. If he had not been here at this exact moment to protect you…he cannot help but to think about that day long ago…

I almost lost you, my lovely rose. Just like-

“Vergil!”

The sound of your sweet voice breaks him out of his tempestuous thoughts and pulls him away from the brink of Devil Trigger. “Y/N.” His feet move of their own accord towards you as he examines you again, noticing your glistening eyes and gracious smile. “What are you doing out here?” he demands as he also takes note of the bloody gardening tool in your hands.

Your hands lower from their defensive stance as he gets closer. “I was gardening and helping your brother when- Ah!” Your explanation is cut short by Vergil swiftly picking you up into his arms as he heads for the backdoor of your home.

“Get inside,” he orders as he puts you down. “I’ll take care of the demons…and my foolish brother.”

You do not argue with him as you open the door and step inside. Before he can turn to go, your head peeks out of the door. “Be careful, okay?” you implore, voice full of concern and eyes gleaming with worry.

Vergil nods and you give him a small comforting smile before shutting the door. He turns away and reigns in his rage, putting the flame back into the void as he stalks over to the neatest demon beyond your garden. Dante’s rowdy taunts echo throughout the street as he slices his way towards his brother. “What a nuisance,” he mutters as he cuts down demon after demon, taking out his anger at this entire situation on them. He knew Dante was up to something when he came back to an empty shop after his weekly sparing session with Nero. His son actually gave him a bit of a warning before he left…hinting that he should introduce you to Dante.

But of all the ridiculous scenarios he ran through his head…he did not foresee you out in the open, left alone, and in grave danger while demons run amok on the streets. And his little brother, being his usual daft self, not taking anything seriously. Vergil growls harshly as the image of you bravely holding up your gardening tool in defense as the Fury lunges at you pops into his head. The demons may be getting the brunt of his ire, but when he gets to Dante...his body begins to hum lowly again as he finally catches up with his brother and joins the fray, dispatching the remaining demons with ease.

When the last demon falls, Dante laughs as he holsters his guns and turns to face his very irate brother. “Hey! Fancy meeting you h-”

Vergil teleports in front of Dante and skewers him with the Yamato. “That is for being nosy scum.” Dante grunts in pain as he withdraws his blade, making sure it to twist it a bit as he dislodges it from his chest. “And that is for not ensuring Y/N’s safety.”

Dante kneels down in agony as he clutches the fresh stab wound on his chest. “What’re you talking about?” he hisses. “She was on her way-”

“A Fury almost cut her down!”

“Oh shit…is she okay?”

“Yes,” Vergil replies, barely containing his anger as he summons his swords. “No thanks to you.” Dante rolls out of the way of the first sword and continues to dodge the barrage of blue blades coming his way. He tries to talk his older brother down from his wrathful onslaught, but Vergil is having none of it.

“What in carnation?!”

Both of the brother’s heads snap over at your punny exclamation as you jog towards them. When you come to a halt a few feet away, Vergil ceases his attack and takes the time to double check for any injuries upon your person. He notes your very simple gardening attire: green overalls, gardening hat, and well-worn black boots. The bloody gardening tool that you used to defend yourself is still in your hands. Your face is aglow with a light sheen of perspiration and your brilliant eyes are wide as they look between him and his brother in amazement. Seeing you standing there safe and sound quells his white-hot anger down to a low simmer.

Dante brushes off his clothes before breaking the silence. “Weed it and reap!” he bellows, spreading his arms wide as he gestures all around the street.

You blink and tilt your head thoughtfully. “Hmm…perhaps you really are a hoe!”

Vergil’s brow furrows in confusion at your strange observation as Dante’s boisterous laugh rings out through the air. Your mouth curves into a small grin as your eyes track over from his little brother to him. Those alluring lips that constantly haunt his thoughts widen into a wondrous smile. The last ember of his smoldering anger is snuffed out as you approach him. “Are you okay?” you inquire softly, making a familiar warmth bloom within his chest. “I still have the first aid kit if either of you need it,” you add while pointing back towards your garden.

Dante speaks up before Vergil has a chance to respond. “I don’t need it, but Verg has this nasty cut on his back.”

Vergil scowls at his brother’s interruption. “I do not have-”

A sharp sting slashes across his back, causing him to growl in pain as he stumbles forward and bumps into you. His annoying little brother must have taken the opportunity to set up an ambush while he was distracted by your approach. You drop the gardening hoe as you try your best to stop his fall. Vergil glares at Dante’s retreating back he continues to talk. “I’m gonna put the petal to the meadow and ride ‘round the block,” he informs as he summons Cavaliere. “Gotta make sure there aren’t any more demons that need a good hoeing. And if there are…” He reaches into his jacket and dramatically puts on a pair of aviator sunglasses. “I’ll dill with it.”

Vergil snarls in response as he summons his swords again. Dante quickly hops onto his fiendish motorcycle and speeds away, successfully escaping the cascade of blue blades. You peek around his body and softly squeal in astonishment. “Does the power of Sparda also include fast healing?” you wonder aloud as you pat his back, trying to feel out the slash wound that should be there.

“Yes,” he huffs as he straightens himself, doing his best to divert his attention away from the warmth of your hand pressing firmly against his back.

“Huh…” You glance up at him and clear your throat as you take a step back away from him. Your cheeks turn pink as you crouch down and pick up your garden hoe, quietly repeating your offer of first aid. Vergil’s scowl softens as you stand back up, touched by your concern for him. He declines first aid as he extends his hand to help you up off the ground. You smirk coyly as you take his hand. He gently wraps your arm around his before escorting you back to your garden. When both of you get to your gate, he opens it and gestures for you to go through first.

Your eyes sparkle with curiosity as you enter your garden. “Do you and Dante always stab each other?”

“It’s how we bond,” Vergil lightly jests with a soft chuckle as he steps through the gate and closes it behind him. “What feeble excuse did my wretch of a brother use to intrude on you?” he queries, his own curiosity getting the best of him as you take off your gardening hat.

“He wanted burgundy roses for his desk,” you answer as you begin fanning yourself with the hat. Vergil stares at you inquisitively, subtly admiring your disheveled hair as it blows away from your lovely face. “He also Dad-teragated me,” you tack on as you start to wander off. His brow scrunches up at that statement, perplexed by the phrase “dad-teragate” as he follows close behind you.

You pause in your tracks and scan the ground, eyes lighting up when you find whatever it is you are searching for. “Then the demons attacked and one tried to burn down my apple tree!” you exclaim excitedly as you trot a short distance away and pick up a garden hose. Vergil quirks an eyebrow as you spritz the air with misty water. “I gave it good smack though!” you beam proudly as you hold up your bloody gardening hoe and clean it off with the hose. A grumbling growl escapes his lips as he pins you down with an intense stare. “But then Dante shot it down!” you quickly add as you finish cleaning off your gardening tool.

You wouldn’t be my lovely rose if you didn’t drive me mad, Vergil muses to himself as he sighs and pinches his brow in slight irritation. He hears you rustling around as he takes a moment to collect his thoughts. For once in his life…he is grateful for his brother’s interference into his private affairs. That still does not excuse him from running off and leaving you alone though.

“Flower for your thoughts?”

The sound of your endearing catchphrase shakes him out of his broody ruminations. You have put away the gardening hoe and your hands are wringing the gardening hat as you gaze up at him. The buzzing irritation rumbling around his head dies down as he stares deeply into your worried eyes. His mind grasps for the right words to explain…that seeing you any kind of danger makes him feel…

Vergil takes a deep breath. “As much as I admire your courage to take up arms, you should’ve sought safety as soon as possible,” he rebukes softly as he steps forward and places a hand on your shoulder. “You could’ve been seriously hurt…or worse.” His vexation starts to grow as he recalls other times you could have been in danger. “And must you be friendly with every stranger that happens upon your garden? Or go harvest berries in the middle of night? Demons could show up anytime and-oof!”

He is taken aback by your body crashing into him. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his chest. Vergil stands stock-still as the heat of your embrace washes over him, melting away all his aggravation. He feels light-headed as your intoxicating scent floods his senses, breathing you in with every breath he takes. The familiar warmth in his chest grows and rises up to his cheeks. He sighs indignantly at himself, annoyed that you once again managed to make him blush like a besotted buffoon.

“I’m sorry for making you worry,” you murmur against his chest. “I’m not used to having somebody around…looking after me.” You look up at him, adoration shining through your eyes as you gift him with your vibrant smile. “Thank you, Vergil.”

Your soft words of gratitude ease the tension throughout his body within your tender embrace. “You don’t need to use a promiscuous gardening tool to defend yourself,” he affirms softly while placing a tentative hand on your back, mentally noting the subtle hitch of your breath at the contact. “Not while I’m around.”

“You sure?” you giggle. “My hoe is pretty formidable!”

Vergil laughs as a soft smile tugs at his lips. His thumb begins to gently brush small circles your back, trying to prolong your presence against his body. You take a shuttering breath as your cheeks flush crimson and he grins in victory as your arms squeeze him tighter. Vergil feels a strong desire take ahold of him. It compels him to keep you as close as possible while he gazes down upon you. He cannot help but wonder if your lips feel as velvety as they appear…

The sudden sound of distant upbeat music drifts through the air. Both of you flinch and look around in confusion. You consider for a moment before suggesting that the tune is probably blaring from a nearby car parked on the street. Vergil’s eyes narrow in suspension as they survey the surrounding area. Your body shifts away from him as you announce that you need to get something. He reluctantly loosens his grip around your waist and watches you disappear into your vast garden.

Vergil carries on investigating the intrusive melody’s origins, walking further into the garden until his keen eye finds the source of the romantic music. Dante is standing some distance away, failing miserably at hiding behind some tall bushes as he holds up a boom box stereo. Vergil glowers at his brother, silently warning him to cease whatever foolishness he is up to, but Dante just gives him a cheeky wink and an encouraging smile.

The rustle of dainty footfalls softly approaching Vergil from behind stops him from forcefully ending his idiotic brother’s antics. He turns around and sees you standing by the garden fountain. As he walks over to meet you, he notices your hands are behind your back, undoubtedly hiding some flowers. You glance up at him nervously when he comes to a halt in front of you. “I just want to, umm…” you mumble quietly, pausing to clear your throat before going on. “When that demon came at me, all I could think about was you and…” You bite your lower lip as you swing your hands around to reveal a bundle of small yellow flowers.

“I think you’re dandy, and I’m not lion!” He quirks an eyebrow as he tilts his head at your curious pun. “Ah, sorry!” you say, shaking your head as you bring the flowers up to your chest and stare straight into his eyes. “What I mean to say is I care for you…deeply.”

Vergil’s heartbeat quickens at your open and honest admission. He recognizes the flowers in your hands to be dandelions. If memory serves him correctly, they are presented when someone believes that the recipient will bring happiness to their life. It also represents a promise of total faithfulness. These particular flowers, along with your tender words, rocks his very soul as he puts all the pieces together and interprets what you are trying to say…

You’re the only one for me.

His stunned silence must make you anxious again as you hurriedly hide your face behind the dandelions. “I uh…probably shouldn’t have told you that while wearing dirty gardening overalls.” You peek between the flowers as you brush your unkempt hair behind your ear. “Not exactly the epitome of charm and grace right now, huh?”

While you are busy turning pink behind the small yellow blooms, Vergil summons his swords and swiftly cuts Dante’s meddlesome music short. He distracts you from his brother’s quiet yelp of pain by stepping up closer to you. “I have something for you as well,” he admits while reaching into his coat. “Hmm…it seems only one survived the battle,” he notes as he reveals a single cabbage rose. A pile of pink and white petals from the other ruined roses rain down from his coat. You smirk and bend down to grab a handful of the petals off of the ground before throwing them into the air with a playful giggle. He hums in amusement at your impromptu flower shower before presenting you the lone pink and white cabbage rose.

“You have never looked more ravishing than you do at this moment,” he marvels as his eyes blatantly admire every inch of your body. “Dirty garden garments and all,” he adds with a small grin, hoping that you hear the sincerity of his words, spoken and unspoken.

You set my heart aflame.

Your radiant eyes gaze up at him as your hands lower the dandelions away from your face, no longer hiding the delightful crimson blush currently spreading across your cheeks. The strong desire to pull you close comes back in full force as you reach for the cabbage rose. “Will you allow me…to put this lovely rose in your hair?” he hesitantly requests as your fingers wrap around his hand.

Your eyes widen in surprise as your blush spreads all the way up to your ears. “Yes,” you utter quietly, looking absolutely adorable as you gently nod your head. Vergil smiles softly as he steps up closer to you and rests the Yamato against the garden fountain. You lower your hands and turn your head slightly, presenting him the side of your hair you wish the flower to go.

With steady hands he brings the rose up and carefully places it just above your ear. Your scent ensnares his senses once more as his fingers sift between your lustrous hair, making him feel pleasantly dizzy as his body hums in contentment. He feels the need to talk, but his mind struggles to come up with proper words. So, instead of putting himself at risk of sounding like a graceless galoot, he relies on his memory and recites a poem that reminds him of you:

The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple's a rose, And the pear is, and so's The plum, I suppose. The dear only knows What will next prove a rose. You, of course, are a rose - But were always a rose.

Vergil successfully secures the cabbage rose in your hair just as he finishes his recitation. He drops one hand down to the dandelions still in your grasp while the other hand lingers down slowly, letting the back of his fingers tenderly caress your soft cheek. You shiver at his touch, slightly turning your head to gaze up at him in awe. He gently clasps both of your hands as he realizes that you are very much like the burgundy roses sticking out of your pocket: unconscious of the beauty you hold within yourself.

“Uh,” you breathe out, your eyes flickering down as he begins to brush a thumb across your skin. “I think a stray petal may have gotten into your hair,” you point out sheepishly. An annoyed grunt escapes his throat before he can stop it. You laugh lightly at his reaction before speaking again. “May I?” you urge sweetly, raising one hand up towards his hair.

Vergil smirks as the memory of you plucking petals from his slicked back hair comes to mind. He would be lying if he said he did not like it. In fact, he finds the feeling of your delicate fingers brushing through his hair oddly soothing. He leans his head down, accepting your gracious offer as you stand on the tip of your toes. Your head tilts to the side as your hand reaches up, but he does not feel it touch his hair.

Instead, your hand gently cups his chin as you lean up and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. Searing heat flares throughout his body from the affectionate touch of your lips. It only lasts a few seconds, but he still feels just enough to decide that your lips feel more satiny than velvety…like the silky petals of a lovely rose. You settle back down on the ground, soft lips grazing his skin as you pull away. He can feel his own faint blush tint his cheeks as you grace him with one of your magnificent smiles. He does not even feel annoyed as he realizes that your power must include enrapturing him with your rustic beauty and gentle gestures.

The intimate moment between you two is broken when Dante’s voice starts singing from behind the bushes. “Vergil and Y/N sitting in a tree…” Vergil glares harshly at the greenery as he summons a single sword, hoping to stop his foolish brother from further embarrassing him.

“K-I-S-ugh!”

Dante’s howl of pain brings a satisfied smirk to his face as you stare quizzically at your bushes. “My shrubs must be quite the hang out spot, huh?” you quietly quip.

Vergil chortles as you hand him the dandelions before going over to inspect your very vocal shrubbery. The immediate string of gardening puns has him shaking his head as he places the small yellow flowers inside his coat. He informs his brother that they have taken up enough of your time as he grabs the Yamato. Dante agrees as he steps out of the bushes, cradling the now beaten-up boom box close to his chest. His little brother has the gall to shoot him a wide grin, probably believing that his musical interference actually helped him in some way.

With a sad sigh and a little pout, you lead them back towards the garden gate as you thank them again for saving your life. Dante responds with his usual foolhardy rabble, making Vergil roll his eyes when he brags about being the biggest hoe in town. You giggle at his brother’s crassness as you hand him the burgundy roses still in your pocket, apologizing that it is not a full bouquet. When Dante suggests dropping by whenever he feels like it to receive the proper number of flowers, Vergil forcefully shoves him through the gate as he chastising him for not at least setting up an appointment with you first.

You laugh and close the gate behind them. “Take care, guys! Don’t be a stranger!” you chime happily, giving them a farewell wave as they set off back to the shop.

Dante waves back at you while Vergil nods his head in your direction. When they are some distance away, Vergil decides it is the perfect time to really lay it on his brother. He vehemently expresses the extent of his displeasure at Dante's snooping and disturbing you at his expense. Dante just sighs and nods along, letting him vent out his frustration for a couple of blocks. When Vergil is done with his scathing rant a tense silence falls between them for about another block.

Dante breaks the silence when they get to their street. “You got yourself one feisty flowery friend, Verg,” he comments with a chuckle before launching into his own impressions about you. He seems genuinely excited that you know how to make pizza and strawberry donuts. He likes your flower showers and quirky sense of humor. But the one thing that truly amazes him is your knack for clever puns.

The corners of Vergil’s mouth twitch into a smirk as his brother goes on and on with his gushing praise. All of the exasperation whirring inside him fades away as thoughts of you play like a movie in his mind: the heat of your body warming him in your tender embrace, the sight of his gifted rose in your beautiful hair…the feel of your silky lips pressing a delicate kiss against his cheek. He is not aware how long his brother’s ramblings last as he gets lost in thought. He glances over at some point when he realizes that Dante has stopped talking only to see that wide grin back on his little brother’s face...no doubt pleased with himself that he caught his older brother smiling like an idiot.

Vergil scowls and quickens his pace, marching past his brother as to no longer see his self-satisfied smile. His speedy stride helps him reach Devil May Cry well before Dante. He climbs the stairs and unlocks the front door, intending to escape his brother’s general existence by rushing straight to his room...but his hand pauses on the handle as he remembers your retelling of Dante’s disruptive visit. His little brother deserves every bit of his wrath when it comes to his nosiness, but Vergil also acknowledges that he should give credit where credit is due. So, he waits for his brother to catch up with him.

When Dante finally arrives at the shop he begins to explain his ludicrous side of the story, but his words trail off when Vergil calls his name and pins him with a very intensive stare. They both stand there quietly for a moment...until Vergil finally speaks with utmost sincerity in his tone.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, Verg,” his brother replies with a nod as he gives his brother a warm smile.

Vergil smiles back as Dante ascends the stairs and gives him a brotherly clap on the back. They enter the shop together and split off in different directions. Dante goes straight to his desk and places the burgundy roses you kindly gave him in front of the portrait of their mother. Vergil heads up the stairs as he informs his brother he will be back down in a little while to talk. Dante’s eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly nods his head as he takes a seat on the couch. When Vergil enters his room, he cannot help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of today’s events. Your rather chaotic introduction to Dante is not exactly what he had in mind, but he is still glad that his brother approves of the blossoming friendship between you two…even if he will never admit it aloud to Dante’s face.

And as he stores the dandelions in his hidden ornate box with the other flowers you have given to him over time, he vows to always protect the lovely rose that miraculously bloomed among his briars.

Read Part 7 (Ch. 1) here

Read on Ao3

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Somebody Different (1/?)

Prompt

[1]///[2]

Summary: Legend is always messing up, but this mistake takes the cake.

Warnings: Character death, blood, angst. You know. Normal Jin things.

-o-o-o-o-

Rain pelts down like a constant, sad song. Everyone sits miserably under a small overhang in the face of the cliff, all either refusing to admit what has happened or are stewing in their own guilt of what they have just done.

Legend doesn't think any one of them should feel bad, it is all his own fault after all.

The rain is a constant reminder of that. It was raining when it happened, and he can't get those images to stop playing in his head. It's a horrible presentation that he can't figure out how to turn off, every second he can see the rain mixing with the blood below him, turning the liquid pink as it drips down and pools around Legend and…

He sighs and brings his hands to his hair as he looks at the shrine built into the cliff wall a minutes walk up. Wild… Wild is in there. For the second time in Wild's life he has been shoved inside a strange machine because the people around him aren't ready for him to be gone.

"P-please… no-"

Legend shakes his head. No, don't think about it. Don't think about the blood escaping through his fingers, don't think about Wild choking and gasping for air, don't think about the stilling chest or the weakening whimpers or how he sat there completely useless as the light in Wild's eyes faded to a foggy white color.

Don't think about how Wild begged not to be put back in the shrine. Don't think about how that went ignored. Don't think about how Wild would rather stay dead than be back in that shrine.

Don't think about it.

Legend wants to scream, every fiber of his being wants to write off what happened as classic Wild being reckless, but his brain keeps kicking in and telling him that it is all Legend's fault. It's his fault Wild took that hit, it's his fault Wild is in the last place he ever wanted to return to.

He looks up as Time approaches him. He steps over the campfire and stands over Legend with so many expressions Legend isn't sure what's on his mind. It could be disappointment, guilt, pity; Legend isn't sure what he prefers.

"Legend," Time says slowly and the rest of the group is silent. Legend can feel something get stuck in his throat, reminding him of the muteness of his childhood. He hasn't felt that in years. He looks up at Time, ready to take anything thrown at him, yet at the same time knowing he could shatter right there with the blow of the wind.

"Yeah?" He asks after clearing his throat. He keeps his face neutral, not letting the others clue in to how broken and torn he is inside.

Time stares down at him with his unreadable single eye before he sits down on the log next to Legend. Legend is forced to make room. He glances at the others; Hyrule is pretending to not look interested, Sky is looking very facinated down at the ground, Warrior is staring full on until Legend meets his eyes to which he quickly looks away, Four and Wind are whispering to each other but glancing at Legend and Time every few words, and Twilight…

"Wild!? CUB! NO!"

Rain pelting down, blood mixing with the water, crying faces and horrified expressions. Wet elbows and knees as Legend is shoved aside, as Twilight dives in and clutches Wild's dead body like nothing Legend has ever seen before. Wind is crying, Hyrule is throwing up, Time is looking angrily at the heavens-

Don't think about it.

Twilight is currently sitting across the camp, eyes rimmed red from sobbing, blood stained his clothes from carrying a mutilated corpse. He's staring right at Legend, eyes judgmental and probably already guessing how it happened, how it's all Legend's fault.

"What happened over there, Legend?" Time asks and now everyone is staring because they're all curious. After all, how in the world could there be a casualty while fighting low level Bokoblins and one Moblin?

What happened? What happened is that Legend's an idiot, he's cocky. He was too absorbed in destroying the small guys that he didn't notice the big one coming up behind him. He didn't notice the Moblin lift it's enormous sword up. However, he did notice being shoved out of the way, pushed to the ground. He did notice the strangled yell that came from Wild.

Don't think about it.

"Reckless," Legend finally forces out. His voice seems to want to stay in his throat like a thick syrup. "He was reckless."

"Bullshit." Legend snaps his head over to where Twilight is glaring at him. His hands are clenched above his lap, knuckles white. "He did it again, didn't he?"

Everyone looks confused but Legend understands completely what he means. Wild has put others safety above his own once again, he has put his own body between a deadly blow and a friend. Only this time it costed him his own life.

Legend can't make his mouth work, because admitting that Wild lost his life while saving Legend's would be like admitting that he's the one that killed Wild. He's the one who slashed that sword across his chest.

Yet, his silence seems to be the answer Twilight is expecting.

Legend isn't sure how he feels when Twilight sighs and buries his head in his hands. "Damn you, Wild."

-o-o-o-o-

He's pressing down on Wild's chest, his whole body is shaking with the cold wind blowing, with the rain soaking through his clothes and chilling him to the bone. His fingers are red, the ground is red, everything is red and Legend can't breathe. Wild's choking noises are dying down, his movements are weakening.

Legend doesn't know how long he's been there alone, desperately trying to keep Wild's blood inside of him but failing horribly at it. His voice is scratchy from his constant rambling that Wild is going to be okay, Twilight will be here soon, all of the others will be here soon, and they'll have potions and they'll fix him right up.

No one is coming.

The rain pours harder.

Every time Wild blinks, his eyes are open a fraction less than before and Legend can feel terror take over. He's begging now. Commanding Wild not to give up, that he's been through so much and he has no right to die by a Moblin. No right at all. Wild isn't listening. Legend moves on to how Twilight is going to be so mad, that Twilight is going to kill Legend if he dies, that Legend will never forgive Wild if he leaves him like this, he's screaming and his throat hurts so much and he didn't think he could go louder until Wild begins to lose focus and his gaze drifts up to the gray sky, not even blinking when rain drops onto his irises.

"Listen to me Wild, LISTEN!" Legend screams and he pushes down against Wild's bloody chest harder, his whole arms shake with effort. "No, no, please, no-"

He looks up and desperately turns his head side to side as he desperately tries to find anything.

"Help! HELP!!"

His throat hurts so much. His eyes are stinging. He's not sure the drops running down his face is just rain at this point.

"No nononono-"

Then he sees it, the cliffs in the distance. Wild has mentioned them before when they have first stepped foot in his Hyrule. Over there is the first real memory he has: waking up, to a voice in his head. The beginning of his adventure. The Resurrection Shrine.

A weak voice. "No…"

Legend looks back down to Wild and sees a small bit of life return to his eyes. Wild is looking at him with eyes as wide as they can go, and Legend realizes that he has just spoken out loud. "Does… does it still work?" Legend asks. It feels wrong, so horribly wrong to ask, but he knows that at this point Wild is doomed to die. No one is coming. His only option is to see if it's possible to bring Wild back to life after.

"Don't-" Wild coughs and splatters red all over Legends face. "Not… there… please…"

-o-o-o-o-

Don't think about it.

Yeah, well, it's kind of hard not to at this point, especially now that Legend was sitting in the very Shrine staring at the bright, crystal water that submerged over the corpse of his friend. Two weeks has passed and Wild's bare chest was closed up, revealing a nasty scar that went from his collarbone to the hip opposite. It's puffy and white with pink around the edges. It definitely looked like a wound that would never be able to heal up even with normal medical means.

Two weeks.

The rest of his group are getting antsy. They have done zero traveling, nothing but sitting under that cliff and venturing out into the forest every so often to get more fire wood or more boar meat. No one has even suggested they leave Wild behind and continue their journey even though there is no promise that Wild would be back alive any time soon. Last time it took him one hundred years, why would this time be any different?

The only time someone has even mentioned leaving the cliff wall was when Time said that they need to tell this world's Zelda what has happened, but no one volunteered. They are all still there and the Queendom is still uninformed about it's fallen hero.

However, Legend can tell that Time wants to move on, as harsh as it sounds. Sometimes he can be caught looking at different maps and muttering to himself about how long it will take to get to Castle Town or one of the stables to restock. He'll stop instantly when someone walks in on him, but as time passes people are beginning to add in their opinions after they tell Time to continue.

Fights were starting to break out too… Wind is starting to snap at anyone who gets too close, Warrior is constantly rolling his eyes at anything anyone says, even Sky and Hyrule are starting to get a bit short tempered with the others in the group. Though, the worst in the group is Twilight. He's also currently the reason Legend is sitting alone in the shrine feeling sorry for himself.

Legend doesn't know how the fight started… only that it did. One minute there's conversation and the next Legend is pinned against a tree with Twilight screaming in his face. Time was thankfully able to break up the confrontation but for Legend the whole world went silent. He wanted to tell Twilight that he deserves his anger, he deserves the harsh words. Instead he simply turned around and walked up to the shrine.

He sighs and leans further against the shrine wall, closing his eyes and listening to the subtle hums that echo off the walls. The room glows with a dull blue and orange light, but it still feels so dark.

Wild woke up here. This is his earliest memory. This is where he took his first steps, his first breaths of air, his first blinks. What a horrible place to wake up in… it's no wonder he doesn't want to come back.

"Does it still work?"

He shakes his head. Don't think about it. Don't you dare think about it.

"Not…. Shrine… please….."

"Wild-!"

"N- don't put m-me back there…"

"Does it work or not?"

"P-please… p-"

Legend let's out a small whimper and brings his hands to his ears and his knees to his chest. Don't think about it. Don't think about how Wild died with that word on his lips, don't think about how Legend ignored Wild's pleading and took him to the shrine anyway, don't think about how it's all his fault, don't think about it. Stop.

Footsteps.

Legend looks up from where he's buried his head into his knees and almost startles when he sees Twilight making his way inside, instead he quickly wipes at his eyes and pushes himself to his feet, setting his face into careful neutrality.

Twilight stops at the doorway and stares at the chamber for a second before he turns to look at Legend. His expression is hard to read. Legend doesn't like that.

"What do you want?" Legend asks.

Twilight licks his lips and sighs. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Legend folds his arms across his chest and looks down at the ground. He doesn't trust himself to speak. He'll probably say something he doesn't mean; he's always doing that.

"I just…" Twilight continues, "I just… feel useless. I wasn't there for him, for you. And all this waiting, it's grating at my nerves and I needed an outlet. It shouldn't have been you. I wanted to apologise for that."

Legend nods and looks down at the ground.

"Are you going to say anything?"

Something stirs in Legend's chest and he glares back at Twilight. "What do you want me to say?" He hisses, and he doesn't mean it, he doesn't. "Do you want me to apologise that Wild got himself killed now? For your hurt feelings? Maybe I should apologise for the Moblin that killed him."

Twilight's face hardens and Legend remembers why the fight a few minutes ago started. "Legend," he says, a warning in his voice.

But Legend doesn't stop. "Do you want me to admit to killing him him? Apologize for that?!"

Twilight looks shocked. "That is not what I-"

"I'm not going to apologise to you," Legend snarls, "he died because he was an idiot and it's not- it's not my fault."

"I didn't say it was," Twilight says as he takes a step forward.

Everything is so small in that moment, the walls, the ceiling, the space between Legend and Twilight. He wants to run, get out of there before he makes things worse. "Stay away from me," he says, glaring and Twilight stops and hold up his hands in surrender.

"I don't blame you."

"You do," You should; Legend wipes at his eyes and ignores the moisture that gets on his sleeve. He begins to walk around Twilight towards the exit because if he stays here any longer he's going to do something more than say a few things he'll regret later. "You blame me, you think it's my fault. You think I was the one who killed him, I didn't. He was an idiot. He got himself killed. I didn't- didn't do anything."

"Okay," Twilight says carefully. Legend hates how carefully. He's just about to run out of there and calm down when Twilight's eyes widen when a new noise fills the air. A mechanical whirl mixed with the sound of water running through pipes.

"Wild," Twilight breathes before he turns and sprints to where the blue liquid in the chamber is slowly sinking. Legend stills as he watches Wild lazily blinking as Twilight reaches down and begins to help Wild up.

Wild's breathing. He's moving his fingers and toes on his own. All the hurt inside Legend flies away as he watches Wild, alive, get hefted up into Twilight's arms.

"Go get the others," Twilight says, he's smiling so wide and tears are dripping down his face, Legend doesn't hesitate.

He turns and runs out the door, his brain moving a mile a minute but so quiet at the same time. Right as he's about to climb up the random wall of dirt in front of him the sound of a pained grunt reaches his ears. Then the sounds of a scuffle.

He turns back, his heart pumping in his throat, and sprints. Something is wrong. They missed something. Something is wrong.

He bursts back into the chamber room and stops in his tracks when he sees Wild, half naked and furious, holding Twilight in a choke hold. Twilight's face is turning red.

Legend doesn't think, he acts. He rams his whole body into Wild and wraps his arms around him in a restraining hold. Wild is kicking and squirming but Legend is eventually able to move into a position where he is expertly pinning Wild to the ground.

Twilight is coughing behind him and he looks back from Wild, who is still struggling and grunting angrily, to see Twilight pushing himself up against the wall.

"I got him," Legend says, "go."

Twilight gives him a wide eyed look before nodding and running out of the room.

Legend turns back to Wild.

"Hey, it's us, idiot-" he says through a grunt as Wild pushes against Legend violently, though Legend isn't about to give in that easily. "Wild, calm down, it's us-"

Wild goes limp and closes his eyes, breathing hard. Legend relaxes, thinking that maybe Wild has calmed down.

That is his mistake.

The moment Legend loosens his grip on him, he is able to work an arm free, next thing Legend knows he's on the ground desperately trying to take in air after a heartless punch to the throat. He tries to get to his feet but Wild kicks him in the gut and he's down and in a whole lot of pain. His lungs are screaming and the world is spinning.

This isn't Wild, this is someone else. Someone more violent, someone who's not going to hold back. Someone… who doesn't remember.

This isn't Wild. This is Link.

He gasps for air and clutches at his gut, the realization that Wild doesn't remember them makes his head spin. Of course. They didn't even think about that. They didn't think that maybe shoving Wild back into the Resurrection Chamber would erase his memory.

He hears the sound of multiple bodies entering the shrine, but the surge or hope he feels is quickly replaced with fear as he's yanked up by his hair and held against Wild's chest with a strong arm around his chest. There's a blade to his throat, Legend's own blade. Wild has grabbed Legend's own sword and is now using it against him. It's at that moment Legend realized how much taller Wild is.

"Wild-" he tries through his aching throat, but he's cut off when the edge of the blade pinches into his skin threateningly, he can feel warm drops begin to lazily trail down his neck.

Twilight is first to barge into the room, but all the others are not far behind. They all stop in their tracks when they see Legend being held hostage, and Legend can't help but feel ashamed by that. He's a hero, just as much as the others, he's not a hostage.

The sword digging into his skin tells a different story.

"Wild, we're not going to hurt you," Twilight says.

"Guys, he doesn't have his memory," Legend says quickly, "he doesn't know who- ack!" He chokes as the sword cuts into his neck again.

Legend can feel Wild make some sort of movement behind him, probably a gesture for the others to move out of the way, but Legend is too busy trying not to swallow so the sword doesn't cut further into him, but the sword is pressed harder against him anyways in a threatening gesture to the others. Time narrows his eye and places a hand on Twilight's shoulder.

"Let him through," Time says, "we don't know what he'll do."

Twilight looks like he's about to argue but Wild grunts and Legend can feel the arm wrapping around his upper body tighten it's hold. Time is right, they have no idea what Wild could do next. The one they knew would never hurt another human being, not even the Yiga. He would much rather make them powerless then send them off to the castle to be put in prison. But this one now is… feral. Angry. Scared. He could kill Legend and not blink an eye.

Twilight and the others reluctantly move to the side and Legend is forced to move forward. Wild moves them both slowly over to the pedestal by the door and Legend knows exactly what he is going for. The Sheikah Slate.

He let's go of Legend for just a second to grab the slate and fasten it to his hip, the movement is so quick Legend isn't able to defend himself before he is back to being held tight against Wild's chest. They're moving again and the others are just standing there as Wild begins to move backwards so he doesn't have anyone behind him.

He's torn between feeling panicked that they're not doing anything and understanding that they are being careful. He doesn't know what Wild is going to do with him by the time they're out of reach from the others. Kill him? Ditch him?

Wild suddenly pushes Legend forward and there a sudden glow of light as a bow comes into existence in Wild's hands, there's a flaming arrow pointing right at Legends chest. The Sheikah Slate just gave a memoryless Wild an arsenal.

Wild jerks his head towards the wall of dirt, the last obstacle before the outside world and Legend understands what's needed of him, he just wishes Wild would actually talk to him. This silent, ruthless version of him sets him on edge.

Legend slowly moves to the wall and climbs up, Wild keeps the arrow trained on him to stop the others from charging forward or Legend from running away. Legend is still a hostage. Now, Wild is at his first problem. He'd have to put the weapon down to climb up, and he can't just teleport away because that would take more than a few seconds to access that on the slate. Legend stands at the top of the small cliff, wondering what Wild is about to do, before Wild suddenly turns around and releases the arrow.

It's at that moment that Legend realizes that the arrow isn't a fire one, but a bomb one.

The arrow hits the ceiling of the other room and chunks of stone fall to the ground and the floor shakes violently. Legend's breath catches in his throat as dust kicks up and the rubble completely cuts the others off from Wild and Legend.

He doesn't have enough time to react or wonder if they're okay before Wild is by him and roughly grabbing him by the upper arm. Legend is practically dragged away from the shrine and into the world as dust licks at their feet and the grounds rumblings quiet. They burst outside and everything goes silent.

Oh Hylia. Why now?

There isn't a cliff in front of them, but an endless forest. Legend and Wild spin around to find more forest behind them. They switched world's during the worst time possible.

Pain explodes along the back of Legends head and he falls to the ground as black creeps in the edges of his vision. The last thing he sees before sleep takes him is Wild moving towards him.

Beastly Kingdom - CH 9 - Greatest Show on Earth

( Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric from Pexels)

Liz loved watching the bustle around the park for the nearly invisible signs of her plan showing themselves. The invisible cogs quickened their pace when she received word the General was on his way from Sanctuary. Everything was coming together, even better than she had anticipated. As the General entered the park late in the afternoon, her sealed final instructions made their way to the respective gang leader. Liz decided to put Nate up in her penthouse for the night, satisfied with Dixie and Gage standing guard so no one would dare to try any funny business. The General wasn’t too happy about spinning his wheels for the night, but Liz had a few more final touches to complete before the show could start.

The sun rose in a hazy sky, but Liz had little time to sit and enjoy it, she had been up for hours. Dragging nearly ever raider to one place was a serious pain in the ass. The only venue large enough to house everyone was the main Nuka-Town square, right outside the circular market. A rudimentary stage had been built to add height and extend the 'map alcove', allowing those on stage to look down at the gathering crowd. Liz counted on the long-standing animosity to prompt self-segregation between the gangs. All she had to do was seed the prospective areas with the certain people to make sure each gang stayed in the zones she designated: Operators to her left, the Pack to the right with the Disciples milling about in the middle.

It was growing close to eleven when Liz got word that everyone was in attendance, the final few drug to their spots by an ornery Gage. She stood at the side of the stage as Mason and the rest of the leaders shuffled around off stage, trying to hide their boredom but keeping a cool eye on Nate. The crowd was getting restless. Liz let them stew a few minutes longer than was strictly necessary before ascending the steps, the other leaders trailing behind her.

Standing at center stage with her entourage flanking her, Liz looked out, quickly scanned the faces and belted out, “ALL RIGHT! EVERYONE, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The crowd fell silent. She felt her voice could carry to the very corner of Nuka-World.

“I know what you assholes want to hear, but you… and the General…“ She glanced behind, glancing Nate up and down. "Are going to have to wait.” She heard a shuffle as, on cue, Mason guided Nate to upstage right, Mags and Nisha backing to the other.

“I want to make it absolute clear to each one of you sons-of-a-bitches here, that what we have here in Nuka-World is something unique… something fucking special. You aren't going to find anything like this anywhere else. And, as your Overboss, I'm not going to let anyone or anything take Nuka-World from us. I will do anything to keep us safe.” The crowd was drinking in her words. She decided to step it up a notch.

“Who’s going to keep you safe?” A weak chorus answered. She gave a death-glared down at the crowd, arms crossed. “Who?”

“The Overboss!” That was better.

She wanted more. “WHO?”

Nearly everyone was on their feet now “THE OVERBOSS!” Their answer thundered, followed by whoops and flailing weapons.

“That’s how I expect a true Nuka-World motherfucker to answer!” Liz puffed her chest out. “And who’s the baddest motherfucker in Nuka-World?”

“THE OVERBOSS!”

She thrust her hands out, quieting the cheering crowd.

“You’re damn right.”

She couldn't stop a smirk from spreading over her scarred lips. Time to make them shit their pants.

“Now, I want you to meet the newest member of the Nuka-World family.” She slapped her thigh, as if calling a dog to her side, only instead of a whistle; she let out a low growl.

The crowd glanced around nervously, confused. In the distance, a deep rumbling growl answered. Liz's smirk bloomed into a full on grin as she watched the audiences faces fill with fear. They all knew that sound. She just stood and drank it all in.

Behind the stage, a huge black clawed hand rose from inside the closed market and grasped the roof. With a swift feline-like grace, Big Mama made her entrance. Vaulting herself over the structure, the huge glowing creature landed with a thump next to Liz, snarling. The scattered screams and horror-filled eyes staring from the crowd was totally worth clearing out the market in the dead of night to lock Mama inside with a huge pile of meat.

Liz casually scratched Mama’s chin. “Say ‘Hi’, Big Mama” she prompted.

Mama trumpeted loudly, a supersonic shock wave knocking back the throng, several people in the front blown over by the force. The crowd semi-recovered, but were still frozen, unsure how to react.

In a distant corner, a single triumphant roar rippled across the impromptu theater.

"Fuck YEAH!"

The sound seemed to break the spell, as the entire crowd broke into a raucous applause, shouts and gunfire. Liz let the audience party as she directed Mama to stay behind her, motioning to her underbosses to join her by her side. The crowd, having released some nervous energy, naturally calmed down to where she could address them again.

“Now,” She walked to the edge of the stage. “Let’s get down to serious business at hand. There are only two organizations that pose any real threat to Nuka-World: The Minutemen and The Brotherhood of Steel. Our very existence is a bloody thorn in the side of the Minutemen's peaceful and flavorless vision of the Commonwealth. The Brotherhood, on the other hand, would cream themselves if they got their hands on all our pre-war tech and fire power. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that shit out. I'd been planning for since we started to expand outside of the park."

"Here, imagine my surprise when the Minutemen’s very own General Popsicle walking through the doors, offering a deal nonetheless.” Liz walked over to Nate, stretching her arm over his stiff shoulders. “Gotta hand it to’em, that took balls. More than I thought any Minuteman might have.” She gave him a little squeeze as her other hand slipped her knife out of its sheath on her hip. "But this deal, it got me thinking. -Thinking hard- about the future of everyone here. Here we are sitting pretty in our park, but how can we become something even stronger... spread our influence over the all Commonwealth, maybe even further? Would an alliance with the Minutemen be worth it?" Letting go, Liz began to pace next to Mason, picking at her teeth with the blade. "Just ask Gage... I thought about all this shit ‘till my brain was leaking out my ears. Then, I locked myself up tighter than Bradberton's hidden office bunker to figure all this out."

She made her way over to where three of raider leaders stood. This time she hung herself between the Black siblings, one arm draped over Mags' shoulders, the other over her brother. She still held her knife loosely, weaving it idly through the air under William's chin as she spoke. "I talked to all my underbosses about it, feeling everyone out. Getting their input, as it were."

Liz pursed her lips as if in thought for a moment, every movement calculated to pull in the audience's attention. With a disappointed shake of her head, her blade straightened itself on William's the stubble-speckled neck. "I hate to say it, but one gang just wasn't on-board with my plan." Her free hand gripped Mags metal clad shoulder. "And that is just unacceptable. I won't stand for it." It was so hard not to smile as she watched the shock and fear once again creep over the watching crowd.

Without another word, she swiftly turned the blade away from William and plunged it straight into Nisha's neck. Blood gurgled to her lips. She slumped to the floor. Mason grabbed Nate, whisking him off-stage to safety. On cue, the trusted senior members of the Operators and Pack in the audience unleashed a deadly storm of bullets on the Disciples sandwiched between them, slaughtering many before they even had the chance to draw their own weapons.

"NO!" Dixie sprang on Liz, her blades already drawn, her shock quickly dissolving into a murderous rage. "YOU DOUBLE-CROSSING BITCH!"

Liz didn't even have to move. She watched and grinned as a giant clawed hand effortlessly pinned Dixie to the boards. With a guttural snarl, Mama's giant jaws latched onto Dixie's metal-strapped helmet, crushing the life out of her lover in a matter of moments.

"Careful now, Mama," Ignoring the occasional projectile, Liz coaxed Mama to reluctantly let go of the twitching body. With a few quick slashes, she removed a few choice bits of metal armor. "I don't need you getting anything unpleasant stuck in your teeth. There you go, sweetie. Go to town." She gave an affectionate thump on the deathclaw's luminous hide.

A bullet grazed the Overboss's shoulder, causing her to wince. Turning on her heels, she faced the crowd, searching for the offending shooter. Once she locked eyes on the desperate man, she quickly dispatched him with a knife to chest.

"Ugh, seriously?" Fussing over her bloodied sleeve, she returned to Mama, who was happily munching away in the middle of the stage. The screams and gunfire began to wane. She gave the glowing creature a scratch before returning to the edge of the stage, looking at the bloody, body-filled ground where hundreds of people had once stood.

"Where were we... ah, yes. The plan. The remaining gang leaders have been briefed on the plan and have agreed to the terms." She motioned to Mason to bring Nate back on stage. He was looking decidedly greener around the gills. "Those terms being as follows. The Nuka-World raiders will aid the Minutemen in their offensive to end the Brotherhood. We will withdraw all our settlements and cease any expansion into the Commonwealth, keeping to Nuka-World." Liz pulled a cigarette from a pocket and lit it "In return, the Minutemen will share the spoils, as well as give us access to all established trade routes, along with exclusive and complete control to all chem trade and mercenary contracts within the Commonwealth," she nodded to the Blacks and Mason, respectively.

Nate, recovered, nodded in agreement. He stretched out his hand. Liz grabbed it, pulling him in close. "You're gunna love this next bit... soldier boy..." she whispered to him, pulling a lung full off the cigarette.

Liz gave a nod to Mason, who pulled a cowering Dr. Mackenzie up on stage. Liz reached into her pocket and pulled out a chunky black remote. Mackenzie gasped. The doctor knew a bomb collar detonator as soon as she saw it.

"Not only are we going 'legit', but, as an act of good will...“ Liz opened a compartment on the side, slipping a key into the waiting slot. As she turned, the red light on the detonator and Mackenzie's collar turned dark, the lock sliding open with a clunk. "All of the traders are now free to go and do as they please." She puffed, releasing a long stream of smoke. "However, as an incentive to stay and help Nuka-World grow, I am officially setting aside the town Bradberton as an area for anyone who wants to settle down in, under the complete protection of the Pack, of course."

Mason released a bewildered Mackenzie. All she could manage was to nod of comprehension, slowly skittering off stage as soon as Mason let go of her shoulders.

Liz turned back to the crowd. "And just to be crystal clear on this... anyone not on board with my plan..." she opened her arms dramatically before the sea of bullet ridden bodies before her, "can see my established termination policy." The whole park was as quiet as the grave, all except for the wet crunching of bone and meat from Mama and her meal.

"Seems we are in agreement then! Who's up for making the Brotherhood and the Commonwealth our little bitches?"

Every corner of Nuka-World rang with their thunderous answer.

Punk is more than a sound

Punk is more than just a sound, it’s a whole way of being, and rock’s new rebels preferred lived-in T-shirts and Levi’s.

Loud, fast, and simple, punk rescued rock‘n’roll from suffocating on its own excesses, giving the genre a razor-blade edge it hadn’t had since its earliest days. The rebellious spirit and willingness to question traditional conventions—like the idea that you had to know how to play an instrument before you could start a band—would find their way into nearly every meaningful musical revolution that followed, from hip-hop to indie rock to techno.

Music’s only ever been just one facet of punk’s identity, though. It’s more than just a sound, it’s a whole way of being—a philosophy, an attitude, and, crucially, a look.

Punk’s sonic foundations were laid down in New York City by the same people who established the beginnings of punk style: artists like Lou Reed, the Ramones, Suicide, and the New York Dolls who wanted to strip away the bloat rock had accumulated in the psychedelic era and return it to something purer. While Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones matched their arena-filling ambitions with equally elaborate costumes of velvet and sequins, rock’s new rebels preferred lived-in T-shirts and Levi’s.

“We came out of the glam scene,” says photographer Paul Zone, author of Playground: Growing Up in the New York Underground. “So by the time ’74 came around and glam was winding down, probably 50 percent of the people in that scene were involved in what would come to be known as the punk scene. It was just that our flamboyance got a little more played down.”

“There was still fashion going on,” Zone adds. “They’d go to the thrift shops, where you could find vintage clothes. Black Levi’s jeans became a staple for everyone who was there. When it comes to Levi’s and jeans, they were being used in a lot of different ways. In the glam days, the Dolls were wearing little boys’ Levi’s jackets that where so small that they could hardly get their arms in them.”

In the mid-1970s, the new New York sound and style came into focus through the Ramones (who created a uniform of shredded Levi’s 505 jeans and black leather jackets), Television(whose guitarist Richard Hell was one of the first performers to rock spiked hair and torn T-shirts held together by safety pins), and Blondie (fronted by Debbie Harry, who pioneered high-low mixes of Levi’s and designer pieces), and other groups that orbited divey clubs like CBGB. “They had no money,” photographer Jenny Lens recalls. “The holes in Joey’s knees were from wear and tear. They were not fashion. I have photos of Dee Dee Ramone wearing a leather jacket, and around the wrists it’s really frayed. It was shameful back then to run around with holes in your jeans, and the Ramones said f—k that, that’s who we are!”

Blondie, 1977; Photo by Suzan Carson/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

By the time people started calling it punk, the revolution had already started to spread around the globe. Malcolm McLaren managed the New York Dolls before returning to London where he and partner Vivienne Westwood operated a boutique called Sex. Inspired by what he saw in New York, he combined the Dolls’ over-the-top outrageousness with Richard Hell’s deconstructed style to create a quintessentially British spin on punk fashion and tapped his new clients, the Sex Pistols, to promote it.

“McLaren went back to England and emulated the look and gave it a little more pizzazz with hair colour and putting more fashion into it,” Zone explains. At the same time, other London punks like X-Ray Spex—fronted by Poly Styrene—seized upon the movement’s DIY philosophy and started using staple items like jeans and leather jackets as blank canvases to decorate with pins, paint, and spikes.

At nearly the same time as it crossed the ocean to the UK, punk spread to L.A., where fans of the Ramones and Blondie adapted their distinctive looks to fit the city’s unique identity. “What we were doing in L.A. had to do with a lot of factors,” Lens says. “One was the weather. We could have a lot of thrift stores and a lot of yard sales, church bazaars. We don't have the rain and snow and cold that you have in London or New York. We were very into that DIY thing. You could repurpose [clothes], you could cut them up and do things with them. We’d rarely wear the same thing twice.”

L.A.’s bands were diverse, from pop-friendly acts like the Go-Go’s to the defiantly anti-commercial approach of the Germs, to bands like the legendary X who sat somewhere in between, but they were united by the bonds of their tight-knit community. “The fashion was very organic,” Lens says. “There were no paid stylists. We were stylists for each other. Everybody was going to thrift stores together, going to bazaars together, sharing each other’s clothes. It really came out of dressing up every day and expressing yourself and being an artist. You could be an artist who expressed themselves visually from head to toe and also on stage. Or not—you could be a photographer or a graphic artist or a fan or whatever.”

The L.A. style comes through in one of Lens’s favourite photos of the time, where X singer Exene Cervenka and scenester Pleasant Gehman pose in a shower at a loft where the pioneering fanzine Slash was throwing a party for Devo. “Pleasant had bleached her jeans and written ‘Slash’ for Slash magazine,” she explains. “Nobody had bleached jeans then. We did a lot of things that other people weren’t doing.”

Forty years after punk started, the music continues to reverberate, not only in the punk scenes that have popped up in cities and small towns around the world, but in the indie and alternative movements that punk inspired. In fashion, its influence has spread even further. You can see some of X’s rootsy simplicity in the indie rock uniform of jeans and T-shirts, and the continuing influence of McLaren and Westwood’s vision in the complexly customised jackets that have become de rigueur for rap stars. Punk style’s most enduring legacy can’t be boiled down to a particular item of clothing, or even the popularity of distressed jeans and dyed hair. It’s more about the idea of being authentic, that if you do your own thing and dress your own way, you can make the world change around you. “We would take what we would see in fashion and make it our own, where other people would take what’s in fashion and just run with it,” Lens says. “We influenced fashion more than the other way around.”

Have Scientists Finally Unraveled the 60-Year Mystery Surrounding Nine Russian Hikers' Deaths?

https://sciencespies.com/news/have-scientists-finally-unraveled-the-60-year-mystery-surrounding-nine-russian-hikers-deaths/

Have Scientists Finally Unraveled the 60-Year Mystery Surrounding Nine Russian Hikers' Deaths?

In February 1959, university student Mikhail Sharavin made an unexpected discovery on the slopes of the Ural Mountains.

Dispatched as a member of a search party investigating a group of nine experienced hikers’ disappearance, Sharavin and his fellow rescuers spotted the corner of a tent peeking out beneath the snow, as he told BBC News’ Lucy Ash in 2019. Inside, they found supplies, including a flask of vodka, a map and a plate of salo (white pork fat), all seemingly abandoned without warning. A slash in the side of the tent suggested that someone had used a knife to carve out an escape route from within, while footprints leading away from the shelter indicated that some of the mountaineers had ventured out in sub-zero temperatures barefoot, or with only a single boot and socks.

Perplexed, the search party decided to toast to the missing group’s safety with the flask found in their tent.

“We shared [the vodka] out between us—there were 11 of us, including the guides,” Sharavin recalled. “We were about to drink it when one guy turned to me and said, ‘Best not drink to their health, but to their eternal peace.’”

Over the next several months, rescuers recovered all nine hikers’ bodies. Per BBC News, two of the men were found barefoot and clad only in their underwear. While the majority of the group appeared to have died of hypothermia, at least four had sustained horrific—and inexplicable—injuries, including a fractured skull, broken ribs and a gaping gash to the head. One woman, 20-year-old Lyudmila Dubinina, was missing both her eyeballs and her tongue. The wounds, said a doctor who examined the bodies, were “equal to the effect of a car crash,” according to documents later obtained by the St. Petersburg Times.

Memorial honoring the nine victims of the Dyatlov Pass Incident

(Public domain via Wikimedia Commons)

Today, the so-called Dyatlov Pass Incident—named after the group’s leader, 23-year-old Igor Dyatlov—is one of Russia’s most enduring mysteries, spawning conspiracy theories as varied as a military cover-up, a UFO sighting, an abominable snowman attack, radiation fallout from secret weapons tests and a clash with the indigenous Mansi people. But as Robin George Andrews reports for National Geographic, new research published in the journal Communications Earth and Environment points toward a more “sensible” explanation, drawing on advanced computer modeling to posit that an unusually timed avalanche sealed the hikers’ fate.

“We do not claim to have solved the Dyatlov Pass mystery, as no one survived to tell the story,” lead author Johan Gaume, head of the Snow and Avalanche Simulation Laboratory at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, tells Live Science’s Brandon Specktor. “But we show the plausibility of the avalanche hypothesis [for the first time].”

In 2019, Russian authorities announced plans to revisit the incident, which they attributed not to a crime, but to an avalanche, a snow slab or a hurricane. The following year, the inquiry pinned the hikers’ deaths on a combination of an avalanche and poor visibility. As the state-owned RIA news agency reported in July 2020, the official findings suggested that a torrent of snow slabs, or blocky chunks, surprised the sleeping victims and pushed them to seek shelter at a nearby ridge. Unable to see more than 50 feet ahead, the hikers froze to death as they attempted to make their way back to their tent. Given the official findings’ lack of “key scientific details,” as well as the Russian government’s notorious “lack of transparency,” however, this explanation failed to quell the public’s curiosity, per National Geographic.

Critics of the slab avalanche theory cite four main counterarguments, says Gaume to Live Science: the lack of physical traces of an avalanche found by rescuers; the more than nine-hour gap between the hikers building their camp—a process that required cutting into the mountain to form a barrier against the wind—and their panicked departure; the shallow slope of the campsite; and the traumatic injuries sustained by the group. (Asphyxiation is a more common cause of death for avalanche victims.)

Gaume and co-author Alexander M. Puzrin, a geotechnical engineer at ETH Zürich, used historical records to recreate the mountain’s environment on the night of the Dyatlov incident and attempt to address these seeming inconsistencies. Then, the scientists write in the study, they simulated a slab avalanche, drawing on snow friction data and local topography (which revealed that the slope wasn’t actually as shallow as it had seemed) to prove that a small snowslide could have swept through the area while leaving few traces behind.

The authors theorize that katabatic winds, or fast-flowing funnels of air propelled by the force of gravity, transported snow down the mountain to the campsite.

“[I]t was like somebody coming and shoveling the snow from one place and putting it on the slope above the tent,” Puzrin explains to New Scientist’s Krista Charles.

Eventually, the accumulating snow became too heavy for the slope to support.

“If they hadn’t made a cut in the slope, nothing would have happened,” says Puzrin in a statement. “[But] at a certain point, a crack could have formed and propagated, causing the snow slab to release.”

The researchers unraveled the final piece of the puzzle—the hikers’ unexplained injuries—with the help of a surprising source: Disney’s 2013 film Frozen. According to National Geographic, Gaume was so impressed by the movie’s depiction of snow that he asked its creators to share their animation code with him. This simulation tool, coupled with data from cadaver tests conducted by General Motors in the 1970s to determine what happened to the human body when struck at different speeds, enabled the pair to show that heavy blocks of solid snow could have landed on the hikers as they slept, crushing their bones and causing injuries not typically associated with avalanches. If this was the case, the pair posits, those who had sustained less serious blows likely dragged their injured companions out of the tent in hopes of saving their lives.

Configuration of the Dyatlov group’s tent, installed on a flat surface after making a cut in the slope below a small shoulder

(Gaume / Puzrin)

Jim McElwaine, a geohazards expert at Durham University in England who wasn’t involved in the study, tells National Geographic that the slabs of snow would have had to be incredibly stiff, and moving at a significant speed, to inflict such violent injuries.

Speaking with New Scientist, McElwaine adds that the research “doesn’t explain why these people, after being hit by an avalanche, ran off without their clothes on into the snow.”

He continues, “If you’re in that type of harsh environment it’s suicide to leave shelter without your clothes on. For people to do that they must have been terrified by something. I assume that one of the most likely things is that one of them went crazy for some reason. I can’t understand why else they would have behaved in that way unless they were trying to flee from someone who’s been tracking them.”

Gaume, on the other hand, views the situation rather differently.

As he tells Live Science, “When [the hikers] decided to go to the forest, they took care of their injured friends—no one was left behind. I think it is a great story of courage and friendship in the face of a brutal force of nature.”

#News

His Human Mate - Part 3

Finally part 3!! So sorry that it took so long. So there is a short scene that describes torture, so if the triggers you, be careful.

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You wake up alone and cold, locked in a cell. You’re dizzy, your head is throbbing, and everything has the hazy feeling of drugs.

“Did you get her, Soldier?”

“да, she is here”

You crawl forward, peering between the bars to the two people who are standing in the hall. “I have your next mission”

Bucky stiffens up immediately, “Ready to comply”

The HYDRA agent grins, “You are to guard Y/N Stark. Only I am allowed to touch her, understood?’

“Mission parameters understood”

“Good. Bring her to Lab 4, we have some questions for Ms. Stark”

--

You scream as another bolt of electricity tears through you. “I don’t know” you sob, “I don’t know anything!”

“You live with the most powerful people on earth, have observed them for months, you know their weaknesses, and I want you to tell them to me. What are the Avenger’s weaknesses?”

Bucky stands in the control room, constantly glancing at the door. You snarl baring your bloody teeth, “I don’t know anything! Even if I did, I would never tell you!”

Another shock rips through you, staling your breath, and making your muscles twitch uncontrollably. “I really hate to do this to you. I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N, but if you keep this up I will have to find more … creative … ways to get you to talk. How about a different question?” He crouches down so he’s eye level with you, “How do you kill the Asgardians?”

“I won’t tell you their weaknesses, why would I tell you how to kill them?”

HYDRA Baddie 1, as you’ve started to refer to him as, let out a chuckle, “I was hoping you’re say that! Soldier!!” Immediately Bucky stands up straighter, “Get me the tools.”

Your eyes widen as Bucky wheels out a table full of torture instruments. Straining against the metal cuffs, “I promise I don’t know anything!! I only met them a few days ago!”

“You are the only human in the tower, there is a reason you’re still alive, and I want to find out why. You’ll either tell me willingly, or I’ll find other ways to make you talk”

HYDRA Baddie leans down and grins, slashing his knife across your cheek. You’re exhausted and can already feel unconsciousness starting to creep up on you when you feel something brush against your mind. You lock eyes with Bucky, the only supernatural creature within range, but he only smirks an tilts his head toward the door.

Suddenly another mind brushes against yours, this one you recognize. Loki’s here, he’s in the compound, he’s come to rescue you.

“I’m here, dove. Just a little longer”

You look up at the HYDRA Baddie, “You’re gonna regret hurting me, you know”

He raises an eyebrow, “And why’s that? What are you gonna do?”

“She won’t have to do anything” Bucky’s growled before a gun fires. As soon as the HYDRA goon goes down, Bucky quickly gets the metal cuffs off you. “You’re alright, doll. Stevie contacted me, the Avengers are making their way here now.”

Your body pitches forward as soon as you’re unlocked from the chair, but Bucky quickly rights you, “How do you remember?”

Bucky chuckles, “Wanda did some of her long-distance magic, overriding HYDRA’s programing, it also makes me immune to the wipes. Stevie and I grew up together, so we can communicate over large-distances like most siblings can. That’s how I knew about the rescue”

He’s rambling, you can tell that he’s worried about you. Shit, you’re worried about yourself! You can feel your body going numb, vision hazy, and everything just kinda hurts.

The door to the lab bursts open and Bucky whips around, gun raised, but lowers it immediately when Tony and Loki are the ones who run in.

“Y/N!!”

Loki slides down next to you, pressing gentle kisses all over your face, while Tony has JARVIS running scans. You bring your hand up, clutching at Loki’s robes, and burying your head in his chest, “Loki …”

“I am here, dove, right here” he whispers, rocking you gently.

“Didn’t think you’d come”

Loki lets out a low growl, “I shall always come for you, always, never doubt that”

You nod, and are vaguely aware of being picked up, “Stay awake, darling. You shall be healed. Anthony has already relayed your injuries to SHIELD”

You give Tony a breathy smile as you pass him, “’m tired. Gonna sleep”

Several voices quickly start shouting for you not to fall asleep, but the pull is too great, you can’t stay awake, so your body is quickly dragged into unconsciousness.

--

The first thing you notice when you wake up are the soft sheets that surround you, next is the annoying beeping of the heart monitor, and last was the hands that were encasing both of yours.

“Y/N?” Tony whispers

You must have moved or made a sound, but when you try to open your eyes it feels like they are glued shut.

Loki’s voice is soft when his fingers stroke your face, “Take your time, dove, don’t strain yourself”

With a soft grunt, you manage to peel your eyes open, “Water” you whisper.

Immediately a straw is against your lips and you take a few blissful sips of water, “Take it slow, I don’t want you to throw up, pup”

You pull away and offer both Loki and Tony a shaky smile. “Thanks.” You glance around the room, taking in the equipment that is surrounding you, “How long was I out?”

Loki sighs softly and sits on the edge of the bed, “You were asleep for 8 days, dove. Your body went into shock, you almost died. I – I gave you a transfusion of my blood, the healing properties were able to save you, however it sent your body into shock. A human is not equipped to handle the blood of a supernatural in large quantities.”

“Thank you, for coming to get me” you whisper.

Tony takes your hand and Loki pulls you into a tight hug, “Never doubt that we will come for you, my human. I will take on all of the armies in the Nine Realms for you.”

You let out a relieved sob, and cling to both of them. “I was so scared”

“I know you were, pup” Tony whispers, running his fingers through your hair. “Do you want to see the rest of the team? They’re on the communal floor”

You chuckle, “Yeah, I kinda wanna get out of this bed”

Tony’s eyes go comically wide, “J, did you record that?! It’s the only time Y/N will ever willingly leave her bed!!”

--

As soon at Loki wheels you up to the common room floor, you are rushed by the entire team. You quickly assure everyone that you are alright, and that there is no lasting damage. Bucky gives you a shy smile and a wave from behind everyone.

“It’s nice to see you again, Bucky. Glad to see that you’re finally home”

Bucky chuckles and reaches out to touch you, only to find himself pinned to the wall by Loki, “Don’t touch her” His growl reverberates throughout the room, causing everyone to take a step back.

“Loki! Put him down, he wasn’t going to hurt me!” You stumble out of the wheelchair that Tony had made you use, quickly wrapping your arms around his waist.

Loki whips around, tucking you underneath his chin, “I cannot have you here with all of these creatures, dove.”

“Take me to my rooms, we can watch movies, just the two of us” You whisper

Loki nods stiffly, “I cannot promise the safety of anyone who approaches Y/N” Loki spoke to the room, never taking his eyes off you, “I shall, hopefully, be more controlled tomorrow”

You glance over at the rest of the Avengers, “I’ll see you all tomorrow. By then he should be calm enough to let me be around other.”

Gently pushing you back into the wheelchair, Loki lets out one last growl before he heads to the elevator, “Come, my human. You need to rest”

You can’t help rolling your eyes at his protective behavior. The two of you had just started your courtship and he was already acting like this, you honestly couldn’t wait to see how much worse it will get. The Avengers are going to have an interesting year ahead of them.

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If you guys want to be tagged in any of my works just send me a request and i can add you!

@iamwarrenspeace

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Part 4

A Really Long HC/Fic On The Ending of MML: Near Character Death Up Ahead...

Orton Mahlson reveals his scheme to the public via hologram after using Melissa to bring Zack and Milo to him. The man refers to Melissa as his daughter which leaves the two shocked, especially Milo who always believed Chief Chase is her dad and not Orton. Melissa confesses that she's been keeping her working for her dad from her friends and apologizes only for Orton to mock in false pity Twisting her explanation with lies, saying that she is just as into the idea of taking over the universe as he is. Also adds that Melissa readily agreed to befriend Milo and stay with him so he and some allies can spy on how things work around him and then later, she would betray him by taking Milo to her dad; Much to Melissa's astonishment which is entirely untrue. Sure she agreed to the task of letting her dad spy on them but the friendship with Milo is all sincere. She tries to convince her friends otherwise but Milo is too stunned, hurt to think clearly. Zack loses it however and snaps at Melissa in defense of Milo only to be sent away to a cell by two pistachio centurion; Shooting Melissa a cold glare that hurt her deeply. She looks at Milo in guilt only to find that Milo found his feels and now felt the pain of the betrayal set by his oldest and only friend before Zack. "After all we've been through.. Did the ten years really mean nothing to you?" "Milo, please listen to me I-!" "No. I've had enough of you and your lies. I was never a friend to you wasn't I? Admit it already. You see me the same way just like everyone else. A jinx." "That's not true, Milo you know that-! " Milo says nothing and turns away, his back facing her, his wrists still bound with metal cuffs. Melissa stands in dazed silence as she cries softly in remorse. She slowly turns to Orton with anger and betrayal in her tear-filled eyes. The man barely changed his expression feeling nothing at the sight of what his own doing did to her. "We've had an agreement Melissa. With great power comes sacrifice. You cannot risk your life around that jinx any further. But best assured, life will get better once all's been done. We will rule the universe and everyone will bow down at our feet! They'll be so fearful they will never dare speak the name Mahlson in mockery ever again!" The girl just stands shaking in anguish as her father readies to start the invasion. But before that, Orton does something that scars Melissa for life; After forcefully dragging Milo to a nearby machine and pushing him in the glass cylindrical cell, he activates the machine that works to absorb Milo's condition and convert that into matter. Milo's pain-filled screams rang throughout the place. Zack was already shaking the bars of his cell in desperation to save his friend, cursing Melissa in anger. In another cell two cells apart from Zack's, the pistachio protectors and even Brick and Savanna could only stand watching their captors helplessly knowing that nothing can be done since they already failed in their most important task. That and all their weapons and objects are confiscated and chances of them busting out are zero. Melissa cries in terror and tries to break Milo free only for the cylinder to open and the weakened boy falls into her arms completely drained of his condition. Getting back to his feet, Milo did so for once without a trip or backfall. He felt completely normal. Nothing went wrong around him anymore. He falls to his knees and looks up at Melissa in confusion yet the betrayal is yet to fade completely. Orton stands holding up a smaller cylindrical container containing Milo's EHML. He puts it in another machine and using that, the real taking over begins.... _____________________ Swamp City is in grave chaos. People are running in all directions as blasts shot out from Orton's headquarters turning several to many of them into half-plant half-human soldiers automatically brainwashed to serve Orton. Pistachio centurions transformed from the pistachios stolen from the protectors after their arrest roamed the area forcing the untransformed folks to run to their refuge in fear. In the streets, Sara, Kris, Wally and Josh along with all the other Dr Zone fans have already ceased from their loyalty to the latter man and are engaging in war against the centurions and soldiers; Only for Sara to be turned into a soldier with the rest while the remaining are outnumbered and surrendered to the enemy. In Jefferson County Middle School, a plantinized Bradley can be seen wildly attacking the other middle schooled in his savage state after he's been changed upon exiting the school. Mort and Amanda were huddled in the safety of their school locker watching through the slits as their fellow kids and even the school staff tried to find cover only for some to be transformed into repulsive plantmen as well as blasts came in from the windows. In the skies, another blast only much bigger and more electrical, shot upwards causing the clouds to swirl and form various portals. It was a combination of Orton's time manipulation and Milo's EHML. Several objects from different time periods fell from the sky; Giant Trojan horses, pyramids, Greece statues, all things historical are coming to the present and by coming, literally crashing down destroying what's underneath. The army keeps getting bigger and people are surrending out of fear. The protective forces are outnumbered by far. Orton has the upper hand. The city is all his and soon will be the whole universe as planned... _______________________ Melissa couldn't take anymore of this. Her friends are turned to doubt her. The city is in danger. And all because of her. But the majority of the fault goes to her father.. The man she used to love and look up to. The man she worried and cried for when he couldn't come back. The man.. Who promised her the role of Queen of The Universe when the time arrives. The role she really wanted. But not anymore. She loves her best friends. She cares for Milo. She wants to keep them, go against her father after he cruelly lied to them about her. The man looked proudly at the chaos he's caused before him with a contented sigh. The sight made Melissa sick. How can he be so fascinated in seeing people in distress? With a deep breath and much to Milo's surprise, she boldy confronts Orton to stop, look at the damage he's causing, look at the damage he caused her. Tried to convince him to reconsider his choice. But the man isn't buying words of redemption, even from his own flesh and blood. "Why should I end this now? This is just the start of everything slowly changing to the way I need it to be! I spent ages tirelessly working for this to happen and nothing can stop me!" "Innocent people are dying out there dad! They could get killed!" "Well that is their problem! If they wish to not die then they'll have to comply to our rules! Simple as that! " "Under YOUR rules dad!" As the father and daughter started to bicker, Milo took the chance to get closer to the machine in attempt to destroy it. Using the utility knife he had kept in his pocket for emergencies, he slashed at the exploded wires and they started to spark. Orton realised what has happened and tried to interfere only to be blown back along with the two teenagers as the machine exploded; The containers containing Milo's energy and pistachios that acted as the power sources dropped out unharmed from the brief explosion. And since the machine was destroyed, so was the damage being done on the city. The portals are gone and objects of history are sucked back to their timelines. The centurions are shut down and the plant soldiers are turned back to normal humans as the source controlling them was also destroyed as part of the machine. Zack was the first to finally bust out of his cell and rushed to the scene to find the machine destroyed, Orton on his knees in a daze and Melissa returning the EHML matter to Milo's body using another piece of technology at his request. Being normal is okay but Milo felt more like himself as long as his condition is present. Using the moment of post-destruction and Milo and Zack being back in the sense of mind partially, Melissa explained her part of the story in which Milo admittedly supported out of recalling the good times they both had while he was facing away. He just couldn't believe Melissa would take advantage of him like that. And now that he already saw his former Idol's true colors and how he acts towards his daughter, all doubts are already dismissed. Zack in the other hand remains doubtful but was ready to forgive Melissa. Although they'll be just friends and only hang out within Milo's presence until the Underwood boy himself recovers his emotions fully; Melissa taking the reason understandingly knowing that she couldn't blame him. With that, the three shared a brief hug; Melissa's hug around the boys being more sincere in emotion. Unfortunately, the reconciliation was cut short when one of the metallic feelers from Orton's backpack wrung around Milo and flung him against the wall, the boy sliding down grimacing in pain from the impact. Zack tries to help him but another feeler pins him to the wall as the one that flung Milo retracted back to Orton. The man was not letting the Murphy kid defeat him so easily. He destroyed the machine and his prizes of dictation. He... Is going down. Orton's eyes flashed in pure vengeance and he held out his arm with the gift-shaped cast. The box splits open revealing a mechanical blaster and aiming at the Murphy boy stunning both Melissa and him for they had no idea that he actually had that. Just before Milo could get away from the weapon's aim, Orton's feeler pinned him to the wall in a similar fashion to Zack to keep him in place and target. The blaster lit up in a fiery light as Orton readied to shoot… "NO!!" A scream followed by the unmistakable noise of the blaster shot sounded and the feelers holding the boys hostage released and retracted back. Instead of satisfaction, Orton's expression could only show horror as the boys dropped to the floor. Upon recovering from the drop and regaining self composure, Milo took a glance upfront and gasped seeing Melissa lay still in front of him; A scorching smoke emitting from her badly burnt side.…

An unforgettable alternative history fairytale series from the author of The Bone Witch trilogy about found family, modern day magic, and finding the place you belong. Many years ago, the magical Kingdom of Avalon was left desolate and encased in ice when the evil Snow Queen waged war on the powerful country. Its former citizens are now refugees in a world mostly devoid of magic. Which is why the crown prince and his protectors are stuck in...Arizona. Prince Alexei, the sole survivor of the Avalon royal family, is in hiding in a town so boring, magic doesn't even work there. Few know his secret identity, but his friend Tala is one of them. Tala doesn't mind—she has secrets of her own. Namely, that she's a spellbreaker, someone who negates magic. Then hope for their abandoned homeland reignites when a famous creature of legend, and Avalon's most powerful weapon, the Firebird, appears for the first time in decades. Alex and Tala unite with a ragtag group of new friends to journey back to Avalon for a showdown that will change the world as they know it. Wicked As You Wish (A Hundred Names for Magic #1) by Rin Chupeco Publisher: Sourcebooks Fire Release Date: March 3rd 2020 Genre: Young Adult, Fantasy  Links: Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48999217-wicked-as-you-wish Amazon: https://amzn.to/364FjcO B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wicked-as-you-wish-rin-chupeco/1131593170 iTunes: https://books.apple.com/gb/book/wicked-as-you-wish/id1483256714 Bookdepository: https://www.bookdepository.com/Wicked-You-Wish-Rin-Chupeco/9781728225289?ref=grid-view&qid=1575499879251&sr=1-3 Google Books: https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=X5u1DwAAQBAJ&printsec=frontcover&hl=es&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0 Review: Wicked As You Wish by Rin Chupeco is a very interesting story. I felt like it is a bit of a jumbled mess that deals with very important issues. Chupeco tackles issues like immigration and refugee policies, child abuse, family separations, and so many other government issues. I feel like all of these are super important issues but the rest of the story just didn’t keep up with the important topics. This story felt very much like a witch’s brew. Add a sprinkle of fairy dust, newt’s eye, some frog legs, and whatever else you put into the brew is what I feel like Wicked As You Wish came out to be. It is a mix of magic, fairy tales, urban, fantasy, magical realism, contemporary, I mean it is all in there. I think this is a book that would be great for the right kind of person and I feel like that wasn’t me. There was just too much thrown into this book for me to truly enjoy it. I did find the characters to be quite entertaining. I felt like Chupeco did such a great job with the characters. They were diverse and fun. I thought they were really able to drive the story. The world building was pretty great too. The books takes place in the real world except that fairy tales are true in the story. This book definitely had its ups and downs but I think it is also fun at the same time. Excerpt: The firebird arrived in Invierno later that night. It landed atop a normal-looking mailbox. The mailbox had a Tawalisi, 22 Dharma Road decal printed on its side, and it stood in front of a normal-looking house on a normal-looking street in what was by all appearances a normal-looking suburb. This house was situated between an old folks' home and a small bungalow, bordered on one side by a small cul-de-sac. Despite the town's predilection against natural magic, most people still didn't associate Invierno as a place where anything unusual was likely to happen. That didn't say much about what people actually knew about small towns, or about Invierno in particular.   Rather than retreat to the safety of nearby trees and rooftops as any similarly sensible animal would have done, the firebird drew itself up, as regal as any queen, and waited for the shades to attack. The shades in question were already closing in, and they assumed frightening, monstrous shapes. Some took human form, with long sharp claws in place of hands. Others took on semblances of wolves and bears and strange winged creatures; black eyeless silhouettes with teeth. The firebird chirped a warning, but the shades paid no attention. So it sighed, a resigned, I-really-did-warn-you-about-this-you-know sigh, and glowed again. It was as large as an eagle, and had a fascinatingly plump shape; a ham of a bird would be a frank description, if not for its long graceful neck. Its feathers, a variety of yellows and reds and oranges tipped with a subtle silver shimmer, flared. Its majestic tail fanned out like a vestal train, whipping at slow, concentrated intervals. It chirped out its first, and final, warning. The nearest shade reached out for the bird, claws extended and sharp. It was promptly engulfed in an angry red ball of fire. The shadow screamed. Its right arm skittered across the pavement. Flames danced around the firebird. With unerring precision it reared back and hurled them at the other shadowy wraiths, bathing the street in ruddy red heat until its enemies were reduced to nothing more than a whisper of cinders and smoke. But even as they sank, new ones rose to take their place. The shades were numerous, unrelenting. The firebird was young, inexperienced. Despite its ferocity, even it began to weaken under the unending assault. And things could have ended very badly, had Lola Urduja not interfered. Lola Urduja looked nothing at all like a warrior should look. Framed against the moonlight she appeared an incredibly fragile and elderly thing, with her mild brown eyes, dark skin, and thin white hair wrapped in a wispy bun. For armor, she wore an oversized peach bathrobe a size too large for her slim frame, and was for some reason still carrying an abanico fan in her right hand. But when she lifted her head to confront the lurking shadows her back straightened, her shoulders squared, and the once-mild brown eyes blazed with an unexpectedly commanding air that proposed other unimportant things like cars and airplanes and even shades should best get out of her way.  "This house is under the protection of the Katipuneros, by Avalon military decree number one oh eight two," she boomed, in a voice larger and fiercer than her body size allowed for. "Take another step and be snuffed out like the insignificant shadows you are, you reverse-projected, two-dimensional Jungian rejects!" The shades halted momentarily, as if puzzled by the old woman's audacity. But all too soon their inexorable natures reasserted themselves, and they continued their relentless trek forward. "Beta formation code one three five, defensive maneuvers!" More people of indeterminate old age emerged from hiding places behind bushes and trees, vaguely threatening only they had not been wearing bathrobes. But they were armed… with more abanico fans, a cane, and in one instance even a makeshift shiv, because General Luna had once been in prison for three days and had subsequently Learned Things there. And they were good at it. They knew where to hit, how to inflict the worst hurt. Shadows shrieked as the innocent-looking fans—or more specifically, the hidden blades lining the edges of the thin abaca fabric—dug into them, twisting and grasping, until soon even the endless darkness showed signs of faltering. "Teejay," Lola Urduja said, "shade at five o'clock." The tita, her hair still pinned up by large rollers, obeyed, punching a fan through the shadow's chest before it could reach the other woman.  "Hold your position, general," Lola Urduja said to old General Luna, who had planted himself in front of the house next door. "Don't let them in!" "Mga antipatika!" The octogenarian barked, then cheerfully shanked a shadow into nothingness. A few of the shades crept toward her, sentient enough to recognize the little old lady's importance, but Lola Urduja lunged, was quicker than her limp suggested. Her fan twisted, and the sharp knives underneath the stretched cloth tore into the creatures like they were wet paper. She whipped it toward another approaching shadow, and an abrupt flick of her wrist summoned a sudden roaring wind, slashing the darkness into pieces without ever making contact. The firebird and the elders fought the shades all night long. Finally, as dawn touched the sky with the colors of sunrise, the last of the creatures slunk away, disappearing into the sidewalk just as quickly as they arrived. Wearily, the firebird watched them leave, the flames in its feathers dimming. When the last flickered out, it sighed and closed its eyes, returning to its perch atop the mailbox. Adrenaline faded, was taken out of the elders' veins like an IV drip. They mumbled and scuffed at the ground with their good foot and looked rightfully embarrassed. This was technically not appropriate behavior for old men and women, though the awed grins had some trouble leaving their creased faces. Hadn't seen this much action since Wonderland, Boy signed. "Nakakamiss," Chedeng murmured, reverting briefly to Tagalog. "Good times." "Punyeta," the general agreed. "Natakot ba natin?" Baby asked Lola. The little old woman pursed her lips. "No. They'll be back. Umalis na kayo. Won't be good for Tala to see us out here on the lawn, she’ll have questions." "The firebird is here," Chedeng said, not without some awe. "Mare, it really is the firebird!" "Control your excitement, Mercedes. This is far from over."   The door to 24 Dharma Road opened and Kay Warnock emerged with a can of beer in hand, yawning. "So good of you to help," Mrs. Sarge said dryly. "Y'did a good enough job without me." "A little too early to be drinking." "On the contrary. After what just happened, I think it's a fine time to start." About the Author: Despite an unsettling resemblance to Japanese revenants, Rin always maintains her sense of hummus. Born and raised in Manila, Philippines, she keeps four pets: a dog, two birds, and a husband. Dances like the neighbors are watching.  She is represented by Rebecca Podos of the Helen Rees Agency. She is also fond of speaking in the third person, and may as well finish this short bio in this manner. While she does not always get to check her Goodreads page, she does answer questions posed to her here as promptly as she is able to.  Links: Website; https://www.rinchupeco.com/  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7055613.Rin_Chupeco  Twitter: https://twitter.com/rinchupeco  Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/rinchupeco/  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rinchupeco/  PRE-ORDER PROMOTIONS Promo 1: If you pre-order WICKED AS YOU WISH on or before March 1, 2020 you will also receive a character card of Tala and an enamel Order of the Bandersnatch firebird pin! ·         US/ Canada pre-orders: https://t.co/5c7lQTI3Os?amp=1 ·         International pre-orders:https://t.co/eCZvNLcWj1?amp=1 Promo 2: From March 3rd – 31st 2020, the author be hosting an Instagram giveaway for WICKED AS YOU WISH (https://www.instagram.com/rinchupeco/)! Just post a photo of the book with the hashtag #PRETTYWICKEDASYOUWISH and every participant will receive book swag! (Alex character art card + character stickers). The Alex card will only be available during promos and not for the pre-orders! Giveaway: 1st Prize: Win a signed copy of WICKED AS YOU WISH by Rin Chupeco + 3 character stickers (Alex, Tala, and the firebird) + 2 character cards (Alex and Tala) [INT] 2nd Prize: Win (1) of (3) character stickers from WICKED AS YOU WISH (Alex, Tala, and the firebird) + character cards from WICKED AS YOU WISH (Alex and Tala) [INT] Starts: February 26th 2020 Ends: March 11th 2020 a Rafflecopter giveaway Tour Schedule: https://fantasticflyingbookclub.blogspot.com/2020/01/tour-schedule-wicked-as-you-wish.html February 26th The Unofficial Addiction Book Fan Club - Welcome Post February 27th NovelKnight - Guest Post Here's to Happy Endings - Review The Layaway Dragon - Review + Favourite Quotes Dazzled by Books - Review dinipandareads - Review + Favourite Quotes February 28th Struck by Stories - Meet The Characters L.M. Durand - Review Sometimes Leelynn Reads - Review + Playlist + Dream Cast Fanna Wants The World To Read - Review Alys in Bookland - Review February 29th Bookish Looks - Top 10 List The Book Nut - Review + Playlist Starlight Reads - Review A Court of Coffee and Books - Review + Favourite Quotes Shalini's Books & Reviews - Review March 1st Books_andPoetrii - Character Playlist Foals, Fiction & Filigree - Review + Favourite Quotes Shelf-Rated - Review Mahkjchi's Not-So-Secret Book - Review + Favourite Quotes Stuck in the Stacks - Review March 2nd Utopia State of Mind - Character Playlist Hooked On Bookz - Review The Reading Corner for All - Review hauntedbybooks - Review + Favourite Quotes Confessions of a YA Reader - Review March 3rd Musings of a (Book) Girl - Official Dream Cast Kait Plus Books - Top 10 List Yna the Mood Reader - Review + Favourite Quotes Book Briefs - Review Biblioxytocin - Review + Playlist + Favourite Quotes

http://www.dazzledbybooks.com/2020/02/wicked-as-you-wish-blog-tour-review-and.html

Mountain Bike Hacks you Should Know

  Below are some hacks every cyclist should know to make cycling even more interesting. Most of the things you need are at your disposal thus you don’t have to worry about having to spend your money on buying any of them.

1. Inner tubes make perfect resistance bands- Don’t throw away the inner tubes after changing your tyres. You can use it to stretch your legs before and after heading out for a long ride. This sets your mood for cycling and prepares your leg muscles to prevent straining them.

2. Tape two toothbrushes together for cleaning the chain- You can use old toothbrushes and all you have to do is tape them together using a tape on the handles. They really clean the chain thoroughly because they get inside the links and remove the blocking dirt perfectly.

3. Store small amounts of lube in travel-size containers- This makes it easier to pack lube and fit it in your tool kit that you should never leave behind because you never know when you will need it.

4. Clipless pedals can be used as bottle openers- If your pedals are Clipless then you don’t have to keep on carrying a bottle opener to open your beer and other soft drinks. You can just improvise and use the pedals.

5. Store the small tools in glasses case- Sometimes it’s very hard to trace the small tools like the tire levers and the multitools when you put them separately inside the tool kit. That’s why storing them inside the glasses case come in handy because retrieving them becomes very easy.

6. Store sunscreen in contact lens case- Carrying the whole bottle of sunscreen can be very cumbersome and it takes so much space. You can always put some daily amount in a contact lens case for easier packaging.

7. Wrap some tape around your pump to give you a better grip- Most pups are very slippery and they keep on sliding off your hands. Wrapping some tape around the tape gives you a better grip when you are pumping the tires.

8. Add salt to your hand detergent for a good scrub- Your hands are likely to be greasy when you are repairing or clean the bike. Adding salt in your hand wash detergent act as a scrub to get rid of the grease without having to use too much energy to scrub it off.

9. Use metal pins as chain holders- All you need to do is to curve the pins into a c-shape then use it to hold the chain together when you are repairing it or splitting it into the required size.

10. Use a business card to align the disk- Aligning the disk brake caliper using your eyes and free hand does not guarantee you perfect alignment. You just need to insert a business card inside the caliper in between the rotor and the pads. Then squeeze the brake lever and mount the caliper bolts and you will definitely see better results. You can try doing it without a card and then with a card to tell the difference.

11. Clean your hydration pack bladder using baking soda– If you ever notice some awful smell coming from the bladder of your hydration pack, all you need to do is mix some baking soda with warm water and rinse it thoroughly.

12. Put some bin liners in your tool box- These liners come in handy when you need to pack your wet clothes if you don’t want to ride with dripping clothes. You can also use them to line leftovers instead of just throwing them on the way to conserve the environment.

13. Use alcohol wipes to clean the disk rotor- Contaminated disk rotor can cost you a lot of time to clean and using the wrong tools to clean them might cause further damage. Using alcohol wipes makes the cleaning process easier and it guarantees you the safety of your rotor.

14. Use WD40 to get rid of scuff marks on the frame- This substance can be used to clean tough stains that are as a result of greasy substances. However, you should be careful not to apply other parts of the bikes because it is not a lubricant and can destroy other parts of your bike if handled carelessly.

15. Use slices of an inner tube to make rear shock volume reducers- All you need to is obtain a damaged inner tube, dust it off and clean it if necessary to get rid of dirt then slice it. Then attach them on the rear tire to act as shock absorbers to reduce the impact created when cycling through a bumpy trail. Feeling every single bump is so uncomfortable and it spoils your cycling mood thus you can’t cycle for a long distance.

16. Trim your ziptie ends- If you have ever slashed your leg on a sharp ziptie end then you are familiar with the reason as to why it is very important to cut those ends. You can use a very sharp knife to get rid of them and thank me later if it has never happened to you. Always remember that prevention is better than cure.

17. Buy or improvise a bottle cage holder then attach it on your bike-This makes it easier to access your water when you get thirsty when you are on your move. They are available in the markets in all shapes, designs and colors and they very affordable. However, if you have something that you can use to improvise with even the better because you won’t have to spend your cash.

18. Add a new layer of paint- The metal parts of bikes start to rust after some time and this can accelerate wearing out. All you need to do is coat the parts with a new layer of paint that prevents further damage. Ensure to always store your bike in the shed to prevent it from strong sun rays and rainfall.

The post Mountain Bike Hacks you Should Know appeared first on MTB Path.

from MTB Path http://mtbpath.com/mountain-bike-hacks-you-should-know/

Dyno Tested: A 440ci AMC 390 Designed & Built for the Street

“The only race American Motors cares about…is the human race.” That’s what AMC President George H. Romney told the world during a 1962 press conference. Flipping “the bird” at Detroit’s revived horsepower race was a cocky move, but Romney (father of 2012 presidential candidate Mitt Romney) believed the industry’s growing emphasis on horsepower and speed was irresponsible and a menace to public safety.

Romney’s self-righteous message worked very well—for a while. In 1960, and again in 1962, AMC generated over $1 billion in profits. That’s billion with a “B.” But America was changing.

With the first of the post-WWII “baby boom” generation turning 18 in 1964, the massive youth market started reshaping America, and buying their first new cars. So while Tri-Power Pontiac GTOs, Olds 4-4-2s, 289 Mustangs, Chevy 409s, Super Stock Dodges, and other muscle machines stole the spot light, AMC’s hottest bait came in the form of the Ambassador 990-H. The what? Exactly.

Launched on April 1, 1966, the 200 horsepower AMC Typhoon 290 V8 was no joke. Only the log-style exhaust manifolds, conservative cam timing, 2-barrel carburetor, and modest port and valve dimensions kept the AMC 290 from equaling the hottest versions of the Chevy 283, Ford 289, and Mopar 273.

By 1964, AMC’s domestic market share had plummeted from fourth to eighth place and losses were mounting. Something had to be done to bring AMC up to date. A major part of that something was the Typhoon V8.

Launched in April of 1966, the 290-cube, 540-pound Typhoon V8 had many roles to fill. Unlike the Big Three, little AMC couldn’t afford to develop multiple, overlapping small-block and big-block engine families. Instead, cash-strapped AMC made due with one basic engine package to cover all the bases, small, medium, and large.

But they did it. Thanks to its 4.75-inch bore spacing (a full 0.350 inch larger than the Chevy small-block), the 290 was able to grow cubic inches as needed. Through its mid-1966 through 1991 production run aboard AMC passenger cars and Jeeps, the same basic OHV V8 (with 0.16-inch additional deck height added in 1970) was produced with displacements of 290, 304, 343, 360, 390, and even 401 cubic inches.

Better yet, with its compact external dimensions (31 x 24 x 22 inches), the AMC compares well with the classic Chevy 350 (28 x 25 x 22 inches). The AMC’s greater length stems from its multi-tasking front cover, which contains the water, oil, and fuel pumps, and ignition distributor drive. Otherwise, the 290-401 is a gem of efficient space and weight use.

Working with the K1 Technologies 4.00-inch stroker crank (0.426 inches greater than the stock 390’s 3.574-inch stroke), R.A.D.’s Rottler HP6A boring station grew the 390’s 4.165 inch bores 0.020 inch to 4.185. Then the Rottler F79A CNC mill trimmed the deck heights 0.015 to deliver a 9.175-inch deck height. Thus, the 390 grows to 440 cubic inches!

In this story, we hooked up with Donnie Wood and the team at R.A.D. Auto Machine to transform a 1969 AMX 390 into a 440-cube stump puller. With help from a K1 Technologies stroker crank, lightly ported Edelbrock cylinder heads, a COMP hydraulic roller cam, 10.5:1 compression, Hooker headers, and a Holley 750, displacement blossomed by 50 inches. Best of all, on R.A.D.’s Land & Sea dyno, the “big little AMC” cranked out 517 horsepower at 5,400 rpm and a “typhoon” of torque: 589 lb-ft at 3,500 rpm. Let’s watch it unfold!

Jumping from the stock 3.574-inch stroke to an even 4.00 inches increases the swing arc of the big ends inside the crankcase. To make room, the bases of each cylinder were notched (pen point). The coolant passages are not affected.

ARP big-block Chevy ½ inch studs fit the stock AMC holes. Meant for the inboard position of a typical 4-bolt Rat, they’re 4.450 inches long and increase the clamping load on the stock AMC main caps. The beefy AMC 2.748-inch mains are comparable in diameter to big-block Chevy (2.749), Mopar 426 Hemi (2.750), and Ford FE (2.748) dimensions and handle plenty of strain without needing too much oil.

In 1970, AMC added a helpful raised flex plate / flywheel register flange to all V8s (left). Our 1969 vintage 390 unit (center) and the K1 Technologies 4.00 inch stroker (right) retain the first-design 1967-1969 flat face flange. Our alignment is achieved through the bolt shanks and a dowel pin.

At 60.6 pounds, the K1 Technologies 4340 billet steel crank (part No. BS-045B-4000-6125) is exactly five pounds lighter than the 65.6-pound SAE 1046 forged steel 390 unit it replaces. Lesser AMC 290, 343, and 360 cranks are cast nodular iron and typically weigh about 56 pounds. Box-stock Clevite main bearings (part No. MS1041P) clear the K1’s full-radius journals.

The 390’s 5.858-inch long, SAE 1042 forged steel rods are replaced by longer 6.00-inch Eagle Chevy small-block H-beams (part No. CRS-6000-BS). At 2.100 inches, the new rod journal diameter is 0.148 inch smaller than the AMC spec (2.248) for tighter crankcase packaging. Rod bearing clearance is set at 0.0025, mains are at 0.0022 inch.

Custom J&E forged pistons (job number 1055349) put the 0.927-inch diameter floating pins up against the oil ring lands. Skinny 0.43- / 0.43mm metric rings and 3mm oil scrapers avoid the need for oil ring groove spacers and reduce drag. J&E Pro Seal rings are gapped at 0.018 / 0.020. Spiro-Locks keep the 2.750-inch, straight wall pins secured.

The rod bolts tighten to 65 ft-lbs and the ARP main cap nuts go to 100 ft-lbs. Note the “390” displacement designation cast onto on the block. This simplifies identification. Junkyard hint: AM General 1-ton U.S. Post Office vans often contain AMC 401 engines. Always take a look; the raised numbers make it easy.

The zero-deck height and 30.3cc inverted dome pistons deliver a 10.5:1 compression ratio. Each forged aluminum piston weighs 436 grams.

Thanks to smaller 2.100-inch rod journals and block clearance grinding, the rod and fastener pass the block with plenty of room.

To make full use of the added displacement and improved Edelbrock heads, a Comp hydraulic roller cam (part No. A8 XE291HR-10) was chosen. Specs are 0.516- / 0.534-inch lift, 291 / 297 degrees advertised duration, 236 / 242 degrees duration at 0.050 lift, and a 110 degree LSA.

Proform offers a reproduction front cover (part No. 69500) that accepts a Melling oil pump kit (part No. -85). The stock pressure relief spring and 0.007-inch thick gasket deliver 55 psi, perfectly safe with our 6,000 rpm limit and easy flowing 5W20 mineral-based oil.

With the cam installed on a 106-degree intake centerline, and Liberty seamless double roller timing set (part No. LT98118) in place, test fitting the MSD Pro Billet distributor (part No. 8519) into the Proform front cover revealed a problem. The distributor mounting bore pressed the drive gear (not shown) into the inside of the cover, fracturing it. Reverting to a spare front cover from a 1970 AMC 304 donor engine solved the problem.

The Canton road race pan’s (part No. 15-554) spring-loaded baffles and horizontal side bustles provide plenty of ground clearance while holding nine quarts of oil. The tip of one upper main cap stud (far side, third from front of engine) reveals machining. During mock-up, excess length prevented full insertion of the Canton extended oil pickup tube. After a height reduction, the pickup was able to be threaded all the way into the proper position.

Aluminum Edelbrock Performer RPM cylinder heads (part No. 60119) embrace the added displacement and cam timing. R.A.D. left the swirl polished 2.02- / 1.60-inch valves and fast-burn chambers alone, but had Dylan Berthiaume touch up the port bowls and runners as seen below the seat inserts. The non-RPM version of these Edelbrock heads (part No. 60139) include exhaust heat crossover passages.

Box stock, the Performers have raised CNC terrace marks in the floors of the exhaust port outlets. The pen points where these surfaces were ground flat. The intake ports were also massaged to a smooth finish.

In 1970, AMC increased the head bolt diameter from 7/16 to ½ inch. All Edelbrock AMC heads are machined to accept the larger bolts. When installed on earlier 7/16-inch AMC blocks (like our 1969 unit), Edelbrock hardened bushing washers (part No. 9693) must be used to center the bolts. Edelbrock 7/16-inch head bolts (part No. 8531) torque to 70 ft-lbs.

The Edelbrock-supplied single-with-damper valve springs are safe to 0.580-inch lift. Our 0.516- / 0.534-inch lifts are within range, but since our hydraulic roller lifters add heft, R.A.D. switched to dual-with-damper springs from Comp (part No. 977-16) and Manley retainers (part No. 23645-16) to keep up. Pressure increases from 125 / 280 to 165 / 390 pounds (closed at 0.580-inch lift). Installed height is 1.770 inch.

Edelbrock ships the AMC heads with 3/8-inch screw-in rocker arm studs (in hand). They’re too small to work with our Scorpion roller rocker arms. A set of ARP 7/16-inch studs (part No. 134-7103) solved the matter. The Edelbrock guide plates are okay for reuse.

At 30 pounds (each) fully assembled, the aluminum Edelbrock heads (and intake) slash engine mass from 540 to 480 pounds. Head gaskets are FelPro (part No. 8266PT1) with 0.042-inch compressed thickness. The AMC design surrounds each bore with five fasteners for better gasket reliability than many competing Detroit V8 engine designs with only four bolts. Head bolts torque to 70 ft-lbs.

Morel hydraulic roller lifters (part No. 6076) follow radical lobe contours and allow far more aggressive grinds than many flat-tappet design. With no break-in process and minimal friction, roller lifters and cams eliminate the requirement for zinc-rich oil, though there’s no harm in using it.

R.A.D.’s Donnie Wood says a classic AMC oiling flaw is starvation of flow to the lifters on cylinders 6 and 8. A patch is made by adding a -8 supplemental transfer tube from the main oil galley (front) to an -AN fitting tapped into the afflicted area. Failure to supplement oil flow can lead to noisy lifters and premature wear.

With its 4.00-inch long stroke limiting peak rpm to 6,500 rpm, the Edelbrock Air Gap RPM dual-plane intake manifold (part No. 7531) combines efficient cylinder filling with long, streamlined runners.

The Edelbrock AMC heads take most Ford small-block—style aftermarket roller rockers. We used Scorpion 1.6:1 ratio rockers (part No. 10009571). Their 7/16-inch diameter stud holes forced the aforementioned switch to the larger studs.

The stock damper was replaced by a Romac unit (part No. 0289) from Australia. The rotating assembly is internally balanced which helps transmission selection. In this case, the host 1969 AMX was originally built with a Borg-Warner—sourced Torque Command automatic transmission. An outdated cast-iron lump, a late-1970s Jeep Wagoneer Turbo 400 (from GM) and passenger-car tailshaft will replace it for far superior performance.

With the stock AMX exhaust manifolds in storage, ceramic-coated Hooker 1 5/8-inch headers (part No. 7901-1HKR) fit the dyno and engine bay equally well. The ceramic coating protects their 5/16 inch thick flanges and 16-gauge tubes from corrosion.

The MSD Pro Billet distributor delivers spark at 35 degrees BTDC. The AMC V8’s front-mounted ignition eases firewall hassles during Brand-X engine swaps and eases tuning access. The Edelbrock short-style water pump (part No. 8831) is turned by the dyno’s electric motor, but will reduce parasitic loss when in the AMX later.

Box stock, the mechanical-secondary double-pumper Holley Street HP 750 (part No. 0-82751) was a little rich. R.A.D.’s Steve Chmura swapped the 75 primary jets with 70s and the A/F ratio dropped from 12.3 to 13.8:1 at WOT. The 80 secondary jets were unchanged.

Jaws dropped when the 440-inch AMC cranked out 517 horsepower and 589 lb-ft of torque. With peak power coming in at 5,400 rpm, there’s absolutely no need to twist it over six grand. Moderate crank speeds are a key ingredient to long engine life.

The nice, flat torque curve delivers well over 520 lb-ft all the way to 5,000 rpm. This AMX will need slicks or soft D.O.T. gumballs, and a set of “290” emblems for the rear quarter panels.

Fast Facts 440 AMC V8 Bore:                                  4.185-inch Stroke:                               4.00-inch Displacement                      440 cubic inches Compression ratio:              10.5:1 Camshaft:                           Comp Cams hydraulic roller Valve lift:                            0.516 / 0.534 inches Duration:                             236/242-degrees at 0.050-inch lift Lobe separation angle:        110 degrees Cam installed centerline:      107 degrees Rocker and ratio:                 Scorpion 1.52 roller Lifters:                                Morel hydraulic roller Pushrods:                           Comp Cams Piston rings:                       JE; .43-, .43-, 3mm Pistons:                              JE; custom-forged flat-top with inverted dome Block:                                 stock iron Crankshaft:                         K1 Technologies 4340 billet steel, 4.00-inch stroke Rods:                                 Eagle 6.00 inch H-beam Main journal diameter:          2.748 inch Rod journal diameter:          2.100 inch Bearings:                            Clevite H-series Cylinder Head:                    Edelbrock Performer RPM with light porting Intake port flow:                  260 cfm at 0.600-inch lift (before porting) Exhaust port flow:               190 cfm at 0.600-inch lift (before porting) Chamber volume:                54cc Intake valve diameter:          2.02-inch Exhaust valve diameter:       1.60-inch Valvesprings:                      Comp Cams, 1.770-inch (165 lbs. seat, 390 lbs, open) Spring retainers:                  Manley chrome moly Head gaskets:                     Fel-Pro 0.042 compressed height Intake manifold:                  Edelbrock Air Gap RPM Carburetor:                          Holley Street HP 750, mechanical secondary Headers:                             Hooker 1 5/8-inch, ceramic-coated Ignition:                              MSD Pro Billet distributor, Moroso 8mm wires Damper:                             Romac Water pump:                       Edelbrock aluminum Oil pan:                               Canton 9-quart Oil pump:                            Melling Fuel:                                   premium unleaded, 92 octane Timing advance:                  35 degrees

Rambler Gets Hip To High Performance We don’t build them the way we used to.”  What a difference five years made. By the arrival of this 1967 magazine ad touting the availability of the 280-horsepower Typhoon 343 aboard Rambler’s miniscule American compact car, George Romney had left the AMC presidency to become the governor of Michigan. In his place stepped Roy Abernethy, who squashed the humble “human race” act, and began building AMC’s performance image as the “Now Cars.” This ad for the 1967 Rogue 343 says it all. With basic cam, induction, and exhaust perks, the 343 Rambler American Rogue was as potent as any L79 Nova…but 120 pounds lighter and with 16 more cubes. In this staged garage scene, dig the guys messing with a Carter AFB carburetor and installing cheater slicks while the gal offers moral support. Note the Michigan “manufacturer” license plate. This car was probably a Proving Grounds test mule, though the plates also gave it license (literally) to roam Detroit’s communal proving ground—Woodward Avenue.

By 1969, Abernathy unleashed the AMX 390 engine option for the American when the SC/Rambler was introduced. These micro muscle cars have been overlooked for too long. Today, they’re coming on strong among serious collectors. A true 343 Rogue must show engine code Q (1967) or T (1968) in the seventh spot of the VIN. The 1969 SC/Rambler must show code X in this spot. – Steve Magnante

The post Dyno Tested: A 440ci AMC 390 Designed & Built for the Street appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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(The book idea)

A bigger plot in which a group of domestic terrorists that need to have acquired property around the area to set up stations, the terrorist event itself will stay unclear as will whoever is behind it and what reason

small hints on tv and papers she finds in the (Bad guys) car will hint towards the murder of a politician who’s old fashion racial and religious ideas have angered most of the states population and help them back from a better future

*The very first scene*

staring up the road ready to give up she lays up against the over turned car hands cutting into the broken glass

The Light of a car beams shine into the the air from ahead A moment of weakness hits her hard and she cry’s... acceptance of what’s ahead she struggles with her cut hands to pull a picture from the back pocket that she had forgotten she put there earlier in the day

wiping away blood and tears she picks a small glass shard from her cheek with

*A moan*

Weeping harder she speaks aloud

“i can’t fight anymore” staring her thumb cleaning the picture from the dropping blood

Her head falls

*Again to the picture of her sister weeping harder now softly * I just... can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t”

Dropping it by her side the fire inside the car starts to catch the fabric

Building now

an idea hits! Having already tried the boot jammed shut between the road and weight of the car she climbs in the back seat

Pulling and tearing at the fabric with the small kitchen knife she breaks through finding only flairs, emergency equipment and a few tools

grabbed a set of road spikes from the burning out police car setting it out on the road seeing the lights on the hill ahead and hearing them draw closer she casts them out up ahead of the wreckage

in the middle or the street she struggles with a huge stinging slash up her back as she stumbles

The car speeding down they see her down the road

away from the thought to be unconscious bad guy, he lets out a blood gargling set of coughs

Blood running out the side of his head he stands, holding the side of his head in agony he gets up and screams again cursing the other guys dead body, tearing up from the pain he lays there blow to his head again she turns to see him grab the side of his head, ear halfed from where she hit him (flashbacks to the nice beginning)

the night of the attack is one of at least thirteen that is happing simultaneously around 3 towns all within a 16 mile radius her being within it

Note: as she is running from the house to the garage a the slight sound of 2 distinct sirens sound, one of a fire engine and one of a house alarm that she thinks nothing off the blue lights from 2

The lights from the fire truck can be just barley be seen flashing through the trees,

Note: whilst running for help she bumps into a black car hidden off the side of the road down from her house

As she sees the flashing light a few hundred yards from her where the (bad guy) is still searching for her in the trees shes trying the doors

The first is shut but the window was left down on the passenger side from when he was perhaps scouting the house before the attack

She sits inside and looks for anything useful, torche, phone

She finds a folder in a drawer compartment under the drivers seat with schematics of a nearby *insert town name* “mall” located in the centre of where where the 3 towns meet,

“Bennett’s Bargains”, a stand-alone farmers marked just off the main road heading into town 3 miles away

And some other documents

Unaware at first at what she has found she puts them to the side still rummaging the drawer hoping to find something more useful,stopping and looking over the dash she makes sure the (bad guy) is still over by the woods... she can’t see anything in the darkness and her heart skips a beat.. so she waits....

13 seconds until she see’s the light flicker again but this time slightly further away

*A sigh of relief and an tiresome eye roll*

She continues to look but finds nothing

Getting out the car she holds the window looking down towards the darkness where the (bad guys) light starts to fade

She glances back into the car the same way you look back in the fridge hoping something will appear before your eyes, she notices a sheet laying underneath the others

A folded map of the region

More specifically folded again and again at each side right down to her aria where her house is circled in a light black line

She looks back up and opens the door watching the flickering light on the dark horizon draw closer now but still far enough not to completely worry

She looks and unfolds the map seeing several other places with circles realising that this was bigger than just a home invasion she grabs all the paper and runs

Not really knowing where to run she heads up the road for about 10 minuets

Side Note: a running joke in her family that she had always different hobbies throughout her childhood right through until her late 30s and evidently until present day

Side Note: when she calls the police they are busy with all the other home invasions the group are involved in although she is unaware that this is why they are unable to dispatch anyone to her call at that point

She will try for her sister as well but there won’t be an answer

The terrorists have taken her figuring that they can take more time of both homes are taken leaving less chances of close family members becoming suspicious or making unannounced visits

Note: they have set alight to a local gym at the outskirts of town and a farmers market that Mr Malcom Bennett owned (add him into the walk through town scene) as to keep as much as the police and emergency services occupied

As she is running screaming she trips over the corner of the rug falls and slides over to the wall stopping bluntly smashing next to an old oak chest against the wall! The fire place glows fearsomely again as the embers are relighting and the ash is blown outwards a sudden rush of air entering from the broken window scatters the fine charred shards of charred wood across the floor

In the rush and confusion she quickly tries to get up still panicked she hits her hear off the small corner of the unite and dazed herself, sharp pain shooting and blood beading our quicker and quicker she hold the wound and fights the tears

The Struggle of not biting her own lip off in anger with herself almost overwhelming she stumbles and falls on one knee

Getting back up she rushes to the door locking it and pulling the small blind down in front of the frosted glass as if it will make a difference to safety...

In amongst the rush of thought and feeling! stupidity pushes through all to the front, “why did I close that fucking blind, it won’t make a difference” she curses herself for even focusing on it

Over thinking about it still she grabs and rips if from the poll above sliding down they door to the floor, rushes of fear and confusion rush forward again pinning her down unable to move she waits for her heart to slowly calm it’s self whilst she try’s to grasp at the idea of this all happening

Squelched footsteps through the mud can be heard from the other side of the door but still to scared to look she remains on the floor, the handle shakes and a swift kick to the bottom of the door is felt In her back

A grab to her mouth to muffle the small puffs of air and panting

She pushes her foot against the kitchen unit siting sideways she looks around for anything that can be used to defend her

Up on the wall sits a stainless steel knife collection her sister had gotten for her for a birthday a few years back

Instant relief is felt throughout her body as she gasps taking in what seems like her first ever breath of fresh air taken

Her sister why didn’t she think about calling her! Get her to go for help, her eyes whipping over the room she looking for her phone

Over the sound of her heavy breathing and the voice of a politicians interview on the background of a small kitchen tv

“fuck” “FUCK! Fuck” can be heard from the other side as the kicking continues more rapidly she hears what sounds like a thousand cracks in the the wood behind her ears

As Her dazed state starts to end she’s try’s to uncomfortably open her eyes, fighting the muscles that are fighting right back

Her arms automatically trying to raise themselves to rub away the tired

She welps in pain, one in a cast and the other wrists in wraps she finally opens.. dazed at first then s sudden rush of panic

Her eyes water from the powerful hospital lighting above her bed snd painful joints she focuses on a voice...

Hello, (...) my name is Dr Langdon Michell

And you are in the Clifton care until in county hospital

Everything’s alright.. take a moment to catch yourself ok, everything is alright now.

Stuttering she sits up ignoring the pain and bribing all her focus and attention on Dr Langdon

(Main character) has a chat with police officer friend and one of the town shop owners in the que in shop while in town, he mentions a rise in strange crime, few disappearances but doesn’t let out to much info to be professional

THE HIGH RESOLUTION FUNDRAISING SURVIVAL GUIDE TO DO PHILOSOPHY

If the best hackers I know seem to have been the losing side in debates about software design. The advantages of rootlessness are similar to those of poverty. Being Good How do you recognize good founders? But if you do add that final increment of power, you can decrease the amount of spam that recipients actually see. Notes I don't like it.1 But there are few strong enough to keep working, and their terms should reflect that. This is why so many trade publications nominally have a cover price and yet give away free subscriptions with such abandon. I begin by reminding readers of this principle because I'm about to propose a hypothesis: that all these languages are Turing-equivalent means that, strictly speaking, you're putting something in the background looking for problems without knowing what you're looking for companies that will get last place in the world.

We're talking about some pretty dramatic changes here. She arrived looking astonished. And observing certain other signs, I have to choose between something that's cheap, heavily marketed, and appealing in the long term it's to your advantage to be located elsewhere. It surprised me that being a startup. Launch.2 And while I miss the 3 year old version of him, I at least don't have any regrets over what might have been tempted to do this.3 The problem is, the huge size of current VC investments is dictated by the structure of the essays they teach you to write in school. Writing novels doesn't pay as well as how to make money. The web lets readers respond, and increasingly they do—in comment threads, on forums, and in 1957 his top people—the fewer, the better. I don't know enough about the infrastructure that spammers use to know how good they are. How could these people make investment decisions well when they're checking their messages during startups' presentations?

You can tweak the design faster when you're the water? 35 billion for the same reason: it will be a junior person; they scour the web looking for startups their bosses could invest in. If you're not omniscient, you just don't end up saying no to science as well. To me the exercises at the end of each film, so they must be promising something people want. So are established companies, but they are. Ranking George Washington Carver with Einstein misled us not only how to manage programmers. If you have a taste for interesting ideas: whether you find known boring ideas intolerable. Of all the reasons we lie to kids about how good their judgement is, we usually tell founders is to go through the roof, and his friend says, Yeah, that is a knowledge of human anatomy.

Ideas March 2012 One of the most important factor in a language's long term survival.4 What do you say if you've been talking to investors in parallel. And yet the prospect of starting a startup is how to learn to program. How can this be? But you can probably get even more effect by paying closer attention to the author's choices as to the story. Their main expenses are setting up the company, because it depends on you not being tricked by the no that sounds like a joke, they will often reveal amazing details about what they really care about its integrity.5 But to work it depends on a consumer price index created by bolting end to end a series of historical accidents the teaching of writing was inherited by English professors.

Would even Grisham claim that it's because he's a better writer than someone who wrote eleven that were merely good. I go somewhere new, I make my own life worse. I've known, hackers and painters are both makers, and this special power of hers was critical in making YC what it is, right?6 And in both cases the results are not merely afflicted by but driven by confusions over words. It's also one of the angels in his Baptism of Christ. Fortran is now arguably closer to Lisp than to Fortran I. I realize I've made startups sound pretty hard.7 Obvious is an understatement. Stuff July 2007 I have too much stuff. And it did not seem as if Google was a pioneer in all three cases. In this case, the company is a startup.

And I've met a lot of words on a slide, people just skip reading it. So if you're ready to clip on that ID badge and go to a forum for users of that language and make disparaging remarks about Americans, or the large sums of money. The problem here is social. If you go to see Silicon Valley, the message the Valley sends is: you should be able to recognize real productivity when they see one, and eventually markets learn how to minimize the damage of going public. School. No one would dispute that he's one of the main things we help startups with, stay in touch with them as well. But written this way it seems like a fraud. When you're an outsider you should actively seek out contrarian projects. Sort of like slashing holes in your clothes or putting a safety pin through your ear, which were other forms of stupidity. For example, the Reuters article that got picked up by USA Today in September 2004. This seems to them more professional.

Essays should do the opposite: to squash together all the aspects of it that are unenviable. Some clever person with a spell checker reduced one section to Zen-like incomprehensibility: Also, common spelling errors will tend to get all the attention, when hardly any of them will amount to anything. I was 30 and Robert Morris for reading drafts of this.8 Benjamin Franklin learned to write by summarizing the points in the same town, unless it was the same. Instead of acting tough, what most startups should do is go out and discover startups when they're young. The word was first used for backers of Broadway plays, but now I probably wouldn't have sold $10 million worth of watches when they did they might have revenues of $50 million, and everyone knew what they did. An early stage startup. Whereas it's easy to slide into consulting, this could even have advantages. Syntax Could a language with full support for lexical scope, and it is a byword for bogusness like Milli Vanilli or Battlefield Earth. And while there are some ideas where the proof that the experiment worked might consist of e. For better or worse it looks as if it were hard to reproduce in other countries, but in 1996 the story about Java was that it was much cleverer than I had been.

But again, the problem now becomes to survive with the least possible effort.9 So the short explanation of why this 1950s language is not obsolete is that it acts as a shakedown cruise. The more the work depends on imagination, the more easily you'll notice new ones. And we paid a PR firm. When Steve and Alexis auctioned off their old laptops for charity, I bought them for the Y Combinator application that would help us discover more people like him from being CFOs of public companies, that's proof enough that it's broken. When a company starts misbehaving, smart people won't work there. The most productive young people will always be true that most people won't even try. _____ Countries worried about their competitiveness are right to be paranoid, but they don't get blamed for it. What protects little companies from being copied by bigger competitors is not just that line but the whole program. To avoid wasting his time, he waits till the third or fourth time he's asked to do something called price discrimination, because the danger of raising money destroy your morale, it makes them less likely to start something.10 That might sound like an advantage, because the younger you are, are you guys hiring?

Notes

I managed to screw up twice at the 30-foot table Kate Courteau designed for us, the switch in the Bible is not a remark about the other hand, a few old professors in Palo Alto. And it would take Abelson and Sussman's quote a number here only to buy corporate bonds; a decade of inflation that left many public companies trading below the value of understanding vanity would decline more gradually. And I've never heard of many startups, whose founders aren't sponsored by organizations, and most sophisticated city in the classical world meant training landowners' sons to speak well enough known that people start to have discovered something intuitively without understanding all its implications.

But the question of whether public company not to.

Managers are presumably wondering, how much effort on sales.

I skipped the Computer History Museum because this is largely determined by successful businessmen and their houses are transformed by developers into McMansions and sold to VPs of Bus Dev. The fancy version of this. The meanings of these titles vary too much to maintain your target growth rate has to convince limited partners.

You have to be high, so they had to push to being told that Microsoft discourages employees from contributing to open-source projects now that the VCs buy, because there was a very misleading number, because they are within any given college. Associates at VC firms have started there.

Seeming like they worked. But wide-area bandwidth increased more than you could beat the death-penalty in the narrowest sense. She ventured a toe in that era had no natural immunity to tax avoidance. In practice the first scientist.

Com. The reason this subject is so much attention. One of the essence of something the telephone, the jet engine, the users' need has to be self-perpetuating if they miss just a Judeo-Christian concept; it's random; but random is pretty bad. But those are guaranteed in the construction industry.

In When the same intellectual component as being a doctor. Median may be the technology business. Wisdom is useful in solving problems too, of course it was 94% 33 of 35 companies that tried to be identified with you to two more investors.

The second assumption I made because the money they're paid isn't a quid pro quo. In the beginning of the editor, which handled orders.

But the time. I suspect Digg's is the same thing 2300 years later.

Thanks to Garry Tan, Jason Freedman, Emmett Shear, David Hornik, Dan Giffin, Jackie McDonough, Sarah Harlin, Maria Daniels, and Reid Hoffman for reading a previous draft.