#i *could* have cropped that smoker shot more

[skz317cb97]

The Haze

Jisung x Thick female reader

Word count: 4.6K

Synopsis: You call your friend Jisung and ask him to smoke with you after having a terrible week.

A/N: 18+ ONLY! A little idiots to lovers for you all! We're already half way through another thick reader series! How? Thank you all for always being so supportive of this series and my writing in general. If you enjoy this one please reblog, like, comment, jump in my asks, your feedback fuels me! As always warnings and smut below the cut!

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI! Casual drug use/pot smoking (it centers around it quite a bit), cursing/strong language, pet names (gorgeous, pretty etc), dry humping, protected piv sex, choking/breath play, oral (m receiving), cum eating/cum shot, masterbation/guided masturbation (m&f), slight Jisung dom/MC sub dynamic. I think that's all but if I ever miss anything please let me know and I'll add it asap!

You were not a stoner. You weren’t even a social pot smoker but every now and then, after a particularly bad week, you would call your friend Jisung and ask him to get you stoned. Not that he was a pothead either but he always had something set back in case of a party or, like today, you needing to unwind. This week your boyfriend broke up with you in the most heinous way and you cried in the bathroom at work at least once a day. You needed to turn your brain off for a minute, you needed to get high, you called Jisung.  

“Heyyy!! What’s up gorgeous!” Was what you heard when he answered. Jisung was sweet, he always called you little nick names like that and it made you smile. You were bigger and a little self-conscious about it and Jisung always seemed to know when you needed a compliment. It made you smile this time too but only momentarily and then you sighed. 

“Hey Ji...” He could hear how down you sounded. 

“What’s wrong?” He was concerned immediately. You sighed again trying to fight off tears while also trying not to think about every horrible thing your ex had said to you. 

“Can I come over and smoke with you?” His heart broke a little. You sounded really upset and he knew you only smoked when life had been too rough to handle. 

“That bad?”  

“I... I can explain everything when I get there.” You sighed again.  

“No no you don’t have to explain anything to me beautiful. Of course you can come over and smoke, I’ll unlock the front door and just walk in when you get here okay?” 

“Okay Ji, thanks.” You could hear his smile in his voice. 

“Really it’s nothing. I’ll see you soon, bye!” You hung up with Jisung and tossed on some comfy clothes, a pair of sweats, a cropped band t shirt, zip up hoodie and slides then you hopped in your car and drove to Jisung’s place. When you got there you let yourself in and Jisung was sitting on the couch in his living room watching anime. When he saw that you had walked in he paused it. 

“Hey you made it!” He got up and gave you a hug squeezing your soft body with his strong arms. Jisung was always warm, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and when you rested your head on one, he held on to you understanding that you needed a little skinship. Jisung was one of your best friends and he was affectionate and sweet, he rubbed your back up and down, holding you for a moment. 

“You wanna talk about it.” You shook your head and nuzzled into his warmth a little more. 

“Not really...but... TLDR Chase broke up with me. He said he felt that I was ‘letting myself go already’ and that ‘we should see other people’, which I assume means he already has been. He said other things but that was the gist of it.” You got a little choked up at the end and Jisung squeezed you tighter. 

“I haven’t even gained any weight...” You said softly fighting tears, embarrassed and upset that the body you already weren’t confident in was the reason your ex gave you for leaving. 

“Fuck that guy, you look great, and so what if you had gained weight. Shit like that doesn’t matter if you love someone.” You nodded quietly against Jisung’s shoulder 

“He’s fucking idiot...and... and a verb!” You giggled a little. 

“A verb? Sungie what are you talking about?” 

“Chase, it’s a verb. Who wants to date a verb and not even a very good one. I can think of a hundred other verbs that are so much better than Chase.” Jisung finally managed to get a genuine laugh out of you. 

“We should smoke and forget about that dick head. What do you say?” You nodded as your laughter died down to a chuckle and Jisung could feel you smiling against his shoulder. Good, he thought. He loved your smile. He let go and offered you a seat. 

“Here sit there, it’s warm I was just sitting there.” You giggled and sat down in his spot. Jisung sat next to you and pulled out a joint. 

“I took the liberty and prepared this on your way over.” You didn’t think you’d ever been so ready to smoke and just relax, slow down. 

“I could kiss you! I’m so glad you have that ready.” Jisung puckered up and made a cute kissy face at you, leaning in pointing at them. 

“Well come on then ppoppo!” You laughed pushing at his firm pecks to stop him. 

“Light that you goofball.” He gave you his big toothy smile and pulled out his lighter, flicking it and lighting the joint. He inhaled then passed it to you and you took a drag. You unzipped your hoodie and sat back. Jisung couldn’t help but notice how good you looked, that crop top showing a flash of your bra underneath. What was that Chase guy even thinking? Jisung thought your body was perfect, ideal even. He’d flirted with you for years but you always shot him down so he assumed you only wanted to be friends.  

In your defense it wasn’t like you were trying to shoot him down, you just thought he was being nice when he said the things he said. You didn’t think someone like Jisung would go for.... well a big girl like you but when Jisung called you gorgeous it’s because he thought you were gorgeous. Even sitting there now on his sofa, wearing sweats and a t-shirt, just regular lounge wear but you were beautiful. You sat up and passed the joint back to Jisung. 

“Got any new playlists?” Jisung inhaled again and held it, nodding his head then blowing out the smoke. 

“Yea actually, here take this...” He passed the joint back to you and ran to get his laptop. Jisung’s job was in the music industry, so he always had the inside scoop on the new stuff coming out. You and Jisung finished smoking the joint while you listened to the first few songs of his new playlist. You were starting to feel better, calmer. Your head was the fun kind of fuzzy and the muscles of your body felt so relaxed. Then you heard the beginning of a song that you actually knew. 

“Oh my god I love this song.” Jisung was more than a little surprised. It was pretty new and not the type of music he thought you listened to. He’d forgotten it was even on the playlist. 

“Really?! You know this song?! Are you sure?” You were feeling good now. You jumped up took off your hoodie and threw it on the couch. 

“YES!” You started to dance and sing along as the lyrics began. 

“Don’t look at me like that, ohh unless you really like that, you know my body I don’t have time to waste oh no...” To say that Jisung was utterly shocked would still be an understatement. One. You could actually flow. Two, he’d never pegged you for a raunchy bump and grind r&b type and three, you had started to move your full body to the beat as you went on reciting the lyrics perfectly while he struggled to breathe. 

“If I seduce you bae, will you come take the bait? Is you gon’ do that thing, that makes me wanna say, got me like ooh...” You rolled your soft body along and Jisung’s mouth was dry, he wasn’t sure if it was from the weed or you. 

“She wanna ride me while she smoke weed, she said keep your chains on while you choke me...” Jisung was trying to be a good friend and not get a boner at the sight of you moving your curvy body and singing such provocative things, that line about choking definitely not helping, he was only a man, flesh and blood and your ass was swaying eye level. He watched hypnotized until the song ended and he snapped out of it as you slunk back down on the couch with a smile. 

“I think that would be so much fun to try...” You said not really thinking. Your filter had kind of gone out the window as soon as you jumped up and started dancing. Jisung’s eyes shot over to you laying back on the couch. 

“What? What would?” You looked over at him and saw the way he was looking at you wide eyed. You sat up straighter realizing what you’d just admitted out loud and you started to feel a little self-conscious. You pulled your zip up hoodie back on covering yourself. 

“Nothing never mind forg-” You just wanted to drop it before you made a complete ass of yourself. 

“What would y/n?” Jisung wasn’t dropping it. Not if you were saying what he thought you were saying. 

“I... well... you know have sex and smoke weed at the same time. My body is always buzzing after I smoke so I can only imagine it would heighten the experience.” Jisung’s dick was definitely hard now. He fidgeted in his seat trying to make sure it wasn’t obvious. 

“And... you’d like to try that some time, with... uh someone?” Jisung swallowed hard, his Adams apple bobbing and you nodded shyly. You couldn’t believe you were telling Jisung this. The two of you never talked about sex or preferences or anything like that before, so this was all new territory and you were a little embarrassed. You weren’t sure exactly why he even was asking you this. When you looked at him again, Jisung looked as nervous as you and then cleared his throat. 

“Uh.... would you... I mean... would you... want... to... do that with me?” Your jaw dropped. Was he... did he... hold on. 

“Jisung... I’m sure it would be a lot of fun...” He was already feeling the sting of rejection and like an absolute ass for suggesting it. You’d always ignored his other advances, why would you suddenly want to fuck him just because of some lyrics? 

“I really like you Ji... a lot... more than I probably should... more than a friend. I just don’t think I’m in the right head space to handle casual sex right now, not after the things Chase said and especially not... well not with a guy I have deeper feelings for.” Wait a minute, feelings? Deeper? 

“You have feelings for me?!” You hesitated. Your mouth was betraying you left and right. You started biting your lip but you had already admitted it so you nodded. Jisung couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“y/n I flirt with you all the time! You always shy away. I thought you didn’t like me!” Now you couldn’t believe your ears. 

“I thought you were just being sweet!” Jisung shook his head trying to get it on straight. 

“y/n I’m crazy about you and if we ever did anything it would be anything but casual for me.” Your brain was lagging from the weed and you were struggling to keep up with what Jisung was saying. Your filter was still not working also. 

“Why would someone as beautiful as you want to be with someone that looks like me?!” Your ex’s words still echoed in your head and came flying out of your mouth. Jisung’s face scrunched up and he turned his whole body towards you, sitting on one of his legs, letting the other dangle off the couch. 

“First off don’t say things like that. y/n not that it really matters, because you are kind, funny, and smart as fuck, and that’s enough but you’re also the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.” You shook your head and looked down at your hands in your lap feeling underserving of such feelings from such a beautiful man inside and out. 

“Jisun-” You stopped talking when he tilted your chin to look at him in the eyes. His big sparkling brown eyes. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asked as his eyes flicked down looking at your lips, his hands sliding your zip up hoodie off again. 

“Y-yes...” He pressed his lips against yours, then pulled away and looked at you. You were flushed, hot, he pressed his lips to yours again more forcefully and this time your hands rested against his jaw and neck and his cupped your face. He pecked your lips over and over again then his lips parted and his teeth nibbled and his tongue invaded your mouth, forcing a breathy moan from you. Jisung’s arms wrapped around your squishy midsection and pulled you over onto his lap as he sat with his back against the couch again, one juicy thick thigh on each side of him. You pulled away from the kiss to protest. 

“No no Ji I’m too heavy...” He grabbed hand fulls of your big ass and made you sit down on his lap completely. 

“There’s no weight limit on this ride beautiful so sit down.” You’d never heard him say anything like that before, it made you flush with arousal.  

“Ji!” He smirked and you did what he said. The moment you sat down you could feel Jisung’s hard on pushing against your clothed core. He pulled you down into another make out session as you gently moved across his lap. Both of you were still buzzing from the joint you’d smoked so you were enjoying kissing, groping, grinding. Jisung started to drag his lips down your neck, nipping and licking. 

“You’re so cute in this little crop top...” His hands traveled up it and squeezed your full breasts over your sports bra, then pulled it down freeing them. Your nipples were already hard from how worked up you were getting dry humping Jisung. He started sucking on your nipples, gently biting every now and then as you rode his clothed erection. You were a little breathless and Jisung loved the soft pants coming from you while you tugged on his hair with both hands. 

“J-Ji I’m g-gonna...” He hummed sweetly at you then let go of the nipple he was sucking on. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, cum, I want you to cum.” You held on to Jisung’s strong broad shoulders and rode him faster until you reached your peak. Jisung pulled you down into another kiss swallowing any moans coming from you as you wrapped your arms around him tightly and rode out your orgasm against his cock. You sat there for a moment to collect yourself and Jisung waited, giving you a minute, his hands gently holding your wide hips. Once you had firmly landed back on earth Jisung nuzzled his nose against yours. 

“You know you make the prettiest little faces, it's so cute when you scrunch up your nose and cum on top of me like that.” You were blushing and out of breath, you buried your face in his neck, hiding. 

“Jiiiiii...” He giggled. 

“So shy, cute. I saw how your body moved to that song, how those words affected you.”Jisung lifted your crop top off and then removed your sports bra. You sat on top of him naked from the waist up, every curve of your body intoxicating to him, your big soft tits right in his face, begging to be sucked on again but he controlled himself... for now. Jisung took his own shirt off and your mouth watered. His muscular broad shoulders, his pumped-up pecs and toned biceps. He was firm but still soft somehow, his skin smooth and warm. 

“Can I take your pants off?” Jisung asked toying with the waist band of your sweatpants. You nodded. 

“Stand up for me gorgeous.” You got up off Jisung’s lap and he drug your pants down to your ankles. You stepped out of them and he tossed them aside. You stood there and the only thing stopping Jisung from burying his face in your pussy was little cotton boy shorts with pink hearts. He stood up in front of you making you take a step back. 

“How are you so damn cute!?” One of his hands gently wrapped around your neck, his thumb softy caressing the side. 

“Do you have any idea what that does to me?” He leaned in closer and you shook your head no. 

“Makes me want to teach you how to do the dirtiest things to me, teach my sweet girl how to be bad for me. Would you like that pretty?” His hand let up off your neck and you ran your hands across Jisung’s chest and shoulders, feeling his soft skin under your fingertips. 

“Y-yes Sungie.” He cooed at you. 

“There’s my good girl.” Jisung dropped his own pants and underwear and stood in front of you, his cock firm and long. You bit your lips, it looked delicious. He cupped your face and softly pressed his lips against yours. 

“You wait right here okay? I’ll be right back! Lose the undies!” Jisung winked at you and dashed off, his cute bare ass disappearing down the hall and you giggled, taking off your panties as told. When he came back he had a condom and sat down on the couch like he had been only a few moments before only now completely naked. He patted his lap. 

“Come on now princess, sit on your throne.” You laughed shaking your head at him but climbed onto his lap again. Jisung ripped open the condom and rolled it down his cock, then held it up for you to sit on. 

“Go on jagiya show me how you take my dick.” The tip slipped into your wet hole and squeezed Jisung making him moan. 

“Ooh fuck so tight...” You slowly slid down his shaft taking more and more of him until your juicy cunt was resting on Jisung’s lap. You both sat there for a moment enjoying the feeling of Jisung, hard and full inside you. Jisung’s hands were on your hips, steadying you. He went to grab something from behind his ear and that’s when you realized he’d grabbed another joint when he’d gotten the condom. He smirked at you as he lit it. 

“Do you wanna ride me while you smoke weed?” You pushed him and giggled at his use of the lyrics but Jisung felt you clench too. He turned the joint around getting ready to put the end burning in his mouth. 

“Come on then, lean down here gorgeous...” He put the joint in his mouth backwards and you leaned down, his cock sliding inside you, your lips almost touching as you puckered yours around the other end of the joint, allowing Jisung to blow you a big shotgun. You braced yourself against Jisung’s shoulders and held it in before breathing out, your head getting that immediate hazy feeling, your body already buzzing. Jisung took the joint out of his mouth, flipped it and hit it before setting it aside. Then both of his hands were holding onto your thick hips again as he looked into your glassy eyes and smiled that big cheesy grin of his. 

“How you feeling pretty?” You held onto his shoulders, rolled your hips a little and let out a soft moan. 

“Sooo good Jisungie.” Jisung had to choke back a moan himself feeling you grind your hips against him with his cock deep inside you. 

 “Fuck, you feel good wrapped around me too. Go on ride me jagi.” You started riding Jisung as he set the pace with his hands on your hips. 

“Oh my god! Ji!” It felt so intense. Like someone took the dial on pleasure and turned it way up. One of his hands came up and his fingers wrapped around your throat gently as you continued bouncing on his cock, your big ass jiggling each time you sat on him. He gave your neck a gentle squeeze and you let out another little moan. 

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” You shook your head, the feeling of his hand around your throat was sending electricity throughout your body as you anticipated what was next. 

“N-no Jisung, it’s okay.” He nodded and added just a little pressure. 

“What if I wanted to squeeze harder?” Jisung could feel your arousal coating him. 

“You like that huh? God you’re so wet.” You nodded biting your lip. 

“Y-yes Sungie.” He squeezed just enough, not enough to restrict air but enough to add to the buzz in your head the weed had provided. 

“Good girl, keep riding me now, don’t slow down.” His other hand let go of your hip and then both of his hands were around your neck, again, not enough to prevent you breathing just enough to make your cunt throb around Jisung’s cock as you continued bouncing on it. He pulled you down by your neck face to face with him and kissed you. It was insane how tender it was in comparison. There you were riding Jisung’s dick like you were president of the porn star’s union, both his hands wrapped around your throat and he kissed you like he might break you. Jisung let go of your neck and wrapped his arms around your full body then flipped you so your back was on the couch and he was hovering over you. He lined up with your gushing plump pussy and pushed into you again. He rolled his hips and his cock hit every mind numbing spot inside you. 

“Yes! Oh fuck! Ji right there!” He rolled his hips again, harder, faster. It was like every few minutes that pleasure dial was getting turned up higher and higher. You were about to scream Jisung’s name as he hit your g spot again. 

“Ji-” His hand clamped down over your mouth as he kept fucking you, his hips thrusting into you. Your breasts jiggled when he started fucking you harder and you moaned into the hand over your mouth muffling your screams. 

“Shhhshhhshh, keep it down now jagi I’m not even fucking you hard yet.” Jisung whispered as if someone would hear him, he kissed the back his hand that was planted over your mouth firmly and gave you the most mischievous look before he started absolutely railing you. He slammed into you, rolling his hips, knowing exactly what he was doing to you because his hand clamped harder down on your mouth as you screamed for Jisung, your eyes rolling back as you came so hard the stars you saw were full on constellations.  

Jisung’s hand came up off your mouth so you could get a full breath of air as you rode the wave of ecstasy he set you on. The wave he prolonged as he continued thrusting into you slower but deep. Jisung pinched your chin between two fingers and made you look at him. He was starting to sweat, the veins on his neck becoming more prominent. He leaned forward caging you between his muscular arms and continued slowly rolling his hips as you held on to his shoulders. He kissed down your jaw and neck then hovered by your ear. 

“Pretty?” You hummed your eyes closed, your whole body felt like it was filled with bumble bees between the weed and the orgasm. 

“Can I cum in your mouth?” You nodded and Jisung looked at you to confirm. 

“Yea?” You opened your eyes, kind of, and smiled at him nodding again. 

“Yea Sungie. You can.” He was having a hard time figuring out just how you managed to look so cute all stoned and fucked out on his couch. He gave up trying and took off the condom then helped you sit up. 

“Here jagiya, use this pillow and get on your knees.” You put the pillow down then knelt on it. Leave it to Jisung, sweet even when he asks you to get on your knees for him. Jisung’s dick was in his hand, holding it out for you to wrap your lips around. You started gently sucking on the head of his cock and Jisung let out a soft moan. It sounded so sweet you wanted to hear more so you took more of his cock into your mouth. 

“F-fuck gorgeous, feels so good. Can you take a little more?” You looked up at him with his cock in your mouth, you hummed and nodded. Jisung had died and gone to heaven it’s the only way that cute face was stuffed with his cock and looking up at him. You let his tip hit the back of your throat and it gagged you. You pulled off and spit trailed from your lips to Jisung’s dick that he still held steady for you. You took him into your mouth again until he bottomed out in the back of your throat gagging you again. Jisung moaning louder as you deep throated his cock a wet squelch coming from your throat every time his tip hit the back. 

“Oh... oh fuck I’m gonna cum jagiya... I’m gon-” Jisung’s warm seed started filling your mouth, you tried to swallow fast enough but there was so much it dribbled down your chin a little. Jisung pulled out and you wiped your mouth. He made you stand and he kissed you his tongue sliding into your mouth quickly. He was worked up still, hot, already half hard again and he’d just blew a big load of cum into your mouth. 

“Bet that cunt is so wet from sucking my cock. Is it beautiful? Are you dripping?” He wasn’t wrong you were wet from blowing him mainly those moans and the soft panting.  

“Get up on the couch there, spread those thick thighs and show me that juicy pussy.” You did as you were told, your legs spread wide. 

“Spread those pussy lips too gorgeous... wanna see you tease your clit.” You started rubbing your clit softly and Jisung sat across the couch from you watching, stroking his cock. 

“That’s it two fingers... real slow, circle it.” You did as directed and Jisung kept tugging on his dick. 

“You want to watch me cum on myself while you play with your pussy?” You nodded. 

“Y-yes Ji wanna see you cum.” He hummed and focused stroking the head and twisting his wrist. 

“Spit on your fingers rub it around... fuck yes like that... now stick them inside your hole... fffffuck yes...” Jisung was jacking off fast and started tugging on his balls gently. 

“There you go jagi fuck yourself with your finger, don’t forget your clit gorgeous, use that other hand and play with it.” You started rubbing your clit with one hand as you pumped your fingers inside you with the other. Jisung was sweating, panting, blushing, he looked like he was ready to blow any time. 

“FFFFUcck! Cum for me pretty want to see you cum on your fingers, wanna see that cute scrunched up face you make when you cream for me.” You focused on rubbing your clit until you were coming and clenching around your fingers. 

“Ji Ji Ji Ji Ji...” Was all you chanted as he watched your hole contract around your fingers, your juices dripping from you. Jisung let out a strangled moan as he jerked his cock and came on himself the sight of it almost enough to make you cum again. You crawled across the couch between Jisung’s legs as he stroked his dick slowly. You leaned over and started licking his abs, slurping and savoring the cum from his perfect body until he was clean again. Jisung pulled you on top of him and you both laid there basking in your high from the sex and the weed. He huffed out a big breath wiping sweat off his forehead and looking down at you. 

“Feel better?” You giggled and nodded against his chest nuzzling in closer. 

“Yea Sungie, I’m better now.” He smiled and rested his head back on the arm of the couch, squeezing you and letting out another heavy breath. 

“Fucking... now THAT’S a verb!”  

Please do not repost or translate any of my works. My blog and stories are NSFW and 18+ ONLY! Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked!

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#stray kids smut #skz smut #han jisung smut #jisung smut #skz317cb97 #cal 🖤 #skz317cb97 thick reader series pt 2 #skz317cb97 thick reader series

[atvace]

Lady Dior and the Seven Dilfs

Chapter 2: Fuck the military (litteraly)

masterlist

[shooting range]

"Jesus fuckin Christ this place look like Nevada in Madness Combat." you tried your best to not step on the most suspicious-looking ground substance. "it's a range, (Y/N)." Gaz opened the shed full of armory crates whilst Soap set up the dummy target and then to the workhouse.

"didn't you take worser training environment to get in the FBI top class?" Soap came back with a few handguns, wiping it with a cloth. "No, I fucked my way up to the top." you sarcastically place your hands on your hip. you're wearing stylish grey Bershka cargo pants and a Zara Dark Green Knit crop top, gaslighting Gaz and Soap by saying this is what they gave you as a uniform.

"Okay princess, pick your poison." Gaz came back with a few stacks of crates, opening them one by one.

revealing a matte black XM4, HDR, and a Gallo SA12. you frowned at the availability of the big guns because you usually have your personalized Dragunov.

"Are you gatekeeping the good guns..?" you slowly turn to them with a disturbing glare. their faces dropped and looked at each other in unison. Soap broke the gaze and cleared his throat.

"(y/n)- I think its best for you to use the basics just this time-"

"you're judging me."

"no, but-"

"you're judging me."

"I just-"

"you're judging me."

Gaz separated the two of you, "OKAY OKAY how about we use the handguns before getting into the primary weapon? Cool?" he said, spreading the handguns across the wooden table. Soap shrugged and picked his signature m1911, clucking it and released the safety lock while on the other hand, you picked your good old revolver.

you both looked at Gaz who didn't pick anything. he showed his slightly swollen palm, "I still have a sore hand from last mission's accident, I want to let it rest for a few days." you raised your eyebrow in approval, "Fair." you cluck in your revolver to your side.

"woah okay, cowgirl. playing dangerous?" Soap chuckled at your weapon of choice. you open the barrel and load it with bullets.

"Underestimate me one more time," you rolled the barrel creating a clicking metal sound, and swiftly flipped your hand to get the barrel in again. "I'll Russian roulette your ass." you stare at him.

"since the pretty mohawk boy here seemed to know what he's doing, what about you go first?" you look at the dummy targets that Soap placed. an imprinted person with a few circles in the color red could be seen in the distance.

"okay, sure." Soap exclaimed and got into his position. he shot three times, the sound of bullets clanking rang in the air. you squinted your eyes a little to see what part he hit. he shot the right chest, cheek, and neck of the dummy.

"Huh. blud got smoker throat and a hole in the lung. Are you aware of the fact that the human heart is on the left side of the chest?" you look up at Soap and he looks back at you. "my hand trembled a little, it's the coffee." you scoffed at his none sense.

"don't blame them beverage." you walk up to the stance, "you train here often?" Soap raised his eyebrow at the question. "yeah, duh?" in front of the line you raised your pistol eye level. "..and that's the best you can shoot?" you cluck your revolver's hammer. 'BANG'

the light smoke come out of your revolver's muzzle. Soap was a little startled at the sudden gunshot but when he looked at the target, you hit right in the middle of the head. complete bullseye.

you giggled at Soap's dumbfounded face and jumped in front of him, waving the back of your hand to him. "and that with pretty nails" you wiggled your colorful acrylic nails that Soap's bright blue orbs reflected.

the three of you practiced a few other guns, Gaz was actually impressed by the amount of skills you have. except for a shotgun. when you tried using one, it flew right under your armpit hitting Gaz in the balls.

Half of the time you made fun of Soap, but to your liking he didn't get offended. you guys are like two dads with a chaotic daughter. the window welcomed the shifting color of the sky from yellow to orangeish. and you three decided it's time to go inside and clean up.

[ indoor, living room ]

"Uno, motherfucker." (Y/N) threw her last +4 Uno card down to the stash of previous cards. She stood up and celebrated her own winning to the invisible cheering people. the sound of the men groaning in defeat lingers around the room. "Gaz, what you got there?" Soap tried to find hope as he's the only one that has 2 cards. the British just chuckled and handed another +4 to the stash. "damn it." Soap slams down his leftover cards.

Price has called Soap, telling him that The task forces had approximately 2 weeks day off, due to... well nobody been actin up so they got none to investigate. On days off like these, the 141 are just teenagers with graying hair.

like usual, Ghost is nowhere to be found, Price is doing his endless paperwork in the headquarter, Gaz and Soap would be either out in the pub, feeding the pigeons, or going out fishing like the average guy in their late 20s. but since you're here, they take their time to have a good bonding time with you indoors. and also lectured you a few things.

Gaz taught you how to use the dryer in the laundry machine since you always have your clothes stored and cleaned nicely by a personal nanny who came over to your apartment a few times a week so cleaning duties aren't your thing. Gaz was terrified when he found out you were chewing a tide pod whilst hes not looking.

You have no idea how laundry works. you're a nepo baby but your mom is dead from cancer and your dad.. cheated on your mom. This what made you had attachment issue and abandonment issue. even when your mom was dying in the hospital bed, her last words were "Men ain't shit. I'd rather you end my bloodline than getting cheated on. also, you should outlive Trump." you took it to heart, you took it serious.

Soap, he was lecturing you about the people you might going to see. You have to know who you talking to so you won't mess up your career or get demoted lower again for being a petty bitch. He said that Gaz, him, and you are sergeants. above that, it's Lieutenant Ghost. Above the five of them, it's General Sheperd and Kate Laswell. Soap told you about Colonel König from Kortac which kind of scares you about how Soap described his appearance. Soap showed you König's Korean partner, Horangi.

"wait I know this guy," you said to Soap, looking at Horangi's picture. "(y/n), you're...not supposed to 'know' this guy." Soap gave you a puzzled look. "this motherfucker got rejected from SM Entertainment because he got caught fucking the director's daughter in his own office." you huffed and place your hand on your chin inspecting his present appearance, "let me guess, gambler?" you snapped your finger. Soap's jaw dropped in appalled hearing your accurate remark

moving on, he told you about Ghost's old recruit, Keegan. the picture Soap showed you is him holding 3 bottles of Vodka with a wide toothy smile and red flushed drunken cheeks. he looks tall about 6'1 with a fluffy hair and a cold icy iris.

As an American-(your nationality), you find Europe men quite attractive. back when you were 10, you found an article talking about European being home to men with large penises. since then, you are intrigued to find a (rich) European husband. this man's picture in front of you is definitely your long-lost puzzle.

you have to fuck him.

I mean like, you don't need to marry him. You just want to feel what a real dick feels like because the men you had sex with in the past barely lasted 3 minutes. Live fast die young, try new things even though its nasty.

"He's like.. in his beekeeping age, you know what I'm saying?" you said to Soap giggling, still staring at Keegan's picture. "What was that supposed to mean?" he slowly pull the picture away from your grasp. "Nothing!... can I keep his picture?" "NO."

back to present time, you three decided to play Uno cards. which Soap was deliberately beaten twice. "How are you so good at this?" Soap gathered the cards and pack them back into the box. "skill issue." you smirked down at him, which he rolled his eyes and place back the box of cards to the shelf.

Gaz looked up at the clock that was hung on the wall, it shows that its 5 pm. he thought about something for a second before having a go-out idea."(Y/N), you drink?" Gaz typed something down to his phone. he swore he could hear her bone crack from tilting her head too fast. "yes." you smiled menacingly, waiting for him to say the words.

"Okay so lets go-" "YESS I'LL BE READY IN 5 MINUTES" You sprinted away from the two towards your assigned room, Soap chuckled while fixing his belt strap. "She is so..energized don't you think?" he leaned to the wall, watching you slam the door behind. "I think shes very charming. but I hope that doesn't apply on missions." Gaz shrugged, sinking his phone to his pocket. "Why?" Soap turned to him.

"profesionalism above personality."

You haven't done some adjustments to your room. rather than a barrack. the whole room was painted in industrial dark green. it's built like a fucking mental asylum but in green. you started to think there's a ratatouille going on inside the walls. the floors are dusty white textile flooring. in the side of the room, your whole stuff is neatly placed. and it's the only thing that is in fresh pink, white, and baby blue colors.

you dug through your duffle bag and pull out a short black cut-out body con dress that reveal the side of your hips. it was your best buys from the Euphoria series franchise Maddy Perez inspired. you swift to the mirror holding your make-up bag, diving your hand inside it and pull out a primer spray. after spraying the cold substance through your face, you quickly put on concealer in several spots of your face and blend it away with a beauty sponge. you just put on blush on, smeared a smoked eyeshadow, then lined a sharp eyeliner to her eyes. it was uneven but nobody can tell. you slipped on your Saint Laurent Opyum 110mm heel sandal. giving your pedicured black painted nails a show to the outside air. lastly, you smeared your lips with lip tint.

you clutched your black Prada shoulder bag and walk out of your room towards the men. you saw three figures by the cafeteria, one catches your attention, it was Ghost. your gaze caught his eyes, and he stared at you with his cold orbs. which also caught Soap and Gaz's attention and they both turned to you in unison.

"(Y/N), You're-" "dressing too much." Ghost cut him off and crosses his arms again. you feel your mouth fall slightly agape. "change, now." he demanded. "I think she looks great." Soap flustered at his own words, Soap looked at Gaz whose frozen in his place "Gaz?". "you look beautiful, (Y/N)" he lend out his hand which you accepted. you had a smug grin toward Ghost when Gaz pulled you softly to his side. "come on, princess. let's go to the bar." "Oh, you are such a gentleman." you said in a Spanish accent, blowing a kiss to his cheek and giggled. Ghost was left flabbergasted as you pulled away Gaz's grasp and walk in front of him.

Ghost got irritated and looked at Soap in a 'Are you seeing this shit right now' stare. "we're off duty, I don't see a problem dressing up neatly. maybe she wants a good first impression." he said, following the two. "Fucking hell." groaning in annoyance, Ghost followed the others from behind.

Gaz opened the shotgun door for you, gesturing for you to be in control of the car radio. as you elegantly sat, he closes the door and slid to the driver. which made Ghost stops in his tracks. "Oy fucking hell?" Gaz raised his eyebrow and shrugged.

"you DIYed your driver's license from an empty Froot Loops cardboard, Ghost. I'm not risking it again." Gaz shook his head in disapproval and got into the driver's seat. defeatedly, the skull face silently sits in the backseat with Soap whose trying to turn on the radio which resulted in Ghost facing his round ass.

you looked out of the window with your chin resting on your hand, gazing through the trees and sands outside the car. thinking about your past mistakes while the sound of Gaz and Soap chattering because of the radio jagging. you know you're a confident woman, you are mesmerizing, a sight for sore eyes, you love yourself and you always live your life to the fullest. but something about Ghost's words. maybe he's right, you're dressing too much. but how much is too much anyways? are you really that arrogant? why are you suddenly scared they wouldn't like you as a person?

'SMACK' "-welcome to Radio Love Life FM." Soap bonked the radio changing the buzzing noises to finally catching a signal to the public radio station. "fucking finally. let's go Gaz." you were slightly startled but the two didn't notice. you rub the back of your neck and chuckle. "is it always like that? you should get it fixed." Soap sat back down and nodded. "I'll tell Price to put it on the list." Gaz drove out of the base's gate while somebody doesn't seem to be able to stop staring at you the whole time.

Fantasy - Mariah Carey

there was a traffic jam unfortunately but the car ride was rather lively. it's just you, Gaz, and Soap singing along while Ghost leaned comfortably with earplugs, a huge noise-canceling Sony headphones, and put his hood on to cover his protection from the other's voice. he doesn't listen to music particularly he just wants to shut his ear the whole ride. "oHH I'm so into you! darling if you only knew, all the things that flow through my mind YEAHH" the three of you sang along, each holding an invisible microphone.

(5 minutes in, Bad Romance - Lady Gaga)

Soap dramatically run his hand down from his chest. "I want it bad, bad romance" "I WANT YOUR LOVE I WANT YOUR REVENGE YOU AND ME COULD WRITE A BAD ROMANCE" you sang loudly to Gaz, as Soap sang the 'Ooh' part. "I WANT YOUR LOVE AND ALL YOUR LOVER'S REVENGE YOU AND ME COULD WRITE A BAD ROMANCE" Gaz fisted his chest dramatically. the three of you sang the 'Ooh' part in chorus. receiving an irritated grunt from Ghost.

(10 minutes in, Collide - Justine Skye, Tyga)

"oh my God this is my favorite song." you cooed excitedly, repeating the lyrics with Soap. you also whimpered slightly at the naughty lyric which caused Gaz dazzled a little but he doesn't judge. you have a melodious voice that he is secretly a new fan of. he slightly grew a warm spot for you, even though you two just knew each other by today. You just slipped into his mind like a puzzle piece. "when you put your body on mine and collideeee, collideee" You look at Gaz and rubbed his forearm in a flirtatious way. his cheeks got warm.

(15 minutes in, Simon Says - YC Banks, B. Smyth)

"wait I know this song, it's popular in LA" you giggled and patted Gaz's shoulders. "really? What's it called?" he's unfamiliar with the song, so does Soap.

"Simon Says!" you whistled excitedly. Soap and Gaz's faces went pale as Ghost jolt his body and bloodily stared at you from the back. "approach the bed imma get it wet!!" you cooed to the lyrics. Gaz and Soap looked at each other with their jaws down in disbelief. Soap was about to reach for your shoulder but Ghost stops him by shaking his head, letting you sing the song.

"SIMON SAYSS SPREAD OPEN YOUR LEGS-" you sang. not noticing the guys went dead silent.

"And put yo hands behind yo head~" you took out your phone to snap a quick picture of yourself, still not noticing the sudden silence.

"Simon saaayss take a deep breath"

"Um, (y/n)"

"CAUSE TONIGHT WE GON MAKE A MESS BABYYY"

"(y/n)-"

"IMMA DIVE IN THAT PUSSY LIKE MIKE PHELPS"

"(Y/N)!" Gaz gripped your shoulder, you looked at him with your smile drops.

"What?! you wanna kill my vibe uh?" you hissed at his touch, but he took a deep breath then looks at you softly.

"(Y/N), were here." Gaz reassured as Soap and Ghost stared at her in amusement. Soap was holding back a laughter, his face is just as red.

'Oh." you looked around, it seemed like you were in a parking lot. there weren't that many cars around, but it was not too empty either. "Okay, thank-" You were about to open the door but Gaz held your arm again, gesturing you to sit. you didn't like it when anyone touches you but upon realizing, he's not letting you open doors by yourself. he finally opened the door for you and lend out his hand.

You'd be lying if you weren't flustered. he was being extremely nice to you since in the base. but you don't take it to heart, because his mama probably raised him right. he walked you towards the back door of the pub, pushing the door and letting you enter first. As you were inside, you could see an antler head hung behind the bartender with a few beer machines and a shotgun resting below it.

It was a Scottish pub, and the song that plays at the moment you entered was Killshot by Magdalena Bay which you hummed to the beat. there are not-so-many women in the pub but they were in the same dress code as you are.

But the ones they're wearing are probably rip-offs. "I like the song you sang back in the Car." Ghost said coldly, walking past you. "I know." you shrugged your shoulders smiling.

you found yourself sitting on the bar stool between Soap and Gaz. Ghost is in the corner of Soap's left. "Open bill? it'll be $120 for 4 people with free 2 bottles of vodka." the bartender cooed with a portable EDC machine in his hand. "Yes please" Soap gave him his card, which he scanned in his machine. "I'm sorry, your credit card declined." Soap flushed in embarrassment as he got his card back. "you know what, take this." you slid your platinum card across the table towards the bartender. "thank you," he scanned it and the light turned green. "any drinks?"

"Kentucky Bourbon" Ghost rested his chin to his hand.

"Whiskey," Soap followed. "same here" Gaz followed as the bartender nodded. "and you miss?"

"Brut." you didn't bother looking, you were just scrolling through Instagram. everyone around you looked at you awkwardly because of your drink choice. but the Bartender just nodded and scooted away to get the drinks.

"Your card is made out of metal?!" Soap turned to you while sliding his card down to the ragged leather wallet. which you were...slightly squick at the sight. "personal adjustment." you gave him a half smile.

"Soo, (y/n)." you turned to Gaz and shut your phone. "tell us about yourself, I don't think we heard a lot from you since we've been just introducing you to a new place this whole time." Gaz cast a smile. you look at him then down to your nails.

As you were about to speak, Ghost and Soap was also invested in what you were about to say. this caused you to look at them funny. "the fuck you guys interested in my life lore or something," you chuckled. "oh come on, everyone has something cool to say." Soap cracked his knuckles and rest his chin down.

"should I show you a minecraft parkour video below me talking or play Time Back - Bad Style music in the background?" Soap and Gaz snorted at the reference. you chuckled at their response and layed your eyes to your arcylic nails.

"Well, my mom was a billionaire which that makes me a nepo baby. I got into a private military school and Laswell used to be my mentor actually," you slid a strand of your hair behind your ear, revealing your Kate Spade Heritage Bloom Ear Crawler and feel their gaze at you. "that was when I'm...around 15 I think? I got lost track of time because I wasn't a phone type of girl." the bartender served the drinks.

"My childhood is full of horse riding, violin, and shopping. I admit, I'm a total baby. by the time my mom knew shes going to die, she sign me up for military so I can survive and all," you chuckled to yourself. "..here I am."

"what about your father?" Gaz picked up his glass to his mouth. Soap notices your sudden change of expression, "Oh, my dad? Well I uh- Umm.." you feel yourself shrunk. "That is completely fine, (Y/N). we'd understand." he places his hand on your bare back. you shrugged and weakly laughed, "Alright I get it now, you're all without fathers, right?-" "I'm not." Gaz cut you off. "fucking love my dad" he showed you a picture of him and Price catching a huge fish. "Price's fuckin awsome." he proudly said.

Your mouth falls slightly agape as Soap wheezes at the sight of the picture. "Captain Price is your dad?" you tilt your head to the side. "No, but I like to pretend he is." he put the picture back to his phone case. "Oh. good then." you took a sip of your drink, closing your eyes, feeling the alcohol explore your tongue. "Why is that a good thing?" he shifts his pupils, watching you holding your glass close to your lips. "Because I was about to say that he probably adopted you." Soap and Ghost turned to you in disbelief.

Lights Down Low - Maejor, Wake Flocka Flame

After chattering for a good half an hour, the night becomes more effervescent. your glasses dried up, people using the jukebox, the disco ball got down and some people are actually from the military that Soap and Gaz knows. they came over to your table to say hi and you got to know the other sergeants.

"This is 141's new recruit, Lady Dior." Gaz introduced you to one of his deputies. "Shes a mid-range support," Soap exclaimed about you to his friends "Say hi, Dior". at this point, it feels like you are a kid at an uncle's party. the men been introducing you to their friends, joked around and laugh it off. Ghost in the other hand, only nodded and observed his surroundings.

some of the soldiers introduced to you are from Shadow Company, you overheard. there's a few names you caught upon talking. there was Kevin, Graves, Christ, and a few average white dude's name. and you don't really take them so serious because their ranks are a little far below you. Apparently, Shadow Company is a private elite unit of military contractors. lead by an unreachable individual. you pin this at the back of your head, you want to dive more into this.

General Sheperd is a man with many secrets. back when you were first deployed with a human trafficking case, Sheperd is the kind of man who would slow down operations intentionally. he said it was an operator and intel error but you were so dead suspicious of him. you have a personal hatred towards him, it grew into a loathe of grudges you can't help but keep. upon working in the field investigation sector, you never knew why would Laswell trust Sheperd. demoted to the 141, you finally knew why. because Captain Price, Laswell, and Sheperd had a task force they retained. this is it, where you are.

"Vodka?" the bartender offered you your free bottle of it. you took it from him forcefully, yanking it from his grasp. you took a butter knife from Soap's empty sandwich plate, clicking the bottle twice in the bottom side and twice in the rear then yanked the cap off resulting a smoke to come out of it. the bartender, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap watched you religiously. you jerk your head back, deepthroating the liquid down your throat and slams the empty bottle to the table. wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you jump down the stool. "Hold this." pushing your purse to Gaz's chest.

you went down to the crowd of people feeling your friend's piercing gaze at your figure, you didn't care. you swayed your move to the girls who eventually got along with you. the vodka started its job intoxicating your veins.

a bottle of vodka consists around 17 shots. you knew you're going to die anytime sooner for being deployed as a sergeant, dying from alcohol poisoning is cooler than getting shot and buried in a dirt.

LoveGame - Lady Gaga

Its been a while since the last time you put yourself in such a situation. you feel yourself living the night away, letting go your demotion stress out with the vodka taking over you. the lub music nuzzles into your muscles, making you whirl your hips in circles with your hands above your head.

you feel a presence on your back, rather a tall one. your eyes drowned from the smell of grapes and sugarcane from the vodka lingering in your tongue. but you don't mind to turn around and see the uninvited guest.

Men.

you sighed in frustration, still swaying your hips side by side in a pretty rhythm. the guy in front of you seemed to smile at your moves but that turned into a frown when you feel someone sandwiched you from behind. another unknown person drunkenly tried to press into you. irritated, the taller guy swiftly wraps your waist with his hands and pulls you to a dark hallway of the pub. he softly presses you against the wall behind you.

"You...are one new bunny," His gruffled voice mixed with his musk-scented perfume. "Are you a civilian?" He leveled his nose to the crook of your neck, his deep Irish accent made your stomach knot. "..You smell like sterling."

You run your finger, trailing slowly from his arm up to his flexed biceps. you tilt your head a little, brushing your lips to his red drunken ears. "That depends on how you treat me tonight," you put your thumb to his chin, making him face you. but the alley was too dark for you to see his eyes. "Maybe I'll consider giving you a good swallow." you slurred words, feeling completely influenced.

His nose brushed against yours, feeling his breathing harder. As your lips nearly interlinked, a flash from the dance floor bounces to his iris.

it's the exact same eyes you saw from the picture Soap showed you.

#task force 141 #mw2 #keegan x reader #keegan x you #modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley x you #soap mactavish x you #gaz garrick x you

[the-woild-is-y-erster]

Ahhhh no you didnt so consider this your seperate ask I need to know the rest! Also what's new friend

okie dokie! so the park follows the George family, and the four generations that actually lived on the property.

it starts in 1824 (we call this house the 1830s) when this area was settled, with Henry Jones and his family; we have a dogtrot cabin for that era, the original burned down several times so ours is a replica but its built exactly like they would have built it. we have reenactors at each house (thats what i do!) to further the story and give tours and answer questions. The Jones family had seven (i think?) children, three of which lived past the age of five.

the next house is set in the 1850s-1860s, that house burned down as well but the one we have on property has the exact same layout and the same builder, it was just owned by a doctor in town that the family was close with. the 1860s house was owned by Henry Jones' daughter, Polly Ryon. Polly was way ahead of her time; in this time period women are still very much oppressed and overlooked, but Polly's husband did jackshit so she ran the entire ranch by herself, she called the shots, made the buisness deals, all of it. She was also allowed in the mens parlor, which was where they talked buiness and all that fun stuff. Polly's niece, Susan Elizabeth, is the owner of the next house.

ah, one of my favorites! the 1890s house!! Susan Elizabeth married Judge H. Davis, and they had three children, the youngest dying at three of infant cholera. Judge Davis wasnt a judge in a courtroom, but he owned a large amount of property and cotton gins and crop shares. the couple's two surviving children were named Bud and Mamie. Bud was a bachelor, he never settled down and had three places of residence; his parents house, a permanent hotel room in a very fancy hotel in town, and his sisters future house. Bud had a staircase go up to his balcony in his parents house as he would come home late at night and his parents didnt want to be bothered by him. Bud passed away at age 42 from tuberculosis, but his sister kept his room intact at her house.

and finally; my favorite. the 1930s! this house's era could technically go all the way from 1898 to 1972, as thats when Mamie died, but we like to keep the timeline at a nice round 100 years. this house was built in 1898 by a renowned builder who built a famous mansion a few hours from the ranch, but was added onto in 1911 when the family decided they needed more space. This house was owned by Mamie Davis, who married Albert George. they built their house on the exact same plot of land Mamie's great-grandparents built on, and theres a massive tree outside that the Jones' planted when they settled. (that tree is going to be 200 years old next year! the entire park is!) the 1930s is considerably fancier than the past houses, as the Georges struck oil an the property in 1923, giving them a lot of extra spending money. the house was built with electricity and plumbing, and air conditioning was added later on. the house also has an elevator in the dining room, as Mr George fell down the stairs in his old age and couldn't go up them too well after. (he hardly ever used it, as he got stuck in it twice lmao) Mr George obviously sat at the head of the dining table, but he would often spend most of his time there, as the paddocks were directly out the window so if any of their hired help had any problems, they could just walk up to the window and talk to him about it. Albert was a heavy smoker, so he didn't have a lot of taste buds left, so he ate Tabasco hot sauce on everything. even ice cream and charred lettuce.

anywhizzle!! i have more tidbits abt each era if you wanna pick one and send me an ask abt it!! no pressure tho.

#thanks for letting me infodump abt history lmaooo

[utsukushii-kara]

Pandaman at Water 7 (Post-Enies Lobby)

#one piece #pandaman #monkey d. garp #garp #garp the fist #op smoker #smoker #franky #op franky #cyborg franky #ch 333 - 441 #post enies lobby #water 7 saga #i *could* have cropped that smoker shot more #but no i couldn't

[slater-later]

Clarence x Reader Flirt at the Bar

Audience: General

Warnings: None, flirting

Notes: At Y/N, insert your own name, pronouns, and preferred complimentary words. That way, Clarence uses what you like!

Read below the cuff!

For: @da3m0ns-exe

The two of you had met at an Irish pub a few blocks down the street. Dimly lit under the cheap green ‘chandeliers’, at least, they were trying to be, hanging over a narrow line of booths. A green shamrock sign buzzing in the corner window, listing O’ Conners next to the four leafed sign buzzing beside it.

It was a fine dump, gritty and warm and thick with cigarette smoke. A few old geezers sat at the bar, buzzing back large thick dark beers as they chatted in Greek. It was Detroit after all, and everyone was welcome. The D brought everyone together. And if you had a few bucks to spare, it would make your night worth while. The jukebox buzzed in the corner, firmly set from the 70’s and stacked high with classic 45’s. A quarter would get you two songs, and it would flip through the rest. Buzzing Marvin Gaye’s Through the Grape Vine through the open speakers. There were a few TV’s in the corner of the bar, one showing a Tigers baseball game and the other the racetrack. A chestnut filly bending over the corner and splitting from the pack. Her jockey lit a firecracker from out under her behind as he rode her to the front, cracking his crop as they crossed the finish line. Taking home 50k- something a brod in the corner was upset by. Throwing her hands up as she watched, swearing! Because she had bet the bar that #5 would win. California Folly, the chestnut mare, bit her for the win, and she slapped up her cash to the house. Her buddy chuckled to himself at her anger. The bartender greedily took her cash, smirking, as he slipped it into the cash register. He changed the chalk boards odds for the next race. A commercial flashed across the screen.

It was a bettin’ bar, and it was a Friday night. That meant, the race tracks were on. They even caught the signal from the tracks out West. Meaning people could get drunk and lose their money all night long. At least, far enough into the night to be firmly fucked by 10, and either pissed from losing their money or giddy because they made a decent buck. Either way, it meant the crowd pounded back drinks. The bar took home a load whether it was packed full or filled with crickets. 

Clarence was seated up at the bar, his army jacket slipped off and hanging on his chair. He slowly leafed through his comic, head buried deep in his book. He slowly drank, the rum and coke sitting at the edge of his lips, relaxed and quiet after a long day at work. 

He had closed up shop and came in for dinner, a burger and fries, and read the newest edition of Deadpool in his freetime. He actually had a small stack of them next to them. He had cashed his check and sorted the freshly delivered boxes before he locked up. Making a mental note to pay the old man in the morning- he would stuff the bills in the register tomorrow morning.

The new stuff sold fast, and that was exactly why he needed to make his pick before it hit the shelves. He had to be strategic! Take advantage of the perks of running the store!

You slid into the stool a few spots down, gesturing over to the bartender as he made his way over. He was built, wearing a plain black shirt that hung over his body. A gold chain that hung from his neck. He looked kind and quiet, gentle. He had worked there for several years.

“Whatcha’ having?”

  “Pabst,” You nodded, popping out your wallet.

“Pint or pitcher?”

“Pint.”

“Alright, but they’re $7 until 11.” He collected your cash and made his way up the bar, pouring your drink.

Clarence’s nose was in the comic, one hand holding the bridge of it while the other slowly set down the beer. Reaching out for a fry and mindlessly dabbing it into ketchup before it crawled to his mouth. Slowly inching closer. 

His long and shabby fry broke off, falling into his lap and getting on his jeans. You couldn’t help but to laugh. “You okay over there bud?” The bartender handed you your beer, curling in the glass as you took a sip. The foam made a fine mustache on your upper lip.

“Jesus!” He bit, pissed. He had just gotten to a good spot- he fucking didn’t want to stop! “I don’t know man.” He shook his head, nabbing a handful of napkins out of the dispenser and cleaning his lap. 

He finally looked up as you set down your glass. Catching the side of your face- “I ain’t pulin’ your chain, but ya got somethin’ on your face,” He grabbed another handful, passing it over. “A lil’ on here,'' He rubbed his upper lip, brushing his faint five o’ clock shadow.

You grabbed a napkin from him, quickly wiping it away before you got too embarrassed. Shit happens. “Thanks,” You muttered with a smile, softly laughing. Folding it afterwards and placing it under your glass. 

He nodded, reaching for his comic again. 

You were in a good mood and company always made it better. You had the urge to chat, he was attractive, after all. “So, whatcha readin’?”

He looked over, eyebrows raised. “It’s uh, Deadpool. Issue #7,” He put his thumb on the page and flopped it over to the front. Reaching out his arm to show you the cover. “It’ll hit the shelves tomorrow.”

“How’d you get your hands on that?”

“Oh,” He flashed a guilty smile. Caught. “I work at the comic book store down the street, this is next week's issue,” The cover showed Deadpool stepping forward, gun in hand, his red and black latex suite dressed with a heavy white jeweled overcoat and flashing plants. He was wearing the iconic Evil Presley suit, black wig and sunglasses and all. Finger-pointing at a very unpleasant Cable, probably cursing Wade for being alive. Or was it that he can’t die?

“It’s the new Deadpool and Cable issue. It’s a new series they’re doing, do you wanna look?” He offered it and you happily accepted. Taking your time as you flipped through the pages, reading the inside insert. The introduction.

He rattled on, “It’s not as good as some of his other series but then I saw the front cover. I wanted to grab it before we ran out. I’m a big Elvis fan,” He smiled softly. Watching you read.

“Oh?” You peered up, raising an eyebrow. A hook- Elvis wasn’t exactly your man, but it didn’t deter you. “Is he your favorite?”

He beamed as he sipped his glass, nodding as the glass left his lips, setting it down on the wet napkin. “Favorite? It doesn’t begin to describe how much I love that man,” He could rattle on for forever. Even blab again about how much he wanted to fuck Elvis. But, usually, that wasn’t the most widely loved small talk conversation? He was better off tabling that conversation for a later time. Unless he wanted to blow his chance when flirting with a hot person. A man needed to get lucky sometimes, alright? Sheesh, he didn’t think some bisexuality was a bad thing. Isn’t that, a, you know? A sexual fantasy for some folks?

He drilled a finger into the side of his temple, elbow up on the bar as he watched you. How your feet shifted in your sift as you curled up closer to him, leaning in, tenderly turning the page of a secretly, newly loved comic. Mashing up the two things that made him bounce up and down with pure excitement. He was delighted.

“I’m a huge fan, I’ve always been since I was a kid. My dad used to listen to him while I was growing up, and I’ve had the itch ever since. He changed rock n’ roll forever, for the better,” He would watch old tapes of his dancing and performing on stage, having become familiar and comforting to his body. It was something he could return to, regardless of how he felt, and know he felt comfort in.

That, and watching him dance up on stage was light lightening. A friend and a lover.

“What’s your favorite song?” You smirked, flipping a page. You were more interested in his eyes than the panel. Wondering if he had caught on. 

He slid from his seat to the one next to you, dragging his beer along with him. The bartender snapped up his long forgotten dinner. Wiping down the table. “Do you mind?” He gestured to the seat, checking in.

“No,” You shook your head smiling, your delight so easy to read. “Not at all,” You swore you could feel your heart skip a beat. Your body felt fresh, warmed by the flash of heat spreading through your cheeks. You hoped another drink of your beer would help, at least to calm the giddy building up inside of you.

You would cut yourself off at two beers. At the rate of your drinking, you’d been in the hole after three. Too drunk to drive and by the soft patter of the rain outside, you didn’t want to be stuck in the rain. Trying to wave down a cab as it poured, head buzzed and tired, ready to flop down in your bed and forced to make it back. Getting fucked up was fun, but getting home could be a challenge.

  The thought already sounded miserable. You’d much rather be here, with the jukebox, under the warm hum of the bear and its speakers. It switched over to You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine by Lou Rawls. 

“Good,” He smiled with a surprising amount of soft charm. Voice low as his pinky mused with his lip, eyes slow as they took in your body. 

He had to look away. 

FUCK! It wasn’t polite to do that shit, he was either going to get a drink thrown in his face again or something!

He kept his eyes up at the bar, tongue flashing across his teeth as he chuckled to his mind. He could be so fucking stupid! This Y/N was going to beat him. 

He fisted for his cigs in his flannel pocket, offering you one.

Okay, this guy was an idiot, but a cute one.

“Thanks,” You took a cig and slipped it between the side of your lips. Grabbing  your lighter in your coat pocket, prepared as a common smoker should. You lit both of your cigarettes.

“So, you didn’t answer my question,” You shot, releasing a draw downward. 

He snapped it out of his mouth, square in hand as he shook his head awake. “Shit, what was it again?” He laughed, he was losing his head around you. You sucked all the smarts out of his brain.

You elbowed him lightly, amused. “What’s your favorite Elvis song?”

He paused for a moment, getting his mind in gear. Quickly shuffling the different songs on his head- “Hound Dog, and then Blue Suede Shoes, and All Shook Up,” It was the fast, catchy beats of Elvis’s drawl that got him. The electricity that he exuded, that made him want to dance and grab the hand of a friend, a stranger, even an old person! 

It made him want to boogie to the music.

You snickered, he hit right on the money. Damn, this guy had taste. Of the few you knew well, those were it. “Where does Jailhouse Rock rank?”

“8th,” He said clear as day, pointent. It was clearly not his favorite, but a hot contender. He had, in fact, listened to every single god damn song Elvis had published. Including the Hawaiian soundtrack album, which was a partial wash. He thought Elvis was at best when he was shaking it for a crowd, not trying to play at movie making. Yet, it hadn’t stopped him from consuming them all. “I paused not because I didn’t have a top three, but because…” Shit, he got himself in a hole? Wasn’t he playing the ‘cool guy’ really well?

“Because?” You flicked into the ashtray, bringing your arm in for a draw. Raising your eyebrows at him as you drew, feeling the air.

“Because I was thinking about you,” He slipped both elbows on the bar, facing forward towards the line of liquor and head turned towards you. Smirk painted on his lips, shameless in his expression, “You’re very Y/N.” He smiled, eyes stilling on you as they peered into yours eyes, then passed down your shoulder. “And I don’t normally get to talk to a Y/N like you.” Usually, they either weren’t interested in talking about comics and Elvis. So, what was there to talk about? Stupid small talk they he didn’t know much about? It was much harder, trying to find a Y/N with similar interests.

Your face felt warm again. You finished off the rest of your drink. Quenching your fuzzy head with the sharp inhale of nicotine, trying to peel the flush off of your cheeks. You couldn’t hide it- his soft pink lips looked beautiful when they moved. Especially when they were saying such sweet words.

You slicked a hand across your face, hiding the bite of your red cheeks, “How about we get a booth in the corner? And you tell me a bit more about yourself?” It seemed like a good idea. And it would give you a moment, to collect yourself, before continuing your chat.

You raised a hand to the bartender. He turned and you held up two fingers. A pint for you each. 

“Hmph!” His spiky eyebrows peaked up, elated. “Sounds good to me!” He snickered, collecting his stack of comics and waiting for the drinks to come. You two stepped to the back to back of the bar, sliding in next to each other at the dark spot in the room. A place, where neither of you would be bothered. Holed up, until the bar closes, chatting about sweet nothing while you got to know each other. Maybe get, caught in the rain together, under his umbrella. Before turning in, to his apartment. 

It was, in fact, closer than your apartment.

#true romance #christian slater #clarence x reader #fan fic #tristen writes #enjoy Ben! #This was fun

[charliedoyleloves]

One Piece Self Insert Facts

So while most will be under a read more, this point will be above it because it’s the best point of all.

Charlize has a bigger bounty than Luffy for much of the series. Like, at the beginning it’s a 90 million Dead only bounty. They will not tell anyone except Luffy why they have it. It’s one of the greatest mysteries of the crew until Sabaody.

Cont:

Because they try to keep an eye on their brother all the time, they often get their Bounty raised pre-time skip. This stops after the Time skip, as their actions during it are considered to be “Acts of Global Terrorism” and raise their bounty to an absurd degree.

Despite their reputation as a destructive terrorist, many of the New World Marines know that they’re more of a nuisance most of the time. Mostly because they keep stealing their blue pens, which are needed to sign official documents. And Smokers stacking Rocks whenever they cross paths.

People know that Charlize has limits, as they have always been blunt about what they will use their Devil Fruit Powers on. Largely, it has to do with slavery or the oppression of others. They lament that they never had the chance to be a law-abiding citizen, but hate the “Absolute Justice” model that the Marines and World Government use.

They have a Mark of the Celestial Dragon on their back, which they cover with high necked crop tops. Because of this, they don’t go into the baths with Nami and Vivi during the end of the Alabasta Arc. The order of people who found out about the scar is: Luffy (during their introduction arc) -> Chopper (During their initial exam) -> Zoro (Post Alabasta, out of trust. I’m making a big ass one-shot about it) -> Everyone else.

After Sabaody, they start thinking about tattoos that could be used to cover it.

I’ll just reblog and add more as I think of them.

#si: the acrobat #headcanons #acrobat headcanons

[artificialqueens]

do you have a light? (sharolet) - melody

A/N: Happy (late) bday for @callmesatan201!!!!!!!!! I was supposed to post this on the day of ur bday, but I got a bit late eeeeeeeek. Unsual pair, but she likes it v much and as its her gift I thought it would be nice. Enjoy! (writing tumblr is uranustrash).

Tired, Violet was very tired. She had a tinder date with this girl - Pearl was her name. A blonde bombshell who looked nice as her profile pic promised -, but the girl was not being nice to her. Violet was waiting for a fancy dinner, or even that Pearl took her to the movies. But she ended up in a dirty club in one of the most dangerous parts of the city. Pearl probably was drunk or doing drugs while the lights were blinding Violet, and all she wanted was to go home.

The lights, they blinded her. She lost Pearl of her sight, great, now her tinder date dumped her for some cocaine. She felt offended because she put real effort into her appearance: a black crop top, a leopard print mini-skirt and an expensive pair of Louboutins - that matched her killer red lipstick… Violet got all dressed up for a fancy night, but her outfit still matched the place she was in.

Not only the lights, but the music also annoyed her a bit, because she couldn’t listen to Pearl’s voice anywhere. She expected her sleepy voice whispering dirty things on her ear now. Instead, all she could hear was the generic club music and all the voices in that dance room.

Great tinder date she was having when her date didn’t even pay attention to her. Violet loved attention, she was an attention whore, and people rarely denied her it. Violet was what people would call pretty. With her bright black hair majestically curled, and her dark eyes - where you could see the whole universe on it. She had a modelesque figure, a strong personality, was very smart, and a big talent for fashion. Everyone always made her seem to be the brightest star in the universe, except for Pearl.

Everything was a mess, but she tried to dance. Dancing would make people pay attention to her, if Pearl didn’t, other girls would do. And on fact, they did, because Violet was this majestic on that dance floor. The lights could blind her sometimes, but now she was the light blinding them all. As she always used to be the sun, even if the dark haired girl always has loved the moon. All this ‘’sun and moon’’ stuff was bullshit. Maybe she was the moon, and needed another moon for shining with her - Jupiter had a lot of moons anyways, why couldn’t she?

After getting distracted for a couple of minutes, she realized she lost Pearl’s figure. What made her sad was that the blonde wasn’t even paying attention to her while she was playing her little show. Violet’s seduction show consisted in swinging her hips a bit, biting her lip, flipping her hair, trying to make eye contact with pearl’s ice blue eyes… She was trying to catch her attention in all the ways possible.

Everyone said Violet was a smoke show, but apparently, Pearl didn’t think the same. Violet wondered if she was gay, or if she was a curious straight girl who tried tinder. Violet cursed herself because she forgot to ask everything about her. They barely chatted on tinder, because Violet was in such a thirsty mood. She only wanted a nice date and a tinder hookup, but now she wanted the ‘’nice date’’ part more than anything. Pearl also didn’t say anything.

The blonde was too mysterious for that. Violet only knew she used to do a lot of weed, and that she was always sleeping because of her sleepy tone. She was also funny, but kinda uncomfortable. As violet realized when they chatted, she was high saying Violet was beautiful as a big joint. Pearl tried to flirt with her in their way to the club and Violet realized she was high already.

Violet got disappointed, but she wouldn’t get the stoned blonde to smooch her in that sad night. Instead, she saw Pearl’s lips on another girl’s, her tongue slipping into her throat. She was pinning her into the wall, practically swallowing the girl who was kinda shorter than her. She was pretty, but Violet was prettier, and she got disgusted watching that. She wanted to yell at pearl, to take satisfaction. To tell her she would be making out with her, pinning her on the wall, kissing her neck as nothing else mattered.

Even if she wanted to cry, Violet Chachki would never cry in public, or ruin her makeup anyway. She looked at Pearl, and the blonde didn’t even stop kissing the other girl to pay attention to her mad date. She decided to pass at their side, looking at Pearl over her shoulder. The blonde now noticed her rage and opened her eyes to her. Violet shot her with anger in only one look and made her way to outside the club.

Now it was cold, not only outside, but Violet’s feelings also. She felt used, she felt ignored, treated with negligence. Tinder dates always were a bad idea anyway. She didn’t even know why she agreed with her friend Katya - who said a hookup would light up her mood. She considered to going back to the club to have some fun, drink a lot. But then she felt too sad for clubbing.

She used to do a lot of clubbing, of course. But, on that night she was faithful that she would… Be with somebody. Being lonely was hard. She was craving affection after pushing away every girl who tried to approach her in the last years. Craving something, a light into the darkness. Violet needed a light, a light to guide her, and also light because she was craving smoking with all that stress. So that was she went to look for.

Violet needed a light, a light for her cigarette. She decided to smoke as it was a very cold night. She was so stressed and sad, she needed to light up a cigarette. And then, she would go home, and not leave her bed for a good couple of days. Happily, she brought her cigs, but not her lighter. The dark haired girl sighed, looking on her all messed tiny purse for finding one tiny light lighter.

Only finding makeup and money basically, Violet saw there was no lighter. What kind of smoker brought cigarettes, but no lighter? Pearl would have one, but all she wanted to do now was to take that jerk off her head. She needed it, and now she didn’t have a light to clarify her mind.

And when she thought there was no light, she saw somebody lighting up a cigarette at her side. Somebody young, with an intimidating stance. It could be the leather jacket she was wearing or the malicious smile on her black lipstick lips. She looked at Violet and all she could do was shake in response. At that moment, she didn’t know if she was shaking because of the cold on her bare legs or because of the intimidation.

The eye contact with the woman lasted long seconds that seemed like eternities to Violet. She looked at her blowing the smoke of her cigarette slowly. Teasingly, licking her lips as a predator ready for chasing her prey. She looked to know Violet wouldn’t say anything until she did. Obviously, because Chachki would never say a word to the oddly sexy black haired woman.

Black lipstick, black hair, black eyes, black cigarette, black leather jacket. The girl soul should be as the night. The darkest nights always have light poles to bring some clarity - and that was the light on her eyes. So pretty that Violet could pass out.

Finally, Violet decided to break the silence: ‘’do you have a light?’’ she said harshly. Not as a shy girl who saw something intimidating and started to act like a baby around them. Violet wasn’t a subby pillow princess, for god’s sake.

‘’Hmmm’’ the woman hesitated ‘’here, thank me later beautiful’’

Wow, someone flirting with her in that chaotic night was a true advance. A very good one, considering that the woman looked… Like that.

Violet lighted up one of her own cigarettes and took a long pull at it. She realized the woman at her side staring at her, and she only could gulp and give back what was hers abruptly. She seemed to notice that Violet only was confident by first sight. That was the reason why she gave the lighter back to her in such a rush way… Or, why she started to sweat and shake her feet. Violet was a nervous hurricane. She was smoking in short and rushy pulls now, and the woman at a small amount of distance knew it, so she did the first move:

‘’Chaotic smoker too? I assume you were having a bad night’’

‘’Were you having a bad night?’’ Violet hesitated.

‘’I’m surprised the first thing you wanted to know about me as if I had the bad night, darling, look at me. Bad nights get caused by me’’ she laughed wickedly.

‘’To be honest, talking to you was the best part of mine… What’s your name?’’

‘’It’s Sharon, Sharon Needles. Nice to meet you, delighted’’ she said in a very sexy tone filled with lust. The weird thing was that she wasn’t looking to Violet’s body, instead, she was looking to her eyes. Sharon was trying to read her like a book. That thought gave her chills all over her exposed body.

‘’Violet… Chachki’’

‘’Such a pretty name. A pretty name…’’ She pulls off her cigarette and walked to get close to violet ‘’… for a pretty girl’’.

Violet could feel it, a kiss was going to happen. Instead, Sharon stole her lighted cigarette from her hand and smoke it blowing the smoke on her face.

‘’…Princess’’

Chachki bit her lip. Sharon was trying to get in her pants but in an unusual way. Girls like Pearl would do that straight up. They would stare at her body, call her ‘’babe’’ and kiss her in a rush for the nearest bathroom. But Sharon? Sharon was teasing. Sharon wanted to know her, to please her, to give her a touch of mystery, a light mist of what was Sharon Needles.

‘’…I got tired of my cigarette anyways, yours seemed so much better’’ she said in a hoarse even more sexy voice.

The way Sharon licked her lips to a speechless turned on Violet, it was from another dimension. She was the definition of ‘’sexy stranger’’, and compared to the night she was having, Violet was very into it.

‘’Why are you doing this? You don’t even know me’’’

And Violet was being the bitter bitch again.

‘’Well. I thought you were into it sorry if I misunderstood’’ Sharon cleared out her throat

Great, now she killed the mood. She wished she would get into Sharon’s game, and get a hookup in that lonely night. That could be so nice since Pearl didn’t make the least hat was fulfilling Violet’s needs. She was the stupid one.

Damn, now Violet was crying.

‘’I-I’m sorry okay I’m stupid, you’re right what the hell was I thinking? To be honest, I only wanted to flirt a bit and get your number, I wasn’t trying to get straight up in your p-’’

Before Sharon could even finish her sentence, Chachki grabbed her by her shirt. She finally tasted that teasing lips. Sharon was magic. The way she kissed her back - not too rough not too nice, the way she made Violet feel more appreciated than anyone ever did… Appreciated with the soft, tender, sensitive touch of her lips, desired. The way she did it all was pure magic.

Her hands were all the way Violet’s body, making her whimper a bit in the kiss - what seemed to make Sharon… Inspired. Sharon pressed her in the wall, and her hands now were in her perfect hair. Pulling her lip, kissing her jaw, smiling between the kisses… What was how Sharon won Violet on that night.

When that ended - with both of them breathless trying to process that -, Violet was still trying to clean up her tears. Sharon offered her a tissue, another kind gesture. a stranger treated her better than her date for that night, and that didn’t surprise her.

‘’I… I had a shitty night. And you came here, you flirted, it seemed like a movie scene’’

Suddenly, they saw the door of the club being open, and two drunk girls coming out of it recklessly. She recognizes them by far sight: Pearl and the girl she was making out with. Drunk, high, out of their minds.

But for one second, Pearl’s jaw dropped when she saw Violet. The make-out with Sharon was a bit messy; Violet had her lips all plump and red, a few hickeys on her neck and collarbones, her eyes still were wide and sparkling, she had black lipstick from her foreign lover all over her face… And not to count on the fact that her perfect hair now was a hot mess.

Sharon for the other side, raised her eyebrow, looking at Violet, the girl, and Pearl. She had to wait them go, but her dark black wide eyes followed them with a very ugly and mean look all over the way. When they lifted the nearest corner, her expression changed. She was trying to read Violet again. Violet had a confused expression on her face, and a hope one too. She hoped that Sharon would know what happened, and she did.

‘’I’m sorry, is she your girlfriend?’’

‘’No, a stupid tinder hookup… Do you usually kiss and flirt with strangers and broken girls? Because I’m one in both’’ she tried to change the topic.

‘’Now I see why you were having a shitty night’’

Sharon grabbed the lighter she gave to violet, pen, and paper e ‘I would love to meet in the usual way next time, I don’t do that a lot… But I would love to finish what we started some time, ring me up!“

Violet smiled, was she even real?

The following events were too quick for her. Sharon gave her number and the lighter. She said a rushy ‘’bye doll’’ and kissed her in the corner of the mouth - the nearest possible, only for teasing. Part of Violet wanted to believe that happened, and part of her thought that was an effect of the lights.

But the next day, she woke up still with a messy head. Besides that, with a lighter, and a phone number written on a paper that smelled like cigarettes. It also had a little note under the number:

‘’Thanks for asking for a light, princess ;). Call me, I might need one after tasting your darkness (wow that’s emo)”

#sharon x violet #pearlet #lesbian au #tw alcohol #tw drug use mention #hurt/comfort #violet chachki #sharon needles #pearl liaison #rpdr fanfiction #melody #mild angst #rare pair

[robobrainmurdermysterytheatre]

I started my raider boy and I’m preeeetttyy sure I know what I’m going to do so I don’t miss out on anything but I was thinking, how is this going to start? How do I start this so it complies with the big picture of where I want this to go? So I wrote a thing and it’s very silly but I like it. I’m going to cut it in the middle of the beginning so you don’t have a billion words on your dash, but if you wanna read it, enjoy!

One warning there is uhhh graphic descriptions of violence so if that’s not your thing steer clear. 

*

Pain. Bright. 

He was flat on his back on the ground. Even through his closed eyes he could tell wherever he was was absurdly bright. Every corner of his body ached. This seemed familiar. And he wasn't alone.

"Y'think this asshole has anything good on him?" a weathered voice came from near his feet.

A low, impressed whistle came from a second person near his head.

"He's got that."

"Where the fuck you think he got it? "

"Fuck if I know. There's supposed to be that vault up there, right?"

"Nah, he's not a vault boy he doesn't have the stupid getup"

"Probably killed a vaultie, even a lowlife scavver like this could take a vaultie. Take it."

The men cackled. He could discern three voices. Who are they? Who am...

"Check his pockets, too, fuckface, if you wanna score some jet from Wolfgang"

He laid still, breath held and eyes closed, trying to assess the situation. Two sets of footsteps were walking away. The third was probably still right there.

He felt a hand on his left arm. No time left to figure this out. His own hand shot out to grab it. He was on the other man in an instant, turning his arm at an unnatural angle until he heard a snap. The strangled cry from the injured man alerted the other two.

"What the motherfuck...?" The two men turned around in time to see what they thought was a corpse dig his thumbs into their friend's eyeballs and pop them out of his skull with a sickening thwuck. The assailant slammed the man's head down into the roadway, satisfied when he heard a crack.

"Oh hell no!" the larger of the remaining two shouted. He whipped his head toward them. One brandishing a knife and the other a tire iron. He scanned the body of the man who's life he had just taken. Unarmed. He stood to face the men, shoulders squared, scowl on his face. Fuck. I guess this how it ends. Scowl turned into sneer and he felt a joyless laugh creep out of him. The two men who were ready to attack now were slightly unnerved. He noticed and dialed up the crazy, twisting his face manically, baring his teeth. Tire iron man slowly lowered his weapon, eyes wide with confusion. His partner looked to him incredulously. Without word, both men unceremoniously turned and ran. 

A sinister laugh ebbed to an amused snicker. "Assholes," the victor spat, watching them run.

The man surveyed his surroundings. He was on a roadway, a couple husks of what were once sedans in front of him, the roadside littered with golden grasses and dead foliage. Collapsed telephone poles dotted the landscape. Down a ways was a crossroads and a diner. Everything looked eerily familiar but yet, somehow, not. Where am I? 

Who am I?

"Ha! Oh boy! Where did you learn that one, kid?" the voice of a lifetime smoker called brightly from somewhere beyond the roadside. The woman who meandered into view had the face of a lifetime smoker as well, framed by short-cropped brunette hair. "Saw the whole thing from up down road. Thanks for that, those raiders had been giving us trouble off and on for weeks." Her vibrant violet eyes shined with glee at the carnage she had witnessed. She stopped in front of the man and leaned in conspiratorially, "Nice to see someone make them piss their pants for a change," she offered, grinning. She didn't appear to be a threat, but something about her demeanor told him she could be if she needed to be. She also didn't appear to be threatened by him, lighting up a cigarette casually. He looked at his left arm, where the man, the raider, had grabbed him. There was a device there, strapped on like a wristwatch but huge, with knobs and dials and a screen... I wonder if this is what those guys were after?

The woman followed his gaze, and raised a brow. "So what's your story? You lookin' to trade? Directions to Diamond City? Or rob me?" the last bit felt like a challenge. One he wasn't interested in taking. But her question felt like a punch that sent his brain spiraling - I don't know. I don' t know who I am. I don't know where I am. I don't know what's happening, or what has happened...

But his mouth, fortunately or unfortunately, operated independent of his brain, "Just lookin' for love, sweetheart" he replied arching his eyebrow and pulling one corner of his mouth into a lopsided grin. He knew how stupid it sounded before it all even came out, but it was too late now. The woman shook her had, unimpressed, but chuckled "Boy, have you come to the wrong place! My lovin' days have long since passed. I'll tell ya what, stud muffin," the endearment dripped with biting sarcasm and punctuated by rolling her eyes, "you made an old girl smile, and that ain't easy so if you want to do some trading I'll give you a discount," she finished with a flash of a genuine smile. "What did you say your name was?" 

I don't know.

"Why, I thought you already knew, you called me by it!" He pulled both eyebrows up in feigned surprise, while the woman pulled hers down in quizzical response. "Stud muffin?" he offered in a reminding tone, grinning at her. "Oh for the love of!" she exclaimed rolling her eyes skyward once more. 

"You can just call me Muffin, though." he quipped, both amused at the situation and cautious of drawing her ire. As she opened her mouth to reply, shouts from down the road near the diner drew their attention. "Shit, gotta go, more of these assholes. It's not my fight!" She turned and strode hastily opposite of the commotion without another word leaving him in the road alone again with his thoughts.

#i really named him muffin #well carla did #its very silly and i love it #robobrain literary theatre

[xaz-fr]

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@frxemriss @plainstriderbard @guardianite @golden-lionsnake @barkingjester @snowfoot-fr @starry-ampelope @unicornspace @journey-taken-fr @lynxstorm27 @deadpool-scar-bro @unburdened-billy

I will only ping this particular list once and if you want to be pinged for future posts a like or reblog will get you on the next pinglist. Reblogs (especially with a dumb comment but not required) are way more appreciated as it allows other people to see the work.

vry disappointed in all y’all not kicking my ass about uploading but luckily I did it anyway.

2. What Sharp Teeth

Anora wasn’t much better in the morning. If anything she was worse and running a fever. Relora cooed and clucked over her on the patio while Spayar saddled his horse. Anora was all bundled up in what was basically a blanket with arms but was still shivering like she was cold, her curly hair pinned back away from her face with silver hairpins in the shape of cats made by their father. Once his mare was ready he led her out of the shed. Relora frowned slightly even as she picked her daughter up and went over to Spayar. “She’s gonna be fine, addim,” Spayar assured her.

“You sure you still friends with this healer?” Relora asked nervously.

“Addim, you know her. It’s Mali.”

Relora looked confused, “She’s a healer? Since when?”

“It isn’t very common knowledge. She’ll make sure Anora gets fixed up.”

“Alright. You sure I shouldn’t come?” she asked even as Spayar pulled himself onto his mare’s high saddle.

“I know you both well enough to know that would be a bad idea,” Spayar apologized. “I’ll bring her back probably before it’s dark,” and he leaned down to take his baby sister from his mother. Relora still hesitated before transferring her to Spayar’s capable arms. With a grunt he put Anora in front of him on the saddle.

“Mama?” Anora asked when she realized through her fever she wasn’t with her anymore.

Relora went up to her on the saddle, the scars on her forehead twisted as her brow furrowed and she put her hand on Anora’s leg. “It’s okay cha-trime, your brother is taking you to go feel better.”

“Oh,” she said tiredly. She looked up at Spayar tiredly. “Oh.”

“Just go,” Relora said worriedly. She stepped back and wrung her hands.

“Mali will have her good as before in no time,” Spayar promised his mother and gently tugged on the reins to get his mare to turn. He heard Relora speaking Dirnine but didn’t catch the exact words as his mare walked out the gate. His mother closed it up behind him.

The ride from Bellringer to D’linger wasn’t exactly a short one and Spayar was grateful that before they’d even made it out of the neighborhood Anora had passed out leaning against his chest. They skirted the edge of Smoker’s Den, cutting through part of Tradesmen before finally entering D’linger with its nearly orderly streets with several creating clear sight lines to the Academy at the center of the neighborhood. Spayar got on one of the main avenues and followed it towards the Academy while carefully reading the building corners for the street he was looking for. When he found it he took it down a side street to another side street to a plain door of a small house. It wasn’t much to look at really.

With some effort Spayar got off his horse without dropping his sister and pulled her off. She woke as he gently put her on the ground. “Hey,” he said, squatting in front of her, “I need you to just stand here for a minute while I tie my horse up. Can you do that?” he asked her gently.

“Uh-huh,” and she sniffed looking like she was about to pass out at any moment again. Better than vomiting.

Spayar quickly pulled his mare down to the side of the house where a wooden beam had been installed for just such a thing. He tied the reins up around the cleat provided and went back to Anora. She reached up to be carried and he wasn’t so heartless to deny her. He scooped her up into his arms and walked the few steps from there to the front door where he knocked, rather loudly. He waited impatiently. He knocked again, practically bruising his knuckles.

The door was ripped open. “I heard you the first time! What?” demanded the annoyed healer.

“Hi, Mali,” he said cheerfully and used one of Anora’s sort of limp hands to wave at her. Mali was a good head shorter than him but you’d never know it because of how big her personality was. She was round all around with cunning brown eyes set in a soft face with cheeks that dimpled when she smiled. Her curly brown hair was pulled back into a horse tail high up on her head so you could see her slightly pointy D’linger ears. All of that was eclipsed by the fact that she was a healer, rare in itself, and was a powerful one at that. She didn’t even come from a healing family either.

“Oh, well look who it is,” Mali started out mean then glanced over him and to Anora. “Is that your sister?” her voice dropped a bit in concern.

“Yeah, she needs some help. She’s got a fever and is throwing up and in general is being gross and sick.”

Mali did look concerned before squinting at him suspiciously. “Is this your excuse to come see me?”

“What? She was sick when I got home. Who do you take me for?”

“Spayar Hillsman, d'aelar of Vondugard Le'Acard. I expect the worst, as I should,” she said nearly exasperated with him already and they’d said a handful of sentences to each other.

He made a fart noise with his mouth at her. “I wouldn’t use my baby sister as an excuse to come bother you. I’d just come bother you. Now you gonna help an old friend out or leave us out here?”

Mali made a face. “Alright, come in,” and she let him into the house. “Bring her into the ward,” she said and beckoned. He followed after her dutifully. “When did you get home?”

“Yesterday,” Spayar said. The ward was a large room that took up most of the building with beds arranged around it in a ring and were separated by wooden privacy screens.

“And Vondugard isn’t here glued to your side? I’m impressed.”

“He did his best but I excused myself. At least for a day,” Spayar said and set Anora down on the cot Mali indicated.

Mali turned away from him and put her hands on Anora’s face and throat. Her hands started to glow a soft, dark, light and Spayar could see the veins stand out against Mali’s skin like dangerous roots on her pale skin. “She’s just got the flu,” she said after a few seconds. “Bit of rest, a tonic, and a minor will be all she needs. What’s she aligned?”

“Solar,” Spayar said, arms crossed watching his sister with a serious face drawn.

“Good, so am I.”

“That’s why I bring her to you. The other healer I know is Lunar.”

Mali scoffed, “Lunar healers are half rate,” she moved away from Anora and went to a tall, circular, shelf in the middle of the room. She selected an earthen jug off one shelf, filled a shot glass, and put it back. She brought it back to Anora and woke her long enough to drink it. “If you feel sick again, dear,” she cooed gently to Anora as she pulled a bucket out from under the cot.

“Okay,” Anora said weakly, her face a bit green. Mali just gently stroked her hair, pushing her hair off her high forehead with a soft smile on her face.

“Try to get some rest. Your brother and I are going to talk.” Anora made a noise like she understood, looked at Spayar and then promptly passed out.

“She’ll be fine?” Spayar asked.

“By sunset she’ll be right as a strawberry,” Mali assured him.

“Good,” Spayar uncrossed his arms and followed Mali into her office which was also the home’s kitchen. There was a table there and Mali sat at it, pushed aside her papers, and made room for Spayar.

“So how was your time?”

“I ended up the apostle of an alchemist so you can imagine it was… something,” he huffed as he dropped himself into the chair opposite her.

“Yikes. Was bad?”

“Well I don’t have a gag reflex to vomiting so you tell me,” Spayar said.

“You had a gag reflex? That’s news to me,” Mali gave him a side eye and he had enough humility that he couldn’t meet her eyes at that and looked away awkwardly for a few moments.

“What’s happened while I was gone.”

“You got my updates didn’t you?”

“I did but it’s different hearing them in person.”

“Well… it’s all bad, more or less. Too much snow last year along the Spine, flooded the Meltong this spring, destroyed the Mire, part of Downriver, and Tradesman too.”

“Tradesman too? There’s levies there.”

“Not enough,” Mali shrugged. “They were so worried about Swan Island making it through the rising water.  All geomancers were sent there to hold back the flood and flash floods that they couldn’t easily fortify the rest of the city.”

“That’s horse shit. Verilia just didn’t.”

Mali sucked her teeth but didn’t disagree with him. “Either way, the Mire’s still in shambles, Downriver is a bit better but hardly.”

“You been down there?” Spayar rocked the chair back a bit onto two legs. Mali gave him a withering look but he didn’t stop.

She waited to see if her glare would affect him. When it was clear it wouldn’t she gave him a slight roll of her eyes. “Shortly. I offered some healing to those who needed it but you know how people feel about healers. If they aren’t temple clerics they don’t want to even give you the time or are sure you’ll screw them up.”

“Hardly,” Spayar rocked a bit in the chair.

“Also destroyed a lot of fields around the city. Acres and and acres of farmland got covered in mud and detritus. It’s Asurala and they’re still trying to uncover some of the fields.”

“Sounds like a bureaucracy issue,” Spayar said mildly.

“It is. Verilia is worried. Teldin is in the city.”

Spayar stopped rocking and put the chair back down on all fours, “I heard. How long?”

“He’s been here since Soam,” Mali frowned. Soam was the third month of the year, early spring when crops were planted around Assarus.

“I wasn’t aware of this,” Spayar said with a serious slant of his mouth. “Any idea what he’s doing here?”

“Besides making Vondugard nervous? No idea. He could be keeping an eye on Tallasala and Obi. You know he thinks Vondugard is still a child.”

“He is,” Spayar said but hardly felt it.

“For now. It’s Neyjarra soon-

“Don’t remind me,” Spayar snapped. She just raised her hands at him in a placating manner. “Tallasala and Obi are both here? What about Dellin?”

“Haven’t heard from him in a long time. You’d have to ask someone else.”

Spayar didn’t like that answer but knew there was nothing for it. He’d have to ask Von about it. He’d know more than Mali for sure. “What else? The fields?”

“You’ll see soon enough I’m sure. People are starting to grab up all the food they can get and stockpiling. Theres going to be a shortage this year, maybe next year too. As it is you can’t easily get raw meat anywhere. It’s all being scooped up by others to make into things they can sell. If Verilia doesn’t do something people are going to start charging for raw.”

“Well that’s sort of illegal so I doubt it.”

“Depending on the state of the city I don’t think it will matter,” Mali said seriously.

Spayar frowned deeply at that. This was more than a little troubling. The last time there had been a food shortage in the capital had been seventy-five years ago. It hadn’t gotten to the point of charging to raw goods but that just highlighted how bad this was. “Vondugard says his mother is coming here.”

“She is? That’s probably not for the best. Teldin, Tallasala, and Verilia all under one roof? Sounds like a disaster” Mali said.

Spayar puffed his lips a little in annoyance and rubbed the side of his neck. “It’s a bother,” he muttered in agreement.

“You’re telling me. Everything is getting scarcer in Assarus in the last month and a half. Everyone is scared there’s going to be a shortage and we’ll not have enough food come Lun and Etirin.”

“Just import it? The rest of the country can’t be that bad off the other provinces can’t send food?”

“Way I hear it it’s been a bad year all over,” Mali said. “In the west there’s been heavy summer storms off the Shard.  In the north no rain at all.  East is fine but they hardly have any farm land themselves. South is just as worthless.”

“Yellow Hills area?”

“No idea. You’d have to ask. I just have general ideas. You know I hate getting specific with this stuff,” she scowled. “I’m not one of your birds, I’m a healer.”

“You’re right, I guess,” Spayar got up from the chair. “Speaking of I really need to go check in on them.”

“Figured. Was waiting for you to get out so I can get some work done.”

He grinned at her, “Don’t act like you weren’t happy to see me.”

“I missed you like a tooth ache,” she said and got up to show him out.

“Ah then that is quite serious,” he teased her and headed for the front door. She opened it for him. He paused a moment before leaning down to give her a hug, which he knew she only accepted because he hadn’t asked. “I am glad to see you again. I’ll come get Anora before it gets dark.”

“You better,” she said and finally let him go. He gave her one more squeeze before standing back up and going to untether his horse from the cleat. He waved after he mounted up and clicked to his mare to head towards South Garden nearly on the other side of town. At least he could go a bit faster without Anora sleeping in front of him.

—

Spayar was sitting on the lip of a fountain with a bag of seed feeding the birds for nearly a bell before someone came up and sat down next to him. They had a cup of cider in hand and wore patched clothing of someone who spent too much time wandering the streets and not enough time actually taking care of themselves. “Hey Bruta,” he said and leaned back from what he was doing.

“Didn’t think it was really you. Figured you were still serving time,” Bruta said.

“Just got back. Heard it’s bad down current.”

Bruta grimaced. “You could say. Mirebugs are hardy and the Downies are just happy to be in a better situation than them.”

“How much damage?”

“Nothing a good Asuras won’t help,” Bruta sucked his teeth and scratched at his stubble. “If you just got back you prolly ain’t heard.”

“Heard what?”

“The princes and princesses spoiling for a Conflict.”

Spayar didn’t show the way his heart jumped. He swallowed slowly to keep his cool. That was the last thing he wanted right now. That was the last thing anyone needed right now. After what Mali had told him a Feytol Conflict would be devastating to the entire country, let alone the capital. “Since when aren’t they?” he played it off.

Bruta shrugged. “Just what’s being said around. I know you like to hear the worries.”

“Because they’re usually true.”

“Yeah. Well, there you go.”

“Hear anything else good?”

“Notin’ timely I’m afraid,” Bruta said with a groan as he stretched a little. “Notin’ you prolly ain’t going to hear later either,” he scoffed.

“Yes but repetition beats it into my thick skull,” Spayar said and that made Bruta snort.

He shrugged. “Bread’s two bronze now. Beginning of the summer it was one, last summer it was a half.”

“Meat?”

“I don’t bother tryin’ to get it.  The lady does but I know a fool’s errand when I see it.”

“I see. See you when you have anything else, Bruta.”

“Later little spider,” Bruta teased him and got up, leaving him.

Spayar threw out a handful more seed and the sparrows and pigeons pecked at it. He didn’t have to wait long for a lanky pick pocket to stand to the side and throw part of a potato skin into the mix. That got the birds going. “Was that really necessary, Jan?” he asked them.

“I like watching them fight,” Jan said, looking down at the birds. They turned their glass blue eyes at Spayar, eyes shiny being on something. If Spayar remembered correctly they liked red lace. Spayar had never gotten into that. “Where you been?” they spoke in monotone.

“I was serving time.”

“Missed you.”

Spayar’s lips twitched. “I doubt that.”

“Not as fun when d’aelar isn’t around.”

“So you’re saying nothing fun happened when I wasn’t around?”

“Flood,” Jan looked back at the birds. “Bugs and Downers rioted like the birds. Arm was called. Was bad.”

“How bad?”

“Half the Mire drowned, half of that got torched. There was an exodus.”

“How’s the hunt?”

Jan shrugged. “Good enough. New Lord takes less than-

“Wait, hold on. There’s a new Lord? Since when? What happened to Jackertty?” It didn’t bode well for the minor thieves and cutpurses of Assarus that there was a new ‘Thief Lord’. It was a paper title of course. The guards were vicious tracking down thieves and there was hardly a need to steal. Only the truly poor did.

“Last winter,” Jan’s voice hadn’t changed in tone the entire time. They didn’t even react to Spayar’s start. “Cross is Lord now.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Yeah. They’re from the west I heard.” They looked at Spayar with their glassy eyes. “They aren’t like Jackertty.” Which double sucked. Jackertty knew what he was. He was a minnow in a small pond in the garden with a dozen house cats. The last thing the city needed right now was some westerner from the mountains coming in and making a mess of things.

“You like ‘em?”

Jan shrugged. “What’s not to like.” That was it. They didn’t even say goodbye and Spayar watched them slowly wander away. Jan was such an infuriating person to talk to.  Not even sometimes. They were frustrating always. The two years he’d been serving time hadn’t changed Jan for the better or changed Spayar’s feelings on them either.

Over the next few bells four more of his birds came by, chit chatted but didn’t give him much more information than what he’d already heard from Bruta, Jan, and Mali. He didn’t know what he was expecting but he was hopeful for something more than that. He supposed they didn’t know he was here yet and weren’t actually looking for information for him the way he liked it.

Closer to sunset, when he’d nearly run out of seed and even the actual birds were getting bored of him, a beggar came up to him and sat down heavily against the side of the fountain. Spayar gave them a more than cursory look. They were older and heavily bearded holding a earthen bowl with a few coppers in it and a single bronze atris. He didn’t recognize them right away. “I don’t have any coin on me-

“Don’t be a brat,” a woman’s voice said and looked at him from under a wig. The eyes he recognized.

“Channa?” he asked.

“Yeah, and?”

“Why are you dressed as a… male beggar?”

“Teldin’s paranoid, doesn’t like permanent servants coming and going,” she said. Channa was one of Spayar’s few actual contacts inside the Summer Palace. It was usually impossible for an outside agent to get into the web of spies of Aklin, the spy master. Unless you were part of the larger web or affiliated with a province the spies wanted nothing to do with you. Channa was one who gave Spayar any time at all.

“I would have waited,” he said.

“Maybe but I doubt your prince can,” she said, not looking at him now. She looked straight ahead and her fake beard was such you couldn’t see her mouth move other than the bob of her jaw now and then.

The hair stood up on the back of Spayar’s neck. “What’s wrong?”

“Teldin’s in the Palace, you haven’t heard?”

“I have.”

“Then you know it isn’t good.”

“You wouldn’t have come all the way out to South Garden if you didn’t have something better than that, Channa.”

She wordlessly held her bowl out to him. He gave her a disdainful look. She jingled the coins in it. “I can’t believe I’m being hit up for money by a royal servant,” he grumbled, took out his purse and put half a platinum into the bowl. She pulled the bowl back and tucked it under her shapeless clothing.

“When Teldin does come to the Winter Palace it’s alone, or briefly. This is neither. He’s got Yin Thorn and Sade Mandaria with him.” All of skin on Spayar’s arms prickled. “And he’s been here since Soam. It’s made Tallasala temperamental and Obi even more difficult to deal with than usual.”

Spayar rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How long has Sade been here?”

“She came with Teldin. They’ve been in the Palace for months.”

“Anything important you can tell me?”

“Teldin is pushing Tallasala’s buttons,” she said in a dangerous tone.

“What about Dellin? Anything about him?”

“He’s somewhere in the Hook last time I heard. Not sure where. He keeps to himself with that shadow of his.”

“I heard a rumor of a Feytol Conflict. How do you feel about that?”

Channa was quiet and looked up at the orange and pink sky. Around them South Garden was starting to pack up shop and close down for the night, everyone ready to go home or out to Smoker’s Den to party. “I dunno. We’ll see when Lun starts. Depends on how Assarus is. From what I’ve heard from — the castle quartermaster even the Palace is having trouble getting all the supplies they need without taking significantly from the general available food stuffs of the city. If the city starts to starve a Feytol Conflict might be the best or worst thing for it. We need a stronger Asuras.”

Spayar was frowning deeply by the time Channa had finished. “I see. I really don’t like any of that but I see your point.”

“Yeah. It isn’t good,” she agreed. “I would suggest, if you can, to get your prince out of the Palace. Teldin has been causing a scene everywhere and the last thing you want is His Highness Vondugard getting between Teldin and Tallasala should it come to blows.”

“No indeed,” Spayar said slowly. He emptied the meager rest of his seed onto the ground in front of him. “Thank you for the information. I need to go get my sick sister from the healer now. Don’t get in trouble on the way back to the Palace with the guard.”

“Easy enough,” she said but didn’t rise with him. Spayar left her sitting there and went and found his mare where she was picketed across the square. He retightened her saddle before mounting up.

As he headed back for D’linger he really took a harder looks at the shops in South Garden. He had been thinking about too much else before but now he saw there were signs on old permanent stalls declaring they were out of stock. The three butchers he passed across the city all had sold out signs displayed for the end of the day. There were fewer street vendors in general and what there was were rice stalls. Spayar frowned. When he’d left rice had been a rare luxury from across the Shard because it didn’t grow well in the Alliance. Or at least a suitable place hadn’t been found for its cultivation yet. Now it was prominent, and expensive. Half a silver for a cup of cooked rice with some meager fixings and a quarter platinum for a pound of it uncooked.

When he finally arrived in D’linger the light was still on inside Mali’s place. He knocked politely and waited for her to answer. She did and brought him inside. “How’s Anora?”

“Perfectly fine, just as I said,” Mali said smugly. She brought him over to Anora who was in the kitchen using some of Mali’s charcoal and scrap paper to draw. “Anora, Spayar’s back.”

Anora looked around at him, “De-de!” she said excitedly. Her eyes were clear, her face the normal deep brown.

“Were you good for miss Mali while I was gone?” Spayar asked and came over to give her curls a fond ruffle.

“I was. I’m not like you de-de and always get into trouble,” she stuck her tongue out at him.

Behind him Mali snorted. “Yeah but that’s my job,” Spayar said helplessly. “Cmon, let’s get home before addim loses her mind with worry.”

“Okay! Thanks for making me better miss Mali,” Anora said politely, bouncing a bit.

“Of course, dear. I’m all too happy to see a sweet girl like you better,” Mali said kindly as she saw them both out. Once outside Anora bounded over to Spayar’s horse to pet her. Mali grabbed his sleeve before he could follow. “Just make sure she gets a good night sleep and avoids direct contact with anyone sick for a day or so. I purged the sickness from her but curing a virus with magic isn’t always perfect.”

Spayar nodded seriously. “I’ll tell mama to keep her out of school a few days. I suspect she got it from there. Flue been around this year?”

“Not yet. A lot of people down current got infections of some sort from all the sediment being brought up into the streets and flooding the sewage. But it’s early yet, the rains haven’t started. I’m sure it’ll come,” she sighed.

“Okay. Thanks again Mali. Should I give you something now or later-

She punched his arm. “Don’t insult me Spayar,” she glared at him.

“I was just being nice,” he complained and rubbed his arm. Mali looked soft but she had a mean left hook.

“I don’t want your money. Have your mother send me some of her amazing pickles and we’ll call it even.”

Spayar chuckled. “Sure. Thanks again Mali.”

“Spayar, are we going to go?” Anora called. He looked back at her and she was holding onto his mare’s bridle and his horse had her half a hand or so off the ground.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said and rushed over. “Don’t do that,” he took her hands off the bridle and she dropped down to the ground. “Both she and the bridle are expensive.”

“But-

“Just get on,” and he helped her up onto the saddle before climbing up after her. They waved to Mali before Spayar turned her down the street and they headed back home.

Now that he didn’t have to worry about a sleeping sister and the streets were more empty because of the hour Spayar got his horse to go a bit faster through the streets. So, mercifully, it was quicker home than it was there this morning. Anora was glad to get down and as soon as Spayar put her on the ground she ran for the house calling for their mother. “I’m so glad I’m never having one,” Spayar told his mare who snorted into his face. “Yeah I love her but Densinn’s tongue I don’t want one,” he led her into the shed that was her home.  While he’d been out his father had ordered more food for her and had someone sweep out the little room. Probably one of his apprentices. He cleaned her up a bit with the promise of doing a better job tomorrow and made sure her troughs were full before going into the house.

Anora was in the kitchen with Relora, happily chatting away. Dinner was already starting to be brought out on the table and Calli was there waiting patiently. He did a double take at who was sitting next to her. “What are you doing here?” he asked Von, interrupting his conversation with Calli.

“Don’t be mean, Spayar,” Calli said.

Von just grinned sheepishly at him. “I did come looking for you but your mother said you were gone for the day. So I was just waiting for you,” he said and by the end his grin was a bit more playful. Spayar wanted so badly to be annoyed with him but he just couldn’t.  He sat next to Von. “I knew you’d come eventually.”

Spayar leaned around Von to talk to Calli, “How often does he come here? Is he bothering you? You know you can tell him to leave if he’s annoying you.”

Calli just giggled. “It’s fine. And he just visits sometimes. Don’t get jealous I might have seen him more than you have,” she very specifically needled him. Oh, he did not like that. He gave her a stone faced look, to which she grinned, and looked away. Relora and Anora came out of the kitchen, Relora with the rest of the dinner and Anora with a jug of slightly sweating strawberry water.

“Where are Spayar and Duren?” Relora asked.

“I did tell them dinner was going to be ready soon,” Calli said helpfully. Relora huffed and walked down the hall out to the forge while Anora jumped into her seat. “You feeling better puke girl?” Calli asked.

“I’m not a puke girl,” Anora said sourly.

“You were a puke girl last night for sure.”

“Spayar, Calli’s being mean to me!” Anora cried.

Spayar, who was serving himself hot bean salad with chilies and potatoes, stopped and looked at them both. “Calli, be nice, I guess?” he wasn’t quite sure how to act like an actual adult in this situation. “Both of you stop bickering and eat instead. Eating is a way better use of your air,” he continued and put the big spoon he’d been using into Calli’s hand.

Calli rolled her eyes and at least didn’t continue teasing Anora. “Did you send that letter you said you would?” Von asked him now that the girls were distracted with Calli telling Anora she needed to eat her vegetables.

“No. I was busy,” Spayar grimaced. “Tomorrow, when the post is open again, I’ll send it.”

“Get it in before Lomedocest.”

Spayar gave him a narrow eyed look. “Are you planning something?”

“Me? Never,” Von grinned widely at him.

Spayar squinted at him, not believing his pretty smile for a moment. “Spayar! Calli’s being mean again!” Anora yelled.

“Oi! Knock it off. Addim left for hardly a minute.”

“What’s going on in here?” like on cue Relora came back, leading two very dirty smiths behind her to go wash their hands and face.

“Calli is being mean-

“I am not,” Calli huffed.

Spayar sighed and tuned out his sister’s bickering. Von just watched with a smile on his face while politely eating what was on his plate until Spayar Sr. came in and barked at the both of them to settle down. Dinner was a much more settled affair after that.

#nanowrimo #original fantasy #zs #my psd kinda broke inside krita so iiiiiii am faking this chapter's title lols #bc this is the cover I had on hand that doesn't drastically conflict with other chapter titles

[lightshadowverisimilitude]

Handwriting 3

I did intend this to be more fluffy for @amyamychan, but, this happened instead. I hope you like it anyways! This is hot off the fingertips, so excuse any errors, please. :)

Part One Part Two

Steve noticed the color seeping around his fingernails out of the corner of his eye. He stumbled over his words, cleared his throat, and then picked up his train of thought again. He was in front of an assembly of new SHIELD Academy graduates, giving them the welcome speech. They all looked painfully young, and were made younger still by the way they gapped at him. Several of the grads in the back row were whispering furiously and elbowing each other between what they obviously thought were discreet pointing fingers. In the front row, there was one boy who looked about thirteen with a vivid splash of pale skin down one side of his otherwise dark face. He was sitting up so rigidly straight that Steve was worried he might pass out.

Having him give the welcome wagon speech was probably not the best idea. He didn’t think any of them were actually listening to a word he was saying, and he felt it was likely that they wouldn’t pay attention to anything that came afterwards either, but Maria hadn’t even given him the chance to protest. She’d handed him a packet of papers, and then left him alone in a room for thirty minutes to ‘wait’ without any explanation as to why. Steve had read the papers, as she had surely known he would, and thought that they were going to make him go through new agent orientation himself.

When all the fresh-faced kids had filed in half an hour later, Maria had stepped up to the podium, given a brief welcome, and then turned a wolfish smile on Steve. “I would like to introduce you all to Steve Rogers. You may know him better as Captain America. He’ll be onboarding you today.”

Steve did not appreciate being put on the spot, but he knew what hazing looked like when he saw it, and he knew what tests felt like when they were lobed at him. He had done his best to seem like he hadn’t been taken by surprise. The explosion of excited talk had helped to cover his brief floundering, and then he was left alone to play babysitter to the newest crop of recruits.

All of that might have gone just fine if Tony hadn’t gotten bored and started drawing on him. He dropped his right hand down by his side, turning to put the projection to his left while he continued the presentation. He had his hand turned palm outwards when there was an abrupt gasp from one of the new agents. The gasp spread around the room like wildfire, hoping from one young agent to the next as it morphed into chatter.

“Settle down,” Steve tried, but he might as well have been speaking Klingon for all that anyone paid him any attention. He frowned at them, considering how he should handle the interruption. They weren’t soldiers, and he’d honestly never like the drill sergeant style of shouting. He brushed his hair back, and decided he would wait them out.

As he dropped his hand down, he caught another glimpse of ink. Sighing, Steve tilted his palm toward the light.

Come rescue me

(read more)

He really needed to get Tony to stop begging for rescue whenever he was in a meeting he didn’t like. The first time he’d seen Help! Come save me! On his inner arm, he’d burst into Tony’s board room like an angry bull, shield up, 9mm out, ready to tear some heads off. A roomful of startled executives in suits had just stared at him, open mouthed while the seconds turned to an awkward minute.

“Captain America, everyone,” Tony had said, grinning like he’d engineered the whole thing. And he had engineered the whole thing, the conniving manipulative sneak.

Still uncertain, but thinking his mate might be in some kind of danger that he couldn’t immediately detect, Steve had hustled Tony out of the room for an explanation.

“I just needed an excuse to get out of there,” Tony had explained with one of those brilliant smiles. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

Steve had been so stunned by the whole ridiculous situation, that he’d just stood there, gaping at Tony the way the execs had gaped at him a moment before. Tony had risen up on his toes to kiss Steve on the side of his mouth, and then grabbed his hand and hauled him away to a conveniently empty office. The long talk after they’d dropped to the floor had not impressed Tony in the least, and neither had Steve convincing Jarvis to read “The Little Boy Who Cried Wolf” on repeat for seven hours.

“I’m sure you’ve all seen Soul Ink before,” Steve said, recalling his mind to his gaggle of new agents in front of him.

“Who is your soulmate?” A young woman burst out.

Another gasp went around the room, this one vaguely scandalized. A lot had changed about the way people viewed Soul Ink, but not that. Steve just looked at her, keeping his face neutral. She blushed red to her hairline and ducked down in her chair, sinking down so low that her jacket rode up around her neck. A few more inches, and she would disappear into it like a turtle. Steve could remember that kind of embarrassment, and guessed that she wanted to disappear like a turtle.

“It’s alright,” he said, taking pity on her. “But I would rather not say just now, if that’s alright.”

She nodded furiously, but didn’t come up out of her jacket. Steve turned to continue the presentation, but as he turned his left hand over, WATERMELON exploded over his knuckles.

Without a word, he bolted out of the room, leaving a chorus of startled exclamations in his wake. Several seasoned agents were waiting outside the door in a huddle, obviously listening in to see how he’d handle his surprise onboarding. They jumped away from the door as he threw it up, and scrambled to get out of his way. Steve vaulted right over one of their heads without so much as an apology. He fumbled a felt tip pen out of his pocket as he rounded a corner. He yanked his sleeve up to write, but found the answer he needed already waiting there. It wasn’t directions, or words, but a map.

Three agents, out of breath and looking frantic, tried to stop him for an explanation, but he lowered his shoulders in a blatant show of threat, and they leapt out of the way. The last of the trio turned to run with him, puffing like a life-long smoker as he tried to keep pace. It occurred to Steve that someone might need to know where he was going, that maybe backup would be a good idea, but his lizard brain had just about taken over. Speech was one of those higher brain functions that wasn’t kicking in. His neurons were focused on the map, extrapolating, strategizing.

“Follow me if you can keep up!” Steve finally managed to shout over his shoulder.

The agent shouted something back, but between the breathiness of his voice and Steve’s distraction, he didn’t hear what. He jammed his helmet on, hopped onto his bike, and was flying out of the parking garage in seconds.

Breaking enough speed limits to put him back several thousand dollars in fines, Steve flew through Manhattan afternoon traffic. No sirens popped on behind him, but he found one cop car in the middle of a busy intersection, stopping traffic. Steve spared half a moment to wonder if that had been coincidence, or if someone at SHIELD HQ had put out the word to get out of Captain America’s way, but he didn’t much care which.

He checked the map on his forearm again, glanced up at a street sign as he flew through an intersection, and then made a sharp right down an alley barely wide enough for him to make it through without scraping his knees on the buildings to either side. His rear tire screeched as he turned abruptly onto the next street. A car blared its horn at him, and he caught a glimpse of pedestrians jumping back from the street.

A plain blue sedan ahead of him swerved briefly as if the driver had been momentarily distracted, and then sped up with a whine of protest from the engine. Laying down over the handlebars, Steve opened the throttle all the way. Aware that Tony might be in the trunk, he did not try to ram the car, but pulled up along the driver’s side. He got a good look at the driver’s panicked face before the passenger leaned around him and shot right through the window. Steve squeezed the brake, avoiding the bullet by a hair’s breadth. He heard it buzz past his nose, and just prayed that there were no bystanders in its path.

Not ready to take the chance that the shooter wouldn’t start picking off civilians, Steve squeezed his thighs around the bike, and reached over and grabbed the driver’s door. The driver batted at it frantically like he was trying to lock the door. Opening the throttle all the way, Steve ripped the door off, and threw it back behind him. The terrified driver started shrieking. He let go of the wheel, making the car jerk hard to the left. The passenger reached over to grab at the wheel.

“Breaks!” Steve shouted.

The car squealed, and Steve shot past it before he was able to apply his breaks. The bike went up on the front tire, and he nearly went over the handlebars, but he managed to throw his weight so that it spun on the tortured front tire, and dropped back down. He ended up facing the sedan, the passenger and driver now shouting back and forth, the passenger’s gun at the driver’s head, while the driver waved his hands in front of his face.

Steve nudged the bike forward, keeping a careful eye on the bickering men. He left the bike at the front of the car to provide an obstacle if the driver suddenly hit the gas, and dropped down low to move around to the passenger side. He had just made it around the front of the car when the shooter seemed to remember that he was in the middle of a kidnapping. He aimed the handgun at the window and shot three times, blowing the glass out, and sending up chips of asphalt with a pair of misses. Steve reached into the shattered window, grabbed the man by the back of the head, and slammed his face hard into the dash.

The driver was screaming again, both hands clapped over his ears. Steve liberated the gun from the stunned shooter, dropped the clip, ejected the bullet in the chamber, and then slammed the muzzle down on the asphalt. The gun crunched, and he left it embedded in the concrete. He was vaguely aware of several bystanders crowded on the sidewalk with cellphones, but didn’t have the energy to spare for irritation. He checked the back seat to make sure Tony hadn’t been stashed down on the floorboards, and then knocked on the trunk.

Shave and a haircut.

After a brief pause, there was a muffled two thumps in response. Two bits.

Steve curled his fingers under the lip, and yanked. The trunk pop up with a groan of protest. He found Tony curled inside, knees tucked to his chest, and a felt pen between his teeth. Steve’s heart gave an unsteady thump, and his knees went wobbly. For half a heartbeat, he thought he might faint, or throw up. Until that moment, his fear had been channeled into action. Seeing Tony still alive dropped all the fear he’d been repressing right on his head.

Tony spat the pen out even as Steve reached down for him.

“I know, I know,” Tony said as Steve lifted him straight out of the trunk in a bridal carry. “You were right, I was wrong, I won’t ask for you to come save me from boring meetings anymore, I promise. This was a little extreme in terms of proving your point, Steve. I thought seven straight hours of The Boy Who Cried Wolf was bad, but were the guns necessary?” Tony babbled.

Steve’s voice wasn’t cooperating. He carried Tony away from the car at a brisk walk. Two police cars appeared around the corner, a SHIELD van came rocketing the other way as Steve made it to the sidewalk. People followed him with their cameras out. One older man asked if he needed help. In his arms, Tony kept talking.

“I would have gotten myself out,” Tony said. “They cut the emergency trunk release, but I would have gotten to the wires in another block, maybe two.”

The SHIELD van bumped onto the curb. Natasha rolled down the window and stuck her head out. Her eyes darted to Tony, and then up to Steve. Without a word, she reached behind her seat. The sliding door clicked open. Steve stuck a foot into the opening, and nudged it back the rest of the way.

“I can walk,” Tony complained finally, but he didn’t struggle as Steve ducked into the van.

Steve set him down, buckled him in, and then climbed in after him. Three people were crowded behind him, trying to angle their phones over his shoulder. Steve resisted the urge to tell them to fuck off, and slammed the sliding door behind him. Natasha put the van in gear, and they thumped back on to the street.

Silence filled the van. Natasha didn’t ask how they were, and she didn’t flick her eyes at them in the rear-view mirror. She might as well have been a mannequin for all the attention she gave them. Tony was listing slightly to the side, tugging slightly at his wrists.

“Sorry,” Steve murmured. He slid the slender knife out of his boot, and carefully eased the edge of it under the plastic cuffs. The material parted like butter against the sharp blade.

Tony’s wrists were red, and bruises were already forming over the places were the skin was thinnest. Steve held Tony’s hands between his palms, chaffing them gently to encourage blood flow. He leaned down to kiss one of the marks, even more impressed with the map now that he realized Tony had drawn in the trunk of a car, using his teeth and tongue to guide the strokes.

“Thank you,” Tony breathed. “For coming to get me. Even though I cry wolf all the time.”

“That’s why we have a panic word,” Steve pointed out.

“We need something shorter than watermelon.”

“That was your idea,” Steve said, but with no heat. He moved his hands up to cradle Tony’s face. “Did they drug you?”

Tony’s eyes were cloudy. His lips thinned down to a worried line. He nodded shortly, and then a smile stuttered across his mouth. “Good thing I have a high tolerance. All that misbehaving in my twenties really paid off.”

Steve didn’t know how to respond, so he just kissed the outside corner of Tony’s right eye, and then his left. He traced over the Ink on Tony’s skin, smearing the edge of the map, knowing that an accompanying smear like a bruise would show up on his own skin within moments.

“I’m glad,” Steve said. “I’m glad that I have your soul under my skin.”

Tony choked out a sound that was like a laugh, but not. He pressed his forehead to the side of Steve’s neck. Normally, Tony made fun of him when he said something like that. Swallowing hard, Tony pressed a shaking kiss to Steve’s throat.

“Me too,” he whispered to Steve’s skin.  

#ladyshadowdrake writes #Handwriting #story #soulmate au #second hand embarrassment #briefly #kidnapping

[dontcaredonot-blog]

Private Ryan

Upon first observations, he looks normal. He over compensates his lack of intelligence with an avant garde approach of personality. He doesn’t look unusual. His hair is cropped short and parted; think like a greaser from you 1950′s. The blond hair goes with the blue eyes, but when you look directly into them, you can almost tell there is no soul behind them. His teeth are the first obvious flaw you may notice. The first four teeth come straight across, not like a curve on most mouths. This is a result from a workplace accident he suffered years ago, when a pressurized cap shot off a hose and hit him directly in the mouth. The result was that he lost all his front teeth. Looks like a chinese dentist botched the job.   The hard part is reading him. His guard is always up and if you manage to squeeze past that guard, you’d wish you hadn’t. The man sits up with his arms crossed when talking, you can just tell he’s had a hard upbringings. His dead eyes peering into the talker, trying to wrap his head around the words. He has a very limited scope of acceptance. There was this one time he was reading the editorials in the back of a social newspaper. The article in question was about a woman who likes to rub up on and against men in the subway as a kink. He read this and instantly blew up, throwing the paper on the table expressing his passionate views. “If a MAN did that and said something about it, he would go directly jail! This equality bullshit is unfair man, these fucking people.” He had a tendency to be short tempered. I figured it’s because he’s a smoker and doesn’t get enough smoke breaks, but the more interactions I have with him, the more I see that it is more than that. He’ll go from moments of stillness to cursing in frustration. Just last night he came out of his way, directly to me and said, “The last three customers didn’t even look me in my fucking eyes, can you fucking believe that?!” I wanted to say, “I don’t give a fuck, I’m trying to load”, but I simply tried to sound interested with, “Why do you think that?” (Maybe it’s cause you’re looking at them like their the first black faces you’ve ever seen? Or maybe it’s cause you come off intimidating before you even open your mouth?) His response was classic, “HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW?!” Okay, so that’s when I knew that I was dealing with a man, who was more keen on pointing out problems than finding solutions. I could kind of hear that same sediment when he would open up and talk about his life. It’s always someone elses fault. For that reason, I do not trust him.... He’s all over the place inside that head of his. And what’s worse is that he thinks we are good pals. Somehow he found out I play guitar and ever since, every single day, no matter what I’ve said the day before, he asks, “So when we jamming?!” You would have never guessed a 40 something year old, with three daughters, who’s traveled all over the country, considers himself a tattoo artist (despite his atrocious tattoo’s on him, to be a lonely guy. He’s known for pushing people away rather than letting them in, so should I feel honored? Or should I be worried that I would end up being a lamp shade?!  I’ve come up with several excuses as to why I can’t play. Ranging from my friend has my guitar to me injuring my wrist. He still won’t let up. In many ways he reminds me of my step brother, in the sense that those two can only connect with people on, two...maybe three topics over a lifetime, because they themselves are boring people. Here’s the alarming thing. I walked into the break room yesterday ready to start work. He’s there sitting as per usual, arms crossed talking to two other gentlemen about this shootings in schools in America. I didn’t bother to join in because I don’t actually like anyone there. It takes a lot of patience and will to sit down and talk to those folk and I was just starting. I did not need an uphill battle this year. However I did eavesdrop like the fucker I am. Seems like our boy here Private Ryan detailed how when he was in highschool he was bullied on everyday. He also mention that if he was a teenager with access to guns, he would have easily gone and shot up the school to make them pay. Chilling eh? Because the behind the scene joke with most of the staff at the store is, “Private Ryan seems like the type to come in one day and shoot up the entire store” Then I hear his views on what he would do if he could....and it suddenly makes sense... I dunno if I should report this...or like say something to him....but it’s chilling. I try my hardest not to interact with him, but he follows me like a lost puppy. Can he not tell that I am merely just putting up with him?! And he has this attitude like he knows everything. You know how draining that is?! When I came up with the fake wrist injury, he suddenly was an expert on wrist healing techniques. Offered me his own techniques, his own quarries on what happened and what needs to be done. One time I was talking to another employee about fixing things. More like me. explaining as a kid trying to fix things by opening them up and seeing how they work. He interjected with his own stories, totally cutting in and taking over the conversation. “Vacuums are totally simple....” and “Just take off the covering for the AC unit and give it a good clean, that’s usually the reason they don’t work” *Rolls eyes* Because he has an answer for everything, it also means that he’s always watching. Watching who goes on break, who comes back late from break. Say something to him in a tone he doesn’t like and he molts like an insect. First internalizing it all...then slowly spewing out from his shell into the direction of anyone who would listen. I really think he could be Donand Trump’s love child, just by the way of contempt he has for women. His personal views are so archaic. Think....If Harvey Weinstein and Donald Trump had a love child, Private Ryan would come out as theirs. The looks of Trump, the mentality towards women like Weinstein. I dread working with his guy. He tries so hard to befriend me and I don’t feel comfortable around him. When this guy admit that he’d drink whatever is in front of him because that’s the way he was taught (which is why he doesn’t bring a case home, because he’ll drink it all), makes me wonder what self control he really has. The whole leather jacket and steel toe boots look would fit a kid growing up, but not a 40 something year old who clearly has some issues he hasn’t gotten over. Now I find my work days working around him, keeping away from him and the times I do interact with him, it’s one of three topics of conversation. “When are we jamming?!” “When are we going out for drinks?!” “When you getting your next tattoo?!” Guys....I’m running out of excuses..... Lord help us all...

#work #worklife #colleagues #greaser

[mkinaia]

Week 10

What aspect of the article does the image illustrate? That is to say, does the image help you visualize one particular part of the text? Which one?

The image highlights the content in the article which discusses the severity of the malnutrition that the Somalian children are having to endure. The photo accents the child’s lack of access to food through its attention to the skeleton like appearance of the child’s chest and abdomen.

In what light does the image present that aspect of the article that it illustrates? That is to say, what comment does the image make about that aspect of the written text?

I would say that the photo is commenting in agreement with the article. However, since only one sentence of the piece is entirely dedicated to the state of the children in the Horn of Africa, the photograph has decided to give more attention to this subtopic of the subject. On some level, choosing to photograph this is giving it a sort of higher level of importance than the rest of the issues discussed in the piece. It could also be adding emotion to the article, which could be viewed as detached and simply factual, devoid of pathos for the readers to experience. 

How does the image help you engage with the written text? That is to say, in what ways does your chosen image influence how you understand the text?

The image helps the audience to fully envision the topic being discussed. It puts a face to the issue being discussed and hence more tangible to the reader. Making the reality of the situation known in such a vivid manner makes it harder for people to dismiss the subject and take it more seriously/ more likely to take action and help the situation or educate others about it. 

Ray’s a Laugh

Richard Billingham - 1996

Choose one series of photos and explain why and for whom you think these photos were taken.

This series was taken by Richard Billingham to record his specific family niche. He wanted to document the unruly yet tender nature of their lives. His father is an alcoholic and his mother is an avid smoker. From the photos, however, that is not the first take away message an audience member would take. The color flash photography, captures an aesthetic reminiscent of the style of mainstream fashion photography. He publishes his family chaos as an editorial like spread to showcase that “mainstream family” is an entirely subjective and unique to every situation. Every unit is chaotic, tender, problematic, and yet harmonious in its own way. 

What, overall can you understand about masculine identity from this exhibit?

Overall I can gather that masculine identity, just like feminine identity, is complex and has garnered a plethora of stereotypes over the years which they are trying to break free from. 

Is there anything about the works you have seen by following these links that you find problematic or that you think is worth of praise, or both? What makes it so - style, subject matter, a combination of both, other?

The exhibition illustrates that there are many different “types” of masculine identities. It categorizes the types into the several stereotypes which modern society is trying to diverge from. There are some cases I find problematic when it seems that the “documentation” has been staged, for example with the Taliban Fighters series by Thomas Dworzak. It is a combination of style and subject matter that creates this opinion for me. I also feel that the exhibition mainly focused on men of the past and does not give much attention to the evolution of man in today’s society. Though it could be argued that the men of today are returning to these earlier models in our current climate of cultural tension as well as macho and white supremacist mentalities. 

Now looking at 3 different photos (3 different artists):

a) Analyze how closely the subjects are depicted - what has the photographer chosen to include/exclude from the photo? Look at camera angle/lighting/focus etc. How does this influence the way you understand the message of the photo.

b) What is the relationship between the photographer and the subject(s) in these photos?

Practicing Golf Swing

Larry Sultan - 1986

Sultan has chosen to include the television in the frame and crop out a portion of the plant next to it. The rest of the frame is seemingly clean and bare. The camera angle is at eye level. The lighting of the photo is natural, soft,  and coming from directly opposite the camera lens. The direction of light results in a dark shadow overcasting the photo, although it is taken at what seems like midday. This obscures the subject’s face giving it a sense of anonymity and also alters the color scheme of the image. The lighting gives the carpet a green hue, giving the illusion that it is grass and not carpet that the subject is standing on. The focus of the photo seems to be to the left of our subject, where the sunlight most shines through the curtains. The depth of field is relatively low, since the details closer to the background of the image are increasingly blurred. The photographer is the subject’s son. So, these elements combined could be conveying a message that this is a private moment for Sultan’s father, a moment of piece during the day where he can listen to the news on the television and practice his hobby of golfing without disturbance. The clean and bare state of the frame conveys the message that his father might be a very particular and organized man. The golfing hobby, dress, and television could also signal that the father was successful and worked a respectful job. 

The Liberation of T.O.: “I’m not goin’ back to work for massa’ in dat darned field!”

Hank Willis Thomas - 2004/2005

To preface, this series is digitally manipulated from magazine advertisements. Thomas has chosen to include the frenzy of the supermarket and the name of its location, Oakland. A city in California which is widely known as the “California ghetto”. He also kept the man in the back with his hand raised, as if ready to strike the African American man in front of him. The artist chose to crop out the body of the white person whose hands are seen at the bottom right of the frame. On the bottom left side of the frame, Thomas has also chosen to crop out the body of the African American individual’s hand. The lighting in the photo is harsh and coming from the direction of the upper left corner, providing a harsh shadow on the left features of the people making up the image. The darker color palette adds on to the sense of anger being exuded by the man positioned to be chasing T.O. Camera angle is a mix of shooting from below and at eye level. The focus of the photo seems to be on T.O’s face. The light highlights his face of determination, grip on the football, and muscular build. The depth of field for this image is low. It might be that it is because it is digitally altered, but even elements in the foreground, like T.O’s face are blurred. The message of the image could go back to the resilience and strength of the African American community in their fight for equality and justice. Hank Willis Thomas is an African American photographer. He has no specific personal relation to the individuals in the photo. He does, however, have a relation to the cultural appropriation direct towards the black community by corporate America. 

Gaku, Kyoko, Kanako, and a memorial portrait of Miyako

Masahisa Fukase - 1985

The photographer hasn’t cropped much out of the picture other than a portion of the hand holding up the frame on the bottom right. Since the photo was taken in a studio, we can assume that the lighting is artificial. The way that the light hits the back wall makes me assume that it is directed from the top center of the image, it is an overall soft light. The perspective of the shot is at eye level. For subjects, Fukase chose to include his family (since it is meant to be a family shot), the family cat, a photo frame of his niece who passed away, and a model on the far left of no relation to the family. He does this to mix the traditional photography his family practices and the modern photography which he himself practices professionally. The focus of the image is on the wall windowed between Fukase’s head, his father’s head and their family member’s side bordering the window of focus on the left. The depth of field is relatively wide so we can assume that the aperture used was small. The message being conveyed by this image and the Kazoku series as a whole is meant to be on the progression of Fukase’s family and their business. It is also a dedication to paternal love as the series documents Fukase with his aging father until he passes away. To exemplify this point, we see that they are the only two facing the camera in this photo as well. 

Morning Routine (hw assignment)

I chose to depict my morning routine for the fourteen days of self-quarantine I had to do upon arrival back in the States from London. The first image is titled Test Temperature. The second is Record Temperature. The third photo is Check Messages. I wanted to create the series and captions in a way that would feel like a check list because that is how it felt in reality, going through the same motions every day and repeating them for the entirety of the self quarantine. I wanted to shoot from the becoming the subject perspective to fully deliver a first hand experience to the audience of the series. For the lighting I chose to utilize harsh, artificial lighting from an iPhone flashlight in alliance with a black and white color palette. When people think of COVID-19, as perpetrated by the media, they envision overrun hospitals, and healthcare workers with a heightened sense of panic and need for sterilized equipment. The harsh lighting mimics that of a hospital’s. The black and white color palette is barren, clean, and simplistic, similar to the sterilized environment of a hospital. For the first photo, I wanted a narrow depth of field so that all focus was on the temperature reading of the thermometer. For the third photo, I cropped out the door knob from the frame because I wanted the focus to be on the notecards and not their placement. The second photo is staged to have a messy and uneven frame to reflect the confused and frightened mentality of individuals having to be put into quarantine.

Brainstorming Session 2 Presentation

[loversandantiheroes]

Like Blood Running Warm - Part 1

Author’s Note: Happy Spooktober.  A couple weeks ago I mentioned how this song made me want to write a Vamp!Clara AU.  This is the result of that.  Part 1 of probably 2 or 3 if they remain this sort of length.  Big thanks to @longjackets, @nikkidee, @kingandcrook, and @infiniteregress17 for the beta help.

Summary: A snowstorm strands a group of bus passengers at a near-derelict station overnight near the Colorado border.   One of them just can't seem to get warm.

Rating: T (currently, AO3 link is pre-tagged for the later stuff)

Warnings: Angst by the bucket, Terminal Illness, Simm!Master being...Simm!Master and thus a walking dumpster fire, Implied Past Drug Use, Implied Harassment.

Word Count: 5799

AO3 Link: here

Did you call for the night porter? You smell the blood running warm I stay close to this frozen border, so close I can hit it with a stone Now something crawls right up my spine That I always got to follow Turn out the lights Don't see me drawn and hollow Just blood running warm

      - Mark Lanegan, "When Your Number Isn't Up"

- 11:07pm

John Smith, the night porter, sat in the break room of the bus terminal. He should, by all rights, be keeping post behind the counter in the booth, even at this late of an hour, and he knew that. Pointless, though, wasn’t it? An old portable telly spouted crackling spurts of weather reports at him. Worst snow in a decade, record lows, blah blah. He could’ve guessed that himself looking at the drifts forming outside the sliding doors, which he would have to keep shovelled out unless he wanted to end up buried in here. Buried alive with shitty instant coffee, a vending machine that half-worked, and a telly he couldn’t even get a decent signal on. His employers, stingy bastards that they were, were too cheap to provide anything new or at least decent on the premises. In the lounge, where most stations would have the new plasma or LED or god-knows-what-the-fuck-ever craning down from the ceiling or mounted on the walls, there were instead tiny coin-op televisions. Bloody ancient things with built-in radio dials bolted to the arms of the benches and chairs, popping and crackling to life at the generous price of 30 minutes for a quarter.

John had no bloody idea why the hell the relics were still installed. Honestly, he didn’t know such things even existed until he took this post, but the real shocker was that somehow they still worked. By all rights, they shouldn’t be able to pick up a signal anymore, save for the radio dial, not after the big push from analog to digital broadcasting. Converter box wired up to some kind of main switch maybe, that was the best he could figure. Mystery of the fucking universe, or might as well be; tech was not his area. But it made him feel something. Kinship maybe, he thought, cradling the battered porcelain mug of coffee and trying to work some warmth into the joints of his fingers. Old and busted, but still working. Last legs, maybe, but some life still crackling inside.

He’d moved to the States for the sake of his health, that was the joke of it. Christ on a bike, that was the fucking joke. The belching exhaust of a passing lorry in Glasgow last spring had left him doubled over and hacking against a lamp post. Not that a cough was that unusual, he’d been a smoker from the age of fourteen. He was used to the hack-and-rattle first thing in the morning, or when the seasons changed from Damp and Warm to Damp and Cold (Scotland only had the two seasons, really). But this time had been different. Not quite worse, but deeper, like the first signal of the flu.

He’d gone home to his flat that day, made tea, and emptied his tobacco tin into the garbage. Good fucking riddance. Something welled up in him then. A change of scenery would be good. He was nearly fifty-six years old, and he’d never even left the country. Wanderlust, he’d called it at the time. Not entirely untrue, but a little too grand. All he’d wanted in that second was to run away. It wasn’t as if he had any real ties to Glasgow anymore. No friends to speak of, all those were gone. Family either dead or distant. He spun his wedding ring unconsciously. No children. That was almost a relief, considering.

Once he decided to go, he’d sold everything but his clothes and his guitar. Sentiment was only the half of that. He’d never admit it, but he’d simply found the idea of travelling halfway across the world with nothing but the guitar too foolishly romantic to give up. Then on the emptied floor of his flat he’d laid out a massive map of the continental US, closed his eyes, and flipped a coin at it.

He’d spent six good months in Colorado, taking odd jobs and occasionally even sitting in on open mic nights at a local bar, plucking out something of The Velvet Underground or Bowie, and chalking up the slow but steady weight loss as stress and an aversion to American food. Then the cough had come back.

Small cell lung cancer. The fast moving shit. The sort that dug its nails in and decided it lived in you now. Gentrification of the lungs. Radiation or chemo might have bought him some time, but that was the best it could offer. But the pricetag on a few more months was entirely too steep. One look in the clinic window at the thinning husks hooked up to IV drips with pallid eyes and piebald pates, and he’d been out like a shot. On his way to work that night he’d bought a pack of cigarettes. If he was gonna die, he’d at least do it with a full head of hair.

John leaned over the break room table, rubbing at his temples. Too busy feeling sorry for himself to think fucking properly, he inhaled just a bit too sharply. The heating in the bus station was rubbish, the glass windows and sliding doors too thin to keep the cold out, and the electric heater he’d dragged in himself, in a feeble attempt to keep his toes from freezing during the long winter, barely managed to take the chill out of the break room.

Cold air needled into his lungs, and he choked, sputtering and coughing so hard it made his bones ache. Hot coffee sloshed over his hands, and he swore, or at least tried. He needed air to curse, and his lungs weren’t having any of that nonsense. He pounded on the table, sloshing more coffee and overturning a plastic tumbler full of spoons. As the fit subsided, John fumbled in his pockets for his handkerchief and spat, folding it away and trying to pretend he hadn’t seen it come away from this lips bloody.

John sat with his head between his knees until he could breathe evenly again, the sound of the telly all but drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. At last, he stood, sopped up the mess of coffee, and stumbled out to check the departures and arrivals. Departures from Shotton had been cancelled even before John had limped to work in his jeep. The last two drivers had waved him off as he pulled in, climbing into their own cars to get the hell out of Dodge and back home before the snow settled in with any real intent. Now the roads were closing, and that meant he might be stuck here alone, hacking his lungs up over bad coffee and worse telly until the snow plows went out.

“Fuck,” he muttered. The arrivals list, which had been a string of delays when he’d come in, was now almost completely cancelled. All but one. 11:20 from Cheyenne. Delayed, but still inbound. Wonderful. Snowed in overnight with a busload of pissy tourists on their way to Denver. Wouldn’t that just be a time. “Of-fucking-course. You couldn’t even give me one miserable night off, could you?” he growled at the ceiling.

He kept swearing as he pulled his winter gear on. He’d read once that swearing helped with pain relief; maybe the blue streak would keep him warm. He struggled this balaclava over his head, wondering if it wasn’t time for a haircut. He was a little too proud to still have a full head of hair, grey or no, and had let it go a little wild after the move. Insulation, he told himself. Too fucking cold to trim the hair back, be liable to freeze to death before the cancer gets a chance to finish the fucking job.

Laughing, John wound his scarf around his head.

- 11:34pm

John had most of the entry cleared and shook down with rock salt and sand, when he saw headlights. The bus lurched up through the drive, crunching and shuddering its way up through the snow to the sheltered entrance.

John leaned on his shovel and flapped a thickly-gloved hand as the bus ground to a stop in front of him. The door hissed open, blowing a gorgeously welcome gust of heated air at him. The driver was a new guy, a round-faced man with close cropped hair and a frankly terrible goatee. “Fuck me ragged,” the driver called down, grinning, “I’m gonna get held up by the Michelin Man.”

John made a gun out of his right hand and popped his thumb. Ka-chow. “You’ll want to get inside,” he shouted through too many layers of damp wool.

The driver frowned, motioning at his ear. “Can’t hear you, pal.”

He waved again, palm in, fingers curling. Come the fuck in.

- 11:40pm

There weren’t many passengers, thank God. John counted heads as they shambled in, jamming his gloves into his pockets and fiddling with his scarf which had gone stiff with frost. Seventeen or eighteen, including the driver, who’d pulled off to try and park the bus proper while he still stood a chance to get it moving. An old couple cooed and laughed over the coin-op televisions. A young black woman in a pea-colored coat almost as heavily padded as his own gave him a nervous smile as he struggled out of his balaclava. She asked hopefully about coffee with a London accent that made him do a double take.

“Or tea or hot chocolate?” she went on in the sort of bright tone only the incredibly anxious and incredibly exhausted can achieve. “Anything hot, honestly, I’m not fussy.”

John grunted, both in effort and assent. He’d worked up a fair sweat out there, and the wool was stuck fastidiously to his head. He bent, trying to pull it up from the back, and heard a second voice with an unmistakable Blackpool twinge.

“Easy, mate, you’ll pull your whole head off by mistake.”

Cold fingers brushed at the nape of his neck, curling into the wool, helping him pull. And then he was free, spitting lint and rifling a hand through the haphazard sprawl of his hair.

London giggled behind her hand. Beside her now was a second, significantly smaller woman who was holding his snow-crusted balaclava out to him. For a second, all he saw were her eyes, wide and brown and faintly crinkled at the corners as she smiled up at him. She was lovely, far too lovely, and he was far too old, and oh Jesus Christ he was staring.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, trying to flatten the beast his hair had become. “Uhm, the coffee machine’s on the fritz,” he said, gesturing at the line of vending machines and utterly missing the excited upshoot both women’s eyebrows did when they heard his accent. With a touch of annoyance, he noticed the out of order sign had dropped once again and was slowly soaking into a puddle of slush. “I’ve got a kettle in the break room, but the coffee’s instant. But there’s quite a lot of it, at least, so.” He shrugged, grinning awkwardly and trying not to look at the short one with the big eyes.

“That’d be amazing, I’m frozen,” London said, bouncing on her toes.

“Right, well, have a seat, I’ll go and get that on.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” Blackpool said.

London scoffed, rolling her eyes. “No accounting for taste,” she muttered.

Blackpool stuck out her tongue.

John glanced at her sidelong as he opened the door to the break room. She noted his hesitation and gave him a quizzical look. “You on your own tonight?”

John frowned. “Yeah, why?”

“Then I will definitely give you a hand. You look fit to keel over.”

The frown deepened into a scowl.

She laughed. “Oh, go on, your eyebrows look like they could shoot laser beams when you scrunch up like that.”

He pushed through the door after her, shrugging his parka off and pretending that he wasn’t trying to hide a smile, unsure why he should be hiding it other than that recurring little prickle that said she’s too pretty and you’re too old and have you forgotten you’re dying?

“I like the accent. Where in Scotland?” she asked, already filling the kettle as he stripped off his overalls.

“Glasgow.” He spared her a glance over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re from Blackpool?”

“Ooh, jackpot, well done.”

“Not the sort of accent I expected to hear coming in with the snow in the arse-end of America. I had friends there. The other girl, London, is she with you?”

“No, not really. Met her at the station, actually, we’ve just been headed the same way. Fell in together a bit. It was just nice, y’know. Familiar sort of accent. America’s so bloody big, makes you feel a little less alone.” Her gaze shifted outward and for a moment she was gone, the over the hills and far away sort of gone, hands still trying to seat the kettle without the help of her eyes. On the third try, she finally managed to set the it down on the base properly and click it on.

“Oh. I know that look,” he muttered, sitting down to try and struggle his overalls past his boots. “Someone’s homesick.”

“Something like that.”

He opened his mouth, but the well-meaning platitude he’d meant to give was lost in a deep, lung-rattling cough. He bent double, hugging his knees, eyes squeezed shut, and told himself over and over again it will pass, it will pass, it will pass. Spots burst and swam behind his eyelids as his body protested the idea. The muscles in his body froze up, lungs refusing any command except get out get out get out. All at once the darkness seemed to deepen, wrapping around him, swallowing him up. There was a bizarre sensation of detachment. Like he was falling into himself, as if his body was some hollow thing he was floating around inside like a sensory deprivation tank.

An arm curled around his shoulders, holding his body up, a cold hand rubbing circles on his back. Blackpool’s voice came floating through the black from miles off like sweet woodsmoke.

“Hey, c’mon breathe, breathe, you’re alright.”

At last, his muscles unlocked, and he sucked in a great whooping gulp of air and coughed again, half-retching as Blackpool shoved a crumpled wad of tissues into his hands. John sat shaking as his breathing leveled, swimming back up into the peaked fluorescent light. The coughing was old, but the blackout, that was new. New and decidedly not good. Blackpool’s hand still rubbed at his back. She was still there. He swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, and as he blinked the tears out of his eyes he saw a smear of red across his knuckles. Fuck.

Blackpool looked down at the blood on his hand, eyes wide with concern and something else he couldn’t quite place. Something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Her pupils were dangerously wide, irises a thin sliver of copper that seemed to pulse and flash. A fresh shudder rippled up his spine.  Lack of oxygen, he told himself.  Surely.

“You need a doctor,” she whispered, searching her coat pockets and finally producing a phone in a chipped blue case.

He grasped her hand, shaking his head. “I don’t.”

“The hell you don’t,” she hissed. “You’re ill.”

“I know,” he said, and that stopped her. He sighed. “Just, please, trust me. An ambulance couldn’t make it through this mess anyway. No point. I’ll be fine in a minute, I just need to catch my breath.”

She stared him down, mouth set and grim. For a long, horrible moment he felt close to talking. To actually saying it. He hadn’t actually told anyone about the diagnosis. There was nobody to tell, and somehow that was the worst of it. He was going to die here alone in a shithole of a town thousands of miles from home, and nobody would know. Loneliness hit him in a crushing wave. He saw himself reflected in the dark of her eyes, drawn and pale and hopelessly lost.

And then she sighed, and his shoulders dropped, and the moment passed.

“What’s your name, Glasgow?” she asked finally.

“John. But mostly people call me the Doctor.” She gave him a funny look and he shrugged. “Old nickname. Long story.”

“No doctor for the Doctor, though?”

He shook his head, resolute.

“Well, then fuck that,” she said flatly. “Glasgow it is.”

He rasped a laugh that set him dangerously close to coughing again. “Suppose I’m supposed to just call you Blackpool, then?”

“It’s only fair.” She smiled tentatively. “But it’s Clara, for the record.”

- 12:03am

Blackpool - Clara - handed out hot water in little styrofoam cups. John followed behind with sachets of coffee and tea bags and tiny packets of sugar. London, who Blackpool said was named Bill, squealed happily when he produced a pyramid-shaped teabag out of his pocket.

“Oh that is gorgeous, you’re a lifesaver, mate.”

Blackpool had moved onto the driver, whose name tag was emblazoned with “MASTERS” in off-kilter lettering. His cheshire grin slipped sideways into a leer as she handed him the cup, his fingers lingering on hers a little too long.

“Cheers, love,” he said with an overblown wink and an equally overblown mockery of an English accent.

Blackpool’s face went stony, and she jerked back, moving on quickly to the elderly couple. The grin on Masters’ face spread even broader.

Bill fidgeted, her own smile fading fast. Her eyes flitted around like nervous hummingbirds, lighting on Blackpool, him, the ceiling, the floor. Anywhere but the driver. John clenched his jaw, hands making a decision for him before his brain stood a chance to intervene, accidentally fumbling the handful of coffee and sugar and knocking the cup of still-steaming water out of Masters’ hands and into his lap. The room was entirely too cold (and his kettle frankly a bit too crap) for the piddly amount of liquid to be hot enough to actually hurt him, but the man yowled like it was boiling.

“Ach, so sorry mate,” John crowed, playing up the Glasgow in his voice to the most ridiculous degree he could that still stopped short of Rab C. Nesbitt territory. “The cauld goes fae my joints, sorry, like, I’ll get ye some towels an’ a fresh cuppa, dinnae worry about it.”

He trotted back to the office, more than a little delighted at the sour look on the driver’s face. How’d that saying go? Like a rottweiler licking piss off a dandelion. That was the one. Beautiful.

- 12:15am

John ran out an extension cable and a power strip for the ones needing a charge for their phones, which unsurprisingly was all of them. Reception was shit, and the storm was only half of it. No wifi, either. He made apologies, gesturing at the desperately out of date equipment. “Give them another ten years, and they might actually catch onto the indoor plumbing fad.”

Blackpool gave him a wink and a thumbs up over the top of her phone. London rolled her eyes and lamented the absence of Netflix, rather loudly at that. Blackpool shook her head and set to poking half-heartedly at Candy Crush.

London wandered over, leaning back against the desk where John sat. She had apparently memorized the names of the other passengers and ticked them off to John as she sipped at her tea. She pointed out the elderly couple. “Melvin and Tilly. Their granddaughter just had her first baby, they’re going down to visit. Spiky hair over there is named Dan or Dave or maybe Doug, he talks a bit too fast for me to really catch it. The cougar with the long blonde hair is Susan; loves badminton, very straight though, shame. Oh, that over there, that’s Dee. Or D, like the letter, not sure which.”

“And of course, you’ve met Clara,” she gestured at Blackpool, who was still flicking through her phone. “Late twenties, maybe early thirties at a push. Used to be an English teacher back home, I think she said. Didn’t like talking about home though. Breakup or something, I dunno. There’s a sore spot there, I didn’t want to poke. I did learn, however, that she likes Jane Austen, souffles, and apparently, older men.” London tilted her head at him pointedly, amused by the way John’s gaunt cheeks colored as he stared fastidiously at his shoelaces. She tutted. “Oh you poor bugger. Five minutes in and you’ve already got it bad. Don’t worry, mate, same here.”

“I really d-”

“Oh like hell. You absolutely have, of course you have. I’m not stupid. And I mean it’s not like I can blame you. Look at ‘er.” She lifted her hands again at the other woman as if her existence was the only proof needed. In fairness, it probably was.

John nodded solemnly. “Alright. So what next, fisticuffs? Rifles at dawn? You can get in an early dig at my honor if you want, I’ll let you go first.”

She laughed. “Naw mate, she is way out of my league. Out of your league too, now that I think about it.” London put a playful elbow in his ribs. “She still likes you though. I can tell. Haven’t seen her smile at a single bloke until she saw you.”

He cleared his throat. “And uh, what about the driver? Masters. What’s the deal there?”

London’s smile evaporated. “He’s a prick,” she said flatly.

- 12:40am

“Alright, the suspense is killing me,” Blackpool said at last. She’d taken to pacing around the lounge with her phone in her hands and had veered out of her path to the front desk suddenly.

“I’m sorry?” he said, blinking.

“You said people called you the Doctor. Why?”

John waved a dismissive hand. “It’s really not that interesting, honestly.”

“C’mon.”

“Why do you want to know?”

She rolled her eyes, laughing. “Because I am dying of boredom. And because, quite frankly, I like listening to you talk.” John fumbled his pen. Blackpool didn’t seem to notice. She tilted her head. “How’s your cough, by the way? I suppose I shouldn’t bother you. Talking might actually be a bad idea….oh god, I am rambling aren’t I?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said dryly.

“Right. Well. I’ll just, uhm.” She motioned away.

“I had something of a reputation when I was younger,” he said suddenly, not really wanting to tell but wanting her to leave even less. “Drugs. College,” he shrugged. “Nothing terribly shocking, but also not very legal. Used to get folk turning up at all hours on my doorstep, worn out or strung out or heartbroken. I’d find the right remedy in my bag of tricks to calm them down, get them talking.”

“A stoner psychologist?”

“Basically.” He leaned back and spread his hands. “The Doctor is in.”

- 1:17am

Boredom took over rather quickly. D-or-Dee, a youth with a partially shaved head and a pocket full of quarters went around feeding coins into the slots of the tiny mounted TVs, looking for one that still worked. For awhile, several of them crowded around to catch the weather reports - snow, lots of; we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming - but it quickly became apparent that the only thing on this late was going to be infomercials and horrible sitcom reruns. The tiny knot of people dispersed, and the youth settled for twiddling the radio dials, trying to find a signal in the squelch and static.

“How do you manage alone here at night?” Blackpool said, leaning over the front desk and swirling the last dregs of her instant coffee as he scratched at a newspaper with a pen. “This place is practically prehistoric. I keep waiting for a dinosaur to jump out of the ladies’ and come charging out to eat us.”

“Alas, it’s never been quite that interesting. But I manage, mostly.” John wiggled his pen at the desktop, heavily populated with familiar nightshift detritus: thin paperbacks (Vonnegut and Iain M. Banks stuff mostly), crosswords, at least three newspapers, and an mp3 player half-hidden under a pack of L&M cigarettes. A stack of monitors to his right showed crackly footage from security cameras in the station; two from the lounge, one in the hall by the lavs, and two outside at the front and back entrances. He gave them a cursory glance and saw nothing amiss. Then looked again, brows knitting together. That wasn’t entirely true. Something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He checked the doors again and did a head count, lost count, tried again, distracted by the way Masters was leaning over three chairs to talk to London, who was resolutely ignoring him. John felt the first twinge of a headache at his temples. What the hell was he missing?

And then Blackpool’s arm darted in front of him and grabbed the mp3 player and the cigarettes in one quick swoop that left him blinking.

“Oi, Quick Draw McGraw, give over!”

Blackpool shook the cigarette pack and gave him a disapproving glare. “Seriously?”

He scowled. She seemed to bring that out in him. “I’m old enough, miss, honest. I’ve got ID, I can prove it, even.”

“These can’t be doing your lungs any favors.”

“When did you turn into my mother?”

“Well, if you’re going to be like that I guess I’ll just have to take your toys away,” she said coolly, slipping them into her pocket.

John scoffed. “You really want to be stuck in here with a crotchety old bugger going off nicotine? Trust me, it won’t be pretty.”

“You ought to take better care of yourself, y’know.” The playfulness hadn’t gone, not entirely, but there was a genuine edge of concern.

John felt heat creep up his face and grumbled, fiddling with his hair. That inexplicable urge to tell her hit him again. Christ, he was pathetic. Was this all it took? A pretty face and a kind word, and he was ready to fall on his knees and confess. It was a sin anyway, wasn’t it? Suicide by inaction. Jesus. Get ahold of yourself for fuck’s sake.

Blackpool held up the mp3 player. “Got anything good in here?”

“Depends on your definition of good.”

Music warbled faintly from the earbuds as she shuffled through his playlist. “Bowie. Lots of Bowie.  Miles Davis.  Screaming Trees. And...Peter Andre?” She gave him a look that was just a hair’s breadth away from mocking.

“It got stuck in my head, ok? It was either download it or put a plastic spork in my ear.”

She laughed, properly laughed, round face all crinkled up, rocking on her elbows. Any indignance he might’ve felt fled immediately. He watched her laugh and felt a little of the malaise drain from his limbs.

Blackpool shook her head at him, eyes sparkling. “Well, that’s good to see.”

“What?”

“You. Smilin’.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He hadn’t even realized.

She patted his hand. A fleeting touch, but enough to make his heart catch almost painfully. “It looks good on you,” she said.

“Oh, flattering an old man,” he said. “If you’re here for my many many riches, as clearly evidenced by my glamorous, high-paying position, I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“Shut up,” she smacked his shoulder lightly.

“I just thought you should be aware!” he carried on, blustering his way through the blush that wanted to creep up his cheeks again.

A sudden burst of static made the both of them jump. D-or-Dee cheered happily, having finally found a radio signal that wasn’t just weather reports or bad country music. Violin strings cut through the crackle and pop in a lilting swell. A guitar crawled in in response, sweet and slow as molasses. John recognized it, an old Fleetwood Mac tune from the Peter Green days.

Melvin, the old guy, was on his feet suddenly, tugging at his wife’s arm. Tilly cackled, called him a sentimental old goat. And then she went to him, smiling sweetly, hands clasped together, one arm on his shoulder. They revolved slowly, beaming at one another.

A few others joined them, Dave/Dan/Doug, the youngish fellow with spiky hair, offered his hand to Susan, a woman about John’s age who laughed musically and joked about breaking her hip, but went anyway. D-or-Dee snatched up London even as Masters was moving closer and twirled her away while the driver was left sneering. A cold little prickle crawled up the back of John’s neck as he locked eyes with the driver. He was going to be trouble. Before sun up, John was certain, he would be trouble.

Blackpool’s hand was on his again, her eyes locked mistily on the elderly couple. “Dance with me?” she asked suddenly.

He sputtered, half-laughing, an immediate refusal on his lips, but then she turned her head and he saw the tears in her eyes. He knew that look. It wasn’t wistfulness but hurt, like an old wound had suddenly reopened. John felt his heart perched on the edge of something he didn’t want to name, teetering, ready to fall. He could let it, knowing at once he’d give anything to take away whatever pain had filled her, and chastised himself for the foolishness.

As if he could. The plows would go out in the morning and she would be on another bus and that would be it. And anyway, he was old enough to be her father and not likely to see the last snows of the season melt. Nothing lasted, not ever. The kid turned the music up, and John felt it working in his chest. A little miracle, a little spark crackling away inside. Old and battered and still playing something sweet and strong enough to make him feel. Maybe that wasn’t all the music. Maybe.

Nothing lasted, but maybe it didn’t have to last to be worth it.

John squeezed her hand once and made for the door. The security monitors dragged his attention for a split second, but he kept moving. Whatever it was, it could wait another five minutes. Blackpool held her arms out as he rounded the desk. He hesitated, swallowing hard. People were watching. London looked at once hopelessly amused and somehow proud. She grinned at him and popped a double thumbs-up, giggling. The driver looked significantly less pleased. The man’s face had gone rat-like and sour, staring at them both with such utter contempt John could almost feel it on his skin, slippery and unpleasant like motor oil.

But Blackpool’s eyes were turned up to him, wide and dark and too full. You wave and you wave with your wide lovely eyes ran through his head with a kind of sick-sweet flush. He went to her. London pumped her fist discretely in triumph.

“You’re cold,” he said as she curled around his shoulder.

“I’m alright.” She took his left hand with her right. Should’ve felt odd. Probably. It didn’t. She led and he followed, trying to pretend he was more than a gangly wreck of limbs and mad silver hair.

She settled against him, fingers worrying over the ring on his hand. “I hope I’m not,” she paused, pressed her face to his jacket, tried to start again. “I dunno, overstepping or something. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to put the mack on a married man.”

His eyebrows flew up. “You’re putting the mack on me now, are you?”

“Shut up,” she said, but there was a chuckle in it.

“I’m not married anymore. It’s sentiment, I suppose. Maybe just habit by now. Just never taken it off.”

She looked up at him, searching his face as if looking for the answer to something she didn’t quite want to ask. She seemed to find it. He could guess; a ghost of that same hurt he’d seen in her face. “I’m sorry,” she said.

John’s mouth went painfully dry. “You too, eh?” he asked.

She nodded. “We weren’t married,” she said, so quiet he could just barely hear her over the music. “But he was going to propose.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Her breath hitched, and she swayed a little in his arms, head down low on his shoulder. John turned them slowly, putting his back to the room, giving her what little privacy he could. He stared out the window. The snow was coming down harder, big fat snowballs of the stuff forming new drifts in the track he had cleared. The sky outside was a dull, muddied pink, the snow drifts colored orange in the streetlights. Blackpool wept discreetly, not making a sound, but he felt tears soak through his hoodie to his t-shirt, and wondered that even those felt cold. He pressed his hand into the small of her back, thumb rubbing absently against her spine, and he tucked the top of her head under his chin. She smelled faintly of lilac soap and deep, bitter chocolate.

“Thank you,” she said as the song ended.

“What for?”

“For being kind.” She looked up at him again, and he watched the last of her tears spill down her cheeks. “That’s rarer than it ought to be.”

A commercial for Thompson’s Water Seal replaced Peter Green, and the other pairs drifted apart. John barely noticed. Her eyes skimmed down over his face, pausing long enough at his lips to make his heart beat faster. She couldn’t possibly...

A cracking from outside made his head snap up, and John watched as a heavy branch bowed over the power lines, cracking and popping. He swore, dropping his hand to his belt where his maglite hung, just as the branch gave way and fell.

In the split second before the darkness descended, John finally registered what had been wrong with the cctv feed. As light as it was outside, even at this hour, the inside of the station was brighter, and he saw himself reflected in the plate glass of the sliding doors. Six feet of wiry thin Scot. Face a little too long, a little too drawn now, but eyes as bright and cold as the night outside. His hands hovered in midair, clasping nothingness.

Of the woman in his arms, there was no sign. Blackpool had no reflection.

#whouffaldi #twelve x clara #doctor who fanfiction #twelfth doctor #clara oswald #vamp!clara #bc I haven't actually gotten to do a romance/horror au ever #let me live

[superfifibee]

My Place? - A Jack Maynard Imagine (Buttercream Squad Fan Fiction)

You thought it was a normal night, just hanging out with the guys, having some beers, maybe a little wine, but it wasn't. It all started out normally, but then you spilled more than your drink to one of the guys about your secret crush. "Shh! Just forget I told you anything Oli, don't tell anyone!" You insisted as soon as you accidentally gushed your feelings for Jack Maynard to him. You were both standing in his kitchen opening a couple of beers while the other guys were in the lounge, laughing and chatting loudly. "So, what are you gonna do? You've got to tell him!" Oli replied in a loud whisper. "No, are you crazy? It would put our friendship at risk, plus I doubt he likes me like that..." You trailed off, feeling insecure about how Jack might react. "Anyway, c'mon we should go back through before they start thinking that WE are up to something!" You said with a giggle. You led the way back through to the lounge and sat down next to Joe. "Ey up love, you and Oli were gone a while..." Joe hinted, you knew he'd be the first to notice. You were good friends with both Joe and Oli and Joe had always thought something would happen between you and his dark haired friend. "And? You jealous?" You teased, knowing he would go on the defensive. He took a swig from his beer and shook his head with a hearty laugh. "Just couldn't help but notice!" He said with a smirk, "so are we hitting some clubs tonight then guys?" He asked the group. "I'm down!" Josh called out. "Same, wouldn't mind looking for some nice girl to take home, if you know what I mean!" Mikey said with a wink. The rest of the group agreed and Conor called a cab. "Okay but if we're going out I gotta go get changed into something nice!" You shouted over the loud music. "Why? You look nice in what you've got on already." A soft voice whispered from beside you, it was Jack. Goosebumps stood up on the back of your neck and you felt warmth spread through you. You smiled at him but then snapped back into reality. "Ooh you trying to pull tonight Y/N?" Mikey asked in a teasing voice. You stood up and took a sip of your beer. "Maybe I am!" You said with a giggle and stuck your tongue out at him before looking around at all the guys to see their reactions. Everyone laughed. You excused yourself and came back 5 minutes later wearing a short black dress that showed off your curves, high heels, and a cropped leather jacket. As you walked back into the lounge some of the guys turned to see you and their jaws dropped. "Wow Y/N, look at you!" Oli said, trying to act casual. "Oh my god you ARE trying to pull tonight!" Mikey yelled in surprise. "Trying? She WILL pull looking like that!" Conor exclaimed, standing up and looking you up and down as though checking you out. "Like what you see do you?" You said flirtatiously to Conor, before noticing Jack's eyes slowly wandering over your body, from your feet, to your thighs to your chest and finally your face. He stopped and smiled. "Nice." He said non-chalantly, before turning away and drinking the remainder of his beer. A heat grew inside you making you yearn for more from the cool, collected Jack. "Cab's here!" Conor shouted, he flicked the switch on his music and him and the rest of the guys got up and pulled their jackets on. You all bundled into the cab practically sitting on top of one another, in fact you actually were sitting half on Oli's lap and half on Conor's. "Hmm I'm kinda liking this!" Conor teased from under you, he wriggled his hips as though he was humping you and you laughed along with the rest of the guys, except Jack, who instead shot his brother a look of disapproval from opposite you both. You smiled at him, showing that you could take the joke and he smiled back at you. God his smile was perfect you thought to yourself. You pulled up in front of a club and all spilled out of the taxi, Conor paid the driver and gave you his hand to help you out the car. "Thanks, you're really on top form tonight huh?" You said flirtatiously. Jack watched you both from the door of the club as he flashed his ID to the bouncer. You all followed him inside and ordered drinks from the bar. "Honestly though Y/N, you look really good in that dress" Conor complimented you, standing very close to you at the bar within earshot of his younger brother. "Jeez Con, if you like her that much just kiss her already!" Jack grunted in an annoyed tone as he took his drink from the bar and turned away. Conor turned around to face his brother. "What's going on with you man? You seem to have a problem with me and Y/N even though we're just harmlessly flirting" he questioned Jack. "Yeah? Well maybe I don't want you to flirt with her!" He said loudly, loud enough for you to hear over the clubs obnoxious dance music. You took a sip of your drink and listened again to their conversation. "Why? Do you - do you LIKE her?" Conor asked in a shout back to Jack. You peeked over your shoulder and saw Jack place his hand on Conor's shoulder and pull him further away from the bar, and you. You couldn't hear them anymore, but if you turned to chat to Josh you could spy on the brothers from the corner of your eye. "Nice shirt by the way" you said to Josh, eyes flickering over to Conor and Jack who were still speaking in hushed voices. "Thanks Y/N, wonder what they're fighting about this time" he replied, taking a drink and nodding towards the Maynard brothers you were both watching. "Hm? How do you know they're fighting?" You asked sheepishly, looking back at Josh. "I lived with them - I know when they're fighting." He explained, still watching the brothers. Just then Joe and Caspar walked by them towards you and Josh. "You heard them bloody rowing?" Joe enquired pointing back at them with his thumb. "It's about you y'know Y/N" Caspar chipped in. You looked surprised, not understanding why they would be fighting about you. "Really? Why? What about me?" You asked in a soft voice. The 4 of you watched them a little longer and they eventually noticed and stopped in their tracks. "What's going on guys? Why are you fighting?" You asked them, walking over and placing a hand on an arm of each boy. They both looked at you with the same expression on their faces, one you didn't entirely register. You looked from Jack, to Conor, to Jack again. "Please? Just tell me?" You didn't direct this question at either of them in particular but it was Conor who answered it. "Jack's annoyed because I was flirting with you..." Conor said as he turned towards you. "I told him it was nothing, harmless fun" he announced confidently. Jack stared at his brother in outrage at what he was saying. "HEY! Conor stop, I need to talk to Y/N" he said before turning to you and taking your hands. "Can we go outside Y/N?" You nodded and before you could say anything else he started leading you towards the door. You felt the chill of the cold air hit your bare legs as you left the building and the boozy smell of the club and sweaty people was now replaced with cigarette smoke and cold air. Jack still had your hand in his and continued leading you down the road, away from the noisy chatter of social smokers and bouncers telling people they'd had too much to drink. You stopped and stood in front of Jack, making him pay attention to you fully. "Jack where are we going? If you need to tell me something then tell me here, or at least some place warm" you spoke reasonably. "Okay, I-I... Not here. Come on we can go to that chip shop and have a coffee" he took the lead again, this time hot-footing it towards the chip shop with you following swiftly behind. He ordered a coffee for you both and paid while you found a table in the corner. "Here" he handed you the hot cup and sat down opposite you, twirling his thumbs around each other. It occurred to you that you had never seen Jack like this, he looked thoughtful, no - worried. You blew steam away from the cup and took a long sip of coffee while looking at him in this unusual state. "Damn that's good" you whispered breathily trying to amuse Jack who knew you were a coffee fiend. "So... What's up? You got pissed at Conor for flirting with me? Doesn't sound like you - usually you'd just flirt along with the rest!" You said in bewilderment. "Okay, Y/N I got mad at Conor for flirting with you because... Well, I didn't realise how I felt about you until the rest of the guys started noticing how beautiful you are!" His words came as a shock to even himself. He stared down into his coffee until you spoke again. "Jack, you - you think I'm beautiful?" You said in a soft stutter, you couldn't believe what you were hearing, you couldn't believe this was finally happening. You'd been having feelings for Jack for about a month and a half now and he was telling you that he felt the same. "Of course Y/N, you ARE beautiful. When the rest of them were complimenting you earlier tonight it made me realise I had to up my game if I wanted you to notice me above them. I must have been blind not to see it sooner. I got jealous when they started flirting with you - when Conor was flirting with you I guess I just got a bit... Territorial. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have fought with him about it but I thought he might have a better chance with you than I did, and that hurt because I really like you." His confession made you smile and you placed a hand on his. "Oh Jack, you are so adorable, you know that? If only you knew... If you knew I've had a crush on you for the past 6 weeks!" You felt so relieved to finally say it, but you were still nervous about the reaction you might get. "What? You - 6 weeks? 6 WEEKS?! Holy shit Y/N, oh my god!" Jack stood up fast at this revelation and his hands flew to his head. "I can't believe all this time we could have been dating!" He added. You blushed through a smile and looked up at him with glittering eyes. He looked so hot tonight. You just wanted to kiss him. Jack took your hand and pulled you to your feet, he then moved in close to your body and you could feel his heart beating like a drum. His hands found your waist and yours climbed their way to his shoulders before your arms slid around his neck. Before anything else was said his lips collided with yours, they battled in a frenzy of heat and passion and you felt like you were the only ones in the room. You weren't. By now all the other lads had stumbled out of the club to come and find a late night snack. They were all falling over each other to get into the chip shop and had inadvertently found you and Jack not-so-secretly kissing. "About time you guys hooked up!" Josh cheered, you broke away from the kiss now realising you had been confronted by the group of guys who were ogling you and Jack. "Yeah, Y/N just told me a couple of hours ago how much she fancied you!" Oli chimed in directing this at Jack. "Wait, you knew about this?!" Conor shouted at Oli, "and you didn't think to tell me?" He laughed showing he wasn't actually angry and they both laughed. The guys all ordered their chip suppers and headed out onto the street, followed by you and Jack with an arm around each other's waists. "So..." Joe spoke up while munching on a chip "what do we call you now? Needs a ship name!" He laughed and the rest of the boys started shouting out various combinations of you and Jack's names while walking towards a taxi rank. Jack on the other hand was too preoccupied with keeping you close to him. His warm arms draped around you like a blanket as you walked along behind the rest of the guys. He kissed your cheek and whispered something in your ear. Something none of the others could hear, but nor would they want to. "My place?" He breathed. You smiled, nodded and gave him another long happy kiss.

#fanfiction #fanfic fluff #jack maynard #conor maynard #joe sugg #josh pieters #oli white #caspar lee #mikey pearce #flirty

[missameliasmithers]

Find Your Place: The First Night

Part 1

Read on AO3

After stopping for supplies from a kind merchant along the road, Aloy and Nil made camp in the middle of a clearing in the woods. The pink glow of sunset had already bathed the sky in a warm glow, so they gathered wood for a fire and laid out their newly acquired bedrolls. Seeing the wild look on Nil’s face when he held the canister of blaze, Aloy confiscated the bottle and set the fire herself with a drop or two. The last thing they needed was for Nil to dump the whole canteen in and burn a signal flare in unclaimed lands or worse still, scorch the entire forest to the ground.

Before they lost the last traces of light, they set out on a hunt. The forest was bountiful and teemed with plump fauna for their supper. They fell a turkey and a boar each, knowing from experience they would need smoked meat for the times ahead when hunting would be scarce. As Nil cleaned their kills, a satisfied gleam in his eye, Aloy arranged a small smoker from the scraps of an old, broken watcher. It was crude, but it would have their food ready by the time they set out the next day.

They cooked half the turkey over the fire that night, starved from travel and the remnants of the grand battle they fought earlier.

“It all feels so long ago,” Aloy said after a bite. “Like it should be years since we defeated Hades, but it’s only been a few hours ago.”

“Big moments tend to have that effect,” Nil replied through his meat. “The suspense of it all builds to a climax that makes the denouement feel insufficient. The prologue is always a calm, one that is such a stark contrast to the rising action that everything slows. You just have to learn to appreciate the tranquility of it all.”

She stared into the fire thoughtfully. “It seems like my whole life has been never ending rising action. I’ve hardly ever given myself a moment to rest. I’m not sure I know how to handle tranquility.”

“It’s easy enough,” he said. “You find something in the quiet that means something to you, and you let the stillness of the moment lull you into meditation.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Is that what you do after killing someone?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. I actually did it a lot more when I was a kid.”

Aloy perked. Nil never offered much about his past. “Really? What did you think about?”

“My parents, mostly,” Nil said, taking another bite of his turkey leg. “Everything I did as a child was a reflection of them. I remember I was eight when I killed my first boar. My father had been training me with a bow for weeks and I wasn’t very good at it; kept hitting rocks and ruining the arrowheads. But one day my arrow struck right between the eyes of a male boar and the only thing I could think about in the ringing silence of victory was how proud my parents would be when I brought home the carcase.”

A soft smile spread across Aloy’s lips. “It sounds like you really love them.”

Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone before she could name it.

“Yeah,” he said.

They finished eating by the time the final moments of day disappeared on the horizon. Bellies sated and muscles tired, they fed the fire, walked the perimeter one last time, and stoked the little smokehouse. Smoothing out their bedrolls, they began shedding their gear for the night.  

Their armor accumulated in a pile beside their rucksacks. Aloy removed her warrior’s circlet from her hair as Nil made to pull off his helmet.

She suddenly realized she had never pictured what Nil might like under that metal headdress of his. She supposed her mind had just assumed he had hair like many of the Carja she has seen in her travels, all tight braids or cropped cuts, anything short that didn’t catch on their helms. As he yanked the helmet off however, Aloy discovered that Nil’s hair was as unexpected as he was. It was razored at the sides and brushed back to keep stray strands from falling into his eyes. He did not tease it into thick strands as Rost had done, nor did he tie it back in Carja fashion. She did notice however, as he ran his fingers through his locks to loosen them, that there were smaller braids intermingled here and there.

She hadn’t realized she’d been staring until he met her gaze.

“Problem?” he asked.

He almost looked like another person. Smaller. More vulnerable. More human.

“I’ve never seen you without your helmet before,” she replied.

He snickered. “Did you think it was attached to me?”

“Of course not,” she said. “You just look… different.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“Just… different.”

He chuckled to himself as he unbuckled his holster, letting the conversation drop.

They settled into an amiable silence as they crawled inside their bedrolls. The ground was a rough comfort to Aloy, reminding her of previous travels and her past hunting trips with Rost. The night air was mild and calm, a slight breeze sweeping by to rustle the trees intermittently. The sky was dark but cloudless, the moon illuminating the clearing and complimenting the multitude of shining lights scattered across the heavens.

“What do you think they are?” Nil asked suddenly.

Aloy glanced at him. His arms were folded behind his head as he stared, bright eyed and transfixed at the sky. “The stars?”

“Yes.”

She returned her gaze to the night. “I’m not sure. The Nora used to say they were the freckles of All-Mother.”

His laugh rang in the silence. “That’s a lot of freckles.”

“Some people have a lot of freckles.”

“I’ve noticed.”

There was something in his voice that made it sound like was talking directly to her, but when she looked over he was still looking at the stars.

“I always thought they were the Old Ones,” he said.

“Really?” Aloy asked, surprised.

“Yes. There was just something reassuring about the idea that the slain could live on above us, watching and protecting us.”

“That’s an odd thing for you to say,” she remarked, “considering how many people you’ve killed.”

“I don’t believe every soul can live on,” he said. “Those who live tainted lives should be cast to the demons. When I see the light fade from the eyes of the wretched, I hope they fall into the deepest darkness. But those who are pure, the children, the innocent, and the people who fight for justice, I think they should be able to continue on, to see the contributions they made to the world, the people they’ve affected.”

She thought of Nakoa. She thought of Elizabet. She thought of Rost.

She sighed. “That would be nice.”

She was in Mother’s Heart, sitting around a fire with Teb. The tall flames kept them warm as they perched on logs side by side and discussed the years between their first meeting and the present. Teb held cloth in his lap and stitched the fabric as he listened to her tell stories of her childhood in the Embrace.

She was with Petra in Free Heap, hunched over a worktable and tinkering with bits of the forgewoman’s latest invention. They passed tools to each other as they worked, and took swigs out of the same water canteen. They filled the silence with sly banter and hearty laughter.

She was in the forest, bow at the ready and Talanah at her side. The sun was rising over the hill and backlit the imposing pair of Ravagers before them. She shared a look with her Hawk before pulling her string tight and loosing a barrage of fire arrows at the machines. The beasts roared and charged, and their hunt was underway.

She was in the banquet hall in Meridian, flanked by Erend and Avad as they ate supper at the impressive, imperial dinner table. Her plate was full of food from her lands and her cup with drink from Erend’s. The air was filled with their energetic chatter as they snickered and chuckled at each other with a sense of familiarity that only came from close friends bound in battle.

She was trapping with Rost.

The woods were bright as they ventured out to check their snares. Two had already come up empty, but their third held a rabbit that would feed them well enough. They walked together in that earnest companionship they had forged as foster-father and daughter. Every now and then they would stray from the path to pick off the wandering Watchers in the area, competing amongst themselves who had the better shot before moving back to the trail.

They were checking their fourth trap, talking about medicinal plants, when the darkness crept in. It seeped up from the ground and swarmed in through the air, engulfing the two of them in a black haze. The thick of it pressed into her lungs and she choked, looking franticly at Rost in panic. He was gasping for air just as she was, wrapped up in the skulking shadows that seemed to swallow them. She tried to scream, but no sound could escape past the smoke in her mouth. She reached out for Rost, but the darkness just consumed her hand. She started thrashing around, trying to loosen the grip the mist had on her, needing to get to Rost the more the life left his eyes.

“Aloy! …Aloy!”

Aloy jolted awake, a desperate gasp wrenching from her lips. Her chest heaved with each laborious breath and her mind reeled from the shock of reality. Her forehead was drenched in sweat and her hair clung to it in matted pieces. She had also somehow wiggled out of her bedroll.

“It’s okay, just breathe. You’re fine. You’re okay.”

Nil was kneeling beside her, hair tousled from sleep and shirtless in his nightclothes. He was holding her upright, bracing her back on his shoulder and grasping her upper arm with his hand gently to support her weight. The feel of his skin was a small but effective comfort, a tactile reality. Still, the dream lingered in the shadows of the forest night and Aloy found herself reaching for Nil in return.

“That must have been quite the nightmare,” he said, voice groggy. He must have just awoken. “You were flailing in your sleep. Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said numbly between breaths. “Yes, I’m fine.”

She didn’t need to look at him to know he didn’t believe her.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked.

The darkness flashed back into her mind, devouring her friends, stealing the soul from Rost… She shivered despite herself. “No.”

His voice was a patient, soothing rumble in her ear. “It’s normal to be afraid of dreams, you know. They’re one of the only things in the world we cannot control.”

The laugh she barked out was short and skeptical. “That sounds odd coming from you.”

She could feel the vibrations in his chest as he chuckled. “I’m not without my own fears. There are plenty of horrors lurking in the crevices of my mind ready to assail me the moment I close my eyes.”

She tried to twist around to see his expression, but their position made the movement uncomfortable. “What could you possibly be afraid of?”

“Perhaps that is a discussion for another day,” he said. “All you need to know is that dreams are fabrications; they do not exist. Nothing can hurt you in your own mind.”

“The past can.”

“Yes, it can,” he said with a nod, his stubble brushing against her hair. “But it can also heal. You have to purge your mind of plagues, dominate what controls you. Your mind is your own and no demon has the right to dictate your thoughts. You’re a warrior, Aloy. You can slay the darkness hounding your dreams.”

She wasn’t sure if she believed his words, but the fact that he was here speaking them helped settle her racing heart. “Thank you, Nil.”

And then there was that rumbling chuckle again, like thunder after a drought. “After all you’ve done, it’s the least I could do.” He paused for a moment, assumedly looking at the horizon as he said, “Day will break within the hour. Shall we break camp and venture forward?”

Relief flooded her. After all this fuss, she wanted nothing more than to keep her idle hands busy and her frantic mind off that black smoke. She detached herself from Nil and stood, fixing her twisted clothes.

“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go find something to shoot.”

His mouth stretched into a mischievous smile. “Now we’re talking.”

They set about collecting their things; putting their armor back on, collecting the meat from the smoker, tying up their bedrolls. As they worked, she kept catching Nil yawn and felt a pang of guilt. Of course, she hadn’t meant to wake him up during the night, but he had awoken regardless and left the warmth of his sleeping sack to rouse and calm her. This too, suggesting they depart now instead of going ack to sleep, she realized was for her sake as well. He understood the need for her to do something after an unpleasant night like hers.

As he turned to her, gear slung over his back, Nil flashed her that Cheshire grin of his, and Aloy felt grateful for his presence.

Part 2 end

#horizon zero dawn #hzd #fanfiction #missameliasmtihers fanfiction #aloy #nil

[burst-bomb-bitch]

The Adventures of Coyote and Dragonfly Ch 3

read on ao3 Title: The Adventures of Coyote and Dragonfly Chapter: 3/14 Words: 20.3k Rating: T Pairing(s): mchanzo Summary: Hanzo’s life is in turmoil: his family’s crime dynasty is falling to pieces, he and his brother are trapped in a desolate American town while their father handles business, and a sudden crop of horrible magical monsters have appeared out of nowhere in their new home of Santa Fe. Suddenly, he’s offered a chance to take control of his supernatural problems: Between fighting with his brother, attending school in a foreign country, and saving the city from terrifying beasts, he definitely doesn’t need a stupid crush on his plate, too, but magic can’t fix everything...

“... And they lived happily ever after,” Reinhardt gave a hearty chuckle as the young girl on his lap swooned to the cliche ending of her favorite fairy tale. A warm glow warbled over her chubby cheeks and forehead, firelight filling the den with a sleepy ambience as he rested in his oversized armchair, shrugging his leg gently. His other granddaughter, propped up against his ankle on the floor, stared deeply into the flames, blinking heavier with every passing minute.

“Sometimes,” she yawned, patting at her own mouth and tucking her little legs up into her stomach. “I wish I was a princess, just so I could meet a knight like that.” The younger girl on Reinhardt’s lap agreed with a clap of her stubby fingers.

“You know, girls,” Reinhardt gave a deep, nostalgic sigh, ruffling the younger’s messy pigtails. “Your old grandpa used to be a mighty knight! Have I ever told you the story of how I lost my eye to a fearsome fire-breathing dragon?” He gestured to his right eye, scarred shut.

“Tell us, tell us!” The girl on his foot was suddenly wide awake, scrambling up to join her sister atop his lap.

“It was back in Germany, many years ago,” He began, settling back into his armchair and hugging his granddaughters closer, but a scoff interrupted his sentence.

“Oh, please. You’ve told this story a million times, we’re all sick of it,” a boy curled into the sofa across the parlor groaned without lifting his eyes as he tapped away on his phone. “Stop being so dramatic, grandpa.”

“Many years ago,” he narrowed his eyes at the boy, and the older girl’s glare joined his.

“No one cares about ancient history! It was just one eye,” the boy finally looked up with an exaggerated sigh, rolling his own eyes. “It’s not like you’re blind, even.” The youngest girl gasped, and Reinhardt fell silent. Blind he was not, though many of his comrades had suffered that fate and worse. Compared to the rest of his battalion, he was fortunate - all of his limbs still attached and in working order, half of his vision, a mind that served him as well as a sixty-year old man’s could, but it had always brought him solace, the light in the children’s faces and their excitement as he recited the tale of heroics and bravery, honoring the friends he had lost, even if it was a tad exaggerated.

“You should show a bit more respect for your elders, sonny,” he tried his best to mask his own grimace with a chuckle, twisting his knuckles against the armrest of his chair - he was just a child, he didn’t know what he was saying, there was no justice to be wrought here. His grandson sneered.

“How come? They’re just gonna drop dead, anyway!”

The floodgates were open. The older girl on his lap leapt to action with fists swinging, shouting mild curses as she chased her brother to his feet. He yelped as he rounded the corner with her hot on his tail, and Reinhardt sighed. He dropped his face into his large palm.

“Grandpa?” They tiny girl on his knee looked up from the commotion to face him.

“Yes, princess?” He managed a tiny smile at the innocent blink of her big blue eyes.

“I love you,” she crawled up his barrel chest to peck a tiny kiss to his scruffy white beard. “Good night.”

“Good night, precious,” he gave her jaw a gentle swipe of his fingers and she clambered to the floor, toddling after her siblings.

For every sweet thought of his girls’ joy, Reinhardt could not help but recall that smug stare of uncaring on the boy’s face. His gaze was drawn to the fireplace, still blazing, hot and golden. With a grunt, he forced the thought of Stuttgart and Eichenwalde from his mind; flames licking and chewing at the grassy hills of his home had no place there.

“Such a shame, no regard for all you’ve done for him,” a gravelly voice, like that of a smoker’s, purred into the knight’s ear.

“Who said that?” Reinhardt demanded, whipping his neck around to search behind his chair.

“Those who do not fear the Crusader are fools,” the voice continued, amused. “Show them.”

--

“You’re a hell of a lot dumber than I thought, snitch,” Jesse heard a set of footsteps brush through the cold desert sand, followed by a few more as they shuffled after the leader of the pack. Someone spit at the ground and another took a deep drag from a cigarillo, cheap smoke burning Jesse’s nostrils. He tensed his back and reached up to pull down the hoodie obscuring his face in shadows.

“Look pretty dumb, too,” the ringleader smirked, and he would recognize the schick of a switchblade anywhere. He grinned from beneath the mask pasted to his cheekbones, lowering his leather-gloved hand to the holster at his hip as his opponents did the same, fingers twitching, anxious for the draw. The shadows in the dark were barely perceptible, but he could make out three fuzzy figures circling around him, shuffling in their old tennis shoes. “You think you’re some hero, comin’ out here all alone, but you’re just like that daddy’a yours.”

“He wasn’t my dad,” Jesse licked over his sharp fore teeth.

“Don’t matter. You’re gonna end up in the same sandy grave, kid,” the click of the gun was quick, but Coyote was quicker. He dove to the ground, but was careful to wait for the first deafening boom of hammer and powder before following up with a shot of his own, straight to the stomach of whoever was in the general direction the first shot had resonated from. The figure grunted and doubled over, clutching its midsection. Something dark began to wet the sand beneath Coyote’s feet. He took advantage of the shock between the other Deadlocks, nailing the one with the knife in the shoulder, another in the thigh. If he wanted to, surely he could land the shots to their faces, their hearts, anywhere he pleased, but that would make him just as despicable. Besides, a dead man couldn’t spread his warning for the rest of the gang:

“I ain’t your kid no more, boys. You, all of you,” he elaborated by waving the barrel of his revolver menacingly around the circle of fallen goons, squatting to meet the unfocused, glazed eyes of his first victim. “Best head for the hills. Got that? Tell everyone that Coyote don’t take kindly to trash in his hunting grounds.”

The thugs were silent, but Coyote knew he had made his point. As he stalked out of sight, he tucked the pleasant weight of his revolver back into its holster, knowing it had done justice that night. ‘Daddy’ would be proud.

He detransformed atop a slummy apartment building, jumping down to a rusted black fire escape as Wenndi gave him an earful.

“You can’t be so frivolous with your powers!” it panicked, swiping paws over its own ears like an old man worrying at his bald patches.

“What’s frivolous about cleaning up the city?” Jesse grinned, tucking his hands into his jacket pocket. “I’m doing exactly what a hero should: making the streets safer for everyone.”

“Well...” Wenndi conceded. “Fine. But all of those men back there, they could figure out your secret identity! What are you gonna do then?”

“Them? Naw, they’re too dumb,” he chuckled and waved the concern off. “That wasn’t enough by a long shot.”

“But-” Wenndi began again, searching for another complaint.

“Calm down!” Jesse snatched it out of the air, cradling it gently in one hand. “I’m gonna get those thugs outta this town with or without you, okay?”

“There’s no way you could do it without me,” Wenndi scoffed, and Jesse nodded.

“Exactly.”

“As long as you’re careful...” the Kwami griped, sinking its little claws into the meat of Jesse’s palm.

“I will be, don’t you worry,” Jesse tickled at its chin, pursing his lips as he thought back to the last person that hadn’t been careful when dealing with the gang - he did, indeed, meet a sandy grave, and Jesse regretted it every day.

--

Stalking down the grimy fire escape and deeper into the city, back into the nicer parts of town, Jesse began to hear what sounded almost like an army - synchronized footsteps, the clash and shake of armor and weaponry. It was quiet enough to pass off as a hallucination, maybe his hearing was going, until he realized that the roads were oddly deserted - something was off. His suspicions grew the deeper he ventured until a massive tremor shook the ground beneath him, knocking him to his hands and knees. It appeared that Coyote had clocked out a few minutes too early.

“Wenndi, I hope you’re not too tired,” he unbuttoned his jacket pocket and the Kwami flew out, hovering protectively over the boy’s shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” It sniffed the air. “Whatever made that earthquake has gotta be huge. You should really wait for Dragonfly.”

“Who jealous of Dragonfly now, huh?” Jesse teased, but sobered up as an aftershock bumped him onto his ass. Wenndi snickered. “Alright, alright. Transform me!”

Warmth washed over his limbs and he felt the familiar weight of his six-shooter resting against his thigh - he was really growing to love that thing. With a tip of his hat over his mask and a slight adjustment to his heavy belt buckle, Coyote was off, leaping for a wrought-iron balcony and clawing his way up the building; he had to find some way to get around without Dragonfly carrying him up walls, it was beginning to eat at his ego.

From atop the roof, he could see smoke and dust billowing from a street a block over - the villain appeared to be setting fires. Coyote grimaced as he took a running leap and cleared the street below, kicking up gravel as he landed on the flat roof of the opposite building. Peeking over the edge, he finally got his first glimpse at the villain. Wenndi had been right, he was huge - a massive knight, suited in heavy, clanking armor, over half the height of the five-story buildings lining the streets. A thick helm covered most of his head, but his face was visible through the front, an old looking man with a white beard and only one eye. Behind him marched a battalion of civilians, adults and children alike, clothed in their pajamas and slippers as he commanded them forwards with a burning sconce as tall as he was clutched in his chainmail sausage-fingers.

“Using innocents as soldiers?” Coyote cringed. “That’s pretty low, for such a tall guy.” He wished Dragonfly had beat him there, if only to hear his joke - he gave himself a well-deserved chuckle. Before he could pat himself on the back any further, the massive knight suddenly turned his head upwards, glaring at him with one dead eye and a smirk.

“Low, you say?” his voice was booming, so much so that it knocked Coyote back from the edge with its sheer volume - the accent was heavy and German. Most of the buildings in the city were quake-proofed, but even that could only put up with so much of this guy. “My hearing isn’t what it used to be, sonny, would you mind speaking up?” He raised his torch and hurled a ball of fire from the flaming end, it hurtled through the air towards where Coyote stood frozen to the roof. He barely rolled out of the way in time and it singed the fur on the edge of his mangy tail as he stumbled over the edge of the building with a shout. Another close call, but he managed to hook onto the edge of a porch, pulling himself up to safety and thanking his gym teacher for the mandatory pull-ups all those years ago. He pressed himself against the sliding door, taking a moment to catch his breath.

The blue curtain behind the door was thrust aside and the door popped open.

“What are you doing out here?”

--

Hanzo was thrust out of his sleep by the sound of a heavy thud against his window, and he toppled from his bed, tangled in sheets. Toyoll sniffled in its own slumber, blinking itself awake and leaping from the bedside table to hover over Hanzo’s shoulder.

“I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you wake up,” it stretched in midair like a flying cat. “What’s the occasion?”

“Something is outside...” Hanzo whispered, hushing the dragon. He crawled across the room to the closed curtains and lifted one corner inconspicuously so that he could look outside: he found a very familiar pair of boots and spurs.

“What is it?” Toyoll asked as Hanzo panicked, dropping the curtain and jumping to his feet. “Can I eat it?”

“No, you cannot eat it!” Hanzo whispered aggressively, breathing becoming labored. “It’s Coyote! How could he have found me? Oh, what are we going to do?” He screeched at a miniscule volume, scratching at his own cheeks.

“Let him in?” Toyoll stated like it was obvious.

“B-but...”

“If he already knows your secret identity, you have nothing to hide,” Toyoll interrupted. Hanzo sighed and rested his cheek in his palm.

“I thought I was doing a good job...” He tentatively stalked back over to the curtains and hoisted them aside. He stuck his head out into the cool night air as Coyote turned to face him. “What are you doing out here?”

“H-Hanzo!” Coyote stammered, leaning back into the railing. “This is your place?” Realization struck as Hanzo sized up the surprise in Coyote’s eyes.

“How do you know my name?” He stepped back dramatically, feigning innocence as he glanced back into his room and gestured Toyoll into his pajama pants pocket.

“Ah, I...” Coyote twisted his brows as he thought. Hanzo narrowed his eyes. “It’s... It’s not important, okay?” He brushed the question off. Hanzo pursed his lips but did not interrogate him any further.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked instead, batting his lashes - as uncomfortable as it made him, he knew he would be better off acting starstruck than anything else. Coyote caught on and seemed to find his cool again, stepping over the threshold and scooping Hanzo’s hand into his own.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” the gunslinger grinned, and Hanzo resisted rolling his eyes as he leaned in to peck a soft kiss onto his wrist. Coyote began to trail his eyes up the intricate dragon tattoo sprawling its way across Hanzo’s skin, and he stole his arm back.

“It’s no problem, Coyote-san,” he wanted to giggle at the way the dog bit his lip and groaned softly in his throat as he turned up the charm, forgetting all about the tattoo, but that would break his cover. Maybe he wasn’t great at acting, but watching Coyote react was rewarding enough to try. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Who says I’m not just here to see you, princess?” Coyote laughed, and it was Hanzo’s turn to blush. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed, but there’s a knight in not-so-shining armor outside, and I’ve got a feeling he has a taste for flame-broiled dog.” He gestured to his burnt tail.

“So you’re hiding?” Hanzo snickered. “You have to wait for Dragonfly to save you?”

“Ain’t no shame in waitin’,” Coyote defended. “This is a two-man job.”

“I doubt he’ll find you if you’re cooped up in here,” Hanzo teased, giving him a soft shove towards the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Coyote let himself be walked out, “Maybe I’ll come back later? You know, after I kick this guy’s ass.”

“I’d love nothing more,” Hanzo let the honey drip from his words, clasping his hands together in the crook of his neck and praying that Coyote had forgotten about him by the end of the coming battle. He grinned before disappearing to the neighbor’s balcony, climbing back upwards. When he was sure that Coyote was out of earshot, he opened his pocket to let Toyoll take a breath of fresh air.

“Such a flirt, isn’t he?” Toyoll clicked his long, serpentine tongue, spiralling around Hanzo’s tattoo to sit upon his shoulder. “Well, you know what to do.”

“Transform me!” Hanzo demanded quietly, letting the cool feeling, rather like rolling up in fresh sheets, he thought, melt over his skin until he was Dragonfly yet again - the transformation felt less of an oddity with every passing use. He followed Coyote out of the sliding door, making sure to close it behind him so as not to arouse suspicion.

Flinging himself upon the roof, he found Coyote crouched at the edge, breaking line of sight with their foe. Shingles shuffled beneath his metal toes, and Coyote looked up to shush him, pointing over the edge with his thumb. Dragonfly peered out into the street, observing the quiet, hypnotically still army and their huge leader, the knight. His flaming torch was like the sun, looking directly at it for more than a moment gave him a headache and he saw stars - it was a wonder he, and the rest of the city, for that matter, had not been woken by that alone - not to mention the sound of his footsteps and armor.

“You sure showed up fast, darlin’. Any plans?” Coyote whispered as far beneath his breath as was humanly possible, but it wasn’t quite enough.

“Two of you, now!” the knight bellowed, laughing heartily. “I welcome your challenge!”

“Now that is just unfair,” Coyote rolled his eyes as Dragonfly covered his ears in the shock of the German’s huge voice. “Speaking of fair!” He addressed the villain himself that time, standing to his full height. “Let’s say you release all these innocent people down there, and we can have ourselves a real match!”

“Release my soldiers, you say?” the old man raised his empty hand to his chin in mock thought. “I’m afraid not, my boy! You should have considered fairness before challenging an army!” With a wicked grin, the man raised his torch high above his head, slamming it down into the ground just in front of their perch.

The building crumbled and the rubble went up in flames, almost instantly. Tremors rocked the ground. Dragonfly ducked and rolled onto the next roof, Coyote not far behind, and they both looked back in horror.

“Oh my God,” Dragonfly whimpered, falling to his knees and covering his mouth with his archery glove as he felt a wave of nausea wash over his body. The knight cackled below them.

“You have yet to face such power. Am I correct, heroes?” he shouted, and Dragonfly could hardly move as he imagined Genji inside that building - had he been crushed by his own bedroom? Burned alive? Worse? Reality crashed into his body and knocked him to the ground. What had ever made him think he was cut out to face a supervillain - he couldn’t fight a mutated soldier with a thirst for real death, real destruction. Coyote behind him didn’t look all that much better, though his face was that of a boy that had seen plenty of death in his short lifetime and was displeased to see more.

“He killed them...” Dragonfly whispered, retching.

“Killed?” the villain below responded to his quiet exclamation. “Certainly not. I am not partial to wasting manpower,” the heroes gasped as they saw where his statement was beginning to lead - the stones of rubble shifted, and the residents of the building crawled their way out, unscathed. Dragonfly screamed. “You two will finally learn the consequences of a real war.”

Genji wandered out of the collapsed debris, cheeks smeared with black char, but his shock of lime green hair was visible from a mile away as he drunkenly joined the swelling army of civilians. His eyes were glazed like candy, as though he couldn’t see a thing.

“Where’s Hanzo?” he heard Coyote wonder from behind as they watched the grim procession together.

“I-I’m sure he’s down there somewhere...” Dragonfly mumbled through his fingers, feeling a tad faint as his brother slouched over to follow the villain. This knight was bad news: he needed to be taken out, and quickly.

“Look out, he’s doing it again!” Coyote shouted a warning, grabbing onto Dragonfly’s wrist as he moved more sluggishly than usual from his scare. The torch came down, and they tumbled onto the next building over as their previous one met a similar fate to Hanzo’s apartment - it went up in high flames, lapping at their toes as they rolled to safety.

“We need to get rid of him,” Dragonfly coughed the dust from his lungs. Coyote nodded and brought out his revolver, mimicking the quick shooting he had used to take out the Gopher’s army. Dragonfly gestured to himself and the ground - he was to be the distraction, while Coyote stunned the villain from above. The gunslinger grinned and nodded again as Dragonfly drew his thin sword and surfed down the roof shingles, landing in front of the huge man with it ready in front of him. The old man’s eyes lit up and he mimicked the position with his metal torch.

“Do you challenge me, young man?” the booming voice bounced between the faces of the buildings, hitting Dragonfly four times over.

“I do!” he cried back in reply.

“A brave one you are! You shall have an honorable position in my army!” Dragonfly shuddered at the prospect. The German raised his sconce, ready to slam it down upon the hero’s tiny body, but Coyote’s voice, amplified until it almost matched that of the villain’s, interrupted.

“Draw!” He fired from his silver revolver.

A sudden wash of glowing blue overtook the night sky, bright enough that it felt like day.

When Dragonfly opened his eyes after the blinding flash, he found a massive energy shield blotting out the sky, projected from the knight’s gauntlet. The look on his aged face was sour.

“You are clever, I will give you that,” he spit as he retracted the shield and again raised his weapon. “But you must play fairly to beat the Crusader.” With that, he slammed the sconce into the road before him, cracking the asphalt, rippling damage out in front of him. Dragonfly barely managed to jump into the air in time to avoid the brunt of the damage, but he still fell flat on his back. He looks upwards to find a stunned Coyote, glaring holes into his revolver - his power had been denied entirely.

Before the Crusader could rile up for another hit, Dragonfly climbed the face of Coyote’s building, praying silently that the knight would not hit again until he could regain his bearings as he scampered straight upwards like a terrified lizard. Just as he reached the top, he felt the solid ground collapse beneath him. Something grabbed onto his wrist, yanking him up into the air with enough momentum for him to make a dive for the next safe rooftop. He skidded to a stop, back on his feet in an instant to search for his savior - Coyote dangled precariously from a colorful planter box on the side of the high rise. They both jumped out of their skins as a wicked laugh from Crusader echoed through their sensitive ears.

Dragonfly tucked and rolled onto the ground, ducking under the attack this time. Coyote let go of the box and toppled to the ground as well; Dragonfly grabbed a hold of the scruff of his jacket as he stood, disoriented.

“We need to get out of here!” Dragonfly growled, sprinting for the end of the block, making to round the corner.

“You will never escape from me!” Crusader shouted, lowering his stance as what seemed to be a combustion engine lit up in his suit of armor, propelling him forward until he crashed headfirst into the adjacent block of buildings; they came down around his head, but he stood, unfazed.

Dragonfly and Coyote kept running, not daring to look behind them as they rounded the city block. Crusader came charging past yet again, and Dragonfly took a deep breath, tossing both of their bodies limply between two brick high-rises, hardly stopping for a half second before digging his nails into the grit of one building, climbing for both of their lives.

“Come out and fight!” the knight taunted, and the heroes laid as still as they could atop the roof, panting hard. “I’ll burn this whole city if I must!” Dragonfly groaned, wiping a sheen of sweat from his scaled forehead.

“That guy is bad news...” he whispered, and Coyote nodded, sitting up as they heard the Crusader’s footsteps taper off into the distance. A beep interrupted their relative silence, and Coyote looked down at his belt buckle to watch the last of four carved teeth vanish from the gold plate, leaving only a drooling tongue. “Y-you’re going to change back!” Dragonfly’s eyes widened and he hopped to his feet. “You need to get out of here!”

“I can’t leave you alone with that!” Coyote jerked his thumb in the direction the knight had run off to.

“I’ll be fine, go!” Dragonfly insisted, hair on his skin bristling as he heard another beep resonate between them. He whipped around, covering his peripheral vision with his hands. “Go, Coyote!”

--

Jesse sighed to Dragonfly’s back, watching his anxious tail sway along the ground.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he whispered as he turned to the fire door leading back down to the ground floor. Once inside the dimly lit hallway, Wenndi made its presence known from inside his jacket pocket, popping its head out into the air with its pink tongue lolling from black lips.

“Hurry and get us some food so we can get back out there!”

“Sure thing,” Jesse took the stairs two at a time, running his hands down the walls to keep from tripping until he finally reached the ground, only to stop in his tracks. The asphalt of the street was mangled, a ditch drug through the middle where Crusader had charged in, pipes and hydrants leaked water that attacked his boots the moment he set foot outside. High rises and shops alike lay in rubble, scattered across the city like ashes in the wind. He could hear the slow-moving army of hypnotized civilians somewhere near; it had truly become a warzone. He looked up to the roof of the apartments he’d just escaped, but Dragonfly was nowhere to be found.

“Let’s go!” Wenndi reminded him from his pocket, and Jesse snapped out of his trance, running in the opposite direction of the damage gradient.

Most storefronts were too broken and burnt for the gunslinger to even recognize whether they had once served food or not. The streets were empty, and the undamaged buildings seemed to live on peacefully, completely unaware of the chaos outside. Perhaps that was the Crusader’s game - the only ones he woke joined his army, and Coyote and Dragonfly were left cut off from any possible assistance. Seemed silly, though, when he thought of the mass destruction the knight could cause with one swing of his torch.

Finally, Jesse came upon a promising sight: a small crop of food trucks, still strung up with twinkling fairy lights to attract hungry bar patrons. As he approached, however, he found most of the carts empty, abandoned by their owners. He sighed.

“What’cha in the mood for, Wenndi?” He asked as he eyed a taco cart with the doors left hanging open.

“No! You are not going to loot a food cart!” Wenndi huffed, exasperated.

“Ain’t got much of a choice,” Jesse shrugged, heading closer to the orange van. “It’s miles back to the apartment, and every other place in town is smashed up somethin’ nasty.”

“Some hero you are,” Wenndi gave its reluctant consent as Jesse hopped inside the van.

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me,” Jesse rolled his eyes, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and dropping a few bucks onto the counter.

--

Dragonfly heard the telltale sound of rushing air, and a sniff gave away his partner’s position.

“You smell like tacos,” he turned up his nose in distaste as Coyote landed on the chimney next to him.

“Yeah? You like things a little spicy, darlin’?” Coyote snickered as a heated blush overtook the cool dragon’s cheeks. “Took a while to find you.”

“I’ve been trying to avoid Crusader, but I tracked his migration. He’s moved outwards, towards the desert,” Dragonfly flicked a strand of hair from his eyes, tucking it behind his pointed ear.

“Any plans yet?”

“Well...” Dragonfly pursed his lips. “It’s risky, but I think the only course of action is to approach him from up close and use his own strength against him - like the first one, remember?”

“He seems like he might be a bit too smart for that,” Coyote hung his head. “But that’s the best we got, huh?”

“I suppose.” Dragonfly worried his bottom lip between his teeth, standing from his crouched position to search the horizon for the ever-moving path of destruction the villain had left in his wake. “You provide cover fire, and I’ll-”

“Wait, hold up,” Coyote knitted his brows and crossed his arms over his chest. “How come you’re the one riskin’ your life to get up close?” Dragonfly scowled like he had eaten something sour.

“That was what we did last time, wasn’t it?”

“I’d wager a guess that Crusader is a heck of a lot more dangerous than that goo monster ever was,” Coyote shuddered at the memory of the toppled buildings, burning homes and braindead citizens. “You need to be around to clean up afterwards!” Dragonfly grunted in realization.

“You think I’ll be hypnotized into his army?”

“I ain’t doubtin’ yer skills none, sugar, but we can’t risk that,” Coyote avoided his gaze. “Better if I do it so the city still has a chance if it don’t work.”

“I suppose... That makes sense,” Dragonfly conceded, tucking his arms behind his back and watching his own feet. “It’s a last resort, okay? If it does come to that, though... Thank you.”

“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do,” Coyote chuckled, though Dragonfly couldn’t bring himself to scold the cowboy for his insolence - Coyote knew the very real consequences as well as he did. “Whatever we do, though, we gotta get to it. City’s gettin’ wrecked worse and worse by the minute.” Dragonfly nodded in agreement, and they leapt together in the direction of the outskirts of town.

As they drew nearer and nearer to the source of the mess, the violence and damage became more pronounced. Entire blocks of sidewalk ripped from the ground and scattered in concrete chunks, hydrants pumping floods into the holes where roads, shops, and homes had once stood. They spotted Crusader in the difference, tearing a pickup truck bed from cab with his hands, and draw their revolver and bow respectively. Dragonfly closed one eye, taking a single, calculated step forward as he drew back the string of his bow and let an arrow fly. It struck Crusader in the back of his helmet, though it didn’t do them much good as he turned around to face his little distractions, plucking the shaft from his head without so much as a wince as he approached.

“I see you have returned, so-called heroes,” he sneered, swinging his torch up to rest upon his shoulder. “Have you come to admit defeat and join me?”

“Not a chance!” Coyote shouted back, clenching his fist tight around the handle of his gun.

“A shame,” Crusader sighed, tossing his torch back into his swinging hand and flinging a fireball at them. The duo split apart as it hurtled towards them, dodging to either side of the scorching shot. Another followed in rapid succession and the two hit the deck, but Coyote yelped as the second projectile burnt his new tail.

“We can’t keep this up forever, Dragonfly!” Coyote hissed, and Dragonfly grimaced in agreement. Just before he could give the order to move onto their last resort plan, a disembodied chuckle halted his words in his throat.

“You two look to be having some trouble,” the voice was feminine, a Spanish accent gracing the smooth English.

“Who said that?” Dragonfly searched the roof but found no traces of anyone atop it but them. They received another warm laugh in return.

“You just have to ask for help,” she chided them from thin air. “Go on, ask.” Distracted, a well-aimed fireball caught Coyote off guard. It singed the sleeve of his coat, igniting fibers, and he yelped in surprise, slapping at the tiny flames with his metal hand.

“Jeez, help us! Please!” Dragonfly brought Coyote closer, eyeing the air suspiciously as he tended to the burn on his arm.

“Good boy,” One of Coyote’s ears was tamped down and he whined in surprise at the invisible touch.

As Dragonfly helped Coyote back to his feet, both of their attentions were caught by a purple glimmer atop Crusader’s armored shoulder. It took a vaguely human shape, that of a young woman, as it slid down his arm, dragging long nails over his gauntlet and leaving it sparking with purple. The glimmer disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, but Crusader was too distracted to care. He shook his purple arm like a ragdoll, as though it had fallen asleep.

“What have you done to my shield?” he demanded, eyeing the heroes atop the building. Dragonfly narrowed his eyes, staring at the busted shield generator.

“Coyote, now’s your chance!” he gasped, shoving the overheated dog towards the edge of the roof, where he had better line of sight. “The shield is down!” Dragonfly pulled back the string of his bow as he slid to the ground, landing shots in the Crusader’s armor and helmet as Coyote charged up to take him down. The knight growled and dove after Dragonfly with his weapon, slamming it into the already-destroyed road and rumbling the ground. Scampering along the ground as fast as he could manage while shooting, Dragonfly prayed that he was too small to hit, biding time for his partner.

“Draw!” came Coyote’s voice again, but this time no flash of light as he was blocked. The shot from his six-shooter echoed as loud as the Crusader’s bellow as it cracked into his helm, shattering the iron into a million pieces that crumbled like dust over his white hair and beard. Forced to his knee, the knight was frozen in place as the rest of his armor underwent a similar disassembly, rust soaking into the metal like water into a sponge, cracking into plates, then crumbs that tumbled down to the ground as sand. Dragonfly drew back an arrow and aimed straight at the frozen behemoth before him, letting loose and shouting.

“Ryu ga waga teki wo kurau!” Coyote jumped down next to him as the twin dragons hatched from the arrow, blowing a gust of cool air over them as they barreled towards Crusader, swallowing his body like a snake eating its prey whole; when they had finished, an old man remained on his knee. Dragonfly choked at the sheer size of him, even now that he was human. He stood near seven feet tall, he wagered a guess, rippling with muscle - the monster had not been so much of an exaggeration as he had thought. One eye blinked open on the man’s face, the other scarred shut.

As the dragons washed over the absolutely wrecked town, they restored buildings to their full heights, whisked cars upright and drank up the water that flooded the streets. Finally, they dove for the swarming mass of civilians, confused with their leader defeated until the spirits freed their loyalty to him. Chatter picked up volume exponentially as the people wondered what had transpired, and the old man that had once been Crusader echoed their query.

“What happened?” he groaned, pressing a hand to his face as if to soothe a headache. “Why am I out here in the middle of the night?”

“You were under the mind control of an evil being,” Dragonfly barked professionally, returning his bow to its place on his back. “But you should be fine now.”

“Ah,” the man grunted, declining to question further. The dragon offered a hand to help the man up, but he waved it off and stood on his own without too much trouble. He looked down to the ground, an immense hurt in his eyes as he began to walk towards the huge crowd, slowly migrating back into their homes.

“Sir?” Coyote interrupted his pity march, and he turned around. “I gotta say... You still kinda look like you’d make a pretty good knight,” he chuckled, scratching at his own neck.

“Thank you, young man,” he grunted, something like a laugh, and a small smile lit up his furry face. Dragonfly and Coyote watched him walk off together for a moment before their Miraculous gave simultaneous beeps. Coyote scooted closer to his partner as they both turned to walk off in the opposite direction of the crowd.

“We got pretty lucky, huh? Who’dya think that girl was?” Dragonfly huffed a sigh through his nose and crossed his arms as they walked.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like her,” he replied sourly. Coyote made a sound of protest, but Dragonfly cut him off before he could make his argument. “We don’t know anything about her, her motivations, powers, anything! How can I trust that?” Coyote fell silent as they rounded the block and ducked into an alley. “We can’t always be lucky, you know, and I don’t like taking handouts.”

“Guess you’ve got a point there,” the dog sighed and tucked his hands into his pockets. “See you around?” Their Miraculous gave another set of beeps, and Coyote waved goodbye, leaving Dragonfly to detransform in the relative private of the abandoned alley. At least it was too late for his partner to return to his window.

Once he was redressed in his plain pajamas, Hanzo hurried to join the crowds in the street as they shuffled back into their homes. He found Genji as he neared the front door to their high rise, catching onto his wrist and dragging him close for an impromptu hug amidst the mob. The battle had taken his mind off of it, but seeing his brother with that dead look in his eyes, face smeared with soot and rubble had shaken him something awful. A reminder that Genji was alive, well, and kicking was well deserved, though he kicked a tad more than Hanzo remembered.

“So, now you care about me?” Genji scoffed, shoving Hanzo a few feet away. “It takes getting crushed in a building and being hypnotized for a supervillain for you to want me?” the younger rolled his eyes and returned to the doors, leaving Hanzo stock-still on the threshold. He blinked in surprise, but let his brother go, tucking his hands together and looking down to the ground, rocking on his toes and hoping that no one had noticed Genji’s outburst. He was just tired, surely, effects of the hypnosis wearing off - his cheery brother would be back by morning, and for now, he would leave him be.

--

Tucked into his desk at school for only the second time the next morning, Hanzo could barely keep his eyes open. Brawling the Crusader deep into the night and thoughts of Genji had kept him awake for far longer than what he normally considered healthy, but missing what was functionally still his first day of school was not an option. Realizing that the attacks from monsters were not going to let up anytime soon, the district had opted to open the schools back up despite the danger - Coyote and Dragonfly would fight to keep the students safe, their email stated. A rush of pride had filled Hanzo’s chest when he read it, but also a sinking feeling of dread; it was an awful lot of responsibility for two boys.

As Hanzo opened his mouth wide for a yawn when no one was looking his way, the classroom door opened. In walked none other than Jesse McCree, the delinquent he’d seen enough of for a lifetime within a half-week. Maybe he had the wrong room, he was just checking with the teacher - Hanzo begged, but no such luck. He scowled as the cowboy noticed him, flashing a smile full of slightly yellow teeth and a quick wave as he moved closer. Hanzo remembered the empty seat to his right and swallowed hard - his bad luck truly knew no ends.

“Howdy,” Jesse’s wide smile was still plastered to his cheeks as he tossed his bag to the ground unceremoniously and threw himself into Hanzo’s neighboring seat. He didn’t grace him with a response, and the smile fell slightly, but he seemed undeterred. “You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“What makes you say that?” Hanzo huffed, laying his cheek into his palm and glancing to the boy with his best disinterested look. He didn’t disagree, but he also couldn’t think of any right foot for them to have got off on - Jesse was nosy and loud, exactly his brother’s type. Good looking, sure, but the casual flirting was too much for Hanzo to put up with, rather like a certain dog he knew.

“I know I’ve been kinda, forward with you,” Jesse continued, ignoring the sarcastic quip. “An’ I guess I probably made you pretty uncomfortable, right?” At least he could recognize his own errors, Hanzo thought.

“I jus’ wanna apologize. Never meant to upset you,” the cowboy continued, and Hanzo couldn’t help but give a small smile when he searched for a reaction. Perhaps Jesse was more of a respectable young man than he had previously assumed. “And I was hopin’ that we could be friends?” He offered a hand up and Hanzo laid his delicately atop, where it was treated to a firm squeeze and shake. A sharp breath was forced into his lungs as the sheer warmth of Jesse’s hand enveloped his own, and before he could do a thing about it, the boy’s other arm stretched around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. Hanzo’s eyes fluttered as he felt Jesse’s arm flex around his own, and he let out a tiny gasp of disappointment when his new ‘friend’ pulled away with a satisfied grin.

Oh, no.

#text #fanfic #fanfiction #mchanzo #hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #reinhardt #young hanzo #young mccree #young mchanzo #miraculous ladybug #overwatch #miraculous au #my writing #genji shimada