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leilabeaux · 3 years

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In My Sights III

Masterlist | Two

Pairing: Ivar/ Fem Reader

Word Count: 3570

Warning: None? 7 years bad luck?

Summary: A meeting with two brothers from Vestfold takes Ivar off guard.

Author’s Note: Well, this part was a long time coming. That means I will have part four ready next year.

The dining room was sparsely occupied that early afternoon with women who lunch, businessmen on lunch breaks, and their quiet chatter. The Vine had long been considered a historical landmark in Kattegat and was formerly a struggling fine dining restaurant. It had only gained popularity with the upper class once Aslaug Lothbrok, a well-known Götaland socialite who was newly married and new to the city, started to make her presence there. Though it’s popularity faded over the years, it was still preferred by the old money elite. Mostly for the staff’s discretion rather than the food and ambience.

It was for that reason why the Lothbrok sons preferred the establishment for their business lunches. Extra care was also usually taken with a generous tip to the host to ensure no other guests would be seated next to their table but today it was turning out to be a waste of money as the hushed voices from their corner of the room began to grow.

Ivar drummed his fingers against the table as he brought the cup of coffee to his lips, glaring across at his three older brothers. Apparently, the idiots had forgotten the importance of discretion as they were busy bickering over why their associates called for today’s meeting. He hoped the clinking of his cup when he set it down roughly onto the saucer would disrupt their chattering but, to his annoyance, still they continued.

Leaning back in his chair, his left hand mindlessly traced the carved out dragon on his cane, last year’s birthday gift from his dear Uncle Floki, while he scrolled through the day’s news on his phone. One particular article detailed the resignation of a Mercia diplomat after the unexpected death of her eldest son, mentioning that authorities were looking for a red-headed female who was last seen with him for questioning.

Good luck finding her, Ivar thought to himself. He had given up all attempts at trying to find you or any information about you after a year upon your meeting. After coming up empty through hacked databases and facial recognitions, he concluded that you were virtually a ghost or at least knew very powerful people who worked hard to keep you hidden. All he could do was sit and wait until he heard from you again, hoping his right hand and the memories of your last tryst would keep him satisfied till then.

He felt his slacks tighten as he got lost in a memory of you trapped underneath him as he pounded into your sweet cunt. The whines of you begging him to make you come he heard in his head were interrupted when Ubbe pounded his fist on the table, causing the glassware to shake.

“For fuck’s safe, Ivar, get off your fucking phone!” His older brother harshly whispered, checking over his shoulder at the other patrons, finally aware of the scene they were making.

“And why would I do that, dear brother?” Ivar still had his eyes turned down to his phone as he sent you the link of the article and a brief message: You’re on their radar. I wonder what you’re willing to do to make sure I don’t turn you in. Throwing his phone on the table, he raised an eyebrow as he bestowed Ubbe with his undivided attention. “So I can join you fools in biting our fingernails, worrying why they called for a meeting at the last minute?”

“They” were two brothers from Vestfold, owners of a large fishing company based out of their hometown and, most recently, out of Kattegat as well. To the public eye, it was assumed that it was hard work, determination, and a wise investment from Ivar’s father that turned the once struggling business into a multi million dollar success. But the young men currently seated at the table knew that the wise investment was generous compensation throughout the years for hauling more than just fish on their boats. Whether it was guns, stolen art and, for a very brief moment in time, opiates, Halfdan and Harald provided safe transport for anything the Lothbroks were running.

“You're not the least bit worried? What if they’re wanting to pull out of our deal? The Rus are not going to be pleased if we’re not able to deliver their shipment.” Ubbe wrung his hands as he thought of the worst. He was not looking forward to telling the Rus leader of any potential delays. The man wasn’t the most level headed or understanding and honestly, he creeped him out a bit.

Hvitserk nodded his head in agreement. “They might be. Remember, they were wanting a cut of our profits the last time we met with them but Ivar thought it wasn’t a good idea…” He pursed his lips in disapproval before cutting his eyes toward the youngest Lothbrok.

If Ivar had rolled his eyes any harder, he would have given himself a headache. “They’ve been doing the same job for our family for nearly twenty years, nothing more and nothing less, and have been paid fairly for it. Maybe a little too much in my opinion but I will honor our father’s wishes. Still they have no business being greedy. If it wasn’t for the Lothbroks, they would still be hauling fish into a sinking dinghy.”

“There are probably others who are looking for a way to transport their shit and all they need is a smug asshole like Harald to offer his services.” Hvitserk swirled his drink in his glass, taking a sip before continuing. “I think we should give them at least half of what they were wanting.”

Ivar gave an aggravated sigh and was ready to shoot down what he thought was the stupidest thing to come out of his brother’s mouth.

“I don’t know, I think Ivar’s right.” Sigurd chimed in. “They should be grateful for all our father did for them, not bite the hand that feeds them.”

The other men at the table sat in silence as they stared at him in confusion. It was thought that Sigurd would rather eat a bullet than agree with anything Ivar had to say.

“I changed my mind. Give them everything they ask for.” Ivar had joked, he would never admit out loud or to himself that he appreciated his least favorite brother taking his side. Officially done with the conversation, he picked his phone back up. He held back his smile as he read the new message: Anything you want me to do, handsome. But first, you’d have to find me.

Ubbe looked up from behind his nerve-wracked hands toward the lobby and gave a sigh. “Thank gods, they’re finally here...and of course he brought his fucking girlfriend. To our illegal business lunch meeting. Great.”

Hvitserk gave a quick and quiet wolf whistle as his eyes studied the woman on Harald’s arm, from head to toe. “Is that the same one he brought to your birthday party? Didn’t she have different hair and was a bit taller?”

“How can you not tell? I thought you fucked her while cake was being served?” Sigurd questioned.

“All I remember was the back of her head, to be honest.”

Ivar couldn’t hold back the snort at Hvitserk’s comment. Whatever smart ass response that was about to come out died on his tongue as he looked up at the woman that was being led to them. This was definitely a new girlfriend because if you were the one Hvitserk had fucked in the coat check room, he was going to have one less brother.

As always you looked like perfection to him but he knew your presence, or rather your outfit, was causing a bit of a stir in the restaurant especially among the older women who were busy clutching their pearls. From the plunging neckline of the loose dark green silk shirt to the matching miniskirt with a side-slit it was tucked into, your ensemble was far from the acceptable dress code of the Vine but the host knew better than telling Ivar and his brothers that their guest would have to leave, no matter how many complaints he’d get from the other patrons.

“Can you two shut the fuck up before he hears you?” Ubbe scolded Hvitserk and Sigurd before standing up to greet their guests. Shaking Halfdan’s hand before moving onto Harald, “Gentleman, I’m glad you could finally join us.”

Halfdan gave a frustrated sigh as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and plopped himself down on an empty seat. “Believe me, it wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh come on, brother. We didn’t keep you waiting that long.” Harald slapped a hand on his shoulder before parading the young woman on his arm. “Boys, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend Veronica.”

Ivar instantly wished he had ordered something stronger than coffee. He didn’t want to believe for a moment that you would choose to be with someone like Harald but you did warn him before that he hardly knew you.

In his opinion, the Fishmonger wasn’t much to be desired. And if it was money you were after, Ivar’s funds could have kept your excessive shopping addiction quelled more than the mere pennies the other man had. He knew he could satisfy you in that way and others.

Patiently sitting back in his chair, he watched as you politely smiled while you shook hands with each of his brothers. Hvitserk was unaware how close he was to a dinner knife to his thigh after lingering a second too long while kissing the back of your hand. Fortunately, Harald had the good sense to pull you away.

Ivar balanced his weight on his cane as he stood up to introduce himself, taking a risk and gently caressing his thumb against your hand. “Lovely to meet you, Veronica.”

Although you said nothing back, he didn’t miss the small smirk that briefly graced your face letting your alleged boyfriend lead you to your seat.

“I hope you boys don’t mind her being here. I know we try to keep these meetings to ourselves but I’ve been a little busy and this beautiful thing has been missing me.” He kissed the back of your hand, causing you to giggle. “Didn’t even want to take my card and go on a shopping spree.”

“I swear you won’t even hear a peep from me.” You promised, miming zipping your lips closed while you took a seat across from Ivar. “Harry’s shop talk ends up sounding more like gibberish to me anyway!”

Ivar had to focus to not show his confusion when he heard you speak. The words coming out of your mouth sounded as if they were dipped in saccharine and nowhere near the lower sultry tone he was used to. He hoped to himself that you would stay true to your promise and remain silent.

Unfortunately, promises meant nothing to his brothers.

“So what do you do for a living, Veronica?” Sigurd asked while cutting into his beef tenderloin.

You gave him a closed smile, dabbing the corners of your mouth with your napkin as you swallowed your last bite. “Oh my goodness! Nothing as important as what you gents do! I worked in this cute little boutique over in Vestfold before Harry whisked me away!”

“Wow, you must have made a killing in commissions.” Ivar couldn’t resist this opportunity to make you sweat, if that was even possible.

He was sure that hint of confusion on your face seemed authentic to everyone else. “No? Actually, I worked hourly...”

You were cut off by an annoyed groan from Ubbe as he rubbed his face, the food on his plate was barely touched. “Harry...I mean Harald, why did you call this meeting?”

“You couldn’t wait a few more minutes until we were done eating? I’d expect mommy to have taught you some manners.” Harald sighed and tossed his napkin on the table before leaning back in his chair.

Ivar didn’t miss you curling your hand around your knife. The tension surrounding the table definitely wasn’t missed by you.

Before Ubbe could respond, Halfdan had cut into the conversation. “Look, we know the last meeting didn’t go well.”

“Actually, you shot one of our men in the head.” Hvitserk stated, staring at Harald as he made his point.

Halfdan quickly interjected, “One of our captains went rogue. Was convinced by some mysterious buyer to deliver your last load of weapons to them. Don’t worry, we took care of the problem”

The younger Lothbrok brother stayed silent while his brothers voiced out their displeasure. You took a sip from your glass, your eyes cutting back and forth to the men surrounding you.

“Oh, did you?” Ubbe questioned incredulously. “Because there shouldn’t have been a problem in the first place.”

“Yes, we did.” Harald finally broke his silence with an emphasis on every word. “The man liked a good drink...a little too much. It was unfortunately only a matter of time until he drunkenly stumbled off his boat. I’m sure the medical examiner we paid off would attest that it was accidental drowning. As for the guns, they’re on another boat with a crew we know we can trust.”

“The buyer? Do you think it was the Saxons?” Sigurd suggested to the table.

“No, they thrive on letting it be known when they screw us over. I suspect they either are or know someone close. In either our circle or yours. I just hope our actions show that we are loyal and can be trusted.” Harald regarded that last statement to Ivar, knowing his silence throughout the exchange meant he was the one he had to win over.

The young man grinned as he sat back in his seat “You know, before you got here, my brothers were saying they didn’t think you deserved any part of our profits but I personally think a five percent cut of every successful shipment is reasonable.”

A smirk slowly spread against Harald’s face. “I think that sounds very reasonable.”

----

Ivar slowly made his way to the front of the restaurant. The remainder of lunch was uneventful other than the mindless chatter of Hvitserk and Sigurd asking you 20 questions. Ubbe promptly left after taking care of the bill and with so few words.

He rolled his eyes in disgust as he watched Harald wrap his arms around you, not even trying to be modest as his hands grabbed your ass. He had to fight the urge to not cut the man’s hands off for touching something that belonged to him.

You squealed and playfully swatted his chest. You gave a quick glance at Ivar as he slowly approached. “Baby, I’ll meet you outside. I just need to touch up my lipstick real quick.”

“Okay, lovely. Don’t be too long, we have a plane waiting on us.” He pressed a quick kiss on your lips before letting you go. He walked out of the restaurant, not even noticing that Ivar was close by.

Your heels clicked on the marble floor and you peeked over your shoulder toward Ivar, giving him a small grin before you made a quick turn into the washroom.

Ivar looked around to make sure there were no eyes on him as he made his way in the same direction as you. He didn’t expect his brothers to worry too much about him. He would’ve been surprised if one of them had waited for him especially since he took his own personal town car to the restaurant.

Before he could even walk through the door, you yanked him in by his tie then pushed him against the adjacent wall. He barely had time to react when he felt your lips against his own. He wrapped his arm around your waist and groaned when your hand tugged down on his locks.

Usually you enjoyed taking your time kissing him, teasing with a soft touch of your hand at the back of his neck, savoring every small whine he made when you nipped on his bottom lip. But today was different as you rushed to deepen the kiss. Both of you knew that if you were gone too long, Harald would come hunting for you.

When you broke away from him, you looked into his eyes, stifling a soft giggle. “Hi there, handsome.” You teased, your voice finally back to normal.

“Gods, that voice you were putting on was annoying.”

“I don’t know. Harald seems okay with it.” You pushed yourself away from him, walking over to the sink and pulled out a tube of lipstick from your clutch.

Ivar stayed put against the wall, watching as you leaned over the sink to look yourself in the mirror.

He repeatedly tapped his cane on the tile, “Is he why you said no?”

“Said no to what?” You stayed focused on reapplying the red color on your lips. You couldn’t help but laugh when you looked up and saw the annoyed look Ivar was giving you.

You smooth a finger around your lips, cleaning up any smudges. “I’m not his girlfriend, Ivar. He thinks I’m the very expensive call girl he hired to keep him company over the weekend. Just your basic girlfriend experience.” You dropped the lipstick back into your clutch before closing it with a snap.

“Your client wants him taken care of?” He walked over and propped his hip against the counter next to you. “That would save me some money in the long run. One less brother to pay.”

“No…” You looked down at the porcelain instead of looking him in the eyes. “I’m just collecting information on him by any means necessary.”

“Any means necessary?” While Ivar usually admired your dedication to committing to your undercover work, he found himself not liking the idea of you following through on this one. “Y/N, please tell me there’s a target on his head.”

You quickly glanced up at him through the mirror before turning to lean against the counter. You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “At the moment, no.”

“Goddammit, Y/N” Ivar pinched the bridge of his nose. Though the thought of someone else hands over your body aggravated him, the idea of another man inside of you incited him. “Are you going to fuck him? Have you fucked him?”

“Ivar…you and your brothers were waiting for a reason. It would have been suspicious if the hooker refused to fuck him.” You stated as if that was a reasonable explanation.

“How much is your client paying you? I’ll double it—fuck it, I’ll triple it if you just walk away now.”

“No one is paying me. I’m on my boss’s orders.”

“And who do you work for again?”

“Tsk, tsk. You already know that if I told you, I’d have to kill you and I don’t want to have to mess up that pretty face. Again.” Pressing up against him, you gently brushed your thumb over the faint scar that went across his cheek. A sweet parting gift from one of your earlier encounters with him.

“Tell me what information you need and I’ll get it for you.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “Just...just don’t go with him.”

You cradled his face in your hands. For a brief moment, there was a look that Ivar had seen on your face before, a mixture of pity and sadness. You shook your head then pressed a gentle kiss on his lips before you walked away from him.

“Please don’t hate me, handsome.” Through the wall length mirror ahead of him, he saw you turn to face him after pausing at the closed door. “You can be mad and you can curse at me until we’re old and grey. Shit, you could even throw another knife at me but I think it would hurt me more if you hated me.”

You waited a moment for him to say or do anything, but when all you got was silence, you walked out of the door.

Ivar took a deep inhale to try to calm the anger that was beginning to flow through his body. He turned toward the mirror, his knuckles going white as he grabbed onto the edge of the sink. No care when his cane falls to the ground with a resounding smack.

When he was younger, he had got into some trouble after he hit a classmate with a rock. The therapist his Uncle Floki took him to after the incident told him to try counting to ten whenever he saw red.

He closed his eyes, letting out an exhale at every count in his head.

On five, he could see you.

Six, Harald slowly walking up behind you.

Seven, him taking you into his arms.

Eight, his tongue sliding up your neck.

Nine, his hand trailing down to your center.

Ten, you softly moaning out Harald’s name.

Ivar screamed out in rage and punched the mirror. He didn’t even notice the pain in his fist until his breathing evened out. He straightened out his tie the best he could with the distorted reflection in front of him. Flexing his injured hand, he reached over and grabbed one of the towels laid out on the counter, wrapping his hand in it.

If Harald didn’t have a target on his head before, he fucking did now.

——

Tags: @xbellaxcarolinax @castielsangelsx @revolution-starter @momowhoo @peachyboneless @punkrocknpearls

@love-all-things-writing @peoniesandbooks5 @spotgaai2000 @walkxthexmoon @youbloodymadgenius @trip2themoon @zo3st3rmonro3

#vikings fanfic #ivar the boneless au #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless x femreader #alex høgh andersen x fem reader #alex høgh andersen x reader

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pinkprimrose05 · 3 years

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GX Month Day 7: Ojama Delta Thunder!!

@gxmonth

"That’s right! You know what today is! Today we celebrate The Chazz, the one and only Manjoume Thunder! Give sparky boi a hug!"

...I'm not giving Manjoume a hug. I...*cackles evilly* am gonna make him suffer as much as the actual Duel Links players do, maybe even more. And I'm not the least bit sorry, because hey, he gets something out of it in the end!

Manjoume Jun was not having a good day.

The Ojama Duelist grumbled to himself, kicking a non-existent pebble into the air as he made his way to the Duel Studio. The picturesque environment of Duel Links -too clean, too perfect- never ceased to amaze him and many others, but right now, he was too damn pissed to care about that.

After all, it's hard for one to appreciate the technology behind a game's setting when that same technology had just fucked up their entire collection of cards- And in the middle of a Duel no less!

The door slid open as he walked through, revealing rows upon rows of multicolored tables placed on either side of the massive ground floor that was the Deck Editor section, leaving a clear path to the spiraling staircase of clear blue glass that led to the Card Catalog and several other, more obscure sections. After all, the Deck Editor was the single most popular part of the Duel Studio, if the couple dozen Duelists buzzing around all day long were anything to go by.

Manjoume plopped down on a chair at the first empty table he could find, fishing out the single Deck box in his pocket and dropping it on the yellow, round surface. The twenty cards inside the box spilled out over the table (he had hundreds of those for fuck's sake!), and their owner groaned in frustration as he rifled through his completely reset Deck....Scratch that, it wasn't even his own Starter Deck. Battle Warrior? Flame Manipulator? What the hell?!

Briefly, he considered the benefits of marching up to Isono and demanding an explanation and solution to what happened, but that idea was shot down almost immediately. It's not like the guy would be of actual help; the last time someone asked about a bug in the game Isono had literally told them, quote unquote "Please ensure that no other house utilites are interrupting your connection, such as a microwave oven.", and while Manjoume was no tech expert, even he could tell how much of a half-assed excuse that was.

Stupid Duel Links and its stupid customer service-

"Manjo-kuuuuuuun!!"

Startled out of his thoughts, Manjoume only had enough time to gasp before a familiar blue blur put him in an unexpectedly tight headlock, already rambling at rapidfire speed straight in his ears.

"I'm so glad I could find you today!!" Kylie squealed "Had no idea I'd see you here, but that doesn't matter- do you wanna Duel?? I've been working on a new Deck and combos for days now and I can't wait to show you-" the second-year abruptly paused when she caught sight of the cards spread on the table, letting go of Manjoume in favor of taking a better look at them "Waaiiiit a minute, what's with those cards? They don't look like anything you normally play-"

"-It's Manjoume-san." He sharply interjected in a mix of annoyance and exasperation, shooting a glare at the oblivious blunette standing next to him as he massaged his neck "And yes, those aren't my cards. The game just randomly decided to reset my connection in the middle of a Rank-Up Duel of all things, yeet off all my Decks into nonexistence, and then gave me a shitty Starter in exchange, so now I'm stuck with almost zero gems and no way to recover my progress, which is just fucking splendid considering how close we are to the next KC Cup."

Manjoume sighed "Fuck this. Just, fuck this."

Truthfully, he wasn't as mad about the progress he lost as he was about losing his cards. It hadn't even been thirty minutes and, while he'd never admit it out loud, he already missed his trio of obnoxious Ojamas. They've been through thick and thin together, and it felt unnatural to have them just up and disappear like that. The last time they've been away from him wasn't exactly something he wanted to remember, and while the situation here was nowhere as severe as the Dark World, it still felt wrong for the air around him to be so quiet.

Kylie, who was uncharacteristically quiet as she listened to her 'friend' ranting about his current predicament, nodded along "So you...basically got your account reset?"

"No shit, Sherlock." Manjoume deadpanned in response. Kylie put a hand to her chin, humming thoughtfully with closed eyes, before suddenly slamming a hand on the table and nearly shocking him into falling off his chair.

"I GOT IT!" She exclaimed, snapping her fingers with a bright grin "This reset bug happened once to someone I know- I don't know if you remember Ruby from Heartland Academy, but anyway, she also lost all her progress a couple months ago after she got booted out of a Duel, and it turned out that her cards were just scattered all around the Duel World, so we went around asking everyone we could if they saw them, Dueled those who had some, and we got all her cards back in the end. It must be the same with yours, so let's get going and find them all!!"

Without warning, she grabbed the Legendary Duelists's hand, hauling him up and out of the Deck Editor before he could even get out a word. Manjoume gasped and spluttered along the way, trying to tell his companion to slow down a bit to no avail; as talking someone like Kylie out of anything was like trying to build a Deck around Cold Feet.

That didn't stop him from actually looking around and asking, though. If there was even the slightest chance of him finding his cards this way, then he'd be damned if he didn't at least try and go through with it. Compared to staking it out at the North Pole for a barely synergic mishmash of a Deck, to going down a haunted well in an empty forest for a bunch of 0-ATK monsters that were -figuratively and literally- bottom of the barrel, Dueling a couple chumps and scavenging for some lost cards was nothing, and he was ready to do so much more to get his partners back.

"See? I told you Aniki would come find us in the end!"

...I take back everything I said, Manjoume thought, cringing in disgust as Ojama Green and Black hugged each other and began prancing around him in circles, babbling and crying tears of joy while they were at it How could I ever miss this shitfest?

He just did, somehow. It hadn't taken too long to find the two Ojamas anyway; the sound of them banshee screeching weeping their asses off by the fountain was all he needed to know they were somewhere out there, and by some lucky miracle, their cards didn't get sprayed to oblivion with all the water by the time he came to retrieve them. As for his other cards, he and Kylie had stopped by the Shop, the Card Trader, the PvP Arena, the Gate and the Duel School, asking everyone they could about his cards, and beating the shit out of those who had some and refused to give them back

(Well, Manjoume was the one who did that, and only to Evan and Zachary, but that wasn't the point here, was it?)

By the time they decided to return to the Duel Studio for a small break, they'd gathered practically all of his key cards. He couldn't care less for the bunch of staples he lost -he'd just reroll the Selection Box or whatever-, so the only missing card that actually mattered, as much as it stung his ego to admit it...

...was Ojama Yellow. And after what happened with his brothers (and with Fairy Dragon, which he found resting on top of a very inconveniently high branch of a tree), Manjoume fully expected the third Ojama to be sleeping in the trash can or somewhere equally stupid. Because if he wasn't, he'd have found him before any other card by simply following the sound of high-pitched crying mixed with a lot of screaming and weird Ojama noises-

-A sudden rattling sound interrupted the noiret's thoughts for the second time that day, and when he stopped to locate its source, he let out a long, drawn-out sound between a sigh and a groan. Surely enough, the sound was coming from the trash can by the cliff, which was shaking wildly and practically begging to be opemed. Feeling a migraine coming up, Manjoume turned left, walked up to the can, and with some difficulty, pried the lid off.

"ANIKIIIII!!"

He instantly regretted it (he didn't) when the snot-faced creature that was Ojama Yellow exploded in his face, crying uncontrollably as he tried to hug Manjoume (keyword being 'tried'). His brothers all but sprang up from their cards, meeting him in a hug midair and effectively plucking him off his master for a bit as they all laughed and cried and did everything in between.

"Aww, look at how happy they are!" Kylie gushed, eyes almost sparkling. She lightly smacked Manjoume's back "You sure have a funny bunch of spirits, luckyyyy~"

Swatting away the Ojama trio and a pair of Catnipped Kitties before they tried sneaking up on him for a hug, Manjoume folded his arms and snorted in response "Yeah, sure."

But regardless, he found his lips quirking up in spite of himself. If it were me from three years ago, he mused I wouldn't have bothered with any of this in the first place.

But this wasn't the him from three years ago. This was the him of today, the Manjoume Thunder who'd gone through so much shit and learned from it to become a better Duelist, a better Duelist, and a better person. And while he had many people to thank for that, he also had to give credit for the monster spirits that followed him through all of the aforementioned shit, because as cringy, messy, bombastic and obnoxious as they might be, they were his partners, and he wouldn't give them up for anything in this world-

"WILL YOU FUCKING STOP THAT??!!"

-Unless they tried to hug him again. Pissed beyond reason, Manjoume chased after the quintet of Level 2's, ignoring Kylie's hysteric laughter and the surprised yelps from other Duelists as they dashed around the area in circles, all the noise merging into a cacophony of angry hollering and frightened squeaking, among other sounds.

In the end, some things never change....for better or for worse.

~~~~~~

Screw the actual Duel Links game for not including most of Manjoume's low-ATK monsters in his Starter/Lv 10 Deck (why tf is Catnipped Kitty a main Box card 4 years after his release?), and double screw them for splitting his Ojamas and Dragons into separate Decks.

I hate how his higher level Decks in the game completely disregard the former half of his cards; those are the ones that actually stuck with him in a meaningful way, not the Armed Dragons...they deserve some more recognition, so why not mix both archrtypes and slap in Ojamatch?

Also, yes, Standard Duelists actually exist here, so I decided to throw in my favorite GX girl AKA Kylie and have her interact a bit, and boy is she fun to write.

Headcanon: Kylie considers Manjoume (and everyone else, but especially him) her best friend because she basically has Yuuma's mentality of 'Anyone I Duel becomes an amigo!', and by sheer dumb luck, the two keep logging in at the same time and often get matched up in PvP Duels.

That's part of why she's so familiar with him (and also why she calls him Manjo-kun) and as you can see, Jun does not approve.

Aaaand this would be everything for Day 7! Expect to see me again...in a week from now. By Day 15 to be exact. In the meantime, if you’d like to follow my prompts for the month, I’m posting them all on ArchiveofOurOwn: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33473653/chapters/83489824

#gxmonth2021 #chazz princeton #jun manjoume #Standard Duelist #Ojamas

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sartorialatlantan · 7 years

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When Traveling to Plattsburgh

This has to be said about Plattsburgh, New York. Unless you live close and I mean close, within a handful of hours tops, take a plane. This is not an easy town to get to. You cannot fly directly there. You have Montreal as an option; get your passport updated though. You can fly into Burlington, Vermont and take the ferry over. I think there's a ferry ride from Montreal too. I wouldn't know though. I drove. I drove with my wife and two daughters, 3 years old and 1-year-old from Atlanta, Georgia. Alpharetta to be exact, which is a touch north of the city. We left early, 5 in the morning, and started our two-day journey. My kids hadn't ever been in a car this long so this was definitely going to be interesting, an experiment in patience for us no doubt. We bought a Jeep Grand Cherokee a year prior for the occasion, something large and spacious to make the trip as comfortable as possible. It's no "land yacht" but it's big enough for two adults and two small children. We were scheduled to drive through several states on day one. We would make our way out of Georgia and into both the Carolinas and into West Virginia and not stop for food or real rest until we hit one of the many "burgs" of Virginia. To my surprise, the girls were doing quite well. It's amazing what a dual screen DVD player will do for your sanity. They had a regular rotation of their favorite movies and my oldest had mastered the art of interchanging the discs; only after the end credits, of course, she likes the music that plays while the words scroll up the screen.

Our first stop of any notable length was for lunch at southern roadside staple Cracker Barrel. I felt fried, eyes burning, stiff back, mild headache from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. You can go to bed as early as you like, it doesn't mean shit when your one-year-old is teething. When you've been driving for 7 hours and finally stop you're literally buzzing. We ate lunch with my wife's parents. They were on this trip with us riding in tandem from this point on. After the meal, I told my oldest daughter she could have something from the restaurant's general store. So naturally, we left with our bellies full and a pretend waffle maker. Waffles, butter, and syrup included. The plan from this point was to press on to Hagerstown, Maryland. There was no alternative, the town of Hager had to be our destination; our hotel reservations for the night were in said town. We would not arrive on time though. We weren't on the road ten minutes after leaving the Cracker Barrel parking lot when the tire pressure light came on. A little backstory on this tire…this damn tire. The low-pressure warning light had been coming on for weeks, maybe a month. My wife drives the Jeep and would routinely stop for air, only every time she'd stop and manually check it, the pressure would read normal. We figured maybe it's a bad sensor in the tire. Days before leaving, just to play it safe, we take it to the service center. They check it, do whatever it is they do and give it a clean bill. Must be a bad sensor… As it would turn out on the trip, there was a nail in the tire. Thanks to the Internet, and the scattered Jeep dealers up the east coast, we were only delayed one hour and back on the road, free of charge. It meant arriving well past dinnertime, but we made it.

The second day we covered all the New England ground. I guess it was NewEngland. It's all a highway blur at this point. From Maryland we were back into West Virginia then into New Jersey, then Pennsylvania, or was Pennsylvania first, then New Jersey? Then finally we crossed into the state of New York…with an eternity to go. I haven't checked this on the map but from what I can tell Plattsburgh is the farthest tip north on the right side of the state and we drove straight up the side. I feel bad for people from New York State because, well, the rest of us just assume if you say you're from New York, you mean the city. I'm here to tell you, New York State is huge and open and full of country. There are hillbillies in Plattsburgh that could be from deep South Georgia just based on looks alone. But I'll get into that later. After a nine-hour second day drive, we arrived. And here I thought I felt fried the day before.

The whole time leading up to this trip my mother-in-law had been warning me to brace for an ugly town. "It's not a pretty town, it's old and rundown, but the lake is nice". She was really selling it (he said with jest.) She wasn't wrong. The town is old and rundown, but there was a certain charm to it. The house we stayed in was on Lake Champlain; if it weren't for the islands in view you'd swear it's an ocean, and I'm told that it's not even as big as the Great Lakes. The house is on the same street my wife's father and his six siblings grew up on. This is their hometown, and what an interesting hometown to have. The lake is gorgeous, and with it still being early June at this point, it's still freezing cold. I swear there must've been an un-thawed layer of ice down deep out there still. Nevertheless, we got in, we meaning my three-year-old (a child who has no issue with freezing temperatures apparently), me, and my soon-to-be brother-in-law. My daughter didn't go every day, but I did. My future brother-in-law Drew and I would routinely do shots of tequila and then carry a plastic bag full of beers down to the water; it's a classy look. You can get day-buzzed all you want but when you go waist-deep into 58-degree water, you sober right up. These day drinking lake days gave way to a food run that can only be done in this town.

Clare and Carl's. You've never heard of it, and that makes sense. Clare and Carl's is a sinking hot dog shack. Well, from what I could tell it's made of white bricks, maybe cinder blocks, but it is literally sinking. The ass of the store is literally going into the ground. I didn't look but the lore around the bathroom is that the rim of the toilet bowl is now ground level, like something out of Eastern Europe. I'm sure whomever I heard that from was exaggerating… then again it is possible. Naturally I asked, "Why not fix it?" but apparently, the shack owners don't own the land and have to "play it where it lies" so to speak. Clare and Carl's is famous, at least with my in-laws who no longer live in the town, for their Michigan's. (Michigan Red Hots as they're known.) I cannot describe the bun, I have tried and the closest I can come is that it looks like a miniature bread loaf that's been hollowed out in the middle, only the edges resemble something closer to a piece of white bread folded in half. But that's not really accurate either. I don't know what that damn thing was, but it was good. The Red Hot is a hot dog, and it is RED. It did not look like any dog I'd had before. The standard Michigan comes with meat sauce on top with raw diced onions. If you want to sound like you know your shit you order them buried. I would routinely order a brown bag's worth of "buried" Michigans. The onions go underneath the dog, meat sauce on top. The meat sauce is close to a no-bean chili sauce; only the meat has been ground and pounded into almost a paste, like wet sand. Delicious wet sand. I cannot recall now, but I believe they're finished off with a stroke of yellow mustard. They're individually wrapped and rolled tight in wax paper and off you go. They're locally known as Michigans, I call ‘em Plattsburgh Heroin; I ate a lot of those. Beer-fueled and hungry we would venture there routinely, about mid-day, warming up after a lake plunge. I never went over my head, Drew, and cousin Ben, did, they even swam out over their heads. I chose to keep my heart above the water line. Did I mention how cold the water was? A Michigan Red Hot will warm you right up.

There is not a lot to do in this town, aside from drink, swim, and eat. I'm told the locals, more so in the old days, also fought. I think that's common in isolated places, particularly hockey towns. You eat, drink, play and fight. I've never been so bored that I wanted to fist fight a stranger, or a friend, but I could imagine in the dead of winter in a town like Plattsburgh, you do what you need to, to pass the time. The military used to have a big presence in the town. Two branches I believe. I heard stories of the blue collar locals giving the Air Force guys shit for one reason or another, routinely causing fights to break out. There's a SUNY college in the town, I think that's what keeps it going now. The literal town was usually lively and buzzing with young people out to eat and drink. I'm sure there is more to do than what I experienced though, I don't want to seem like I'm putting the town down. We were there for a wedding. In this family, weddings also function as an excuse for a full family reunion. It's never quite everyone, but this visit only left us short three cousins. This being a reunion of sorts for my Irish-Catholic family-in-law, there was drinking, usually by lunch, and dancing, and socializing and eating and also drinking, did I mention drinking? No one gets out of hand, there are too many small children to look after, but the beer and wine flows.

Everyone in this family is unique. They've all got interesting lives, and do interesting things. Some more than others, but everyone's got a personality for sure. Everyone inevitably breaks off into groups for doing various activities. Drew and I routinely break away when we're in the same place. He and my sister-in-law live on the west coast. On one day, early into the trip, he and I decided to venture into town for liquor and cigars. The tequila was easy to come by, but we had to go into the old city for the cigar hunt. We first wandered into a smoke shop. Smoke shops, ironically, no longer specialize in smoke. It's just wall-to-wall vape accessories. The pipes and water bongs are on display in glass cases like relics from the past. Do you want to feel old? Get a conversation going with a young millennial about how they take in grass or nicotine. They're into some space-age tech. They don't even carry lighters. We quickly realized that this was not where we needed to be and proceeded down the street to a real cigar shop. We were not prepared for how real it would be. The buildings in this town are old, really old, and this cigar shop was the ground floor of one of the many old buildings. I don't know if they had a ventilation system for the air, but if they did it must've been broken. I like cigars, I like the smell of cigar smoke, but this…this was awful. You couldn't breathe. The air was brown. There were 4 or 5 old men sitting in a circle just puffing away, I guess they were used to not breathing. Our eyes instantly watered, I caught a buzz within seconds. I was taking short shallow breaths, trying my best not to cough and look like a total wimp. We quickly escaped to the humidor, the only smoke-free safe haven in the store. It was here where Drew said, "I don't think I want one anymore…" I was in agreement, but I knew both A. that I didn't want to leave empty-handed, tail between my legs and B. that I would want one at the wedding reception the next day. We made our selection, took a deep breath, then headed back into the store; we did our best to make little to no small talk at this point. That smell stayed with us and on us the rest of the day. You would have thought we rolled in tobacco leaves in a burning barn. Nevertheless, I smoked mine at the reception. We would later share the other near the end of the trip, late at night sipping tequila and whiskey, talking about David Foster Wallace with Ben and the advantages of Fresco wool in the summertime. (That last part was all me.)

When we weren't having a family hang at the rental house, we were out eating. One or two nights after the wedding a group of us, about 7 or 8, went to the famous Monopole dive bar. A place I'm told was home to many fights back in the day, the kind of bar where elbow room is a luxury no one can afford. On this particular night, it was dead. Some of us were buzzed, the rest were getting started and we were there to eat pizza and hot wings. The pizza was decent, a Sicilian-style pie, mostly bread with some sauce and cheese on it like an afterthought. But the wings, my god the wings! The sauce the majority of us agreed on was the Stoner Sauce. A spicy, honey mustard-based BBQ style sauce, holy lord was this good, so good that Drew and I ordered a second basket. They were so good, Drew and I returned the next night to get more, 40 or 50 more to take back for the group. There were too many family members who had not gone on the trip the first night, too many relatives who didn't know what they were missing. Even my father-in-law's brother Mike, who said he didn't like hot wings, ate and enjoyed them. Outside of my favorite wing establishments in Atlanta, these were the best wings I've had in a long time. I ate very many. I will again when we go back.

Another food-related highlight of the trip was the cold cheese pizza, again with Drew. Naturally, we assumed we were being pranked when cousin Mathieson told us to order a large pie with a side of cold cheese from Pizza Bono. It was 2 in the morning, and as drunken luck would have it, they were still taking delivery orders. Getting the order placed was a bit of a chore. I don't think the girl working the phones knew how to use one, or to talk to people, or take food orders. She damn near hung up on us before Drew even gave her the address. He said she seemed very confused when he asked for a side of cold cheese, (put off even) like she suspected we were pranking her, when in reality if this was a prank by Matt, she was a 3rd generation prank victim. We decided to wait out front for the driver, it was now past 2 a.m. and we didn't want to wake the whole house with a pizza delivery. There was an ongoing uncertainty as to whether or not this food would arrive. The way the order went, the suspicion that the whole thing was a joke, the time of night, the general deadness of the small town we were in. We hoped for pizza, but I think we were prepared to go to bed hungry. It was a very happy moment indeed when the driver pulled up, large pie in one hand and a take-out container filled with thick shredded fresh mozzarella cheese in the other. Turns out, this was no joke. You sprinkle a heaping pile of cold fresh mozzarella on your slices and go to town. It doesn't add anything noteworthy to the slice, but it's great. I recently had this confirmed by a native Upstate New Yorker who cuts my hair, that yes, cold cheese pizza is indeed a thing and it was no joke. You could probably get this anywhere; you just might get looked at funny. Try it though if you're ever in Upstate.

One of the first things that struck me in Plattsburgh is its overall lack of air conditioning. I'm southern, Atlanta southern, I hate humidity and heat and deal with it far too often. Plattsburgh, though, is lucky to get six weeks of summer before it's jacket weather again, so AC is not a priority. This was an issue for me. To keep from sweating I need a cool, dry 72 or below. Anything above that and I start to melt. Fortunately for me, our room had a spot cooler, so it stayed relatively cool in there. Everywhere else though…I was bordering on miserable. I was alone in this though, I usually am. The lack of AC made my trip to local grease trap, Homestead, interesting. The food there was superb. I just had to eat while simultaneously wiping my forehead. This was basically a Yankee Waffle House. The crowd though could've easily been transplanted from Griffin, Georgia. I saw teased-up bangs on a woman that I haven't seen since my late 80s childhood. It's a total head scratcher to see red necks with northern accents. I was with my father-in-law, who has always said they were from a red neck town, turns out he was being serious. We both ordered the corned beef hash and eggs. I don't love corned beef hash, I generally like it, but this hash blew my mind. It was so tightly minced and just about over-fried, crisp and connected on the outside and soft and delectable in the middle. That, with some buttered toast to dip into my sunny-up eggs, I was in heaven, sweating and ready to leave, but heaven all the same.

I have to apologize now to every in-law relative who didn't get mentioned. There was a lot more on this trip and I could go on for pages and pages, though there are some things best left out. This was my first trip to their hometown and while I didn't love the drive the destination was great. I'm not pushing people over to go back tomorrow, but I will go back, maybe when my kids are out of diapers and my pockets are deep enough to afford the airfare. Funny enough, some of the selling points for visiting didn't even happen. You're an hour from Montreal; you can day trip to another country for crying out loud! We didn't make the journey though, no passports for the kiddos. Then, there's all of Burlington, Vermont, the Ben and Jerry's factory too. We didn't do any of it, just talked about it and ultimately decided to relax on the porch instead and have another beer. So when visiting Plattsburgh, New York, take a plane and go on an empty stomach. If you find yourself desperate to do something to occupy your time, there's great food, great beer at Valcour Brewing, you can swim in Lake Champlain, even if it's cold, and I guess if it comes down to it, head to the Monopole and pick a fight with one of the many grizzled, pickle-nosed regulars. You'll probably lose the fight, but oh what a story you'd have.

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