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#a hat in time the little contractor
bittybattybunny · 1 year
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Uh oh, a dragon??? In my slow burn merman monster fic? More likely than you think---
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kuronatcher · 2 years
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was in the Mood to draw Levi!Malou again  from TLC/ The Sun in the Sea by @bittybattybunny
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reve-writes · 11 months
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—dense; kaz brekker.
ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 2,2k words. ʚ you're a bit clueless as to why the dirtyhands do the things he does, like call you schatje and pay you to steal something when he clearly doesn't need to. ʚ fluff. ʚ a/n maybe ooc kaz im sorry. more at the end!
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Ketterdam is a marvel from afar, a pretty little flower offering promises of its nectar—new life, new opportunities, debauchery—only to catch you in its trap and swallow you whole. All the way up on the clock tower, roughly centralised in the port city, the Barrel is nothing more than bright lights emanating from bar signs and glittering roofs.
The bell rings, reveberating to signal the change of the hour. It's time to work, finally.
Your boots thump as you make your way down the spiraling concrete staircase, paying attention not to step on the chunks flaking off of the edge. Whoever was responsible for building this was clearly cutting cost, the concrete is about as fragile as clay.
A painting. It is an annoying job to do on your own, but your contractor offered a lot of Kruge for it—perhaps too much, but if Mr. Kikkert is willing to scrape his pockets for it, then you're more than happy to accept. It is more Kruge than you would ever need for a while, so you won't have to scrounge for scraps in this Ghezen-forsaken town. Moreover, it's been a while since your last job and you're frankly not doing too well.
You step lightly over the rooftops, hopping from building-to-building with sure, steady steps. You have done this for most of your lives, to avoid being stomped into the vile muck at the bottom of the Barrel, you learned to hide near the skies.
Where the painting is being kept isn't far from the Canal, just on the rows of overpriced apartments for rent. You were told that it was housed on the third floor of the corner building. Everything is going well. Your journey is uninterrupted and the stadwatch aren't on alert.
Until you spot him.
The familiar curve of his black hat. The high collar of his coat. The shining leather of his gloves.
Brekker.
You strut towards him as if you are neighbours crossing paths on your evening walks. When in truth, his Crow Club is on the other side of the town and you never come to this area without reason. You call his name sweetly. His head whips around immediately, finding you in the dwindling foot traffic of the street.
He says your name in a warning tone, suspicious of your being here.
“What? Can't I come and see an old friend?”
Brekker scoffs. “I don't know. Can you, schatje?”
You almost turn around and leave when you hear the term of endearment. He knows it gets under your skin—it always does. Your heart skips a beat or two and your train of thoughts gets interrupted whenever he calls you that. He means it as a jeering nudge and your head is wholly aware of that. Your heart, though. What a fickle little thing.
“A bit of a walk from the club, isn't it?” you say, falling into step next to him as he turns the corner towards the apartment building. “I assume you must be up to something.”
“Ah, but I'm always up to something.”
“I can't say I disagree,” you snort. “You don't happen to have a job around the area, do you?”
He halts, his cane knocking against the stone pathing. He turns to look at you and your elbows brush against each other. “Do you need anything? I have important matters to attend to.”
You bring a hand to your chest exaggeratedly, feigning a frown. “How callous. Call me schatje and throw me aside. Is this how you treat everyone, Kaz?”
“Only you, mijn schatje.”
You roll your eyes, unsure how to behave. Huffing, you say, “Stop calling me that.”
“I was under the impression that you liked the nickname.”
Oh, you do.
“I'll be going now. I've something to do. Stay off my job,” you warn. “You still owe me literal crown jewels from last time.”
Kaz's neutral expression shifts into fond nostalgia as he recalls the incident you're referring to. The crown jewels in question were under dispute by a pair of soon-to-be divorcees. One of them hired the Crows' help. The other called on you. One thing led to another and the item ended up in Kaz's hands and you went home empty-handed.
“I won that fair and square,” Kaz retorts. “Your current job wouldn't involve a certain painting, would it?”
Judging by his smug thin smile, you know that he knows.
“Tell me it isn't what you're here for.” You sigh exasperatedly. “Stay off of it, Brekker. I can't afford to lose another job.”
You think to be threatening, bluff your way out and tell him you'll tear down his Crow Club if he gets in your way, but you doubt it will work against the Dirtyhands. After all, you're one person and he has the whole Dregs behind him.
He looks at you with a raised eyebrow for a moment and for that terrible moment, you think that he may be there for the same reason you are, but he shakes his head lightly. “Fortunately, schatje, no. Stop looking as if you're going to murder me in my sleep.”
An involuntary smile blooms. “I wouldn't dream of it, Kaz.”
“Go on, then,” he says. “Be careful.”
You bite the insides of your cheeks to keep from smiling. “You too.”
With that, you part ways with Dirtyhands, entering the building. Your acquisition of the painting goes smoothly and the deal is closed swiftly a few hours later. It's too easy. You know it is. You're missing something.
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Miss something, you did.
You push open the door to the Crow Club carelessly. The loud chatter mixed with atmospheric radio surges to meet you as you push your way past sweat-slicked bodies and drunken patrons. Your eyes dart back-and-forth, trying to spot the familiar curve of his black hat or the shiny glow of the head of his cane.
Jesper spots you from one of the open gambling tables.
“If it isn't my favourite thief,” he says, inclining his glass towards you. “Fancy a game?”
It isn't until you stop by his table that he sees the downward slope of your frown and the sharp glare you're giving. He instinctively sits up straighter, taking his shoes off of the corner of the table.
“Where's Brekker?” You ask, to-the-point, without indulging in your usual chit-chat whenever you visit.
The other three patrons on the table freeze—sensing the tension on your shoulders, too. They look between you and jesper, both confused and intrigued to know more. What is Ketterdam if it doesn't have rumours and secrets whispered about?
Jesper's brow furrow. “Are you okay? What's going on?”
To Jesper's knowledge, you and Kaz are on friendly terms, despite the frequent bickering. Hell, he assumes you're more-than-friendly, with the way Kaz gives you a nickname—an endearment, to be specific. Is it possible that you're going through a lover's spat?
“Brekker, Jesper. Where is he?”
A familiar rasp cuts through the rowdiness. “Here.”
Your head whirls around and you shoot an accusatory stare at the source of the voice. You stomp your boots as you make your way towards him. As you pass by him, you tug on the sleeves of his coat.
“We need to talk.”
“Hold on, schatje,” he says, still trailing after you. His cane knocks against the hardwood of the floor. “About what?”
You make your way up the stairs, to the second floor and swing the door to his office open as if it belongs to you. He has an eyebrow raised when he enters after you, closing the door behind him. He leans back against it, waiting for you to speak whatever it is that's on your mind.
“Kikkert,” you snarl. “You paid him to pay me.”
“That's quite a conclusion. How did you come to it?” His voice is level, not betraying whether or not you've spoken the truth.
You're pacing in front of him. “He says, and I quote, ‘If you're so close to Brekker, why doesn't he ask you himself to do this?'”
His eyes furrow and he runs a hand through his combed hair. He sighs, holding a hand up in a you-caught-me gesture. “Kikkert clearly has no idea what discretion means.”
You glare at him. “Do you think this is funny?”
He seems taken aback. “I don't see why this is a big deal, schatje. It's a job. You're paid. I get the painting. What's wrong with it?”
“Why are you doing this, then? Pay me for something you clearly are able to do yourself? Hell, whose painting was it? Was it yours? Did you pay me to steal from you?”
He doesn't reply, but the way he shifts his gaze away from you let's you know. It's as clear as a verbal admission.
“It was yours. That's why you were there. From your safehouse, wasn't it?” You stare at him in disbelief. “Is this amusing to you? I'm sorry if I don't quite see it as such.”
“Schatje—”
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
You can't wrap your head around Kaz Brekker's thinking process. He pays someone to pay you to steal a painting he already owns. What's his plan in the long run? To embarrass you? Hurt your pride? Is this some sort of ploy to rope you to be indebted to him?
He sighes. “You were struggling. I only wanted to help.”
“Dirtyhands doesn't help people. You don't run gangs the way you do charities,” you retort.
Is that all you see him as? The demjin? The one who's willing to stain his hands for the right price? Is there no other version of him in your eyes?
“You're forgetting the man behind the monster here,” he says softly.
“Am I?” You approach him, leaving a little over two steps in-between the two of you. “Who exactly is the man behind Dirtyhands then?”
He pushes himself off of the door, taking one step forward. The thump of his cane practically echoes in the room. The hustle bustle of the Crow Club is nothing more than a muffled sound. There's a sudden tension in the air—the same one that hangs over you whenever he calls you his schatje, but this one is heavier due to your lack of light-hearted banter to parry.
“Do you really not know?” he asks, as if the question is staring at you in the face. As if it's the most obvious thing in all of Kerch. His stare is heavy, dark irises acting like magnets that pull you in. He scoffs, “You really are dense.”
“Well, enlighten me, Brekker! None of this is making a lot of sense to me.” You let out a frustrated huff of breath. Your hands move wildly to stress your points. “You know what? Whatever it is, I don't want to know. Just — quit doing it. I'll never take another job from Kikkert. I'll stay away from your damned club and all your friends. I'll stay away from you. I'm a capable enough thief without your pity, Brekker. I don't need it. You can shove it up your—”
His gloved hand wraps around your wrist as it's flailing in the air. Your speech immediately comes to a halt and your eyes widen.
“You are impossible,” he says.
You snort. “And you aren't?”
“At the moment, no,” he retorts.
His stare is intense. It isn't until then that you realise you've taken a step forward during your rant, decreasing the perfectly amicable distance and turning it into a heart-thundering one.
“It wasn't pity,” he says. “You're capable, I have never doubted that, but even the most capable ones struggle sometimes. My intention is to help. Trust me on this. I know you're too prideful to accept any, so I paid Kikkert.”
“But why? Why bother?”
“Why?” He blinks, sighing loudly before continuing. “Why? Have you ever stopped and thought, for a moment, that I've been calling you schatje. Do you think that was out of pity?”
You bite the insides of your cheek and shake your head. “It was something else.”
“Has it ever crossed your mind that it's because —ghezen forbid— I may actually harbour fondness for you?”
You blink once, twice. Kaz thinks he much prefers breaking into the ice court than having this conversation right now. His hand trembles when he brings them to brush your cheekbone lightly. He lets out a relieved sigh when you don't pull back. Your hand wraps over his gloved one, the leather cold on your skin. You lean into the touch.
“I thought it was one-sided,” you say finally. “I'm quite fond of you, too, you know.”
“You do a horrible job of showing it.”
“Says you,” you argue. “Just—don't do it again. Let me handle my own problems, Kaz. I'll let you know if I need your help.”
He hums in agreement. “You'll let me know.”
“I will.”
The two of you jump apart abruptly when there's a loud knock.
“Boss?” Jesper's voice sounds muffled through the door. “Everything okay? I hope ___ hasn't murdered you yet.”
“I haven't,” you answer, half-chuckling. Turning to look at Kaz, you say, “It's funny how he doesn't assume you'll murder me instead.”
Kaz shrugs. “He knows I can't.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Can't or won't?”
“Both,” he answers. “Can we not talk about murdering each other after what just happened?”
Heat rushes to your cheeks. What just happened is you practically professing your little (well, maybe not-so-little) crush on him.
“So, is Kaz okay?” Jesper shouts again.
“Fine,” Kaz answers. “You can go back to your table.”
[ ]
i wanted to write something cute. schatje is taken from google and inspired from a kaz fic i read that used 'schatz' as a nickname. the plot is slightly ehhh? because it didn't really end the way i intended it to and i didn't proofread (when have i ever?). i was hoping to turn it into a two or three part series, but this is what we've ended up with & im quite happy with it. thank you for reading!
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chiriwritesstuff · 3 months
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Meet Me at the Farmers Market - A Christmas Special - 🎅 Santa's Baby ❄️
A Farmers Market! Joel AU x Confident! Plus Sized! F! Reader
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Series Masterlist
Series Summary: What does a Contractor do in his spare time? Sell his wood carvings at the Saturday Farmers Market, of course! A Grumpy x Sunshine Joel Miller series collective of one shots
Chapter Rating: T
Word Count: 1.4K
Chapter Warnings & Notes: Explicit language, Miller Family Hijinks, Joel's in a costume, Ellie's in a costume, everyone is in a costume!, Naughty Santa, Tommy just can't help himself, One big-time jump into the future!, Joel is a girl dad through and through, Merry Christmas ya filthy animals!
Summary: What happens when Joel is forced to be the market's resident Santa? This story takes place five years after Pt. 6
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A/N: ... and the Miller Family Hijinks™ are back!
In all seriousness, I want to thank everyone who has read, shared, liked, and loved this little series of mine. What came from an insane idea one day working at the farmers market to where we are now, I am so thankful for all of you that has supported me and my silly little series this year! I am so so so happy you all love Farmers Market Joel, and I can't wait to write more for you all! Here is a little Christmas treat set a few years in the future. I hope you all enjoy! Merry Christmas, everyone!
Dividers by @saradika
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“Tommy, you fucking owe me… big time.”
Joel shifts uncomfortably in his seat, the cheap polyester of the ill-fitting Santa suit clinging to his bare skin, leaving him itchy beyond belief.  Thank god it’s decently cold in Austin this time of year, he thinks to himself- if I had to do this in 90-degree weather… he pulls at the offending white beard strapped on his face, “Tell me why I’m being held against my will being Santa yet again-“
“Oh, come on, Joel, no swearing in front of the kids!” Tommy teases, slapping his brother's back as he fiddles with the digital camera fixed in front of Joel, making sure that it sits steady on its tripod. “Besides, you certainly look the part, you know. Maybe you could lay off on the after-work beers once in a while.”
“Go fuck yourself, asshole-“
“I thought we were going to try not to bicker and cuss each other out this year?” Sarah suddenly interjects, an elf hat fixed on her head as she smooths out her elf costume. She smirks, turning to a not-too-pleased Ellie in her costume, muttering to herself about getting paid to endure the torture of volunteering for the annual Christmas festival at the market. “Oh Ellie, you look so-“
“Stupid? Because I feel like a moron-" she chides, stomping next to Tommy as she fiddles with the camera. Tommy whacks her hands away as he shoos her off. “This is so fucking embarrassing! At least Joel doesn’t have to wear a pillow under that suit-“
Three of the four Millers burst into laughter, Joel glaring at them as he shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, glad y'all are having a blast at my expense… next time Maria asks for a Santa, you-“ he points at Tommy, his face still red from laughing, “as her husband, should volunteer yourself-“
“… but you wear the suit so well, brother! Besides, I’m sure Sunflower would love for you to climb up her chimney…” Tommy interjects with a mischievous grin, sending the group into another fit of laughter.
“Oh gross!” Ellie shrieks, “Please tell me you’re going to burn that suit afterward!”
“Okay Millers, are you ready?!” Maria claps her hands together as she approaches, a wide smile on her face as she pushes Tommy aside, settling herself behind the camera. “Got all of the swear words out of your system? Let’s get into our places, there’s a lot of antsy kids waiting for Santa, we can’t keep them waiting, can we!”
Joel adjusts the too-big Santa trousers once more and gives her a thumbs up. “Okay, Let’s get this shit over with!”
“Dad, your beard is crooked,” Sarah laughs, reaching over to fiddle with the fake beard and kissing his cheek. “For the record, you are the best Santa the market has ever seen…”
“… and yet, this doesn’t mean that you’re getting a new car-“
“… she’s going to love it,” Sarah cuts him off, a small smile on her face. “Besides, don’t you think she’ll be happy to see you all dressed up?”
Joel smiles at that, nodding. “I hope so, I’m doing this just for her, you know?”
“Yeah, Dad, I know.” His eldest daughter laughs, “You’re going to kill it!”  
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After what feels like forever, families keep streaming in as the day goes on. Kids of all shapes and sizes take their turns on Joel's lap—some looking terrified, others just thrilled to meet Santa. Thankfully, the line finally starts thinning out as the last hour of the festival approaches.
Joel, finally catching a break, stands up to stretch. He twists his back, and you can practically hear his body protesting in agony. "I'm getting too old for this shit," he sighs, frowning.  
"Excuse me, Santa," a little voice calls out from behind. "Is it my turn?"
Joel can't help but smile as he turns around, facing a little girl, no older than four, her head tilted to the side. She sports a wide grin and a pink beanie atop her head, her brown hair fashioned in charming braids, holding her mother's hand. "Sure, baby girl. Come to Santa!" Joel exclaims, settling back into his sleigh. He pats his thigh invitingly, the girl's mother giving you a knowing wink as she carries her onto Joel's lap.
“So, have you been a good girl this year?”
The girl beams at him, bouncing up and down as she nods. "Yes! I water all the plants at my mommy’s stand-" she points off into the distance, "and my daddy said that if I’m a good girl, he’s going to teach me to carb animals too!" She exclaims, "Just like my sisters! I’m a big girl now, that’s why!"
"Is that right? How old are you now?"
She holds up four little fingers. "I’m FOR!"
"... and what’s your name, pretty girl?" Joel asks with a twinkle in his eye.
“I’m Anna Miller!” she replies, her hand raised in excitement. “You can call me Annie! My mommy and daddy sell stuff at the market, do you know them?”
“I might,” Joel replies knowingly, giving her mother a wink. “Your daddy tells me that you have been very good this year!” Joel plays along, a conspiratorial smile shared between you and him. The enchantment of the moment continues as Annie beams with joy at the confirmation from Santa himself.
“Really?” she cries, “I’m so happy, I want to learn how to make my favorite animal, my daddy promised! He’s not here today,” she pouts, “it’s just me and mommy! I miss him. Mommy said he’s busy working his other job, do you think daddy is going to come to the market before it closes?”
“Well, baby girl,” Joel smiles as he winks at her mother once more, “as Santa, I can promise you that he’s going to be here, I’ll make sure of it. What’s your daddy’s name?” Joel continues the charade, eager to sprinkle a bit more magic into his daughter's day.
“Joel! My daddy’s name is Joel Miller! Do you know him?!”
“I sure do!” Joel replies, patting her back as Maria takes a photo of the two of them. “We are really good friends, you know?”
Anna turns back to you as you stifle a laugh. “Mommy, did you know Daddy is friends with Santa?! All of my friends are going to be jealous! Can you call Daddy and tell him his friend is here?” She leaps off of Joel's lap, running to you as you hike her up onto your hip. Joel hurriedly rips off the Santa costume, leaving him in his undershirt and jeans as he smirks at his wife and daughter.
"Sure, baby," you coo, looking over your shoulder as you laugh at Joel, giving him a nod, making sure the coast is clear.  
"Hey, baby," he says from behind, his daughter squirming in your grasp.
"Daddy!" she shrieks, wiggling herself from Sunflower as she barrels into Joel. "You're here!" She frowns as she takes him in, her lip wobbling as she starts to cry.
Joel looks at you in horror, turning his attention back to his daughter as she cries in his arms, moving her back and forth as he attempts to console her. "Baby, what's wrong?"
"Daddy, why do you have Santa's beard on you?" Annie innocently replies, pulling on the cheap beard as Ellie erupts in laughter from behind, Sarah whacking her sister as she tries to get her to settle down. "Are you old like Santa?"
"It's okay, baby," Tommy suddenly appears, his smirk as wide as Tim Curry's from Home Alone. "He's older than him, don't you know? That's why they're such good friends!"
"Oh, go fuck-"
"Language!" you scold Joel, covering your daughter's ears as you approach him, kissing him on the lips. Joel attempts to take off the offensive beard, your hand suddenly halting his movements. "Keep it on," you whisper in his ear, "Maybe Santa might let me sit on his lap later, do you think you can ask him, being that you're such good friends and all?" you tease, pinching his ass. 
"Oh, I think I can convince him," he winks, slapping your ass as you jump in surprise. "Have you been a good girl this year? Or have you been naughty? I think Santa likes them-"
"Gross! Get a room ya filthy animals!" Ellie yells, ripping off her elf hat as she throws it at Tommy, "This is the last time, you hear me?"
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lilysketchingsth · 6 months
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So I just found out about the Ghostbusters video game from 2009:
Egon: These readings are off the charts! Now I'll have to make new charts.
Ray, whispering: There she is...quiet, now, let's get a solid scan-
Egon: I MISSED THAT, RAY! PLEASE REPEAT!
Winston, in the periodical section: Says here that this Collector used the Gray Lady to get to the rare book in her care, specifically a book called-get this-The Gozerian Codex.
Ray:Great!
Winston: Yeah, and when she found out what he was up to, she dumped him.
Egon: Smart Lady.
Winston: Not really. Evidently he murdered her for it.
Egon: You guys need to get down here immediately. Our live-in science experiment is tearing apart from the lobby, and he's not alone.
Peter: More ghosts? But we have this hotel a clean bill of health five years ago.
Egon: New people die everyday
Ray: Remember how you were saying print was dead?
Egon: I wish
Egon: Hm. So this is what the Public Library looks like on the far side of a cross-dimensional portal.
Ray: Oh yeah? What can a twisted little bookworm do to scare us?
Egon: He murdered Eleanor Twitty for it when he was alive, And a dozen others just to cover it.
Winston: Whoa. If this place were any more dead, we'd need a coroner.
Ray: Egon used to be a licensed coroner.
Winston: No kidding?
Egon: It's just a hobby now.
Winston, reading a notice: Entrance into this establishment is strictly forbidden and is punishable by fine and imprisonment.
Ray: This notice is for the general public. It doesn't apply to us. We're bonded contractors for the city!
Winston, keeps reading: Especially the Ghostbusters.
Egon: *Angrily tears the notice apart*
Ray: Alright, heat 'em up. Well melt our way in.
Egon: Wait! I have a better idea. *Opens the fking door, like-that was the logical thing to do. Ray, what were you thinking?!*
Winston: Good thinking
Ray: If this place is a mandala node, a few burnt walls and broken ceilings are the last thing anybody's-
Egon: And smashed furniture, broken chandeliers, destroyed paintings, shattered vases, probably some minor structural damage...
Ray: Thanks, Egon.
Egon: If we can get the power back on, we can take the elevators.
Winston: If the elevators don't eat us.
Egon: Yes, If the elevators don't eat us.
Winston: Shandor must’ve employed hundreds of workers for years to build this place!
Egon: The supports are waterlogged, the ,rotar is decrepit, and the foundation is shattered. In purely physical terms, there’s no way all this can still be standing.
Winston: You sound like you’re surprised.
Egon: No. Not really. It’s beautiful, in a horrific way.
Egon: This machinery indicates an astounding level of sophistication. Pure evil notwithstanding, Ivo Shandor was far ahead of his time. You know, I have to take my hat off to Shandor. This lab was built how many years ago? It’s truly impressive. It’s like Shandor was THE parapsycology expert of his time.
Winston: Stay in the light, Egon.
Egon: I’m trying, Winston.
Egon: Alright, gentlemen. It’s official: This was a bad idea.
Egon: Get him in the eyes!
Peter: Hey, you looking at me? We’ve got to cut off his Visine. Somebody chop some onions!
Winston: It’s got to be vulnerable somewhere!
Egon: Statistically speaking, that’s not entirely accurate!
Winston: Statically speaking, we better hope it is!
Egon: Okay! Fair enough!
Ray: How was it? Was it cool? What did it look like? Did you get any samples? Did it have multiple eyes?
Egon: Shut up!
Ray: I suspect that we're going to need the Super Slammer up there. No telling how powerful Peck had grown.
Winston: That means we gotta take the Ecto-1. I'll drive.
Egon: Maybe the trainee should drive.
Ray, Winston and Egon: Nah
Egon: Ever feel like you’re being watched?
Peter: Egon.
Egon: What?
Peter: Shhh! Please.
Winston: Guess we’re walking for here.
Egon: Some of us HAVE been walking.
Ray: What can unlock the gates?
Egon: We’ll, those glowing intentions are obviously keyholes
Ray: They are? Oh! Sure! I see it now!
Winston: WHERE ARE THE KEY THEN?
Shandor: I AM GOD!
Egon: We eat gods for breakfast!
Ray: We eat gods for breakfast?
Egon: Too much, you think?
Ray: No, I liked it
Ray: You were the victim of a trans-dimensional possession, your Honor.
Mayor: Uh... what's that mean?
Winston: An evil ghost was walking around in your body for a few months.
Mayor: Oh. Did anyone notice? How's my approval rating?
Egon: Well, you got re-elected
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phoenixyfriend · 1 year
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Okay so, originally, I pitched this on discord:
Ahsoka… but distressed dapper. She's still a tog and all, but she's otherwise right out of a film noir setting. Rugged Detective. If Anakin were still around he'd be freaking out over the cigarette.
@jebiknights responded with:
this is a great image for post-jedi Ahsoka but also ngl part of my brain went straight to padawan Ahsoka trying to solve a mystery in the temple pretending to be a noir detective, sucking on a lollipop with a fake mustache like Nino did in s4 of Miraculous Ladybug fdijirdgjs She hasn't received shadow or spy training yet shes got a long way to go 😂 she hums her own theme music whenever she can get away with it
And we were off to the races!
I met us in the middle: after she leaves but before RotS.
Her sleuthing leads to Sidious through the most ludicrously indirect route possible.
She's not even a PI. She's a mechanic on the lower levels. She just stumbled into a thing and put on a costume to hide her identity through judicious use of Hat.
She's got an apartment across the hall from some girls who work in the red light district and one time some guys were harassing them and Ahsoka kicked them out through judicious use of Armbars And Catching Punches, which was impressive without being actively violent or revealing her Force abilities, and it was... fine? They're friends now, have pizza once in a while. Ahsoka likes hearing about their lives.
But then they decided to come to her for advice on a whole Thing at work, where they overheard some stuff about a drug deal that's taking place worryingly close, and maybe she could just keep an eye out when the deal goes down in case things go south? Please?
Ahsoka does so. She overhears things about the war in the deal (which is about information, not drugs), and. Well. She doesn't want to call home for help when she's making a whole point about needing to find herself away from them, so maybe she can just do a little digging of her own?
The red light girls insist she needs a cool outfit for her PI work (they do not care that it's not PI work). They are very excited about this.
At some point she runs into a junior Corrie Guard and steals him for a bit. He is officially "missing" and unofficially Fox was just like "fuck it, sure, help the shiny not-Jedi, I don't care." Now Ahsoka has a clone roommate/sidekick/backup who is, in fact, much more experienced in this than she is, but also has far fewer contacts and resources since they can't use CG databases while they're running this op. Meanwhile, Ahsoka has Friends, and some of her friends know a guy who knows a guy.
Fox doesn't tell the Jedi because technically this doesn't involve them (Ahsoka didn't mention the war stuff), and he has an Outside Contractor and a Coruscant Guard working on it.
He'll let them know if it goes anywhere, but for now he's assuming it's grandstanding lowlifes, and will leave it to the baby Jedi and babier Guard.
jebiknights:
a probably way too young cg helping Ahsoka while Fox aggressively pretends it isn't happening has such good- ohmygod this has psych vibes just a lil bit I've been on a psych comparison kick lately tho so
Ahsoka is trying so hard to be cool
listen psych is my favorite framework for the consulting detective schtick lmaooo AND SHES TRYING SO HARD but shes like what 16? just not there and living in the non-jedi/non-battlefront world for the first time sidgier
Her hypercompetent psychic is a babyfaced 9yo
i was thinking that she would be the psychic bc jedi but honestly convincing everyone that its the shiny corrie is so much funnier also just imagining all the stupid names they call each other as aliases
Sidekick I meant hypercomptetent sidekick
that… makes more sense ngl i was ready to yes and you all the way tho turn it into a gods whats the Jude Law movie where "Watson" is the genius who hires an actor to play "Sherlock" and has him pretend to be the genius or st?
I am, however, open to a Detective Conan situation, which has a lot more context so I'll actually use a different reference and say she pulls a Cyrano de Bergerac.
Ahsoka is stage-whispering instructions to her Corrie Guard, feeding him lines so he can pretend to be psychic while she sneaks around with significantly less eyes on her.
Also the red light girls stay involved they are so excited to Help even though Ahsoka keeps trying to keep them uninvolved for Safety. The girls love teasing her shiny friend. Please remember that all of this nonsense is happening while Ahsoka tries to dress like a prototypical film noir detective.
wait wait wait but if we go back to the original gag of, lowkey being a lil Psych/chaotic Sherlock inspired… shiny being a baby medic?? he tries to be a voice of reason but also enjoys the chaos too much, gets wayyyy too into the play acting and bad covers, but also knows how to patch up the reckless former jedi lol. Ahsoka sometimes just showing up in the Corrie medbay not for a check up but to drag the shiny into shenanigans
Fuck yeah, baby shiny Guard is now a baby shiny medic (Guard). Ahsoka regularly sneaks in through the vents to kidnap him.
Quinlan figures out she's doing Things through psychometry by accident but decides to let sleeping dogs lie until she finally shows up a the Jedi's door like "hey I need help."
The Jedi and various commanders all think it's a standard "the world is bigger and harsher than I thought and as a teen I want to come back to stability," but instead... it's "Chancellor's a Sith Lord."
Though tbh the shiny might just suggest she go to Quinlan first.
REAJGRIGJAERI Quinlan was not prepared for this at all I'm just imagining him as the airplane gag where every new thing Ahsoka reveals is just "I picked a bad day to stop [addiction]"
tbh I initially pitched the AU for Gay Reasons and that's why I was thinking post-RotS but I am now in love with mostly-competent-fumbling teen Ahsoka and her shiny friend.
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fiddles-ifs · 1 year
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GREENWARDEN UPDATE: 3-1-23
Since I'll take any excuse to work less, play more, I always try and take February off my usual update schedule. This makes March something of a hefty update month, which is good! However, I didn't want to leave people hanging, so instead I'll leave you all with a snippet for a certain, highly specific path for the next update.
Under the cut for length! Content warnings for blood and violence. The usual.
The night is slow — the regulars file in like tired dogs, covered in grease-stained overalls and jumpsuits, shedding camo jackets and hats, throwing them over stools. They settle in with the same wheezy whine. Most work in the coal mines and natural gas wells. Long journeyed people from Texas or South Carolina, gone in a year or two; they form their cliques away from the mechanics, carpenters, contractors, and Warden natives. Both groups, you notice, give a wide berth to the lumber yard workers.
You can see their haunted eyed, glassy stares from miles away. They’re like headlights. Even the bartender seems reluctant to serve them. They sit, exiled, at a table that seems specially purposed for them and say nothing. When they want another round — and there are a lot of them — they send an emissary up to the bar. You make a note of the time. They could be useful. People who spend a lot of time in woods like these tend to have stories, and you know that look.
Hopefully you can keep PIRA away from them for now.
It’s the bar rush — or something adjacent to it. It’s not full, but now that peoples’ wives and girlfriends have slipped in, there’s more talking and happier songs filtered through the jukebox. The bell over the door hasn’t jingled in almost an hour, and you figure it won’t until people start filing out. You check your watch. Almost seven — and the sun has sunk behind the mountains. At least, you think so.
You’ve been getting progressively drunker, a little louder and more sullen. Still in control. Still good. But the world is fuzzy around the edges and your cheeks are warm. The fish bowl is quiet, for once, even if the bar patrons are starting to inch away from you.
It isn’t long before you feel a shadow fall over your shoulder, a warning blink before you’re immediately accosted with a very loud hey. It’s loud enough it catches the bartender’s attention and hurts your ear. You rub the side of your head with your palm. Soothing the ache. Already halfway murderous, you turn your head to look at whoever is trying oh-so-politely to get your attention.
He’s a broadly built man, about six foot, and not much older than you; his high-and-tight is still a deep, dark, coal black and there’s only a few wrinkles around his eyes — but you can see the telltale puffiness of prolonged alcoholism in his cheeks and nose. A little bit of flab settling into the hard lines of his body. He’s wobbling, more than a little drunk, and flanked by similarly large and sturdily built men.
He just screams cop.
“You been snooping around like a fuckin’ rat,” he says, “asking questions, makin’ people uncomfortable, right where you don’t fuckin’ belong. Who do you think you are?”
“Jim-“ The bartender goes to step in. Tries to. He gets in your space, knocking her half-hearted hands out of the way to crowd you against your stool.
“Naw, Cal, I’m over this little prick.”
>YOU CAN'T HELP THE SMILE. THEY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THEY'RE DEALING WITH.
A vile, razor smile creeps up your face like a disease. Your legs follow, unfolding bit by bit. Almost a full head taller than Jim and his townies. “Little, huh?”
Your feet slide into place easily; it’s a familiar dance. You love the steps, the choreography, the aftermath.
You’ve never felt more alive than in the middle of a fight.
“Jim,” Cal’s voice is hard from behind the stick, a shield making her a little braver, “you know the rules.”
Both of you stare like snarling dogs at the ends of their chains; you watch Jim debate with himself, addled and stumbling. Whatever rules exist at McNeil’s, Jim decides they’re worth breaking. For the thrill, if nothing else.
You watch his punch come in from miles away. He’s a heavy hitter — slow and clumsy.
You let it breathe just a little too close to your face, stepping into its wild arc. You fist finds the soft meat between ribs. Once. Twice. Something threatens to snap. His ribs, the tension, something else.
Chaos reigns.
Jim backs up and gags, wretching for air just as someone tries to jump in. You redirect their arm, throwing them across the bar into the delicate fridge full of pop and water bottles. Glass shatters. Someone is screaming. Someone is laughing.
You pick up a stool and smash it into a face; you don’t even know if they were coming or running away. This is what you were made for, molded into. The blood makes a primal, predator part of your brain start slobbering. The sound of breaking glass and cracking bones become a restless cacophony. Different bars, different prey. You lose yourself in the memories, becoming a whirlwind, getting sloppy, a hungry animal set lose on a pack of house-trained dogs.
A hand grabs your shoulder and spins you around. You almost stab whoever it is (no knife in your hand, what were you thinking?) before they punch you in the face. You recognize the knuckle taste even as you hit the floor. Bautista.
He hits you again just for good measure when you start sitting up. Pain explodes up your mouth and rattles behind your eyes; you taste new pennies. Your head lolls limply when he grabs you by the shirt and jacket and drags your sorry ass out of McNeil’s. People throw things. Someone wolf whistles at Bautista’s retreating back.
YOU'RE STILL LAUGHING, EARS RINGING, SWALLOWING BLOOD.
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horizonsroyalprince · 8 months
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ASK GAME. 2, 3, 9, 19, 27, 36 (specifically the diary entry!), 42, AND 50. YOU KNOW FOR WHO
EHEHEHEHEHE >:3
2- When Ameya was a baby, she was originally living with her biological family, her parents were named Sylvester and Rowan. They had three kids named Maureen, Sylvie, and little baby Ameya. In the family was a bakery, the daughters or sons would run the bakery when they were old enough. The bakery’s “legacy” was currently horrible, Sylvester and Rowan couldn’t run it no more and Maureen was sick. They had not a lot of money so they stole a timepiece, travelled to the forgotten prince timeline and left Ameya there. Eventually Prince Moonjumper heard Ameyas cries and adopted her as his own <3
3-what inspired me to make Ameya is a little complicated, I was scrolling through character.ai until I found the prince moonjumper bot. I wrote some starters before the creating the perfect one, I tested it out a bit. and then Ameya was created!
9-Ameya loves her dad a lot, she’s super clingy to him. Ameya knows she has other family members but moonjumper has convinced her to stay with him!
19-Ameya would cause havoc at first, looking around and talking to anyone she saw who was somewhat kind to her, she’d also help the seals. And maybe steal food. Ameya would say hi to hat kid/bow kid, she would also have a bushcat with her and would try to talk to them. Especially if bow kid is around!
27-Ameyas idle animation would be her looking around, fidgeting with her hands. And if an NPC/playable character is near her Ameya would say “Hellooo?”, and she’d sway her arms.
36-“Apparently there’s another kid in subcon? I didn’t get her name, She looked suspicious. And her “dad” had a timepiece, she’s kinda weird. Apparently she’s eight years old. Aren’t eight year olds supposed to be supervised? I will have to learn more about her..” And for her wiki page it’d probably “Ameya is a small eight year old child who appears in chapter 3, She appears in the act “Queen Vanessa’s manor” and “Your contract has expired” Ameyas lines in the acts are “hey you! You’re the new contractor right? Well.. don’t trust snatcher! He’s not the real prince, he’s evil!”, “I know the secrets of this forest! My treehouse is near here, come by sometime and say hi!”, “YOU! HOW COULD YOU? I TRUSTED YOU! Y-YOU HURT MY DAD YOU TRAITOR I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!!” Ameya runs off after that and the player goes to fight the snatcher.
42-Ameya would be a little happy that they left, Prince Moonjumper was focusing all his time on hat kid and Ameya wasn’t happy about that. Ameya would write to them and the letter would say “I’m still maD at you for hurtIngg my daD but I ffOrgive you just a Litle..” (SHE DOSNT KNOW HOW TO SPELL LEAVE HER ALONE)
50- 1. Ameyas full name is Ameya Lynne Baker 2. Her weapon of choice is a pink fishing rod that lights up! She can wack people with it SO DONT CROSS HER >:( 3. Ameya takes care of all the bushcats in Subcon! 4. Ameya wears a splint on her leg from previous injuries 5. When Ameya was a baby she would chew on her sleeve alot, so Prince Moonjumper would have to keep an eye on her. 6. Ameya is autistic, and chews. On things when stressed, when she has a meltdown. Ameya cries and it takes a while to calm her down, 7. Ameya gets mad easily, and also violent but if you pat her head she calms down :)
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echantedtoon · 4 months
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Snatcher Week Day 5 Your Contract Has Expired
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Subcon Forest was not a place for just anyone to enter and exit as they please. There was a reason these woods had such a feared reputation and was rumored to be haunted. Because it was. By the King Snatcher of Subcon(as he liked to refer to himself) and his ghastly assortment of minions and dwellers behind him as his undead army, anyone who went in NEVER came out which added to the entire frightfulness of it all!! The dark sky and dead trees twisted with dangerous vines as the sun dared not shine here. If that won't convince you to stay away then maybe the giant chunk of the forest that always so dangerously cold will? Or perhaps the section that's always burning bright with enchanted flames? Or maybe the ghostly king who claimed trespassers' souls as his own or the rumor of a powerful witch? Either way, whatever helps to keep trespassers out he was all for it. But there was two people in his forest he was anticipating. Two small children who were foolish enough to wonder into his forest and he took full advantage of the situation having a few of his pesky chores cleared out and still have some souls to add to his collection. Now all that had to be done now that the work was all done, was to collect his debt. And he knew JUST the way to do so. And all it would take would be one little itty bitty tiny sparkly hourglass-
This was bad.
She knew it was bad the moment she didn't see the ghost for a while. She had finished his last contract but now he was no where to be found, not even in his spooky treehouse. Then she had sensed it. The magic of one of her time pieces. Of course she had immediately followed it making Bow stay back at the ship as she ventured deep into the Subcon Forest to somewhere she's never been before until she came across it. Some kind of strange brick base, no doubt once some kind of giant structure but it looked so strange. Candles lit up the circle being her only source of light as she approached, random old furniture and other things also littered the base of the circle long forgotten by anyone who once lived there. From the tree branches above dangled cages that creaked and groaned under the slight wind promising a dangerous fate. But the strangest thing to her was the green algea infested pool of water that was just stuck in the middle of the circle. Very strange. But what got her attention the most was the shiny light. The light of a small tiny time piece that glowed in the dark sitting just on the other side of the circle. Just sitting there waiting for her to pick it up. It must've landed here when it fell from the sky. But something about this was-...Strange. Off even. She looked around and saw nothing and no one around here so what was this weird feeling. After a bit she decided to risk it, running a brisk pace right at the time piece and dove. Hands reaching out ready to grab onto it, before just at the last second it disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. With a thud she fumbled to the ground in a heap. What the pe-
"Wait up, Kid," a disembodied voice called out from no where raspy, deep, and full of malice," Remember how the old contractor had his head pop off?"
THAT VOICE!! She stumbled to sit up, hands flying to her giant top hat to push it off her head as she did so and blinked her big blue eyes open. And then gasped in fright as the water began to bubble and boil as if lit by a giant fire underneath the blackened dirt. It boiled faster and faster as bubbles popped and the water splashed about. Until something emerged. Two large hands slowly emerged from the pool to grab the edges and something pulled itself slowly out of the water. A large fanged grin and two yellow eyes smiled at her from it's dark black-purple body as it rose higher and higher until standing over her sixteen feet long was a ghost. And not just any ghost. SNATCHER!! He felt delight seeing the shock and fear plain as day on her face as water slowly dripped off his body- ...Hang on a minute. Where was the other one?? He was sure there was two of them! Oh well. There was plenty of time to nab the other one once he was done with this hat brat. No need to rush things.
"That wasn't a coincidence," he continued sinisterly smiling at her, "It popped off the moment he stopped being useful to me. And guess who else just became obsolete?" He had to commend her mind for figuring out quick what he meant when her eyes widened more. "That's right." A clawed hand pointed right at her. "You. Now that that possessed outhouse isn't bothering me anymore, and all those contracts of yours are tidied away, I don't need you around. Besides you didn't think I was gonna let you keep all these time pieces, did you? They fell in my forest, kid. They belong to ME."
And then he struck out at her. Claws outstretched to snatch her up, but she yelped and ducked just at the last moment feeling the breeze from his arm skim over her head, her hat snatched from her head. ...Hmm. Not what he wanted but he still add insult to injury by tainting her with this little thievery. So as she blinked up at him, he placed it on his own head before lifting his arms out channeling something from under the earth- She squealed in fright as the earth beneath them shook and rattled as if an earthquake was taking placed all around until with a clap of thunder they arrived. With the moaning of the wicked and lost, they came called by their master to his aid. Hundreds of moaning souls encasing and crawling over the sides of the weird brick base to the Snatcher, swirling around them and swallowing him whole in the rattling and moaning mess as she could only watch in horror. The light from the candles around them being snuffed out to bring black abyss except for two glowing yellow eyes and a fanged grin. Until black finally swallowed them both and at once the moans and rumbling stopped.
"Time you saw what I'm really capable of, Kid. Say good bye to that little head of yours!"
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Just one yawn, and I missed watching him exit the door. Now there's just a grey sky, maybe tinged a little blue if you really squinted, and there's a thin line of sea below - also grey, with a little blue.
He'd taken the hat near the door with him, which was good, but which I also felt bad about. If he'd forgotten it, at least I could see him one more time before he left. I'd shout after him, and he'd turn back from the staircase, hand on his absent-minded head, and retrieve the hat.
He wouldn't thank me, but well, he took the hat. Isn't that thanks enough?
We liked the flat because we both loved the sea. You can never go wrong with taking in the sea breeze. The apartment building looked a little sinister - tall, with many wings, all shaped like hard-edged pillars. There used to be plenty of people living there, and the contractor said that there would be even more coming soon, once the economy in the area picked up.
If you looked through the bedroom window now, you could see that three of the buildings had collapsed. The last collapse was three days ago.
When my husband returned from work, he set his hat down and took his coat off. I produced a glass of water for him, and he drank it all down. It's the small things like that - that's how he thanks me.
I asked him if he had any luck looking for a new flat. He shook his head and handed the glass back to me. After he'd caught his breath a little (having climbed seventeen floors, because the lift was broken), he let out a big yawn.
"Did you look?" I asked.
He shot a stern look at me. "Do you think I get paid to look for flats? I'll go see on the weekend."
I nodded. He won't apologise, but he looked away from me. That should be apology enough.
I turned the television on for him. I asked him what channel he'd like to watch, and he waved his hand dismissively, so I put it on the third channel (of three), which had a variety show going.
I cut carrots and spring onions on the chopping board while we watched, until he snapped at me and told me to do the cutting sometime earlier in the day, not when he needs his peace and quiet.
The television roared with laughter.
"I had other things to do in the day," I said.
"Of course." He looked tired and disgusted. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the coat and left to watch the sea from the corridor outside the flat.
I cut the vegetables.
That night, while the crashing of the waves lulled both of us to sleep (some of us quicker than others), I watched the still ceiling fan, and I wondered how this building was going to collapse. Will one side fall before the other? Will the pieces come straight down on us, or will they tilt as they fall, piercing us with sharp edges and breaking skin?
My husband snored. I wondered if I should turn the fan on. He always complained that it was a waste of electricity when we had so much sea breeze coming through the windows. The curtains were straight and still, though, and the moon was hiding behind clouds.
I decided to respect his wishes. No fan. What if it's the last time I see him? It's best to respect people while they're still alive.
The next day, I did my best not to yawn. I popped open the pods, pulled the peas out of their homes. My husband polished his boots and he tried to hum. When he got up, he stretched, which I didn't like, because it would crease his shirt and jacket. I'd ironed them only half an hour before that.
No yawning. I had to take him in before he left. It could be the last time I saw him. One of these days, it was definitely going to be it.
What would he do, when he came back to find that his building had collapsed, burying his wife underneath the rubble? He'd want to put his hat and coat away and kick his feet up and watch television, and instead he'd have to go back the way he came, back to town, and maybe sleep on a bench at the station. He'd have to return to the big city and find relatives, find a new job, a new place to stay.
Once again, I looked up. The fan was still off. I will turn it on after he goes, I thought - but he wasn't in the room any more. I put down the peas and walked out of the door, and I caught a glimpse of him as he turned for the staircase, going down the seventeen floors.
I'd missed him, again. And all for what? A fan? A fantasy? I didn't even know what I had been doing when he left. I'll have to actually pay attention next time.
In the bedroom, I try to read a magazine, but I keep getting distracted by the window. There was no sky through that window before. One of the wings of the building blocked it off. You could see women hanging clothes out, and sometimes I waved at them. They waved back. We smiled, smudges in different hives. I wished I had their telephone numbers. Not that it would have done us any good after their building collapsed.
I read the words in the magazine, but my thoughts kept spinning out. I wondered if the women in the other building were still buried there in the rubble, or if they'd been outside when the collapse happened. Maybe they survived, even. Would I survive? Seventeen floors - doesn't seem possible. Is it more dangerous to live on a lower floor or a higher floor when a building collapses?
In the bathroom, I noticed that a crack on the ceiling had grown a little wider. I shook my head. It would be especially bad to have a building collapse while you were showering. Can you imagine being found in the rubble naked and with dust sticking all over your body? I kept my showers short.
When it was the weekend, I urged my husband to look for a new flat. There's got to be real estate agents in the town. There's got to be good places.
There's a lot of things that he said.
"The commute would be too long."
"There's no other buildings."
"We won't find a flat as spacious as this one."
"Let me be. Don't I deserve at least a couple of days to myself?"
"If you're so worked up about it, why don't you go look for an agent?"
It took a few weeks, but the idea did germinate in my head. Maybe I could go see an agent myself. I may not have the money to make the deal, but surely I could figure out everything else myself.
So I put my hat on, I slid my purse up my shoulder, and I glanced at him - cigarette in mouth, towel around his waist, retreating to the bathroom with the crack on the ceiling.
On the other side from the flat's front door, the sea smashed against land. Inside, the breeze lifted curtains. The bathroom door slammed shut and was locked from the inside.
It could be the last time I see him, I thought.
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five good things
Very quickly before I dash off to work, because I find myself feeling really rather unaccountably content this morning, for no immediately apparent reason.
I am spending two days with my gardener-lady researcher/volunteer at job number two, who is always fantastic to talk to, and always brings proper coffee and cake. I've been feeling rather unhappy with job number two recently, as I don't have time to do what needs doing and the job has grown beyond what I'm comfortable/happy doing, but discovering new stuff about gardener-lady and her sister (who married into the family and is the current owners' great-grandmother) is always exciting and interesting. I do two days with her rather than my usual one to make it worth her while coming down from London, and although I find a full five-day week rather trying these days (I have turned into such a lightweight), it does mean that I get a three-day week next week, because I'll have worked my day for job number two this week instead. :D
It rained overnight and although the sky is still grey, it's looking a bit lighter to the west, and the washing line and peach tree that I can see from my window have lots of tiny bright raindrops along them, like little jewels.
I have started working out again, and although it is a terrible chore and I hurt all over, I know it's doing me good, and because I do it immediately after getting up, I get all my exercise and move targets out of the way on my watch before I've even started the day, which is quite satisfying.
The missus has finished her old job, which was really doing her head in, and will be starting her first job as an independent contractor on 1 December. This is a really good move for her, and will massively improve her mental health (and our financial situation). Which in turn ought to improve mine. :D
I'm rereading All I Want Is You in hopes of gaining the inspiration to be able to finish it, and am really enjoying it :D Lots of stuff I'd forgotten I'd written.
It's beginning to look a lot like That Time of Year again. Inspired by the lovely @mihrsuri, I am thinking of sending little festive cards to anyone who would like one and is comfortable giving me their address. I promise I am a genuine person and not a stalker, and will not do nefarious things with your information. The cards will probably have kittens on them, possibly wearing Santa hats, and in all likelihood there will be glitter. :D Ping me a DM if you'd like one.
Right. I'd better go and get myself sorted out and get to job number two so I can have coffee and cake and a good old gossip.
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jokertrap-ran · 2 years
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[Gakuen K] Kusanagi Izumo Route: Drink Bar “HOMRA” Re-opens! Translation
*Translator’s note : MC’s name shall remain as my normal (水嶋ラン) *Gakuen K Masterlist / Gakuen K Mobile Masterlist *Spoiler FREE : Translations under cut !
Misaki: It’s reopening today? Finally!
Ran: Yup. If only classes would end earlier…
Misaki: Okay! Let’s dash to the Clubroom as soon as the bell goes off. The last one there’s gotta treat the rest to something!
Kamamoto: Ohh, sounds like a plan!
Ran: Wouldn’t he instantly win? He’s terribly quick.
Misaki: Heh. I can give you a handicap if you want.
Anna: --Misaki. Now’s not the time to be fooling around.
Misaki: WARGH!?
Ran: Sensei, since when were you…
Anna: I’ve been behind Misaki this entire time.
Anna: Misaki, do you know that there are only two weeks before the test?
Misaki: O-Of course. There are still 2 weeks left, so we’re gonna play to our heart’s content before then!
Anna: Haah.
Misaki: W-What’s that sigh supposed to mean!?
Anna: It’s not “still”, there ARE two weeks left. With that attitude, you’re definitely getting a failing score.
Misaki: N-No way… Are you for real? Then my “merry Christmas” is gonna turn into a “very not merry Christmas”...
Anna: Misaki, that isn’t funny at all.
Ran: Yata-kun…
Misaki: What!? Don’t look at me like that!
Anna: Then come to the staff room after class. I’ll give you remedial lessons.
Misaki: Huh? But, why!?
Anna: Skip… and I’ll get mad.
Misaki: Hey, wait-!
Kamamoto: Looks like we’ll have to do the race another day.
Ran: Good luck in remedial.
Misaki: Goddamnit!
»» ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♔◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ««
Ran: hello.
Izumo: Hey. it’s been a long time. Have you been doin’ well?
Ran: Yup. Looks like everything inside has returned to normal.
Izumo: Gotta thank the contractor for that. Oh? The uniform changed.
Ran: Yeah, it’s winter now.
Izumo: It’s the time to change into the winter uniforms now? I like the design, but my favourite’s still the summer one.
Ran: Kusanagi-san…
Izumo: Wait, no! Not again! Don’t drench me; it’s cold!
Izumo: Both uniforms look brilliant on you! So spare me the water-
Ran: …I wasn’t thinking of drenching you again anyway.
Ran: You haven’t changed at all, it seems.
Izumo: Really? That’s great to hear. No, wait… is it really all good?
Mikoto: Just you two?
Ran: Suoh-senpai.
Mikoto: Iced coffee.
Ran: Wait, aren’t you cold?
Izumo: She’s right, ya’ know. You’ll get a stomach ache so it’s a no on the iced coffee.
Mikoto: It’s fine isn’t it? Don’t pick at my order.
Izumo: Fine, fine. Got it.
Mikoto: It’s not like I’ll die if I don’t do it, but Anna…
Ran: Is that homework?
Mikoto: Want to do it?
Ran: No! There’s no way I’m capable of doing 3rd Year questions!
Mikoto: Well, that’s true.
Izumo: That Suoh Mikoto is actually doin’ his homework? Man, maybe spears… No, maybe swords will start rainin’ from the skies tomorrow.
Mikoto: Say whatever you want.
Izumo: If you’re studyin’, then that means you’re not retainin’ anymore, right? Looks like a lot of things will be changing this year.
Ran: This year’s coming to an end soon.
Izumo: Oh, right. It’s already December. I think about this every year, but time really flies…
Izumo: Although it feels much faster this year since I met you. Take good care of me next year too, yeah?
Ran: O-Of course!
Ran: (This is a little embarrassing since we’re in front of Suoh-senpai…)
Ran: …Wait, huh?
Mikoto: ……
Izumo: …He’s asleep. Well, at least he read it. That’s an improvement.
Izumo: Heeey. Mikoto? Are you sure you’re alright just sleepin’? What ‘about your homework?
Mikoto: …Gave up.
Ran: Gave up? Won’t Anna-sensei get mad…?
Izumo: I really have to take my hat off to his absolute lack of motivation when it comes to graduating…
»» ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♔◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ««
Next Scene: Are you worried about something?
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kuronatcher · 2 years
Text
I finally did it and made proper References and rewritten the Story of Levi!Malou in the A Hat in Time AU “The little Contractor” - revised and rewritten as  Original Story “The Sun in the Sea” by @bittybattybunny​
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In a land far away, a young king was just about to marry the most beautiful woman in the land. A witch, a friend of the king but wanted to win his heart for herself because she was aiming for the throne, but all efforts were in vain and the ruler married the beautiful noblewoman.
After a short time, Malou was born through this connection. But shortly after birth, the revenge-seeking witch exchanged Malou for her own child.
The witch child was given the name Maria-Louise Maxwell Dusk - Maria Dusk for short - which was intended for the princess. The witch didn't want to change her name think up for the real princess. So she just shortened the name to Malou and gave her a surname of someone she knew, Burrell. So the real princess named Malou Burrell grew up as a simple girl. Only there was something that made Malou different from she had two Horizon Marks lines on both wrists. The witch who also told Malou that the woman found her orphaned, she explained that these lines are some kind of skin condition, nothing dangerous, but people don't like to see them and should keep their wrists covered at all times.
Malou was treated anything but nice by the witch and the people around her were no better. Only the witch's niece was always kind to her and the two quickly became good friends. Malou also gets her scarf from her, which she always wears from then on and only takes it off in an emergency, and she doesn't like that very much.
When the real princess was about 16 years old, she decided to go to the capital to look for work there because she wanted to show the old lady that she can do something. After a long search, she found a job in a well-known flower shop. It was a difficult start, but Malou proved herself and not long after, people started liking the young girl. Despite having a difficult childhood, she was always polite and friendly to everyone. Malou also had a beautiful singing voice that captivated everyone who heard her. Also, some people who were close to royalty were amazed that the new flower girl looked more like the royal couple than the princess herself.
After Malou had been working in this flower shop for four years, one day the "princess" came to the shop with her fiancé, a prince from a neighboring country. The fake princess was rather selfish and conceited and only wanted the prince to buy her the most beautiful flowers. Malou was amazed by this high visit, but she advised the prince as best she could and made the most beautiful bouquet of flowers she could make. The snippy princess wasn't really happy with the result, but was content with it.
After that day, the prince came to the flower lands every day to buy flowers for his future wife. But it quickly became clear that he was there to see Malou. People around him erhum warned him not to go to this store that often because it spreads rumors. But that was anything but easy for both of them fell in love with each other, but Malou knew that it wasn't possible and also tried to persuade him not to visit her anymore.
Of course, the fiancee noticed and was jealous as hell and quickly came up with a plan. She concocted a cursed sea slug potion for Malou, worthy of her "beauty". With this potion she went to the flower shop and talked to Malou about the prince, pretending to be friendly like the fake princess could. She offers Malou the drink as it was a hot summer day. Thanking and unsuspecting, the other young woman took the drink. But she noticed that it tasted a little funny. Shortly thereafter, the high visitor disappeared again.
Weeks later, Malou began to feel stranger and stranger. She was plagued by constant hunger and thirst and before long her clothes no longer fit and her skin slowly changing with yellow stripes and weird little purple scales, which also swallowed the red lines on her wrists. So she holed up in her small apartment. But one day, she couldn't stand it anymore in her four walls and went out late at night, dressed in a big cloth, for a walk, which was really difficult for her because her feet were almost impossible to separate. Malou arrived at the beach and when she saw the waves of the sea, it seemed to her that it was calling to her. A strong wind was blowing which caused big waves. Very slowly they approached the waves when suddenly her witch friend could be heard and was standing not far behind Malou. Her old friend was worried and wanted to visit her, but Malou wasn't in her apartment, so she looked for her. Frightened, Malou backed into the water, where she was swallowed up by the waves.
Then the curse began to use all its power. Malou felt every bone crack and grow. She felt her legs melt together, as did her fingers going from five fingers to four. She was full of pain and much slow to seabed. Malou stayed like that for a while, noticing that she can strangely breathe normally. underwater. Malou tried to grab her neck and noticed that her scarf was still in place. All her dresses had become too small to wear, only the scarf always fit as measured perfectly. After the pain subsides, she slowly opens her eyes. Everything she saw was a weird shade of yellow, like she had strange colored glasses on. But she could see everything clearly. When she straightened up, she took a closer look. She became a... mermaid? But she was colored all purple and blue. And as she looked around she noticed how everything around her seemed rather... small? Then it occurred to her that, besides mermaids, there are other larger creatures like this. Leviathans. She became a leviathan.
Not knowing that she was the child of a powerful witch, the fake princess had made the curse so strong that it became a Leviathan curse.
Without knowing how it happened, Malou tried to get used to her new body. Since she couldn't swim properly yet, she ate seaweed at first, later she learned that when she lay still, fish came near her and quickly snapped to swallow these fish.
Of course, the people who lived there quickly noticed that something big was lurking in the water, were afraid of it and reported this to the king. The king got to the bottom of this himself and went with some knights to the named beach where the new monster is supposed to live.
The knights initially stayed a little farther from shore, but were ready to fight. The king wanted to avoid a fight if possible and talk to the monsters when it was ready.
The king stood on the shore and called out to sea. Malou, who could now swim better, heard him and cautiously came to the surface. The guards were frightened at first by this 28 Feet tall monster that stuck its head out of the water and wanted to attack directly. But the king raised his hand to show that they should calm down. He saw that the fish monster was also startled by the screams of the knights and showed fear.
When the ruler tried to talk to the leviathan, Malou was silent at first, but then answered him. She couldn't explain why but she felt safe in the presence of the king. Everyone was amazed to see a speaking Leviathan. The man with the crown listened intently as Malou talked about where she came from and what happened to her. The king assured her that he understood her situation, but she could not stay here on this bank. People would be too scared and would kill her immediately, even if she meant no harm. Malou understood this. She was terrified of going out to sea, but at least it would be safe from humans - and vice versa. But just before she got ready to leave, the ruler wanted to touch her briefly. She cautiously stretched her head in his direction and the king stroked her gently. Then he whispered to her to come back in a few years, by then he will surely have found a solution to this curse. Malou nodded slightly with tears in her eyes and then removed herself from the shore. She looked back briefly and saw how the king and the knights waved her goodbye. She waved back and then disappeared into the sea.
In the open sea, Malou has settled in after a few difficulties. She learned to hunt, and if she happened to spot a Leviathan swarm, she always did gave a wide berth because she didn't want to deal with natural leviathans and was too afraid of being eaten by them. After 5 years she returned to the shore of her native land. Malou was a whole lot bigger, about 50 feet tall. She stayed near the beach because she was sure that the people would notice her and would call the king. But strangely enough, there wasn't a soul near the shore. No fishermen, no gatherers, nobody. But after a few days, an old man was on the shore and called out to sea. Malou thought it was the king and happily came to the beach - but it wasn't the one she expected. It was a much older man dressed like a fisherman. Malou asked if he had been sent by the king, but the man just shook his head sadly. He explained to her that the country she knew no longer existed.
When the Leviathan asked confused after a short pause what he meant by that, he repeated what he said. He explained to her that just before the wedding of the prince and princess, it came out that the princess was actually a child of a witch and because of misunderstandings, started a war with the country of the prince, which lost her homeland. All the people with the royal family were slaughtered. Then Malou asked what he meant by the princess and the old fisherman explained that after the birth the princess was exchanged for a witch child. That the princess grew up with the witch and was cursed at the end by the wrong princess. She looked at the old man in confusion, but then remembered that the transformation began after she drank a potion from the king's daughter. Then she slowly tied together what the human had told her one by one and began to cry and deny it. That couldn't be the truth. Never in her life. you a princess? Absurd. The fisherman just sighed and said that she won't find anything here and should go back to the sea But then Malou asked the man what he was up to, which surprised him. He said that he could hardly find anything to survive here and would move on. She nodded, said goodbye to the fisherman and retreated to the open sea.
The man laughed softly. It was actually a close friend of the king who promised him shortly before his death that he would take care of the leviathan girl when she came back.
It's been 200 years since Malou was cursed and started missing what it was like to have a permanent home. So she looked for a suitable place and found it quickly. On a coast she found a large cave where even she could sleep in and with 80'3 she was a fully grown Leviathan lady. So she quickly settled down on the coast. When Malou was sad or feeling lonely, she would start singing the songs she had learned as a child.
Another 300 years passed and Malou came into contact with humans again. For about 50 years, people have settled near the coast in the form of a village, and the Strange happenings in the vicinity were quickly noticed. But in contrast to back then, people were more fascinated than afraid. So Malou made acquaintance with a witch named Fuchsia, who wanted to uncover the origin of these rumors and dared to enter the cave, which was in a very dangerous place for pedestrians, and the waters there were also very treacherous. So Fuchsia borrowed some swimming gear and swam to the cave where Malou was lying in it trying to sleep.
The Leviathan was very suspicious at first and because she was a big monster, she also has more self-confidence than before. But Fuchsia was undeterred and wanted to know more about the cursed Leviathan and regularly visited her when she was done with her work. Fuchsia has her own small shop, which is also her home, closer to the coast, where she sold medicinal herbs and magic items. When the young woman didn't want to leave Malou alone, the cursed woman told her story. Fuchsia said she could help her, but she had to first research some things to know how best to help her.
It took two weeks for Fuchsia to find the right solution, so at night Malou came to the beach near where Fuchsia lived. Fuchsia warned her that it going to be very painful, but Malou just nodded. She was too excited to say anything. Then Fuchsia started the ritual, many threads on Malou could be seen which Fuchsia started to pull. Malou quickly noticed how her body felt contracted and ached. After a long tug, a naked woman remained on the ground, trembling in pain. The witch covered her with a large blanket and helped her to her house, which was not easy. Malou could barely walk and all her weight was on Fuchsia too. But it was done. Malou was human again. Well, almost, she still had her glowing gills, Fangs and a forked tongue. The young witch quickly noticed the red lines on Malou's wrists and explained to her that these were not a skin disease, but Horizon Marks. So she also did some research on her scarf, which also shrunk with the cursed Leviathan. It's a rare magical artifact that automatically adapts to the wearer.
Slowly but surely, Malou learned to walk again and to find her way around in this modern age. But she quickly found out that she wasn't completely human again. If she came into contact with water again as a human, she automatically transformed back into a leviathan. At first it was very annoying for Malou, but she learned to live with it.
As well as the fact that people in this village have made merch of HER with a weird sea slug shape and that she is apparently a tourist attraction.
Since then, Malou, who is now 525 years old, has been living with Fuchsia and helping out in her shop. But one day she meets a family on vacation who is more like her than she initially thought....
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chiriwritesstuff · 3 months
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Meet Me at the Farmers Market - 8. Compliance
Farmers Market! Joel Miller x Confident! Plus Sized F! Florist Reader
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Series Masterlist
Series Summary: What does a Contractor do in his spare time? Sell his wood carvings at the Saturday Farmers Market, of course! A Grumpy x Sunshine Joel Miller series collective of one shots, Updates every Saturday!
Chapter Rating: E, MDNI (18+)
Word Count: 1.9K
Warnings: Roleplay, This is FILTHY, Too much porn, not too much plot, Daddy needs to EAT, ok?, Talks about OSHA Compliance, Wear the proper PPE if you're going into a job site, okay?
Summary: Joel catches you in improper PPE, so you do what it takes to not get shut down...
A/N: Hello there!
I thought I would give you all a little treat before Christmas! I will be posting another chapter on Christmas day, so enjoy this little bit of fun before then!
This chapter takes place before Pt. 4.
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"Hey Joel, good morning!"
You peek out from your office at the back of your shop, a bright smile on your face as Joel shuffles into the barren space, still a construction site riddled with pieces of reclaimed wood. Coffee in one hand, iPad in the other, Joel ambles toward his worktable in the corner. "Mornin'," he grunts, a subtle grin appearing as he secures his tool belt, slung low on his jean-clad hips.
Casually strolling over, you join him, smoothing out your overalls and adjusting your oversized flannel, your hair neatly woven into braids. "What's on the agenda today?"
"Figured I'd kick things off with the display cases, checking out the designs we agreed upon. Found some great pieces of oak at the reclaim center-" Joel's words trail off as he finally notices you, his eyes widening, mouth slightly agape. You catch him mid-sentence, twirling a pigtail around your finger, biting your lower lip, a mischievous glint in your eye.
"Something the matter, Joel? See something on my face?" you tease, offering a small, playful smile.
His Adam's apple bobs as he pivots back to the plans laid out on his worktable. "No, you just look pretty today."
"Oh, do I?"
"Well, those overalls are all wrong, being that they're short and all, and those boots," he motions to your feet, "Are they OSHA-regulated? Don't want you hurting your pretty little feet."
You laugh, a sound that fills the shop. "Just trying to keep things interesting around here, Joel. Wouldn't want you to think work is the only thing worth looking at." Your eyes appraise his form as you slide between him and his worktable. "You don't look too bad yourself," you tease, drawing a finger down his chest to his toolbelt. "I love a man in uniform, especially when they wear it so damn well."
Joel's eyes widen in surprise, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, I aim to please," he says, his voice husky.
"Do you now? Is it because I'm paying you?" you cheekily reply, "If I put on this hard hat, maybe you'll look the other way if the city asks about my compliance. I would hate to be shut down for something silly like my attire."
"Well, with an ass like this," he grabs it for good measure, large hands caressing the span of your cheeks, squeezing as he groans, a wicked smile on his face - "I think we can work something out, don't you think, baby girl?" He starts to undo the straps of your overalls. "I think that we should take this off, it's not protective enough for those legs of yours," he slides the denim past your hips, letting them drop to the floor as he licks his lips in anticipation. "Mmm," he moans, "Turn around for me, I need to get a good look for my inspection." He turns you around as he takes in your ass, the fabric of your thong devoured by your asscheeks. He slides a finger between the fabric and your ass crack, barely grazing your slit. "Very, very nice," he mutters to himself. He raises his fingers coated with your slick to your face. "Wet already, baby?" he asks, his eyes blown. "Fuck, what am I going to do with you? What are you going to do to make your indiscretions up to me?"
"I can't afford to be shut down, Joel." You plead, grabbing his hands as you take his slick-coated fingers into your mouth, your eyes never leaving his. He pulls them back with a satisfied pop. "I'll do anything, please Joel."
"First of all," he whispers, his fingers undoing the buttons of your flannel slowly, "I'm gonna need you to redress with the proper PPE-" he says, opening your shirt and exposing your breasts as he groans in appreciation, grabbing the safety vest on his worktable. "Put this on, and sit that pretty ass on the table." You shrug off your flannel, smiling as you grab the vest from his hands, shimmying it on. "Like this?" you ask, your nipples peeking out through the neon mesh as you lift your hips onto the table, spreading your legs more to present yourself to him.
"Just like that, baby, that's much better," he says as he settles himself between your legs. "You know, I shouldn't be drinking coffee on an empty stomach, maybe I should get something to eat," he kneels down, settling himself on his knees as he takes in your pussy, his fingers slipping through the flimsy lace between your slit. "You're fucking drenched, look at you, is this honey all for me?" You nod as he slips his fingers through your folds, closing your eyes in pleasure. "Uh uh, baby. None of that. You keep your eyes on me, Daddy needs to eat."
You arch your back and whisper something incoherent, spreading your legs wider to accommodate his broad form. "Please Joel, can't have you working on an empty stomach…"
"Well," he smiles as he slips a finger into your cunt, his finger so thick that you flinch at the sudden intrusion. "If you're offering… Fuck Sunflower, she's crying for me. Absolutely fucking weeping." he takes a deep breath as he pulls the fabric of your thong harshly to the side, ripping it off of you as you yelp in surprise. "Joel! those were my favorite panties!"
"You can just write them off, hazards of the job, right?" he replies, the flat of his tongue diving into your folds as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved. "You keep your eyes on me as I feast on this pussy," he mumbles as he devours you, gripping your thighs as he locks his eyes on you. "Try not to blink, baby, watch me finish my meal. Gonna have to prep you to handle some heavy machinery, can't have you getting injured on the job site."
"Fuck Joel, just like that, I'm so close baby…" you mumble, harshly grabbing onto his hair as he moans in appreciation. He slips another finger into the warmth of your cunt as he continues to lick and suck, the sound of your wetness obscene as it echoes in the vastness of your empty shop.
"You think you can take one more? I need to make sure you can take it, baby."
"Please Joel, I can take it, give it to me-" you stutter, your body shaking as he leads you to completion, the safety vest spread wide open as you play with your nipples, tweaking the pointed buds as you shift your hips, tilting them as he continues on, the tip of his tongue flicking your clit. "I'll be so fucking good for you, Joel, please- I'm gonna…" You gush into his mouth, the wetness of your slick coating his beard as you ride on his fingers, your body taut and tight as your thighs quiver. You haven't gotten used to being used so thoroughly, feeling faint as he smiles in satisfaction, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt as he rises onto his feet.
"Fuck, baby, best breakfast ever. Do you think I prepped you enough to handle my machinery?" he cheekily smiles as he settles himself back between your legs, your hands blindly reaching for the buckle of his belt, quickly undoing it as you reach into his jeans.
Your eyes widen as you pull his hard cock out of his boxers, the tip red and angry as precome starts to leak from the slit. "Fuck Joel, is this going to fit?"
"We'll make it fit, baby" He breathes as he notches the tip at your entrance, his eyes locked onto your cunt as he pumps his shaft, his hand going to your folds and gathering your slick, pumping his cock once more as he wets the shaft. It's so fucking unhinged, so fucking obscene with the noise it makes, squelching as he guides himself to you once more. "Let me just test it with the tip, let me work you up to take me, okay baby? I'll make it fucking fit."
"Shit," he roars as your cunt envelops his wide tip, his hips pushing into you back and forth in shallow thrusts. He buries his face in your neck, licking and kissing down to your breasts as he slowly adds inch after inch until he's fully sheathed inside your channel, his breaths short as he allows you to adjust to his size. "Fuck, are you ready, Sunflower? Can I move?"
"FUCK Joel, you're so deep like this!" you cry, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lowers you down onto his worktable, capturing your lips in a kiss fervently, all teeth and tongue as he starts to pound into you in earnest. You claw at his back, your fingers grabbing onto his shirt so tightly you swear you hear a rip, crying into his neck "Please, Joel, please fuck me harder! I can take it! I can take it all!" He slides a hand under your ass and tilts your hips until he's hitting that spot, so delicious you're rendered speechless. A tear falls down the slope of your cheek, you swear he licks it off you as he kisses you once more.
He stands upright once more as he takes in the sight of his cock buried into your pussy, your slick dripping down your thighs as you make a mess of his worktable below, your plans ruined and soaked. "Fuck baby, you feel so good, so fucking perfect, so perfect for me… I'm going to come, do you want me to come in this pretty cunt?" he mumbles incoherently, "Are you gonna milk me, baby?"
"YES yes yes yes" you nod absentmindedly, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Fuck Joel, come inside of me, let your cum drip down my legs as I work today, let everyone know who owns me…" He collapses on you as he plunges into you one last time, filling you with his hot release as he kisses you. "Fuccckkkkkk," he says as he kisses your neck, his breath hot as he attempts to steady his breath. "I didn't think you would be into roleplay, honey. It was so fucking hot, we need to do this again."
You smile as you push him off, removing the safety vest as you grab your clothes on the floor. "What time is it? Tommy should be heading over soon, need to make sure he doesn't walk into a warzone-"
"Let him walk into one, I don't care," Joel says defiantly as he buckles his jeans.
Like clockwork, there's a tap on the window, still covered up with an easy mask. "Hey! Anyone in? Joel? Sunflower?" Tommy's voice calls out from behind the door. "Let me in, alright? It's hot as fuck outside!"
You smirk as you fiddle with the straps of your overalls. "Speak of the devil," you say, kissing Joel once more as you make your way to the door. You put on a smile as you let Tommy in, Joel back at his worktable as he hurriedly rolls up the ruined plans.
"Took you guys long enough," Tommy chides, handing you a cup of matcha. His face scrunches as he takes a whiff of the store. "What is that smell?! It smells fucking awful!"
Joel throws the safety vest onto himself as you laugh, walking back into your office as Tommy looks back in confusion. "What?" he exclaims. "It does!"
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builder051 · 1 year
Text
Adverse effects (ch 2: Where to we send the complaint letter? City works?)
A chasing ghosts story
It's... kind of a lot of talk and not much action, but it's waaay introspective and kind of deep and maybe a tad toward the, uh, disturbing? If you like true crime podcasts and that kind of thing, you'll be fine. But, it's a little heavy on the blood and guts. Wartime memories and stuff along the lines of Criminal Minds/CSI, just described with visual imagery.
Warnings: the usual, including illness and injury, bad childhood/foster system/VA system, references to traumatic events/graphic injuries/references to disturbing image in war context, migraines, emeto, relationship drama, references to drug use, college drinking, school-based stereotyping (including mention of rape culture)
I think that's it. Hold onto your hat. (I have a picture of my cool steampunk hat from a few nights ago-- Remind me to post a pic.)
_______________________
The club's lit like a beacon, but the sidewalk on either side is still in shadow.
James's recent onset of night blindness isn't the problem. It probably wouldn't be any better if he'd managed to hold onto his night-vision goggles and stow them in the trunk for missions like this one. But there are serial numbers to consider. The Army does like taking stuff back.
The sample of arabian sand suspended between two sheets of transparent mepilex, which, despite its golden orange glow and perfect uselessness as a display trinket, lives in a lace-up dress shoe in James's closet. The nice hijabi MA who always knocked before bothering him for his blood pressure had given it to him as a gift when they sent him back stateside. To be hospitalized and operated on and poked and prodded and all of that, all over again, by doctors and nurses who didn't wear ranking on the shoulders of their scrubs and coats.
Something about being full-government makes people real jerks to their underlings, even if status is equal and under is interpreted as horizontal. So does being private-practice. Civilian contractors, though. And sub-contractors. They can move invisibly, even when uniform-of-the-day is a Michael Jackson concert tee over scrubs and a headscarf tucked perfectly and unmoving against a hairline and under a chin. They can ask "Which arm?" with a sly grin and have only James and some button pusher of an online supervisor in a dank DC office to answer to. They can re tuck the flat sheet when the Nurse's Aid put it on upside-down. And gifts can be given. As far as James knows. Not that anyone would want anything a broken soldier with no belongings would have to give. So James had given her his most sincere salute after the little sandbag was tucked into the pocket of the XXL pajama shorts he'd been shoved into an hour earlier. She smiled. Said, "Goodbye, James." Then fixed his drawstring so all ends were pointing in the proper direction.
What's blatantly clear about the directions here is that the local businesses cater to different crowds, determined by the long-set stereotypes of student schedules. Bars and clubs with weekend specials sit adjacent to the used video game dealer and ice cream parlor that close before sunset. Kids who spend their time playing X-Box and sharing banana splits are the "good" ones. Time-wasters by anyone else's eye, perhaps, but admissions officers' pet favorites. Those who come in knowing how to study smarter, not harder; those who think they're little geniuses because they've learned to use double colons and quotation marks on a Google site search. They got in on test scores and essays. Or illegal bribes and Dockers paired with argyle socks. The exemplary education that came with them already includes the rules of college and beyond, placed before them by overcautious parents and unlimited streaming of Dateline -- Avoid dark parking lots. Don't linger with a smoke under the stairs. A drink unattended is as good as poisoned. Don't take anything from anyone you don't know. Don't do drugs. Why even smoke? That's decidedly bad, right? And drinking? Going to clubs? What about the statistics? Reputations? Over half of most traditional college student populations are underage...
Tasha's not a smart kid, necessarily. But she knows all this shit. A refresher course wouldn't be the worst idea. Maybe a reminder to skim the course material. And the syllabus. But everyone gets tripped up. And even the dumb kids know the instinctual basics. The stranger in the shadows is the saber tooth tiger, and all that shit?
The point is that there's nothing wrong with Tasha's intelligence. Throw a math test on the table when she's rested and sober and a little caffeinated, and she'll produce at least a B. She finished high school, and she has the bank of knowledge to prove it. It's catching the opportunity, though, that's problematic. And when the little cloud of angel dust in jogging shorts and crop tops is not only in college, but indeed a legal adult, with no higher power to answer to...
James knows way too much about the way that tower comes crashing down. There's always a superior officer, someone to look up to, to ask, to obey. Then you learn stuff, grow, up, get promoted, and in a flash, you're the highest rank present, and the outcome of the next shootout or troop movement or whatever is all on you. One a thin, stretched string of arterial tissue, pulled directly from the human heart, running medal of honor to instant death. A single breath could make the difference. An extra second of thought. Anything less than absolute confidence.
An IED? The fiery explosion happens prior to the sound of the detonation, and it hangs like a mirage in the air, blasting away everyone's mind-body connection and placement in space-time with the force of a nuclear event. What they were doing? Gone. What to do next? Nothing could've prepared them. Who to ask? Not a clue. Death and dismemberment and molten polyester generally break away any standards of hierarchy. Ranks get blown off people's uniforms, and James has never met a PJ who cared about anything but distributing life-saving efforts. And figuring out which legs belonged to which smoldering corpse.
James's toe catches on a dip in the sidewalk, then the sole of his shoe skids over the surface of a manhole cover. The awkward sensation of his hip shooting up to support the now taller leg sends a tingle up his spine, while the lower sitting hip seems frozen, the ball yet to reestablish contact with the socket.
"What the everloving fuck--" James mutters through gritted teeth.
His headache isn't affording him great balance to begin with, and now the damn road is out to get him. James knows, somewhere, that he's being irrational, pessimistic, some sort of nebulous 'bad' that's always tied up in a squinty-eyed grown-up's accusation. That's completely inaccessible, though, behind a raging wall of blind pain and anger. James tenses his body, fully prepared to hit something. Or stand and take it, if something, someone hit him.
He affords the would-be attack three seconds or so before it's necessary to move, even minutely, to take a breath. James parts his lips to exhale, and his face begins to tremble. His shoulders. Arm. He drags his foot out of the pothole before his pelvis becomes permanently damaged and requires multiple back and forth phone calls to the VA and the insurance in order to schedule a visit with the chiropractor.
"Are you ok?"
James has to blink and infer what's behind the shimmering aura before he sees Steve's arms outstretched, ready to support him if need be. Then, as if backtracking to the main menu to put on the subtitles, James locates the question still hanging in the air.
"I--" James's heart and lungs and diaphragm clunk back into action, and, without his permission, break the tender strings of webbing that've been holding the delicate position of his stomach.
It's a conscious action to try not to vomit. Immediately, at least. The distinct skill that adults seem to possess and young children distinctly lack, and everyone in third grade or so unexpectedly gains the ability to perceive, if not precisely the ability to use. The dry swallow, wet swallow that makes the obtaining of the nurse's pass urgent, lest the whole class witness the inevitable. Better hone the skill before taking on high school football practice. And Basic. The crazy one-armed man having a mental breakdown and a seizure simultaneously in the space between the bakery and the produce department? Not so much.
James is past that. Right? Past all of it. But he isn't sure where his mind has gone, flashing feelings and snapshots in semi-related progression. It's intrusive. It's fucking annoying.
James hardly remembers being a little kid, and that's the way he likes it. Something about the passage of time and sustaining a traumatic brain injury does that to people, James has heard. But somehow, instead of steadily fading, distant to current, the way he's always assumed it ought to be, his past has split into a series of deaths and rebirths, each starting abruptly, and leaving him with just a wisp of the one before.
Birth to early childhood. The system. Tasha. High school. The counselor handing him the card for the enlistment center whilst holding even the public state university's pamphlet under her elbow. Basic. Deployment. Rank. Sand...
The order's mixed up at the end. Or maybe it isn't. James isn't quite sure. He never thought he was stupid, but there's always the possibility he's wrong. Troop movement is considered the simplest, safest, most boring, and most detested maneuver to do with an armored tank and a few guys. Someone would do something dumb and just a little off limits, like tape their iPod to the metal ceiling and use an crank-up extension cord and a tiny adapter cable to plug crappy personal speaker to a power source, blare unintelligible music, and call it tin-can acoustics. The guys with another bar on their shoulders would play deaf, stiffly un-humoring themselves in another, oh, ten minutes or so when everything eardrum inward would take more damage than the average soldier over an entire career.
James knows what they did all the goddamn time. He just doesn't know what it was that moment until it came down to life or death. 50-50. Considering the time he spent in hospital, though... Maybe 70-30? He'll give death the upper hand. James admits he was neither hopeful nore helpful. And with the continuous, agonizing slow-moving frustration fed depression and intrusive thoughts and things he couldn't do and couldn't figure out... He let everything slip. The odds against him, and he knew it. And he couldn't do anything about it.
James wasn't prepared when they let him back out into the world, weak and befuddled in a way he couldn't put into words. He couldn't work it out with a doctor or a shrink, so it stayed inside, as heavy and yet undefinable as a mountain fog. The VA was like the system, well-intended, but spotty, and slow to return calls and schedule appointments. James's clumsy body and headaches and occasional downright inabilities put him far, far back. Not even to childhood, but to being a toddler, a baby, pushing himself to tears because he couldn't get the lid off a bottle of water. No one was supposed to see him like this. His birth parents neglected to oversee his development. He struggled to grow up with no one watching. Tasha was still far in the future. He'd meet her when he'd grown big and smart and protective.
"I-- yeah--" James manages to say. He might've been honest with Steve and admit that he isn't feeling well. That the mission is compromised. Steve can probably already tell, though. James knows he can, actually, but doesn't have the reserve energy to study Steve's face to confirm.
James focuses on breathing. It always seems to come back to that. People in the ER like to put him on oxygen, for whatever reason. There isn't anything wrong with James's lungs, as far as he knows. And he hasn't been intubated for surgery under anesthesia since... Fuck this timehopping game. After flying over the Atlantic on a goddamn gurney, though the drawstring of his shorts, thankfully, wasn't draped halfway up his abdomen so as to shift and tickle every time he moved with the turbulence. And before he started college. A few months? Years? Who cares.
The gas exchange necessary to sustaining life, and James's brain function, also has the ability to stir up his compartmentalized memories again. The air near the club lighting up this street of the University district carries essences of car tires and the burning of paper and raw hemp. He finds it neutral, if not pleasant in a weird, nostalgic sort of way. Like the gravel toepaths traversed en masse at outdoor rock concerts. And the high school parking lot, where he'd dash to get the chain off his bike, if protection was needed in that gap after last bell and before football practice. For Tasha. Obviously. Some things never change.
It makes James want to shrug. Laugh. Shake his head and say, "Oh well. It's fine," even though it clearly isn't. It's just his little sister, acting out in a way that stable grown-ups who receive regular paychecks will never understand. Like how they think "don't do that" is a deterrent, not a challenge? Or not realizing that the girl in their care looks like a 7-year-old stripper because she doesn't actually own properly fitted clothing? Or, James's favorite, remaining suspicious after turning out every pocket and fold of a leather jacket and finding exactly one tape player, one cassette, and one set of headphones? Listening to music is meant to help people, right? They do it for babies! To make them smarter! Well, the ones who were on track to be smart to begin with.
The secret truth, James thinks, is that it's not about smarts. More like strategy. Practice. And casting fate. You don't get to choose the moment. Maybe you're not on your game, but you still have to play. They're headed to an establishment for alcohol. Dancing. Music. Meet-ups. Maybe darts? That's something James knows how to play, even if he's as turned off to that part of clubbing as he is to the rest. Study the target. Aim. Make the shot. If the stupid amoeba of migraine won't absent itself from his eyeball, he'll make Steve do it. No, ask him politely. He hasn't lost all his faculties yet. Even the dumb kids know the basics. The instincts.
James knows what's important. He's going to fix it. He's going to keep her safe. Tonight and always. He's going to make sure Tasha's not a statistic, a missing persons case, another casualty of the risk factor that just comes with being kids like them. He's not going to let her fail out of school, or become a full-time streetwalker, or end up serving a life sentence in prison, or bleeding out in a hotel lobby or an old folks' neighborhood because they were too scared to answer her pleading screams.
As long as he lives, James is going to make sure Tasha doesn't end up as a pile of body parts in a gasoline fire. That must never happen. James knows he won't survive the experience either.
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fatalezr · 2 years
Text
A little Easter gift for @beorn-forest, and those who requested a uniform story.
Lisa in…Whistleblower
Cal Hendricks stepped off the plane at Washington Dulles Airport and already felt the nerves tighten in his stomach. He didn't like flying at the best of times but today he had felt the need to keep his briefcase in his hand at all times during the flight, cradling it to him at moments like it was a prized possession. He had
'Relax Cal' he tried to tell himself, 'it'll all be over soon enough'. He was dressed in a grey suit that was slightly too big for him. He had fretted over what tie to wear, his wife eventually convincing him to wear a simple navy blue one over the white shirt. He checked his watch. He had left himself plenty of time to get to where he needed to get to but he now found himself wondering if he should have pre-booked a cab. 'What do I do?' he thought, 'just walk to the taxi rank and ask them to take me to the Pentagon?'.
He took a quick break in the toilet and splashed some water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. 'Come on Cal' he told himself again. He just wanted the ordeal to be over. Ever since he became a whistleblower against the Army, he had become more paranoid, always wondering if he was being watched. Finally, he was in DC to give his testimony about the drug dealing he had witnessed amongst the bases of Arizona during his time there as a civilian contractor. He had overheard a conversation between a General and two Colonels about plans to sell on some proceeds from the South, which he later learned had been drugs seized from raids in Mexico. At least after today, his testimony would be documented and he could hold his head up high, having tried to help. Cal walked into the arrivals area and started to walk towards an exit.
"Mr Hendricks". Cal stopped and turned sharply, taken aback at the mention of his name. He found himself looking at a woman in the dark khaki army dress uniform, with a dark skirt. She wore the traditional olive-coloured shirt and tie underneath. She had brown hair that was pulled back into a neat bun that he saw under the khaki hat. She smiled at him and held out her hand. "I'm Private First Class Gretchen Winters. Welcome to Washington DC".
He was slightly stunned by the welcome and shook her hand on autopilot. "Thanks" he said, trying to sound nervous. He had a lot of questions around why she was here but did not know how to ask them.
"I've been asked to accompany you to your meeting today sir" she said, almost seeming to read his mind. "I know there's a lot of importance that the senior leadership are treating this with and they wanted to make sure you'd find your way". She kept a smart and formal smile on her face and he noticed her good posture that he supposed was a part of military training.
"Oh, sure" he said, "thanks, I...I appreciate it". He found himself smiling. It seemed like he would be listened to, that they were going to take his allegations seriously.
"Not at all sir" she said, "can I take your case for you?" she said, glancing at the briefcase in his hand.
"Erm...no, no thank you" he said, clutching it a little closer, as if it contained a magical ability to protect him. Either way, it gave him comfort.
"Very good sir" the woman said, "I've got a car waiting for us in the car park. Would you like a moment or are you happy to go now?".
"Now is OK," he said. He started to relax. At least he would not get lost, or laughed at, or turned away at the gates. The woman's presence was reassuring. She led him out of the airport and into the car park. She was driving a black SUV and opened the back door to let Cal in.
"Is this your first time in DC?" the woman asked once she had climbed into the front seat and switched the engine on.
"No, I've been here a couple of times with work" he said, "but not over to the er...you know..."
"I imagine not," she said, smiling at him in the mirror before pulling out. "Well don't worry, I do the journey from here to there a lot".
"Yeah" he said, and he felt his nerves start to fade, "to tell you the truth, I was a little worried about getting lost".
"Then even better that I managed to find you" she said jovially. "I hope you don't mind me asking sir, but is your written testimony in the case?" The question caught him off guard and he wondered why she needed to know. "Because we just need to scan anything you intend to take in, for security reasons" she added, again seeming to anticipate his reaction.
He smiled. The explanation made sense. "Yeah" he said, "it's all in there, every word and document I could find".
"Very good," the Private said. They drove out of the parking garage and headed on to the main roads, taking a turn towards a more rural area. "I like to keep on the outskirts of the city whilst I can" the woman said, "helps with the traffic".
Cal nodded and sat back, looking out at the trees and small towns out of the window. "How long have you been with the Army?" he asked eventually, hoping that conversation could keep his mind off the testimony.
"A few years now," the woman answered.
"And what do you do with them?" Cal asked.
"I end up travelling around a lot," said the woman, "sort of a problem solver in a few different capacities. Shoot in and out of places".
"And you enjoy it?"
"Oh yes" she said, and he saw her mouth break into a wide smile in the mirror, "I'm not sure many people have more pleasurable work than me".
Something about the response unsettled Cal. He looked outside the window again but saw the roads were becoming sparser with traffic. They looked to be heading to even more rural areas, with forests visible around them. "This is....this is a shortcut?" he asked.
"It's the route I've been asked to take you" the woman responded. There was a new look in her eye that he noticed. A form of determination and pleasure. He looked again but this time saw a sign for Arlington on the other side of the road. They were definitely heading in the right direction. His heart started to pound. "Just relax, Mr Hendricks" the woman said, smiling again into the mirror, "we'll be there soon enough".
Cal found that he was panicking though. They were definitely going more into rural Virginia and soon the car turned off the turnpike and headed towards a wooded area. He thought about jumping from the car for a second but realised that in the middle of nowhere it would be a foolish thing to do. The car sped along a dusty road and soon disappeared amongst a clump of trees. It slowed eventually and came to a stop.
He tried the door but found it was locked, no matter how hard he pulled at it. "Oh Mr Hendricks, you really didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" the woman said, and she turned from the front seat to face him, giving him a mocking look. He saw that she had opened the dress jacket and her hand pulled a large black handgun from a holster on her waist. He panicked and tried the door again but it was no use, it would not budge.
Chik-chik. The sound of a bullet being chambered made him turn in terror to face the woman. "Please!" he said, trying to think of anything that could save him, "please, don't kill me! What do you want? What do you want?"
"Well firstly I'm going to need that briefcase" the woman said slowly, balancing the gun across her elbow joint and keeping it trained on Cal. "Pass it to me. Nice and easy".
He did so, handing her the briefcase but worried he had lost his only leverage in the situation. His eyes kept staring at the gun. "Wh-who are you?" he asked, "I thought....why?". He had too many questions inside his head.
"I'm afraid your testimony could cause quite a lot of damage" the woman said, "and so I was asked to make sure it stays buried".
Cal nodded. "OK" he said, "keep the testimony, I won't say anything else, I swear. Just let me go and I'll...I'll disappear! I'll never tell a soul, please!" he begged and bargained as earnestly as he could.
"I'm not sure my employers would be willing to tolerate that" the woman.
"Please" he begged, "please, I'll do anything".
"Do you have any other copies?" she asked, "anything you saved on a laptop?"
"Erm" Cal racked his brain. He did have the information in an online safe app but knew this was the only chance he had to save himself. "I...I do" he said finally, "but it needs my password to open it, and I...I won't do that unless you let me live".
The woman frowned. "So it's online yes?" she surmised. "I guess you can reach it on your phone?" Cal felt himself sweat.
"Y..yes" he said, "but I...I won't do it. I won't do it unless I'm alive".
"Oh Mr Hendricks" the woman tutted, "think this through. You either delete it now, or I can kill you and then go to your house in Denver and kill your wife and destroy your laptop then". Cal froze. She knew where they lived. The woman smiled at his frozen face. "Just think about it Mr Hendricks. I could be there tonight, plugging her chest full of bullets. Mmm" she purred, and Cal realised that the thought was exciting to her.
"No" he said, "no, this...you can't". The situation was incomprehensible to him.
The woman shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said. She nudged a button on the car door and there was a mechanical noise. "Get out" she commanded, opening her door with one hand and keeping the gun trained on him with the other.
Cal did so, wondering if there was room to run for it but stopped when he realised he was standing next to a shallow and freshly-dug hole in the ground. He looked around to see the woman exiting the car, also holding his briefcase. She threw the case into the hole and raised the gun towards his head. "No! No!" Cal started to shout.
BAM-BAM. There were two quick flashes from the barrel that he saw before he felt himself tumbling into the hole and the life leaving his body.
------
Serena Hendricks paced around the kitchen in her long white dress. She had been expecting her husband to have called by now. She checked her phone again. There was still nothing. 'It's fine' she told herself, 'they probably made him turn his phone off for the meeting'. She reasoned he would be OK. If the meeting ran late, maybe they would put him in a hotel, allow him to call her? She tried to comfort herself with these thoughts.
The doorbell rang and she walked quickly towards it, unsure who it might be. She spied through the door that it was someone smartly dressed in a military uniform. She opened the door. It was a warm spring evening in Denver and the sky was golden in the suburban district where they lived. "Mrs Hendricks?" the woman asked. Serena noted she was in an army dress uniform with an olive coloured shirt and tie underneath her jacket. She was also wearing black gloves.
"Yes?" Serena said, a little concerned as to why she was here.
"I'm Private First Class Winters" the woman said, smiling at her. "I just had a call from my superiors in Washington about your husband".
Serena's heart leapt. "Is he OK?" she asked quickly.
"He's fine" the woman said disarmingly, "it's just taken a little longer than we hoped. In fact, there's something I think we need from you" she added, "could I come inside?"
"Oh of course" Serena said, standing aside and inviting the woman inside. She closed the door behind her. "How can I help?" she asked, eager to see if she could find out more.
"Well Mrs Hendricks, your husband seemed to not have all the files with him today" the Private asked. "He mentioned something about a laptop where he kept the master files? I was just wondering if I could see it, and send things over to the committee".
Serena hesitated. She knew that Cal was incredibly protective of allowing anyone near the laptop. "We do need all the evidence before we can finish with his testimony and get him back home to you" the woman added.
"Of course," Serena said. It all seemed to make sense to her. This is why it was taking longer and if she could help the Army Private out, that would help Cal. She led the woman through to the kitchen and invited her to sit at the island in the middle of the room, which the woman did. Serena noticed her starting to unbutton her jacket but instead turned to the kitchen cupboard, opening one of the drawers and removing a false bottom that hid where the laptop was stored. She pulled it out and set it down on the island.
"Very good" the woman said, and Serena noticed a wide smile break out across her face. Her eyes seemed to twinkle. "Is it just yourself at home Mrs Hendricks?" the woman asked.
"Yes" Serena said, but something put her on edge about the way and tone in which the question was asked.
"Good, good," the woman said. She licked her lips and brought her hands up from under the table. Serena gasped. In one hand was a large black handgun and in the other the woman was threading a long black silencer into the end, her gloved hands twisting them together slowly and delicately.
"Wh-who? What's going on?" Serena asked, flooded with questions in her head. The woman responded by standing and pointing the now-elongated gun at her and Serena instinctively put her hands up in surrender. "Please" she said, "please don't kill me".
"Just look at it like this" the woman said, a cruel smile on her face, "you will see your husband tonight after all". The gun was supported by both of her gloved hands and aiming directly towards Serena's navel. Pfft-pfft. It seemed to cough twice and Serena felt two sharp bursts of pain as the bullets hit her between her breasts.
She gave a short cry of pain and her hands went to her wounds. The woman in uniform was still smiling and looking down the barrel of the gun. Pfft-pfft-pfft. It shot thrice more and Serena felt the air go out of her as her diaphragm was hit. The white dress turned to red from the wounds in her belly. "Mmm oh yes" the woman purred and Serena looked pleadingly up at her. "I knew I'd prefer this way," the woman said.
The woman's heels clicked on the kitchen floor as she took a step towards her. Serena looked up and saw the barrel pointing towards her head. "Say hi to Cal" the woman said. Pfft. The barrel flashed, and the world turned to black for Serena.
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