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syn4k · 2 years ago

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Pix was up late again as he often was, especially when the seasons changed to spring. The night flowers that bloomed in the Capital were especially nice, and perfumed the air gently while he shined his flashlight on a bit of dirt near the Catacombs.

Nearby, gravel crunched.

Pix kept poking around in the dirt. There were a lot of night creatures around here after all, and Winchester, who he was letting roam about tonight. He didn't have any meetings planned, after all. The gravel crunched again.

"Hello?"

Pix looked up at the sound of his own voice.

"Oh, hello," he said automatically, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his jeans. "Uh, can I help you?"

"You have my voice," said the other man in a tone that was a good mix of suspicion, wariness, and wonder. Well as he might.

"And you have mine," said Pix. "Please don't tell me your name is also Pixlriffs and you're an archaeologist."

"Well, you got the name right," said the other Riffs, scratching the back of his head. "Not an archaeologist, though."

"Thank the gods," said Pix. "Well, I was working on something, but if you need a place to stay for the night-"

"Oh, no," said Riffs hastily. "I don't want to bother whatever you've got going on here. I just sort of wandered in, and I'd like directions."

"Bother?" asked Pix, looking a bit closer. "Dude, you have no idea how rare it is to just randomly be met with another version of..." he waved one hand vaguely, "whatever this is. Besides, trust me, I have had much bigger bothers than whatever you may be. I can get you a map, but most of the server is incredibly dangerous at night. You can stay out here if you want, but I'm making some tea."

Pix turned around and walked towards the entrance to the Catacombs, half hoping that this Pix would follow him, half hoping he wouldn't. This was definitely not something they taught you how to manage in college. Something was definitely a bit off about this guy, but Pix figured that if he was anything like him (which he probably was), he'd like some tea at least.

In the lower levels of the Catacombs, Pix had a small electric kettle/coffee maker and a modest but well-kept kitchen. He may be sleeping in a literal crypt, but he preferred to have power for simple things like this. Putting some water in from a sink nearby and humming as he filled in the kettle and grabbed a teabag from the cabinet, he heard quiet tentative footsteps coming down the stone steps.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he said without turning around. "I have a few extra cups- if you're fine with a mug, all my teacups are dirty. I have a couple small containers of instant coffee, some chamomile tea, Earl Grey, black tea..."

"I mean, if you insist," said Riffs from behind him, sitting in one of the chairs surrounding a small wooden table. "I don't plan on staying for long." His voice was tinged with something strange, maybe guilt, maybe grief, and that was a tone so strange to hear in his own voice that Pix finally turned around to get a good look at his doppelgänger.

Pix didn't look in the mirror a lot, but he knew enough about his own face to see that this man had basically the exact same one as his, albeit a bit thinner in the cheekbones. Actually, he was a lot thinner everywhere. He wore a long sand-covered cloak embroidered carefully with- was that copper thread? alongside simple brown khakis, a light blue shirt and a set of wayworn brown leather sandals.

Riffs was looking at the table despite sitting sideways in his chair, and Pix figured it wasn't worth the trouble to try and make eye contact.

"So," he said, folding his arms and leaning back against the counter as the water behind began to steam. "What brings you here?"

Riffs shrugged, a small, embarrassed thing. "I wander around a lot," he replied. "Sometimes I end up in some... strange places."

"Well, clearly," said Pix. "It'd take a lot of strangeness for you to end up here of all places. Caffeinated or non-caffeinated tea?"

"Either works," said Riffs, looking up for the first time during the conversation. "I'm used to staying up late anyways." His eyes were a dark, stormy grey. Pix nodded and turned back to his tea, wondering if this was all some elaborate prank. Joel's work, probably.

Then again, Pix wasn't sure that Joel had the power to bring dead men back from the history books.

"My map's somewhere in the other room, but I can give you a brief," he said as he dropped the teabags into the cups. "Sugar?"

"No thanks."

Pix nodded. "You're currently in the Ancient Capital, which is essentially where I poke around in the dirt for fun and store a bunch of old artifacts in crumbling buildings. To the east is Gobland, headed by Emperor Fwhip-"

"Fwhip?" asked Riffs.

"Yeah," said Pix. He sighed. "And I have a feeling you might recognize some of the other names here as well, although most of them don't really care for history."

"Thank the sands," muttered Riffs under his breath. Pix, ignoring that, took the teabags out of the cups. Walking over to the table, he set them down- one for him, one for Riffs.

"Thank you," said Riffs, nodding before taking a sip. Pix nodded back and took a sip himself. There was a quite awkward silence of about 20 seconds as both men clearly tried to figure out how to start what was sure to be a mortifying conversation.

"So," started Riffs slowly. "You're obviously me, but also not me. You're different somehow."

"I've noticed," said Pix, taking another sip.

Riffs sighed and ran his fingers through his (rather short) hair. "How do you even talk about things like this?" he asked with a short laugh. "It's like, 12am. I'm not entirely convinced this isn't a fever dream of some sort."

"I think both of us are awake," said Pix, pinching his own arm lightly just to make sure. "I do have a question for you, though."

"Go ahead."

"Care to explain how the Copper King of Pixandria ended up 12,000 miles from this location in the dead of night when he's been dead in this world for over two thousand years?"

Riffs raised his eyebrows, but managed to keep his drink down. Impressive. "How did you figure me out so fast?"

"How about we exchange answers. I'm curious."

Riffs laughed again, a quieter thing this time. "Alright. When I said I was wandering, I meant the desert. I uh, did a thing I'm not too proud of, so I decided to go on a hike to think things over."

This sounded familiar. "A very long hike, hmm?" answered Pix.

"Okay, you answer me now."

"Well," started Pix, putting his cup down, "I've been studying you for roughly fifteen years now. There are records, you know, and I've translated them. I know about the demon. I know about the ancient emperors. I'm not sure if it's just some cosmic coincidence that the guy who ruled the Desert Empire happens to share my name and face, but I do think this may have happened for a reason."

"You, my good sir, are terrifying," said Riffs matter-of-factly.

Pix shrugged. "I try not to be. I call it being direct. I'm sorry if I'm pressing too hard," he said with a small laugh of his own. "It's just not every day that you meet the Copper King in the flesh. It goes against my nature to not ask you a bajillion questions."

"I mean, that's fair," said Riffs with a shrug. "But, fill me in a little. What do your books tell you?"

"Records are scarce and often very damaged," said Pix, "but those that exist say that the Copper King mysteriously vanished from his empire about 5 years after its height."

"And after that?" Riffs asked quietly.

"It faded completely into oblivion," said Pix. "All mentions of it had completely ceased by the time the Fall rolled around."

There was a silence of about a minute then, in which Riffs looked at the countertop, then the ceiling, then the countertop again, then the mug, wearing the expression of a man who had been wrestling with something very large for very long. Pix kept his eyes down.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually.

"No," said Riffs, looking up and looking him clearly in the eye. "I'm the one who asked. Would you like to know the real meaning behind that 'mysterious dissapearance'?"

"Fill me in," said Pix, leaning back.

"The Copper King," said Riffs in a grandiose but unfathomably bitter tone, "exiled himself 5 years after his kingdom entered its golden age for the harm he'd done to his people and his Vigil, deeming himself unfit to walk in its light, and never once looked back." He drained his cup of tea.

So that was it.

"Well, I'd need a citation for that," said Pix, "but that'd look great in a thesis paper."

"We even have the same humor," said Riffs, exasperated. "How did we turn out so differently?"

Pix took a good, long look at the man sitting across from him at the table, perpendicular to the counter. His voice was indeed filled with both shame and grief, but another thing now too- loathing. That was a question Pix could not answer over one cup of tea, anyways, but he did have an inkling.

"Records also say," he said softly, "that the people of Pixandria looked for their king years after his dissapearance, right up until the collapse of the government. Since official records end there, there's a good chance they kept going later than that."

"Did they ever say why?" asked Riffs, staring at the ceiling.

"Every year, it is told, they added another candle to his pile in the Vigil."

Riffs continued looking at the ceiling.

"If you're looking for closure, you won't find it here," said Pix. "I've got my own life going on. I can point you in the right direction, but not much more than that. Seldom do the annals of the past give satisfying conclusions to present problems, but sometimes they can give people ideas."

Riffs sighed and sat back up in his chair, hunching forwards a bit now. "Wise words," he said. "I'm glad you've found your peace here. I, in the meanwhile, am still looking for mine. Maybe I'm destined to wander forever, who knows?"

"If you end up popping up back here in another 20 or so years, me and my kettle will be waiting for you," said Pix. Riffs nodded.

"The uh, the map's in the room one level up and to the left in an item frame," said Pix. "You can keep it. I can always make another one."

Riffs nodded and stood up, looking up the stairs then back at Pix. "Well, this is goodbye then."

"Yep."

"See you around, maybe?"

"See you around perhaps, and may the stars light your journey well."

Riffs gave him a smile, the first one Pix had seen from him all evening and, with a rustle of fabric up the stairs, he was gone.

#mcyt #empires smp #empires smp s2 #pixlriffs #empires smp s1 #ray's tag #writing #hi #this got long lol

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alexihollis · 8 days ago

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Paying Your Dues

A short thing I wrote, trying to get a better hold on the dynamics and everything. More stuff to come probably! The brain worms really got a hold on this one lol.

“Swan? That you?” Swan heard Cleon call from the kitchen as she shut the door to the apartment behind her, locking the three dead-bolts and hooking the chain. It had been a few months since the Van Cortland Park meeting, but Cleon still insisted on the higher level of security.

“Just until the Riffs give the all-clear,” she would say, but…Well, Swan did not have high-hopes that that would ever happen. Luther’s damage ran deep and Rogues kept popping up as new recruits of other gangs in ways that made everyone uneasy. The Orphans alone seemed to take half that the Riffs did not pick up the morning after Cyrus’ death, though Mercy insisted Sully was too dumb to be much of a threat. At least Masai seemed…weirdly fascinated with Cleon in a way that Swan did not want to interrogate too deeply. Or at all.

“Yeah,” Swan called back as she shrugged out of her winter jacket, hanging it up with the beanie she stole from Cowgirl – who bitched, but had an extra hat anyway and Swan was freezing, winter weather really settling in the week after Thanksgiving. If Cowgirl cared that much, she would cross the street from her, Cochise, and Rembrandt’s apartment and steal it back later.

Cleon appeared in the hallway, slouching against the wall, arms crossed. “Cool. We need to talk about something.”

That took Swan’s attention away from her boots as she straightened back up to look at Cleon, one boot off and one on. “What’s wrong? Is it Ajax?”

After three months, Ajax finally came home. Not even two weeks out, she was still jumpy. Quiet in an unnerving way. Cleon had yet to send her out on an errand and Swan didn’t know how long Ajax would let that slide.

“No, no, she’s fine. Or- you know what I mean. Rembrandt came by and stole her earlier. No clue what they’re gonna be up to, but at least she’s out of her bedroom.” Cleon shook her head, “Anyway, no. It’s about Mercy- Nothing’s wrong.”

Swan’s heart started beating again. “For fuck’s sake, Cleon!” She threw a glove at Cleon’s head, that she easily ducked, laughing like an asshole.

“For the love of God, I got her a bartending job two blocks away, will you chill out about her not being in your sight for two seconds?” Yeah. This had been Swan’s life for the past three months. Because her Warrior sisters were assholes. Cleon pushed off the wall, “Come on. I made coffee, we can talk in the kitchen.”

The mug was warm in Swan’s hands and the coffee even warmer as she took a too large drink, barely missing blistering. It suited the cooler weather.

“So, what do we need to talk about?” Swan asked when it became obvious that Cleon wasn’t going to start. Which was strange, because Cleon was not exactly known for her indecisiveness.

Cleon sighed heavily before saying, “Have you noticed Mercy doesn’t have any clothes?”

Immediately, Swan’s eyebrows tried to merge with her hairline. “Uh…?”

“Her own clothes,” Cleon said.

And Swan went to disagree. Mercy had her own clothes – her color vest, for one, that she had been beyond excited about when Cleon gave it to her. There was a red flannel that she wore all the time. That she definitely stole from Cowgirl, now that Swan was thinking about it. The t-shirt Mercy was wearing the night of the meeting that somehow survived with minimal staining. Her jeans. Her sneakers and the zip-up hoodie. She wore those clothes a lot, when she wasn’t stealing Swan’s stuff.

She mostly stole Swan’s stuff. Not that Swan was complaining. It started early on, with Mercy rolling out of bed and snagging one of Swan’s t-shirts while Swan half-heartedly complained about thievery to make Mercy laugh.

When Mercy started working at the bar, Cochise had leant her some appropriate clothes. A small black dress. The tiniest skirt that Swan had ever seen. A pair of similarly sized shorts. A few black t-shirts. It had mostly surprised Swan how many clothes Cochise had to lend in the first place and it had been weeks now.

Huh.

That was about the time a thick white envelope was placed on the table in front of Swan. At her confusion, Cleon motioned for Swan to open it. It was filled with cash.

“What is this?” Swan asked.

“Mercy’s dues,” Cleon said.

Swan flipped through the cash. Did the mental math. “This is at least four times what she should be paying. When did she even start paying dues?”

“I didn’t ask for it,” Cleon said. “She gave it to me last night. I stopped by Jenkins earlier. He said that’s practically all the money she’s made at the bar, tips and paychecks.”

“And what did Mercy say? When she gave you this?”

“That she wanted to pay her dues. Contribute to the Warriors. Said thank you for getting her the job and letting her stay here and food and everything,” Cleon said. “She asked if this covered it and when I said, yes, it more than covered it, she asked me to put whatever was left towards your dues.”

“I don’t pay dues,” Swan said.

The only ones who really did were members who did above-the-counter work, members who made the bulk of their money outside of the gang, which, technically, would put Mercy in that category, but Cleon usually waited a good six months before even broaching the topic. And even then, there were a lot of other circumstances that surrounded whether someone paid into what was less “dues” and more a communal money pot for rent for the various Warrior apartments, food, and, in certain circumstances, a slightly better lawyer. Which, considering Ajax’s recent run-in, did mean that pot could use a bit of boosting, but they still had a comfortable cushion. While Swan expected Cleon to ask Mercy for dues at some point, it was still early and this amount?

“I know.” Amazing. Swan loved it when Cleon talked in circles. Taking pity on her, Cleon continued. “She said that she wanted to pay back whatever you had paid for her over these few months. Said that she didn’t want to just be A Girlfriend anymore, but a fully-fledged member. Which seemed like a lot of emotion that you are in a better position to help her with while you try to convince her to spend her damn money on herself.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that,” Swan sighed, rubbing a hand down her face as she tried to think of where to even begin with that conversation.

Because this was going to be about a lot more than money. They had been skirting around this conversation since the moment Mercy handed Swan her Orphans bandana to make the Molotov cocktail. Like when Swan dragged an overly drunk Mercy home from a house party at one of the lower-level Warriors apartment because someone (Vermin, definitely Vermin) told her it was part of the more traditional initiation. When it came to talking about herself, Mercy got cagy. Not many Warriors liked talking about family, Swan steered as far from the subject as she could, but Mercy wouldn’t even give a damn neighborhood.

Girls like Mercy joined the Warriors before, usually young enough that it made Cleon nervous and so jumpy they refused to give a name until they earned their name. They wanted to burn their old lives to ashes and throw them in the ocean off Coney Island. Swan respected that, she all but did it herself, but they always made Cleon nervous. Until recently, Swan didn’t really understand why – they made some of the best soldiers, fighting with everything in them and then some. Swan loved helping them learn to fight.

Swan loved helping Fox learned to fight.

Then Swan learned what all that desire to prove yourself, to throw yourself into your new life and protect anyone you got close to could lead to.

Losing Fox nearly killed her. Losing Mercy would finish the job.

“I’ll talk to her,” Swan repeated.

Cleon smiled. Leaned over and ruffled her hair, which Swan half-heartedly protested. “It’ll be fine. And tell Rembrandt to take her shopping. The poor girl’s too pretty to be stuck in your clothes. Or your taste in clothes.”

“Fuck off, Cleon,” Swan grumbled.

The next few hours found Swan in her and Mercy’s bedroom. She tried to distract herself by reading. That failed. Turned on the radio. Got sick of the radio. Tried to watch TV in the living room. Got bored of the news that Cleon insisted on watching for whatever reason. In general, she was being ridiculous.

The hours leading up to a rumble? Swan was calm. Collected. Helping their newer members chill the fuck out and not lose their heads before the fight began.

Hours leading up to a potentially emotionally charged conversation with her girlfriend, though? That was the time to panic. Perfect sense. One hundred percent logical.

Swan didn’t hear the door open.

She barely heard when Mercy said, “Babe, what are you doing?”

Swan turned on her heel, mid-pace to see Mercy looking at her quizzically as she closed the bedroom door behind her. And said the first thing that popped into her head: “You need new clothes.”

Mercy blinked and looked down at herself, then back to Swan. “I thought you liked this skirt.”

It was Cochise’s skirt. Swan loved that skirt. That was not the point. “Sit down.”

Mercy sat down on the very edge of the bed. “Are you just gonna stand there?”

Swan sat next to her, also perched on the edge, and just far enough that they didn’t touch. They rarely sat like that, especially in their room. It felt alien.

“Is this about me giving my dues to Cleon?” Mercy asked.

“She didn’t ask you for them. You don’t owe her any,” Swan said.

Mercy sighed. “Look, it isn’t that I’m not grateful, but…I want to contribute. I’m a Warrior. I’m a member just like anyone else.”

“You are a Warrior, this isn’t about that.”

“Then, why is Cleon being so weird about it?” Mercy asked.

“Because you don’t owe dues. Yes, you do have an actual job and you don’t join us on jobs or anything, but Cleon usually gives a six-month grace period to new members before talking about it,” Swan tried to explain.

“Are those other new members usually living in a Warriors funded apartment and eating Warriors funded food?” She cocked an eyebrow in a way that made it seem like she thought she had won the argument.

Unfortunately for Mercy: “Yes. Usually.”

“What?”

“Cleon has a thing about picking up strays. Remember?” Swan said. Referencing herself, but then immediately: “Not that you’re a stray.”

Mercy laughed. “Well, I did follow you home.”

Swan chuckled with her. “You did in fact do that.”

A short period of silence followed after their laughter subsided. Mercy sighed, deeply. “I just don’t want people thinking I’m sleeping my way through here. Or that I have it easier than anyone else.” She aimed a slight glare at Swan, “You already refuse to put me through initiation properly.”

Oh, for the love of- “You went through more than enough. You have fucking Ajax vouching for you. You don’t have anything more to prove to anyone.” Then, a thought: “Is someone giving you shit?”

Swan could fix that. Easily.

“No one here, I just-” Mercy let out a frustrated huff. “I’ve done that before. I’ve been that girl. I hated it. It was horrible. I don’t want to feel like that again.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that,” Swan said. “But…you know, treating you like any other Warrior includes not making you pay an absolutely ridiculous amount of dues.”

“All right, all right. Is Cleon giving it back to me or something?” Mercy asked.

Swan gestured over to their dresser. “It’s with the socks.”

“Thank you.”

“I promise people don’t think that about you,” Swan said. “You deserve to have your own things with the money you earned at Jenkins’ bar.” Swan narrowed her eyes slightly at the very familiar red sweater Mercy was wearing. “And I deserve for you to stop stealing my shit.”

“Mm, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mercy scooted back a little further onto the bed, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Oh, really?”

“Not at all.”

And, really, Swan should have probably thought through the having-an-important-conversation-on-their-bed a bit more, because how else did she think this was going to end? A good while later found them both on their backs, catching their breaths, in considerably less clothing than before. After a moment, Swan pulled their blanket up past their shoulders as Mercy moved onto her side, then tucked herself against Mercy’s back, face nestled in the small of her shoulder.

“You know, considering the conversation topic, this didn’t really help your argument,” Mercy said.

Swan rolled her eyes. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Why should I get my own clothes when these seem to be working just fine?”

Swan choked back a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I try.”

…

“Maybe keep the skirt, though.”

“Cochise said she doesn’t want it back anyway.”

#warriors musical #warriors concept album #swan #swercy #mercy #swan the warriors #mercy the warriors #my writing

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years ago

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Anything scruffy!vere. i miss them

"I hate this."

"Pockets you look fine," Jason said, tugging the strings on your sweater.

"I look huge-"

"No," he said, "You don't. You look healthy and just a little... fuller figured." He supposed it shouldn't be a shock. Getting you on medication meant side effects. And now you cycled between having no appetite and starving. That combined you being an adult and not a kid anymore meant you'd gained weight. It also didn't surprise him that you had issues with it. You were used to being smaller. But if he was being honest, you looked healthier this way.

"Plans are canceled I'm fat-"

"No," Jason said firmly, "You're just a little plump. And it's nice." He hugged you against his chest and kissed your head. "I can bench press the sofa. 20 or 30 pounds doesn't mean much."

You whine and he kissed your forehead tilting your chin up, "Honestly," he said crossing his heart. "You look fine. But if you think working out would help you, you know I love me an Amazon-"

"Jay."

"Just saying. I don't give a fuck what you look like as long as you're healthy and happy. This makes you unhappy, and even if I don't mind- you do and it makes me unhappy. Because you're beautiful."

You sigh and nod, thudding your head against his chest.

"Let's just go see the family, huh? Bring your guitar and we'll just go chill out."

_____________

"That sweater is so fucking cute," Stephanie said, "I love it where did you get it?"

"A thrift store I think," you answer, picking a fuzz off your sleeve. "Manic me just likes shopping."

"And sick guitar riffs," Duke said grinning, dropping onto the couch next to you.

"That one wasn't mine though," you tell him, taking a sip from your mug and letting Steph pull you against her side so she could examine your sweater. She liked to cuddle people who looked warm.

"Who wrote it then?" he asked, interested.

"Her mom," Jason answered. "The one thing Nissa was good at was music."

"Oh- I-"

"It's okay. I've been retooling a lot of her stuff. Especially the stuff she never got to use really."

"That's cool," Duke said, not sure what else to say. He knew parents were never a good subject in this house.

"I brought my guitar-"

"Did I hear Guitar?" Dick said, strolling in "Because if you wanna play me some Fleetwood Mac I'd marry you like tomorrow-"

"Hey!" Jason protested, reaching behind him to grab the hard case there he'd set it. Smiling a little at the stickers as he set it down in front of you. He knew that guitar as well as he knew Scruffy. And he couldn't count the number of times you'd both set on the steps in the train station, trying to make enough money to get a good meal.

"Yeah!" you echo, holding out your hand to show him the engagement ring.

"Papers ain't signed," Dick said teasing, dodging the pillow Jason threw at him.

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd x reader #scruffy!verse #ask answered #minors dni

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adultswim2021 · 8 months ago

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The Venture Bros. #46: "The Revenge Society" | November 16, 2009 - 12:00AM | S04E05

Look, I love and respect The Venture Bros. Please know that I’m coming from a place of love when I say that this episode has that season three stank on it.

Generally speaking, I feel like the show has ebbs and flows, vacillating somewhat between episodes where the humor and standalone adventure is emphasized and episodes that feel like an exercise in world-building and character lore. I enjoy piecing together the somewhat complicated story and character histories and stuff like that, because I love this show. But the reason I love this show is for standalone adventures and humor.

This one focuses on Phantom Limb’s reemergence as the head of the Revenge Society, which we find out is comprised of a lady’s shoe (Dr. Mrs. The Monarch’s shoe, I think), a Mug with the word WISDOM on it, and a toaster. Phantom Limb has lost his mind, and treats these all like they’re real guys. One of my favorite jokes of the episode includes the use of the oriental riff, used when Phantom Limb introduces his mug Wisdom. Guy’s gone so crazy that he’s assigned a race to a dang cup.

This one features a lotta people explaining things to each other. We find out what two of the Council of 13 look like, for instance. We also find out that they are elderly Buddy Holly and the Big Bopper (now known as the Red Mantle and Dragoon, respectively), and they were coaxed away from the airplane that would have killed them by Phantom Limb’s grandfather Phantomas. The fact that these supervillains began life as kidnapped musicians is the explanation for why David Bowie is the Sovereign. Phantom Limb kidnaps Billy Quizboy and has him surgically place Dragoon’s head onto the Red Mantle’s body after attacking them so severely that such a drastic act is their only hope for surviving. They become another Jackson and Doc comedy duo.

Eventually, the Guild of Calamitous Intent show up to the Venture compound while Hatred, Hank, Doc, and Dean all sorta spit off into pairs and stall for time. This makes the episode feel a little listless, like those boring-ass sequences in the Two Towers movie where Hobbits are goofing off with those walking trees. I don’t mind scenes where nothing really happens and characters just chit-chat, as long as it’s funny. I don’t find these scenes to be particularly strong.

Okay, so Phantom Limb is trying to get the Orb (from before). Billy Quizboy knows where it is, which is why the Guild show up to the Ventures door. At some point, the Ventures confront the guild. Dean is paraded as the heir to the Orb or maybe the guild? I guess because Rusty’s grandfather was the protector of the Orb? I don’t know if I really “get” this part at all, but it’s all leading to the conclusion of the orb saga.

Dean knights the current Soverign as the heir to the Orb (I think?) and Phantom Limb tries to get it, only to find out that it’s broken. We then cut to the same flashback from season three, which shows Sandow seemingly strangle Rusty’s father’s father. The scene continues to reveal that Sandow simply broke the orb, and left the elder Ventures’ skull in tact. Apparently this reveal was planned all along, which is why they make the skull-smashing/neck-breaking sound a little metallic-sounding in season three.

The final scene also features a Brian Eno stand-in called Eon. I didn’t know who this was, honestly, and had to look it up. I know who Brian Eno is, I just mean I don’t think I remembered at all what that dude looked like. Is that the real Brian Eno doing the voice? Seriously, no source that would list such a thing lists an actor for him, nor do they point out that he’s voiced by “(unknown)”. I also don’t see anyone asking who the voice is. Am I dumb?

Other stuff ahead: the dilapidated mansion that Phantom Limb brings Billy, Red Mantle, and Dragoon to comes back later, so keep your peepers peeled if you are a huge dork who likes remembering stuff from cartoons.

More other stuff: this episode pays off Hatred’s fixation on Billy, who is a child-sized but oh-so-legal little man. Billy is knocked unconscious and eventually finds himself in Hatred’s bed. The commentary, the book, and eventually dialogue from a later episode all insist that Hatred didn’t rape Billy; Hatred just cuddled him while he recovered.

And finally, the joke at the end, where Red Mantle tries to jam in a two-headed-related quip to no effect is real funny. I like that joke. See? I told you I love and respect this show.

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #the venture bros.

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feverinfeveroutfic · 1 month ago

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Tijuana sunrise | kinktober 2024 | day xii.: “areias do tempo”

pairing: chuck billy x eric peterson

prompt: pyrophilia

word count: 3726

song: “sweet charity�� by mr. bungle

(“sands of time” in portuguese)

He flickered and burned like the first flames from a candle on the mantelpiece. I often told people not to be so complacent at the sight of his round face and smooth head of hair, or at the fact that he was the most baby-faced of all five of us, especially since he was the one who bestowed us with the riffs and the patterns of the songs. He treated me to the realm of darkness, and to the way of the dragon even if he was the one to fall asleep and look like a little doll all the while.

He was my best friend. He was my best friend and I had the means of surprising him.

I had Sting and Mercy, and since he hadn’t seen either one for himself, I wanted to surprise him with the feeling of both, as well as the tying of the two together with the feeling of flame. I found it particularly baffling that Eric hadn’t seen my bike or my boat, especially when he had been over to my place a fair few times. Then again, I kept Sting in the garage, and Mercy down in the harbor with the other boats, but I still wondered why he hadn’t bothered to look on out there, especially when he liked to go out to the thin strip of grass that was my backyard and either jam a bit or do his daily workout routine as a means of change of pace. He paid no attention to what I kept tucked away in the middle of the garage floor.

On this particular day, Eric had come on over with a little can of coffee grounds tucked under his arm, and his own coffee mug in one hand. All the while, I couldn’t help but notice the rather somber look upon his face, as if something was bothering him.

I figured it would be best to let him ride the wave lest he not be ready to open up to me in that fashion. We were best friends, but we had to let each other breathe every now and again.

I posted up on the side of my kitchen table closest to the front window, and even though he had his back turned to me, I watched him make the pot of coffee for us. I kept my eye on the way that the light cast upon the crown of his head, on the way that his black hair shimmered and shone under the light, as well as the way that the tip of his nose poked out a bit from behind the side of his hair. In a strange way, it all made me think of smoke, the thickest smoke from the darkest part of the forest on fire.

He was the man of fire as he closed the lid and pressed the button.

Eric then doubled back to me and ran his fingers through that voluminous sheet of shimmering wavy hair on the side of his head, and all the while, the look on his face was a crestfallen one. All I could think was girl trouble, but he didn’t have a girl as far as I knew about it. He sank down within the spindly chair due across from me, and he folded his arms over the top of the table, and he sighed through his nose.

He kept his gaze on the surface of the table beneath him, and I wondered if he would be willing to join me on either a bike ride or a boat ride. I thought about both as well, and I wondered as to where we could go. I had taken a ride up to the redwoods a number of times, but I usually made that trip whenever the weather was a bit too warm. Today was a normal springtime day, and yet Eric wore the look of melancholy on his face.

He poured himself a cup full of black coffee, and he offered me a cup full. Black with a little bit of cream mixed in.

He sat back down and ran his fingers through his black hair again.

“Okay, what’s the matter?” I finally asked him, and he held the cup of coffee up to his lips, but he never took a drink from the mug. He kept those big brown eyes fixed on the edge of the mug, and I knew he was fighting his way around it.

I meanwhile took a sip, and then I gently set the cup down next to me. I folded my arms upon the top of the table, and I leaned forward for a better look at him.

Eric finally took another sip and did the same thing I did, all the way down to a bit of hair streaming down the side of his face.

“Do you ever get the feeling that there has to be more to life than just touring and hanging around the place like you’re someone’s dirty laundry?” he then asked me in a single breath. I held back a bit, and I had no idea as to how to answer that.

“It almost feels like we’re pigeonholing ourselves into the realm of touring,” he continued. “It’s like we have no time to do other things.”

“So… you wanna relax for a bit, is what you’re telling me,” I followed along as I took another sip of coffee.

“I feel like relaxing and getting away from everything for a while,” he confessed. “You know, just getting on a train and going all the way up to Seattle or all the way down to Mexico.”

“You know, I’ve often thought of taking a ride along the Pan-American Highway,” I goaded him, and he gazed on at me with a thoughtful look on his face.

“The Pan-American Highway, that’s the big long ribbon of highway that goes from like… the northernmost part of Alaska through Canada, through the States and Mexico and then all the way down to Cape Horn, right?”

“Yeah. Like, start from here in the Bay Area and then meet up with it out in… Denver, I think it is, and then go up to Alaska and back down again, and just keep going all the way down to Tierra del Fuego. Fly back home from there.”

“That’s huge,” he remarked, and he sipped on his coffee again, that time with his gaze firmly upon me. “Really, imagine saying that you rode along the crests of the Rockies and the Andes in the same breath, too. Imagine saying you looked on at both the North and South Poles, at the both edges of the earth. I just wonder how you could do such a thing. Go about for thousands and thousands of miles.”

I drummed my fingers on the edge of the table, and then I waited for him to finish his coffee before I picked mine up and gestured for him to follow me out there to the garage. Eric swallowed, and he gingerly stood up and followed me out there.

“I wanna show you something,” I told him as I switched on the light with my free hand. “In fact, I’m surprised you never saw it before, or that you never asked me about it before.”

I sipped on my coffee and stepped inside of the garage; Eric lingered behind me as if I was leading him to his fate there on the concrete. I placed my mug on the wooden workbench on the side of the room, and then I gave the sheet over the bike a tug. Eric raised his eyebrows and gaped at Sting, at the new sparkling black cherry with rich royal black and pearly white paint job that I had given her.

“I actually have seen this,” he confessed. “I just… haven’t really been able to ask you about it. It never came up organically.”

“It’s my bike,” I told him, and I noticed he was wearing long sleeves. “Wanna go for a ride?”

“I’d love to, actually,” he replied, and I handed him the second helmet on the bench. He put it on while I finished the rest of my coffee. “Do you think we should lock up the house first?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I told him, “I have to get my jacket and some other things, too.” And I briefly returned to the house to put our mugs in the sink and then I locked the front door. I returned to him with a tent, two folding beach chairs, and a sleeping bag, both of which were rolled up, and I locked the side door right as he buckled the strap on the helmet, but he still stayed standing next to the bike.

“Have a seat,” I coaxed him as I picked out my helmet and opened the garage door.

Gingerly, Eric climbed onto Sting’s backseat, and I strapped down the tent, the folding chairs, and the sleeping bag right behind him; I then followed suit in the front part. I fired it up, and I hobbled us out of the garage onto the driveway. Eric clutched onto me for dear life, but there was no way that I was going to let him fall off.

We reached the street, and once our visors were down, and I lifted my legs off the ground, I hit the throttle.

I drove us through the streets of Oakland down to the freeway, but I wasn’t going to take us to the redwoods up to the north, however. Instead, I turned right.

It was a hundred miles, but I could take us there, and especially since Eric and I both had on long-sleeved shirts: I had on my leather jacket to protect me, and we were moving along quick enough to be there by lunchtime.

Big Sur was a bit far, but I could find us a nice stretch of beach somewhere between Santa Cruz and Monterey, nevertheless. We left the Bay Area and began through the hills, down into the stretch of coastline which would always give us a rush of seawater against a tapestry of hills.

The trees whirred past us, and in such a way that it made me think of dancing. Dancing around a bonfire down on the beach.

Eric’s fingers crept over the tops of my thighs.

I remembered there was a time that he had told me about, where he and Lou had gotten alone together on a beach with a bonfire and they had awoken something in themselves. He never fully elaborated on it, all that they had watched the flames lick over the inky black night sky and the ocean waters, and there was something so strangely beautiful about it, such that they began feeling each other up.

I had a rather big hunch that something like that was about to happen between the two of us that morning, and perhaps that afternoon, especially when it was just going to be me and him down there.

We descended down toward the forested outskirts of Santa Cruz, the meeting of forest and the beach.

Eric flexed his long thick fingers over my thighs and I had a feeling that he was trying to tell me something there. Indeed, I spotted the next exit off to a road down to the water’s edge.

The small but rather deep stretch of beach was nestled in between the jagged boulders in a small alcove, and yet I could tell right away from a distance that it was big enough for the two of us, even as I brought us down the stretch of road towards the beach itself. The waves lapped against the faces of the boulders. All I could smell was the salt from the ocean all around us in a thick veil, even with the visor down over my face.

Eric kept his hands on the tops of my thighs as I prepared to take the little road down to there. I knew that it was going to be tricky, especially upon a big heavy bike like Sting, but feeling his hands on me gave me a bit of comfort. We reached the strip of pavement next to the beach, and I switched off the bike.

We were away from the tides and away from any high waves that might well up over the course of the evening, but we were still hit with a thin veil of some spray whenever a wave crashed down on the boulders right next to us.

There was a great deal of driftwood at the beach, and I knew right away that it was dry enough to warrant a campfire by the sea.

“Do you think this tent’s going to be big enough for us?” he asked me once we got started at pitching up our little camp there in the sand.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve gone camping in this thing with Alex before, and he and I were able to sleep very soundly in here.”

“What about the sleeping bag?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I assured him. “Really, I got a nice warm blanket in that thing and when I lay in it, there’s plenty of space inside.” He then showed me a quaint little smile. He volunteered to stay behind as I made my way into town to fetch us some things to eat over the course of the afternoon and the evening. I knew for a fact that it was going to be cold that night, so I found us a little tea kettle as well as packets of hot cocoa. By the time I returned to our campsite, he had used my lighter and had a little fire built in a little pit down in the sand, right next to the tent.

We made sure the fire kept on burning even as the day progressed and as we took walks along the sand in search of shells, beach glass, and driftwood, and I eventually found the gumption to make us dinner, but he took the opportunity for himself. At that point, the sun hung low over the ocean, and he had to work quick. And at that point, we had kept the fire going until it grew big and healthy with hot flames.

He danced with the fire as he boiled water in the kettle and cooked a little plate full of fried breads and a pot full of refried beans: I was floored when he suggested that I get some flour, a small can of salt, and a small bottle of vegetable oil, as well as a couple of pots, but I trusted him, and we could haul it all back home with us, too. And as a result, by some power and magic, he made us three pieces of fry bread each, and to go with the beans as well as a little bit of grated cheese that I had bought for us.

“Where and when did you learn to cook like this?” I asked him as he placed a paper plate of the breads down on the floor of the tent to cool off away from the sand.

“About a year ago,” he replied with a little nod of his head. “Lou and I were hanging out and there was literally nothing to eat at his parents’ house, so I offered to improvise and make us something right on the spot. I just expanded on those skills ever since then.”

“Good call on the Indian fry bread—I actually never would’ve thought that!”

“Says the guy who’s Native American, no less,” he teased me with a little twinkle in his eye.

“Says the guy who’s Native American, exactly.” I chuckled at that, and he gently stirred the beans until they steamed up from the heart of the pot. He then took it off the heat and served me up a plate of my three breads with the beans and cheese.

“Thank you,” I told him as he handed it over to me. We ate our food, and then packed it all in over on Sting’s back. Once we were settled in all the way, we watched the flames continue to burn down in our makeshift fire pit even as the sun went down behind the eternal curvature of the ocean before us.

Even though we both wore long sleeves, he shivered, and he lounged in the chair with the blanket over his stout little body. A cool breeze washed over us, even with the tender warmth of the fire radiating against us.

“I hope this’ll clear your mind,” I told him.

“I’m already feeling comfy, if I’m honest,” he confessed as he held his small cup of cocoa in his hands. “I’m under a blanket by a fire with some hot cocoa in one hand, and I’m with my best friend, too,”

Eric looked on at the fire with his eyes big and his lips pouted a bit. If only I could figure out what was on his mind right then.

Before I could speak up again, he leaned forward with his open hand pointed down over the very tips of the flames. He moved his arm about in tight circles right over the fire.

“Yow,” he declared with a shake of his hand.

“You knew it was hot, what’d you do that for?” I asked him, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“To see if it really was hot,” he frankly replied.

“I thought you were doing it because you thought it had a certain long shape,” I quipped, and he returned his attention to the fire. And then he raised his eyebrows at that.

“I never thought that fire would be a means of that,” he confessed.

“You have always stricken me as a fiery person,” I told him.

“And you would be absolutely right, too,” he assured me with a quick flick of his eyebrows at me. “I really do think of bringing fire into the fold. Thinking about dancing with fire whilst up on stage.”

“Have big plumes flowing up while Alex is ripping a solo,” I suggested.

“Oh, yeah. We could make it look as though we’re breathing it all the while, too. You know, you could have your lighter and fire up a joint at one point. Have a nice balance of the two, of straight fire and smoke.” Eric sipped on his cocoa and looked on at the flames as they danced and crackled right between us. The waves sounded as though they had reached high tide at that point, and thus, they bestowed us with a wall of sound and something to put us to sleep.

“One of my fantasies is that I’m the dragon lord,” he confessed to me. “Like a dragon master.”

“A guy who tames dragons?” I asked him.

“Yeah, but a guy who can also become just that if he so pleases,” he explained. “The rage of the fire. The power that haunts within. It’s a feeling that I’ve always had within me, even when we started Testament.”

Eric raised his gaze to the sky overhead, and he frowned at something.

“Is it cloudy?”

I followed his gaze up there, and indeed, there was not a star in the sky.

“I think it is,” I told him, and I looked over at him nestled down in the beach chair. “You wanna get to bed?”

“May as well. But what about the fire?”

“We’ll let it burn,” I told him. “Let it burn and see if there’s any dying embers in there come the morning. If not, there’s always my lighter.”

We took the blanket into the tent with us, and I unzipped the sleeping bag inside of there. I took off my jacket and my pants, and I tucked both under the head of the sleeping bag to act as my pillow. Eric took off his pants and did the same thing for himself. I slid inside first, and he followed suit right next to me.

“Jeepers… tight fit,” he remarked once I zipped up the bag. The flames flickered outside of the tent, beyond the full dark curvature of his hip which only gave his body more of a shape.

“You are so warm,” I couldn’t help saying that.

“As warm as a roaring fire from the dragon’s lair,” he whispered to me, and he put his arms around me. It was like holding a big teddy bear with him, and even more so when he burrowed his head under my chin. He was very warm, such that I couldn’t help but let my hands glide down the small of his back to the waist of his underwear.

We were cocooned away from the tides, with the fire as our nightlight and the ocean as the thing that put us to sleep.

I had a dream that we had gone aboard Mercy, whereby it was pouring rain and he wanted me to take the lighter and run it close to his hands once again. Something about liking the pain, about wanting to feel close to his true nature of the dragon lord. Even when he wanted that, it was pouring rain all around us, and I had no desire to take us back to the harbor, either.

“A dance of fire and water,” he declared. “This should be a mood for an album.”

“The quintessential mood for us,” I added, and I flicked on the lighter once again. The flame lapped up over the wheel in tight fashion, a bright white flicker which danced against his face. The rain fell down around us in sheets of fine droplets. I stood up to my feet and held the flame up towards the sky as if it was the Olympic torch. The flame seemed to glow all around us in a rich scarlet, as red as blood and as intimate as the feeling of lust.

Eric was consuming me even while I was asleep, such that when I woke up to slip out of the tent to take a leak, he had the biggest smirk on his face.

And the fire still burned outside of the tent, even under the impending rain.

I was playing with fire, and it wanted to burn.

And I liked it.

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mixergiltron · 4 months ago

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Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water….

So the bad news is the weather in DC is in the 90's with humidity in the stupids,which means I'm not leaving my apt on my days off. The good news is it's time for National Geographic's Sharkfest again,so I've got plenty of TV to watch! And of course I need a cocktail to sip while sitting on the couch,so I give you more shark-themed Tiki Drinks. Enjoy!

Last year I did a drink called the Shark Bite,which really wasn't that great. Blood in the Water is a riff on the Shark Bite,and the recipes I found didn't sound any better,so I decided to play with it. The result:

Mix #202 Giltron's Blood in the Water

1oz light overproof rum* 1/2oz Cherry Heering 1/2oz blue curacao 1/4oz lime juice 1/4oz lemon juice 1/2oz simple syrup

Shake everything except Heering with ice and pour into double old fashioned glass. Drizzle Heering on top.

*I used Wray & Nephew.

My riff is a bit tart,but not too sour,and the overproof gives it the bite you want in a shark-themed drink. Much better than last year's mixing. It has the bloody water look to it until the Heering mixes in,so if you're picky about how your drink looks,use a mug.

Mix #203 Quint's Grog

1oz light rum 1oz dark rum 1oz Demerara rum 1oz honey syrup 3/4oz lime juice 3/4oz grapefruit juice 3/4oz grapefruit flavored club soda

Shake everything but soda with ice and pour into mug. Top with soda.

From Trader Brandon comes a Navy Grog riff. Okay,technically all he did was swap in flavored club soda,but Jaws was a good movie and Quint was cool so here it is. Tastes just like a regular Navy Grog but the grapefruit comes forward more. And it's got plenty of bite.

Mix #204 Don's Shark Tooth

1oz gold rum 1/2oz lime juice 1/2oz pineapple juice 2tsp simple syrup 1tsp syrup from Maraschino cherries* 1oz dark Jamaican rum

Blend everything except dark rum with ice and pour into glass. Float dark rum just before drinking.

*I used Cherry Heering.

Last year I mentioned that Don Beach had his own version of the Shark Tooth,and this is it. It has a nice sweet/tart balance with a cherry finish. Another Don classic.

Mix #205 WP's Shark Tooth

1oz Plantation 5yr Barbados rum 1oz Appleton Estate 12yr rum 1/2oz lime juice 1/2oz pineapple juice 1/2oz cinnamon syrup 1/4oz Maraschino liqueur* 1/2oz 151 Demerara rum

Shake everything except 151 with ice and pout into Mai Tai glass. Float 151 on top.

*I used Cherry Heering.

From Facebook comes Wayne Philipp's riff on the Shark Tooth. Very cinnamon-y with some tart and plenty of bite. I used Heering,proper Maraschino would've made it a bit sweeter. I good strong drink for cinnamon fans.

Mix #206 Tiger Shark

1/2oz gold Puerto Rican rum 1/2oz white Puerto Rican rum 1/2oz 151 Demerara rum 1/2oz lime juice 1/2oz pineapple juice 1/2oz simple syrup

Blend with ice and pour into mug.

From the former 1950's China Trader of Burbank,CA this is a classic Tiki drink with bite. A bit tart for me,but classic fans will dig it.

So kick back with a cocktail and tune in to Shark Fest,just remember to keep your hands and feet in the boat!

#tiki drinks #tiki #tikiculture #rum cocktails #cocktails #rum drinks #sharks #shark week #sharkfest

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atombonniebaby · 1 year ago

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I suppose this is as good a day as any to share my OCs prologue chapter! I have already done a 'War Never Changes' piece for @falloutober but it's literally the title of the chapter 👀

War Never Changes

Sanctuary Hills October 23, 2077.

Deep red leaves rustled in the crisp autumn air as the sun began to creep up over the hillside, casting a murky haze over the serene show of contemporary suburban living, America's "Homes of the Future." The residents of Sanctuary Hills lived in blissful ignorance as the world held its breath to the ever-present threat of Nuclear Devastation. Amidst the suburban sprawl, the morning sun warmed the cheeks of Nathanial Alasdair Watt, Nate to his nearest and dearest.

Nate leaned over a dusty blue cot, his eyes not quite believing that the soft and squishy bundle snoring away was his son. Months old already, how long would it be before he would be chasing after him around the cul-de-sac? With a lingering glance over Shaun, Nate slipped out of his room and stepped into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him. The house was quiet, and Nate's footsteps echoed in the empty hall, leading him to the kitchen.

"Ah, Master Nate! Good morning, sir!” Codsworth chirped, his eye stalks flitting in greeting. "Your coffee. 173.5 degrees Fahrenheit. Brewed to perfection!"

"Ah'll take yer word for it," Nate yawned, a fond smile spreading across his face as he reached for the steaming mug of coffee.

"Ah, of course, my apologies, Sir. 78.61 degrees Celcius!"

Nate snorted. "I flunked maths, son. Just say it's hot."

Codsworth let out a chuckle. "Ah, I forgot, the young miss is the brains of the operation."

"Aye, that she is. But she'll no be without a proper feedin'. Could you go rouse her for me?" Nate asked.

"Of course, Sir! Right away!" Codsworth trilled, floating away towards El's room.

"Good luck wi' that," Nate muttered, shaking his head. El liked her sleep, that one.

Nate chuckled, running a hand over his head, and frowned at the resistance. Big speech tonight. He could hardly rock up looking a scruffy mess, could he? With a sigh, he set his mug down and stretched out his back on the way to the bathroom.

"Lemme Sleep, Codsworth..."El's voice drifted through her door.

Ah, to be 19 again. Nate shook his head, smirking to himself as he turned to the closed-over bathroom door, a wide smile pulling in his cheeks when Nora's sweet voice filtered through, Shaun's favorite lullaby on her tongue. Nate would never tire of it or how her voice sent shivers down his spine.

"You're up early. How's my little man?" she asked as he stepped through the door. "I'm assuming you've been in there five times already?"

Nora, even under those horrid fluorescent bulbs, looked stunning. He caught her eye in the mirror she was brushing her hair in and gave her a wink. Nate took a few steps toward her and wrapped his arms around her waist, his lips brushing her neck. She hummed and leaned back into his embrace.

"What can I say, doll? Just like his mother, I cannae believe he's mine," Nate murmured, burying his face in her soft, icy-brown hair. "I keep thinkin' somebody's gonna pinch me, and I'll wake up from this dream."

Nora twisted in his arms, her green eyes sparkling. "You're a wonderful father, Nate. You shouldn't doubt yourself!"

"I hope so," Nate said, his ears growing hot. Nora knew him too well, and his bashful side never could stand up to her praise.

"I think Beth would agree with me. I mean, you practically raised that girl!"

Nate ducked his head and pressed a kiss to her nose. "She dotes on you, ye ken? She won't admit it, but she does."

"I like her too. I'm glad she's here. Now, care to explain why you interrupted my morning ritual?" Nora teased.

"I need some pamperin'," he raised his eyebrows. "Cannae hae this 'decorated war hero' looking like common street riff-raff, now can we?"

"Hmm," Nora smirked. "I dunno, that rugged Viking look is growing on me, Nathanial."

"Ooh, using my full name, eh?" he teased. "Am I in trouble, then, Mrs Watt?"

"You're always trouble, Nathanial Watt," Nora giggled.

"Tell the truth, doll. That's the real reason you married me, wasn't it?" Nate smirked. "That and the accent, aye?"

She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful shove away, returning to the mirror. Nate's grin lingered, his hands sliding to her waist. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head and rested his chin upon it, gazing at her reflection. She met his eyes, a warmth and tenderness reflected at him.

"I love you, lass," he murmured against her hair, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "More than I can say."

Nora didn't speak, only leaned back, melting against him, a familiar gesture that spoke volumes. Nate's arms tightened, and he closed his eyes, wishing they could stay like that forever.

"Go get your trimmer; I'll at least neaten you up a little," Nora said, her voice thick. "Then, I'll see about breakfast."

Nate pressed one last kiss to her head and drew a sharp breath. "Yes, ma'am."

"—war never changes,” Nate sighed, the steamy air heavy with the weight of his speech.

“You're gonna knock 'em dead at the Veteran's Hall tonight, hon,” Nora purred, her fingers massaging the knots from his shoulders.

"Ye think?" Nate relaxed against her touch, letting his eyes flutter shut.

"Absolutely. Now get ready and stop hogging the mirror..."

"Right," Nate snorted. He stepped away and let Nora take his place. "You might want to fix the buttons on your blouse, love."

He couldn't help a small smirk tugging on his lips as she re-buttoned her blouse, not quite meeting his gaze.

"Wipe that smug look off your face, Mr. Watt! You're the reason I never get anything done around here!" Nora teased.

Nate couldn't help bursting out laughing. "Why dae ye think I bought Codsworth?"

"Out!" Nora laughed, pushing him towards the door.

"Love ye too, darlin'." Nate gave her a mock salute and stumbled out of the bathroom.

"Miss Elspeth, breakfast was served thirty minutes ago!" Codsworth's muffled voice met him through the opposing door.

"Codsy! Bugger off!...and 'ave told ye… it's Beth!" came El's equally muffled reply.

"My, my. For such a brilliant young mind, Miss Beth, your language leaves much to be desired."

"Get tae fuck, or I'll turn ye into a toaster!" El spat back, a bit louder this time.

"By God! I don't believe General Atomics programmed me with enough patience for this!" Codsworth sighed.

"I'll handle this." Nate interrupted, opening the door.

"Good luck, that child's got the mouth of a drunkard."

"I'm weeks away from twenty ye daft bucket o' bolts!" El retorted.

Codsworth sighed, bobbing past him a little less chipper than before. Poor bugger.

Nate chuckled and shook his head. Wearing that damn onesie, she was akin to an overgrown toddler in a babygro. El glared at him, her hazel eyes flashing with a fire that reflected his own, her cheeks flushed, auburn hair still a tangled mess, reminding him exactly why he opted for a smooth dome.

"Arse. Up. Now. Or I promise you I'll cancel that comic subscription I already reluctantly pay for."

El's eyes narrowed, a defiant glint remaining, a slight smirk curving her lips. "Ye wouldnae dare."

"Try me," Nate raised a brow and folded his arms. "And to rub it in, I'll replace it with one about all the latest fashion trends, braw big frilly skirts and whatnot..."

"Fine. Ye win." El rolled her eyes, sauntering past him.

"Smart move," Nate smirked.

"Bite me!" El snapped, stomping into the now vacant bathroom.

Nate chuckled, shaking his head, and approached the kitchen, his stomach growling in anticipation.

"Breakfast is served sir," Codsworth set down a plate of eggs and toast.

"Thanks. And if ye need the afternoon off to recharge after the morning ye've had, you take it!" Nate smirked.

"A good show of humor, sir, but with a steady supply of Mr. Handy fuel, I am proud to serve!" Codsworth chirped.

"Attaboy."

"Your thoughts?" Nora's voice drifted over him, snapping his attention back to the present.

Nate blinked, glancing at his wife. She was studying him, her brows knitted. Damn. "I'm worried about her, doll. She won't admit it, but she's been having trouble sleeping again. I cannae remember the last time I saw her without dark circles under her eyes."

"She's just stressed. It's been a big year for her. Why don't you take her away for a few days? It's been a while since you two had time together," Nora suggested. "You could take a little road trip or something?"

"Aye, I'd been considering it, but I can hardly leave you with the wee one, can I?"

"I've got Codsworth to help. And besides, Shaun's not exactly a handful." Nora grinned, nudging him. "Take her. Trust me, she needs it."

Nate chewed his lip, his brows furrowed. Maybe she had a point. El had always loved his impromptu adventures.

"Okay, I'll talk to her about it—"

"Talk to me about what?" El asked, walking into the living room, her frown deepening as she looked between them. "I'm sorry! I know I've been—"

"No, stop right there! " Nate shushed her. "Ye don't go apologizing...I know you've been overloaded lately with all your projects."

El shrugged, dropping onto the couch beside him, her eyes fixed on the TV. "Yeah, I guess. It's just a lot, and I—"

"Deserve a break? Me and Nora reckon you've earned one," Nate grinned, nudging her. "So, how about we take off in a day or two? It's been a while since we've done a drive together, just you and me?"

"Wait, you're serious?" El stared at him, a smile breaking across her face, but her frown returned as she turned to Nora. "You're okay with that?"

"Are you kidding? Some peace and quiet, hell yeah, I'm okay with that," Nora barked a laugh. "And Codsworth's here to help, so I'll be fine."

"I like her, Nate. Can we keep her?" El smirked.

Nate's laughter bubbled, shaking his head. "Aye, she's a keeper, alright."

Nora gave them a fond smile, rising from the couch."Alright, you two, I'm going to help Codsworth tidy up, give you time to plan."

"Thanks, love," Nate's fingers curled hers as she pulled away, before turning his attention back to El.

"So, short-stop, any votes on where ye want tae go?"

"Laurey, Virginia—"

"The Caverns, again, lass?" Nate's eyebrow quirked.

"Come on, it's been months since we went to D.C. We could do a day trip to Laurey and then spend the rest of our time exploring the Capital!"

"Fine, but that damn mole costume is stayin' put!" Nate chuckled.

"She looked adorable in that thing. Never know, maybe she'll catch someone's eye!" Nora's laughter floated over them from the kitchen, and Nate grinned.

El blushed, her hand rubbing against the back of her head sheepishly. "I'll stick to studying, ta—"

"Quite right. I don't think there'd be many nerdy, bookworm Spelunkers out there that could put up with your pish!" He couldn't resist.

El's nose wrinkled, and her eyes narrowed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence—jackass."

Nate snorted and leaned back, his arms draped over the back of the couch, tuning into the TV.

The same usual shite.

A knocking came to the door, and Nora sighed. "It's probably that salesman. He's been trying all morning, insisting he talks to you."

"Oh, great." Nate rolled his eyes and lurched out of the sofa.

An all-smiles fella in a trenchcoat greeted him when he opened the door, stepping forward. "Good morning! Vault-Tec calling!"

"Sup, chief," he deadpanned, leaning against the doorframe.

"You can't begin to know how happy I am to finally speak with you. I've been trying for days. It's a matter of utmost urgency, I assure you," the rep explained.

Nate frowned—something about the guy's tone made him nervous.

"Alright, son, I'm here now."

"So you are, so you are,' the rep chuckled. "I'm here today to tell you that because of your family's service to our country, you have been pre-selected for entrance into the local Vault. Vault 111. I just need to verify some information. That's all! Don't want there to be any hold ups, in the unforeseen event of *ahem*...total atomic annihilation."

"But there's room for my entire family, right?"

"Of course. Of course! Minus your robot, naturally."

"Oi, Codsworth is family!" El retorted, appearing at his side, her eyes narrowed. "He's a wee gem! We can't just leave him!"

Nate's hand fell upon his sister's shoulder, squeezing it. "General Atomics promised Codsworth could survive anything, even a nuclear blast," he reminded her, her sentiment mirrored in his heart. "Go. I've got it from here."

El nodded, a defiant glint remaining in her eyes, but she stepped aside.

Nate glanced at the rep, his unease growing."All right, let's have it."

"Splendid, splendid. Let's get to it. Just need you to fill out this paperwork, and we're all done. Won't take but a moment."

The rep pulled a clipboard out of his briefcase and held it out towards him.

Nate frowned, his jaw tense, glancing down at the stack of papers. He took the clipboard and scanned the pages, his frown deepening.

"What makes me 'S.P.E.C.I.A.L?' That's a bit on the nose, is it no? And this whole damn thing seems a wee bit excessive, no offense, son."

"None taken! It's simply a matter of determining what roles you may be able to undertake in a new life underground!"

"Well, lucky for us, we have a certified vault technician in our fold. My sister just finished her Masters at C.I.T. Did a whole project around Vault safety and maintenance," Nate couldn't help the proud smile creeping into his cheeks.

"Masters? At C.I.T?" the rep's eyebrows shot up. "My, my, that's impressive."

"Aye, she got the brains of the family. I clearly got the looks," Nate joked, handing the clipboard back to the rep. "Think that's everything, chief."

"Wonderful! That's..." he skimmed over the documents, smiling. "Yes, indeed, that is everything... just gonna walk this over to the Vault! Congratulations on being prepared for the future!"

"Aye, thanks..." Nate forced a smile, his jaw still tense. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I have a wee one who needs a bit of a feed."

"Of course, have a great day, sir, ma'am!" The Vault-Tec rep tipped his hat and strolled off, the tension in the man's shoulders not lost on him.

He watched the rep go, his instincts prickling as he stepped back inside."Something aboot that didn't sit right, did it, El?"

"I didn't like it, Nattie. You don't think he's doing this because—"

"Elspeth, don't get him started," Nora interrupted, her voice strained. "It's just a precaution, that's all."

Nate swallowed his throat tight. "Maybe ye're right, doll, but just in case, we should double-check the go bags."

Shaun's wails rang through the house. Cutting through his words, Codsworth followed.

"Master Nate. Shaun has been changed, but he absolutely refuses to calm down. I think he needs some of that "paternal affection" you seem to be so good at."

"I've got 'im." Nate smiled and strode down the hall, his unease lingering. Nora's footfalls followed.

"Right, ye wee gremlin," Nate teased, sweeping a finger over Shaun's cheek. Shaun's cries grew fainter, his teary gaze fixed on Nate.

"Spin the mobile a bit. He loves that," Nora cooed, stepping up beside him.

Nate gave the mobile a gentle spin. Shaun's gaze drifted to the spinning rockets, green eyes wide, and his cries now soft whimpers. Nora brushed Nate's arm with her hand.

"Maybe we should go out later, a walk in the park?"

"And miss the World Series on TV? Not going to happen." Nate smirked. "But tomorrow, I'm all yours! I promise."

"I'll hold you to—"

"Sir? Mum? You should come and see this!" Codsworth's urgent voice drifted over them.

Nate frowned, exchanging a glance with Nora. "Codsworth?"

"I've got Shaun," Nora assured him, scooping the baby up.

Nate hurried out of the nursery, a knot forming in his gut, his blood rushing. "Codsworth? What is it, son?"

"Sir... the news..."

El was perched on the couch, her knuckles white around her backpack, its contents organized on the coffee table. "They actually did it."

"Did what, lass?" Nate frowned, sitting beside her.

“—followed by... yes, followed by flashes. Blinding flashes. Sounds of explosions..." the news anchor caught his attention. "We're... we're trying to get confirmation…But we seem to have lost contact with our affiliate stations."

"What? What is he saying?" Nora's voice drifted over them. "…Oh no.”

“...We do have... coming in... confirmed reports. I repeat, confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in New York and Pennsylvania…My God.”

The screen crackled, and the signal was lost. Nate's gaze fixed on the 'Please Stand By' screen. His mouth ran dry, a cold sweat prickling across his forehead.

"We have to get to the Vault. Now! Get all that back in the bag. I'll grab the rest." Nate blurted, his heart pounding against his ribs.

"Nattie...I'm scared."

"We're goin' tae be fine, El. We've prepared for this...You two wait for me outside!" Nate instructed, racing into their bedroom.

He yanked open the closet, his hands trembling, hauling out his and Nora's packs, followed by Shaun's. He slung them over his shoulder and hurried through the house for the front door—stopping on the threshold, glancing over his shoulder at Codsworth.

The Mr. Handy's eye stalks flitted over him, and he glided forward. "Goodbye, sir. May I say what an honor it has been to serve you and your family!"

"Ye've done us proud, son...maybe we could—"

"Now, don't you worry about me, sir! You have your family to think about. Go on."

Nate nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "Thank you, Codsworth..."

"He'll be alright, won't he?" El's voice pulled his attention.

He stepped onto the sidewalk and grabbed his sister's hand. "He'll be fine. Now c'mon, we gotta move!"

They raced down the road, Nora ahead of him, Shaun cradled against her chest. Nate swallowed hard, his hand tightening around El's. His mind raced. Vault-Tec. The rep—he knew something was up. That bastard knew this was coming!

"Nattie?" El tugged his arm, slowing.

"We're almost there, lass. Keep moving! Come on, we're nearly there—"

"We're on the list!" Nora's frantic voice greeted them, and Nate frowned as that Vault-Tec rep darted by them.

A soldier blocked their way, checking over a clipboard."Infant... Adult male... Two adult females... OK, go ahead."

Nate's heart pounded. It was real. This was really happening. They climbed the hill and clambered onto the platform, his arms circling Nora and El.

"Almost there, we're gonna be alright. I love you, all of you." Nate murmured, his pulse throbbing in his ears.

"We love you too," Nora whispered, her gaze locked on his.

The sky lit up with blinding white light, and the ground shook beneath their feet. A deafening roar filled the air. Nate's eyes widened as a mushroom cloud grew colossal in the sky. The blast waves thunder towards them, and El buried her face against his chest. He closed his eyes, bracing for impact.

"Send it down now!" a desperate voice shouted.

An orchestra of "Oh gods" and terrorized screams flooded his ears. The platform shuddered beneath them. His arms held tighter.

The blast crossed over them. The screams echoed, his breaths shortening, the pressure around his ribcage suffocating.

He held Nora, his lips pressed to her head, praying she couldn't hear his racing heartbeat.

The light faded, and the shockwave died, his ears still ringing.

The platform shuddered to a halt.

His eyes met Nora's, tears streaming down her face.

They had made it.

"Everyone, please step off the elevator and proceed up the stairs in an orderly fashion," the Vault-Tec security guard that greeted them instructed.

El clung to him as Nate made a move to follow the others, her breaths ragged and short. He glanced at Nora, Shaun sleeping soundly in her arms.

"She'll be okay. We're right behind ye," Nate murmured. "We just need a minute."

Nora nodded, her hand resting on his shoulder. "We won't be far. I'll go find out what's what."

"Be right with ye," Nate murmured, kneeling to meet El's gaze. "Hey, hey, look at me, lass. Look at me. Deep breaths. In and out. Like we practiced."

El's eyes flicked up to his, wide and fearful. She bit her lip, nodding. Her next shaky intake of breath was longer.

"Good, lass. Again. In and out."

She followed his lead, and soon enough, El's breaths steadied as her panic subsided, her grip on his loosening.

"You're a natural," Nate grinned, easing himself up.

El didn't respond and instead stood closer. His arm circled her, guiding them toward the vast cog-shaped doorway that loomed above them. Nate's heart beat faster. This was home now, for better or worse.

"It's impressive, eh? No wonder ye wouldny pipe doon about these Vaults!" Nate quipped.

El glanced at him, a faint smirk pulling in her cheeks. Nate squeezed her shoulder, their footsteps ringing as they climbed the metal stairs.

His eyes found Nora as they crossed the metal walkway. An orderly queue had formed behind her as she was collecting something up ahead.

Nora handed him a sealed bag and another for El. He eyed it, noting the '111' matching the jumpsuits some staff were wearing.

"What, do they no' come in a braw purple or maybe fluorescent green?"

El snorted at that, a wry smile curling her lips, and Nate's heart lifted a little. She was okay.

"Just follow the doctor here. He'll show you where to go," one of the scientists instructed.

"Lead the way, doc."

As Nora chatted with the doctor, El pulled away, her steps a little firmer, her gaze still far away.

Nate was drawn to the sudden bite in the air, a shiver running through him as he followed. People chatted, residents to Vault staff. Everyone seemed as edgy as he felt. They were led to a larger room filled with 'decontamination pods,' he was told as he was led towards one.

His attention pulled back to El, her belongings dropping to her feet. She stepped in front of them as one of the staff members attempted to collect them.

"I'm sorry, miss, but you cannot take your—"

Without a word, El unveiled a lanyard from around her neck and fixed them with a stern eye.

"You're a Vault-Tec intern? Very well, but be assured, vault-tec will not be held accountable if anything were to be damaged or stolen."

El nodded, her jaw set, and Nate couldn't help a smirk. Stubborn wee devil. Nate stripped to his boxers and tugged on his Vault suit, his skin prickling.

"Could ye's no have turned on the heatin'? It's colder than a polar bear's arse in here!" Nate grumbled.

El was already suited in her's when he looked up again, leaning against her pod, shoulders slumped, a blank expression set over her feature—still not back to herself yet.

"Can you hold him?" Nora asked, pulling his thoughts. Shaun curled up against her chest.

"Of course, love," Nate scooped him up, letting Nora get herself situated. He walked over to El, her fingers brushing Shaun's cheek, a weak smile curling her lips.

"Ye gonna be alright in there? I know how you get in tight spaces."

She held up her backpack, patting it fondly. Of course, she was always packed for every occasion.

"Right then, guess we'll see ye soon," Nate tried, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Okay, I can take him," Nora's hand rested on his arm, and Nate reluctantly handed Shaun over and planted a kiss against her cheek.

Nate climbed into his pod, and with a hiss, the lid descended, his breath misting the glass. His eyes locked onto Nora's, her gaze locked on him as her own pod closed, and she bounced Shaun in her arms.

"Just try to relax," the doctor reassured.

Nate nodded, pressing his hand against the glass. "Time for a whole new life."

"Resident secure. Occupant vitals: Normal," a robotic voice filled his ears.

A rush of cold flooded his pod. Nate's pulse spiked, his next breath shuddering.

"Procedure complete. In 5... 4..."

With every beat of the countdown, his vision whitened. Frost intertwined his eyelashes with every blink—everything faded.

Nate blinks away the frost that clings to his eyelashes, stretching his jaw to loosen the remainder of his beard and whiskers. It was a cold that hung as heavy as iron chains. Every breath stung his chest like swallowing broken glass as violent coughs wreck through him.

"...Critical failure in Cryogenic Array. All vault residents must vacate immediately," The computerized voice echoed through the intercom, and a hiss filled his ears.

As the pod door lifts away, Nate's still-thawing limbs do nothing to prevent him from stumbling forward. His knees crack against the slick steel floor, a haze of mist following him. He didn't dare look up, unwilling to face the truth that the nightmare was real. But there was no escaping the memories that assaulted every fiber of his being: Nora's please, Shaun's cries as they tear him from his mother's embrace. Nate's own screams—lost in the deafening Gunshot that silenced Nora and continued to echo as Shaun's heartbreaking wails faded away—the face that mets him and the words that followed:

At least we still have the backup.

"That scar-faced bastard! Why did he have tae—"

"...Critical failure in Cryogenic Array. All vault residents must vacate immediately,"

"Oh, shut up!" Nate yelled as he snapped his head back. "Can ye no see I'm havin' a moment, ye pushy cow!"

Blissful silence filled the chamber once more, and Nate breathed a sigh of relief. As if another entity had taken control of his body, he stood to his full height and ambled forward. His steps were clumsy, and fog engulfed the room as he moved toward Nora's pod. The faint glint of gold caught his eye. Her wedding band shined through the condensation. His fingers trailed over the icy glass.

Nora, his best friend, the woman he pledged his entire life to. Her rosy cheeks were now dusted blue, fear still painted in her expression. Her arms were so painfully absent—Shaun. He's just a baby, and they tore him out of her arms. Nate's knees buckled some, jolting him forward, and he braced himself, breaths coming out in rasps, his lungs constricting, the very walls closing in. His eyes opened over his wedding ring, a matching piece—he'd be dammed if he was leaving her's behind.

"C'mon! C'mon! There has tae be a release!" Nate barked, desperation bleeding into his brogue as he stepped back to take in the pod, reaching for the lever at its side.

His breath held as Nora's pod opened to him. Slowly, reverently, he slipped the ring off her finger, ignoring the spiderwebbing of frosted blood that now decorated her jumpsuit. Together, he joins their bands onto the chain around his neck, keeping them safe with his dog tags, holding them tight in his grasp. The mere sentiment of having them together offers a measure of comfort.

"I'll find who did this, and I'll get Shaun back. I promise."

With a brush of his lips against the cool metal, Nate tucks the chain securely behind his vault suit, and the fog clouding his mind subsides some. All he had to do was get El and get the hell out of this godforsaken ice box.

Shaky hands grip the lever release to El's cryopod, and he is met with an immediate sharp, jolting buzz that has him staggering back.

"Malfunction in Cryo Pod manual release override." A robotic female voice announces over the intercom.

"No-no-no! C'mon! I need tae open this damn thing!" Nate pulls the handle harder. Again, the error noise frays his nerves, not releasing. "Come on!" He presses a palm to the frost-covered glass, feeling the cold sting on his hand. "El!" Tears stream down his cheeks, warm against the cold fog surrounding him. "No. This can't-" His forehead rests against the pod. He closes his eyes tightly and sobs. “Ye cannae do this! I just need tae get El!"

His mind falls back to the terminal those scientist-looking folks were working on when they were after Shaun, how they opened Nora's pod. Nate spins on his heels and sprints forward, almost pummeling into the console as he slides to a halt. Fingers still stiff from his suspended animation, rattle the keys. Nate squints at the screen with a shaky breath, jumping through the entries as quickly as his frozen digits allow.

******** Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) Termlink ********

Thank you for choosing Vault-Tec!

>Cryogenic Array: Offline. Premature termination resulting in system failure. Isolated manual and remote overrides detected. Controls disabled.

>Life Support: Offline. Premature termination resulting in system failure. Isolated manual and remote overrides detected. Controls disabled.

Pod Occupant Status

POD C1: Miss Watt

>Occupant status: Deceased. Cause of Death: Asphyxiation due to Life Support failure.

********************************************************************

It takes several moments for him to comprehend the words laid bare.

Every occupant record painted the same picture: Cause of Death: Asphyxiation.

Nate collapses, his knees slamming on the steel, fingers clawing at the frost-covered ground, and a scream rips through him, a blood-curdling wail that echoes out in the empty chamber. Every cell in his body is alight, a sickening, bitter cold fire. His shoulders shake violently, and he balls his fists, pounding them to the floor until his knuckles are raw. He barely feels the biting pain as the fight seeps away, leaving him drained, tears frozen on his cheeks.

Nate doesn't move for a long moment—left alone with his thoughts and the steady Drip. Drip. Drip. of frost melting. His little sister is dead. They're both gone. It would be easy to submit to his grief, crumple over, and lose himself in the pain—but they have his son. He has to find Shaun, even if all he has left is a warped image of a man who ruined his world. A scar-faced bastard whom Nate committed to memory. His fingers curl around the chain of his dog tags, fidgeting the wedding bands between bloodied knuckles, the cold metal grounding him, and as Nate grits his teeth, steeling his heart, and sets his jaw, he stands.

A silent vow plays on his lips: For Shaun. For Nora. And for El. He would rain fire upon whoever took them from him, even if it meant tearing whatever world awaited him apart, one bullet at a time.

He vows it as he looks upon El's face. Russet frost-bitten curls drape across her forehead. A picture so peaceful she may as well be sleeping.

He vows it as his lips graze Nora's cheek before resealing the pod, committing his love's image to memory.

He vows it as his fingers trace Shaun's name, etched in ink within the tan line of his wedding band.

As the Sole Survivor of Vault 111, he has nothing left to lose and everything to fight for.

War Never Changes, and Nate was ready to wage it.

#falloutober2023 #fallout day #fallout fanfic #fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #A little tie-in to MacCready in this one 👀#fallout maccready

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ty-bayonet-betteridge · 6 months ago

Note

⭐

im gonna go back to one from a few months ago so u get an answer u care about instead of one about one of my dozen mcyt fics-

so. author's commentary on A Very WOE.BEGONE New Year's is a go!!!!!!

11:48 PM December 31st, 2023 Oldbrush Valley, USA

i dont remember why i did the scene-setting like this and when i read this my mind imagines the locations and times typing across the screen like its a heist movie. anyway. note me very carefully avoiding mentioning the state that OBV is in

"Why do we let you guys pick the games?" Chance griped.

when i started thinking "W.BG new years fic," the first thing that came to mind was "Base absolutely plays board games together on new year's." the rest of the fic evolved around this core truth

"It also means nobody except you and Edgar knows what's going on," Mikey complained. "I actually really like this game," put in Jam.

jam my beloved my sweetheart. im so mad about how few appearances theyve had in canon since s10, Jam just has a PERFECT dynamic with literally everyone in the show for some reason. MAKE JAM A CORE BASE MEMBER AND CORE CAST MEMBER DYLAN

"Can we just call the game here?" Chris asked.

um. im only just now noticing that the narrative cant decide whether to call them Chance and Shadow or Chris and Ryan. when i first read this back for the commentary, i had a moment of whiplash where i pictured Topher saying this line before i realized. hopefully nobody else thought that was the case.

"And I was so excited for my turn," said Shadow.

i picture Shadow as the sort of person to really enjoy the board game that theyre playing, but not mention that when theyre deciding to cut it off because everybody else seems not to be having fun. him <3

"That's fine," Mikey said. "I read somewhere that it's better to drink champagne from a normal wine glass since the flute makes it smell worse." "It's more complicated than that - it has to do with the wine's vortex zone comparable to the size of the opening - but yes, a white wine glass is usually better," said Jam.

im proud of the characterization here, because this feels very Them - of the people in the room, Mikey feels far and away most likely to read something like this in passing and not look any further into it, and Jam seems most likely to be an actually wine appreciator. i shouldve had them bring up tulip glasses as the ideal, though, my bad.

"You are not going to break 24 to buy some wineglasses!"

Edgar is living in a fantasy if he thinks this is the first time a Mike Walters has broken 24 to buy some wineglasses

"They'll sort it out," said Marissa. "And we can drink champagne out of mugs or something."

picture Jam in the corner cringing internally like "this is a terrible idea for wine appreciation but if i say anything i will look like such a killjoy"

Montana, USA, Near Glacier National Park

not pictured: duckduckgo search results for "where is glacier national park." i wonder, actually, does anything in canon actually rule out that Sly's saloon and ranch are on the Canadian side of Glacier? food for thought...

The oldest set down his cards.

is... is Michael older than Sly? is that canon? did i make that up? that sounds like it could be right, but it also sounds like it could be wrong.

"Could it be somebody from Base?" "Not likely," said MW. "They're holdin' their own party tonight." "I'll get it," said Michael. "One a'y'all mind followin' me with the shotgun in case things get Western?" "Right behind ya, Big Bear," said Sly, standing. "Do things get any way other than Western with you guys?" asked Matt, grinning. "European, if we're back at the apartment," answered MW.

patting myself on the back again because i can hear this dialogue in the character voices VERY easily, this feels very naturalistic to how they riff in the show, i am a god of fanfiction

Michael opened the door, hand on the pistol at his hip, Sly behind him with shotgun in hand, then did a full double-take. "Ah don't believe mah eyes," he said. "You really here, pard?" "In the flesh," said Mike. "C'mere, cowboy." The two embraced.

i wanna point out Mike's absolute ZERO reaction to Michael and Sly both having their guns at the ready. he just goes straight in for the hug regardless. mike my guy are you okay?

"I got another spare hat if you're feelin' left out, Mike," Sly said. "Hard pass," said Mike.

no matter what happens, Mike cannot be a cowboy. this is a law of the universe.

"What are we playing and is it too late to deal me in?" "We was playin' Texas Hold'em, but I wouldn't mind cuttin' the game off, actually," said MW "Yeah, I'm getting a little tired of handing all my savings over to Sly," Matt agreed.

reading this back Mike must feel sort of left out here. imagine showing up to the party and they stop the game IMMEDIATELY when you show up. luckily they pick up playing rummy right after this.

you'll notice that we keep cutting into these scenes right as they decide to stop playing - this is because i don't want to fluff scenes out with transcripts of characters playing board and card games. descriptions of them playing really dont do anything except space out the lines that ACTUALLY advance their characters.

"You want anythin' to drink? Big Bear's on four shots of whiskey and the rest'a us have had two or three, so it might even up the playin' field a bit."

ive never drunk anything in my life, so everytime i write alcohol into a scene i have to go look up what a Standard Drink is and how people act on different amounts of Standard Drinks and sometimes it makes me feel like an alien pretending to be a drunk human. anyway

"That's Edgar," said Michael. "Generous t'the end." He smiled, a little wistful as he looked into the bottom of his glass. "Not too generous," said Mike. "He's keeping me on simulated real time, which means I'm probably not going to bed until at least four in the morning back in my time." "It's a holiday, Mike," said MW. "Yain't got nothin' to get up for. Laze around in bed with Edgar for as long as y'can. It don't last forever." "Ah'll drink t'that," said Michael.

Mike said the word "Edgar" and it triggered the mikes without an edgar to instantly go into Yearning Mode like their sleeper agent code

"No, it's alright. I only have so much time with him, but I only have so much time with you guys too, y'know?" "Everythin' runs out eventually," said Michael, reaching for Sly's hand, his eyes still on Mike. "Enjoy it while it lasts an' find other things t'care for when it's over. It's gonna hurt, but it can't hurt forever, cause even the hurtin's gonna run out one day."

wow. you can tell the person whos writing this fic is realizing theyre a few months away from exiting their teens :P

"An' a perfect toast, t'boot," said Sly. "Ah got us all new shots. 'Cept you, Big Bear. Y'don't get any more until you drink that water 'stead'a starin' into it likee it's the moon."

okay but ive soured on both Sly as a character and on Harlan as a person since writing this fic and it makes his appearances here SLIGHTLY more annoying for some reason? it feels a little like he isnt reading the mood but thats probably just me projecting my thoughts about Harlan ajlsdfhaskjdfhasdjk

"An' I'm tryin' t'make sure it ain't your last," Sly said, chucking him affectionately under the chin.

i have a very clear memory of googling what it means to chuck someone under their chin, to make sure it made sense here, but i dont have any memory of what i actually found. oh well. i trust past me

11:34 AM January 1st, 2024 Riga, Latvia

so, Riga time is 9 hours ahead of Montana time, which means this scene is taking place about three hours after the last one. this likely means everyone at the ranch has had several more drinks since that scene ended.

P.P.S. I looked it up and New Year's in Latvia was yesterday. Whoops. Hope you enjoy anyway. -Mike

i just find the idea of somebody forgetting about time zones when theyre using LITERAL TIME TRAVEL TECH very amusing

Boris smiled and shook his head. He would have to find a way to pay them back for this.

i picture Boris as the sort of person who is incapable of accepting a gift without thinking that they owe the other person something

"Honestly, no," answered MDawg. He looked into his own beer. "Feels like I've figured out maybe a tenth of what I need to make my new life out here work."

ok, but a Mike Walters being willing to admit this is already great progress

"Gets easier with practice, Em Dawg," said Outlaw.

early Outlaw Ty accent my beloved. its so stupid. Em Dawg.

"We can getcha the hat an' make you a cowboy if'n it'll help y'all get adjusted."

i appreciate how Tex's response to MDawg being like "i dont know where im going in life or what my goals are or how im going to survive here" is "want a cowboy hat"

"We don't all know what we're doin' all the time, MDawg," Tex answered. "But you're right. We can make it a good year by watchin' out for each other. I sheepdog the two'a y'all, y'all sheepdog each other an' me. Texas Base'll be stronger'n ever."

reading this back now in the middle of Season 13, it strikes me how out of character this sentiment feels for Tex. he hadnt been so differentiated as a character yet, but this sort of vulnerability is very strange for him.

A couple people threw cowboy hats in the air, others toasted, still more cheered. Tex, on the other hand, turned back to his compatriots. He grabbed Outlaw by the collar and pulled them together, pressing his lips to his partner's for a second or two, before releasing the flushed cowboy-in-training. He wasn't quite as rough or spontaneous with MDawg, gently taking his hand before fractionally tilting his head down to meet his lips. Finally, he stepped back, and watched MDawg step slightly closer to Outlaw. "Can I-" started MDawg, before Outlaw stooped to kiss him. It was quick, and Tex, thinking back, was fairly certain it was the first time they kissed. Still, they both looked happy.

ah, the new year's kiss. Texascule is real to me, okay??? i like how Tex kisses Outlaw like hes HUNGRY for it and he kisses MDawg like a fragile little flower, its very characteristic of how he views them.

"Happy New Year's," said Tex, his voice a low, affectionate rumble. "Love y'all."

"low affectionate rumble" makes me imagine him purring this. like a kitty cat

1:16 AM January 1st, 2024 Oldbrush Valley, USA Cabin 63A, O.V.E.R.

i didnt realize that i set this scene quite as far post-midnight as i did. this means Ryan did not look at the clock once for an hour and a half which i think does make sense.

On the screen in front of him was the source of his pain - a copy of the source code for the OVER Tier Two Security program.

but also, he's doing WORK on new year's eve. take a break, ryan.

Should he talk to someone? It's a holiday, don't people get together for those?

autism man. i love him.

Topher would be asleep. Hunter… probably also asleep, and they didn't really get along great. Ty… no way in hell. Marissa, Chance, Shadow, and Anne all hated his ass. He didn't really know Jam or Edgar.

Marissa would curse him out, but he probably would've at least been able to exchange some pleasantries with any of the other base members. he might genuinely be able to be friendly with Jam under the right circumstances. hm. im going to be thinking about that

Mikey answered on the third ring. "What is it, Ryan?" he said, sounding annoyed.

why did he answer. mikey. mikey why did you answer

"Hay, Mikey-boy, is for-" "You finish that sentence and I will personally issue a correction to get my past self to kill you before all this shit happened."

i love their dynamic i will die for their dynamic. i had the vision to have ryan make the hay is for horses joke and i immediately knew i Had to put it in. is it in character? probably not but fuck off

"Just... thanks for arguing in favor of Topher and I. When Base was trying to decide what to do with us, after that whole dome thing." "I didn't do it for you."

pictured: my vague attempt at hinting that there was some justification for everyone being alive and in the positions they were for this fic. there wasnt a justification, but what if there was...

J ū rmala, Latvia

i dont know why ao3 inserted that spacing around the ū and i also dont know why i didnt fix it. lets move on.

Inside was three small, printed photographs. One of Sly, one of Edgar, and one of Mike. It had been a long time since Michael had cried.

WHY DID I MAKE THE ENDING OF THE FIC SAD. AUGH. OUGH. also i think Mikes inclusion in this set of photos was the entire reason i put an implied mike/michael tag on this fic which is silly bc even for the canon belief that theyre just friends it makes perfect sense for his photo to be included. alloromantic moment of me i apologize.

anyway this was fun it was mostly just me ramblereacting to my own fic and not any actual insights but. it was still fun. sue me

#asks #woe.begone #wbg #w.bg #wbg spoilers

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existentialmagazine · 8 months ago

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Review: Blair Dunlop ‘I Wanna Be Running’

Returning to the music scene for the first time since his live album release in 2021, Blair Dunlop is back to bring his fans the folk americana they know and love. With even longer since his 2018 album release, ‘Notes from and Island’, it’s an exciting time for return as he brings a brand new album and UK tour announcement hand-in-hand.

As the album’s debut single ‘I Wanna Be Running’ releases, Blair sets the stage for what’s to come, alongside a striking music video to match. Delivering drawn-out country twangs with a gorgeous acoustic guitar riff, stunning strings and easy-going beats right from pressing play on ‘I Wanna Be Running’ , Blair embraces you with a comforting palette of sound like a cosy blanket by the fire, making every second worth your undivided attention. Whisking you up between the warmth and ease of every delicate instrument, the track continues to softly shift into the verse, losing the strings and carrying through it more of an intimate moment to hold near and dear. Blair’s words gently rise through it, mostly smooth but with a light rasp to his occasional words, bringing out emotion you can’t help but feel in the soul.

The chorus continues to grow back to the beginning’s more orchestrally blooming momentum, building on the returned strings that were slowly brought back in the latter half of the verse amidst the other layerings of sound. Blair’s vocals rising through it in a range bolder than ever before, soaring and weaving between some of the most gorgeous heights with a naturally stunning tone to his every word. His most poignant lines yet are thrust unavoidably your way too, achingly delivering a narrative that carries through themes of existential anxiety. With lines like ‘you’re holding, then it slips through your fingers’ , Blair carries that sense of everything feeling completely out of your control, one second in charge and the next life’s unpredictability reminds it’s all out of your hands. Continuing into the hook ‘I wanna be running, but we can’t shake these shackles’ , Blair lingers on his yearning for freedom and escapism, but no matter how much he tries to forget he’ll always be limited by the knowledge that there’s really no purpose to it at all.

Written as a cathartic exercise, while much of ‘I Wanna Be Running’ feels weighted in reality, Blair finds humour in the absurdity of it all. The video matches that sense of bizarreness with scenes like Blair sleeping on the floor, spinning round office chairs, singing as part of a mug of tea, standing in of crowds of his duplicates and floating across the ground, all while maintaining a serious sense that just makes it that much more confusingly hilarious. It perfectly toes the line between something that holds meaning, and something that wants to remind you to live in the present and let go of those fears, as no matter what happens all we really have is right now.

Give a proper listen to ‘I Wanna Be Running’ here to really understand the way Blair has mastered his craft, and check out the video below for even more of a whirlwind experience.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

#tatiana

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

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the girl next door 10

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

The next day, you awake, feeling less foggy but no less tired. Your mother is still in her recliner as you emerge. You put on the coffee as you always do and sit at the table, holding your head as you wait for the grind to finish.

You pour two mugs and go to the living room. You put one down next to your mom and gently nudge her shoulder. Her eyes snap open and her head wobbles before she can lift it. Her hand is trembling as she wipes her eyes and the recliner snaps upright with her movement. She doesn’t say a word as she grabs the cup and drinks.

You both drink in silence, as if you’re both just as confused by the previous day’s passing. The remnants of the heavy slip have you yawning over the brim and eager to brew a second pot. As you refill the filter, the doorbell rings. You mom grumbles noisily.

You hit the start button on the machine and hurry down the hall. As you open the door to Steve, a flash of yesterday washes over you. The memory of him in your room, looking at your sketchbook, intruding...

You shake off the chagrin and clear your sandy throat.

“Morning,” he checks his watch, “not to rush you or anything but just checking in. Seeing when you were planning to pop over.”

You blink. What does he mean? It takes you a moment to remember. Oh, you remember you agreed to help him with the pool. Well, your mother told him you would.

“Is that Steve?” Your mom calls as the recliner creaks. You step aside as she approaches, “ah, hello. Just can’t get enough, huh?”

“Mm, yeah, Holly, remember, we talked about this. The pool?” He smiles and tucks his hands in his pockets.

“Oh yeah, I remember,” she chuckles as she glances over at you, “she needs something to keep her busy. How about I come over, keep an eye on her for you.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Steve says, “you look tired and you’ve been doing so much these last few days. I wouldn’t want to make anything worse.”

“Oh, this,” she holds up her shaky hand, “all good, honey. Really. I can handle it. Just a part of life. Besides, I need to get some sun, eh?”

“Sure,” Steve agrees as his cheeks tighten, “that’s fine. Well, whenever you’re ready. I’m just getting started now.”

“We’ll be over shortly,” your mother affirms and pets her neck.

Steve nods and turns, striding away without another word. You look at your mom. You really don’t want to go. Still, you can’t say no. She’d never let you live it down. You need the money.

“I’m going to get changed,” you mutter. “Do you want some toast before we go over?”

“I can take care of myself,” she snips and swings the door shut. “I want you on your best behaviour, got it? You’re not going to ruin this for me. Whatever he tells you to do, do it. No faces, just listen.”

“Yes, mom.”

“And...” she leans in your door as you open your dresser, “if me and him happen to wander off, don’t come looking.”

You nod. She huffs and her footsteps carry on into the kitchen. You cross the room and close the door. You turn and peel off your tee shirt. You freeze as you notice the open curtains. You squint as you see a shadow in the window across from yours.

You hold the tee shirt to your chest and rush forward. Nothing. Just the window. You close yours and back up. You’ll wear some leggings you can get dirty and the Gap shirt with the hole near the hem. You’ll just be scrubbing algae or whatever.

🏠

You follow your mom up to Steve’s front door. She knocks and waits, hemming and hawing as she checks her watch. You twiddle your fingers, longing for any excuse to go home.

“Hey,” Steve appears around the side of the house, “just around through the gate.”

“Oh, silly me,” your mother as good as elbows past you as she redirects course.

You trail after her as Steve holds open the gate door, standing just inside it. You brush against him as you enter, unable to avoid it. He shuts it so the clasp clicks and you feel him behind you.

“Figure we’ll start by just sweeping up and getting everything away from the pool,” he explains, then we might have to get down and dirty.” He chuckles and you glance over your shoulder at him. He points to the in-ground pools, “gotta clean inside.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” your mom remarks, “mmph, I’m just gonna sit.” She grips her hip as she clings to the railing and climbs up onto the deck. She sits at the patio table, under the broad umbrella.

“Right,” Steve claps his hands, “I’ll get you a broom. You start over there, I’ll take the other side and we’ll meet in the middle. How about that?”

“Okay,” you shrug.

He smiles and turns, striding over to the shed and dipping inside. He’s almost too tall for the small doorway. Your mother clears her throat and you look at her, a sharp expression tensing her features. She doesn’t need to speak her thoughts; it’s a warning.

Steve hands you a broom and a pan. You take it and go to the opposite end of the pool. You keep your head down as you start sweeping, gathering the debris into a single pile. You can hear Steve’s bristles scraping closer and closer as you make your way around the perimeter.

“Oh, Steve, honey,” your mom calls out, “could I trouble you for something to drink?”

He stops, only a few feet from you. Sweat dampens the collar of his tee and across his chest. Your own shirt is clinging to your skin as the sun beat down.

“Heh, yeah, it’s pretty hot. How about some lemonade?” He suggests, “hey, sweetie, you want a glass?”

“Um, okay, thanks,” you answer as you put your focus back to the work at hand.

He carries his broom with him and sets it against the railing of the steps. He climbs them and goes through the sliding glass doors. You continue around, adding your dirt pile to his. Your mom wipes her brow as she basks in the shade, fanning herself dramatically.

Steve comes back out with a tray. A pitcher and three glasses sit on it. He pours each as you stand by the debris.

“Come on, have some, should cool off a bit, stay hydrated,” he waves you over.

“Uh,” you look down at the pile.

“I’ll take care of that, you take a break.”

You circle the pool and climb up the steps. You mother struggles to steady her glass as you take your own. As you sip, Steve heads back down and gathers up the debris into a compost bag. He sets that aside and dusts his hands off.

“When you’re ready, I’ll help you down,” he offers as he lowers himself down the ladder.

You nod and gulp down half the glass, setting it down heavily. You mother squints at you, “don’t be lazy.”

You turn away without retort. All you’ve done is what Steve asked.

You go to the ladder and look down into the empty pool. You turn and grab the sides of the ladder, taking it step by step. The clearance is a bit too high for you. Steve approaches you as you hover above the drop.

“Here,” he grabs your hips, “I got you.”

You squeak as he squeezes and you cling to the ladder until you have to let go. He lifts you easily and sets you down, his hands brushing up your sides as he releases you. You quickly part from him, feeling the warmth of his body clouding around you.

“Right, so we just need to scours the sides a bit,” he bends and grabs the end of the hose dangling over the edge. “Got it on the highest setting so if you just want to go around and get the walls. I’m gonna work at scraping off the gross stuff.”

“Kay,” you take the hose from him.

“No cheap shots, okay,” he grins, “well, I don’t think I’d complain for a bit of water.”

You frown at him, not sure what he means. He looks pointed at the hose as you point the nozzle right at him. You drop it and apologise.

“Not worries. Just pull the lever,” he instructs. “And let me know if you need anything. It’s a good day for heat stroke.”

You turn and aim the hose. You spray the wall and much of the grime washes away easily. You get closer, a bit of splash back speckling your arms. You focus on getting every inch, moving diligently along the tile. It’s a big pool. He’ll have a great summer once it’s full.

You feel a grimness in your chest. It feels like all the nice things are meant for everyone else. You shrug it away and keep at it. At least, you’ll get a couple of bucks out of doing the grunt work. It’s no summertime oasis, but it’s better than nothing.

#the girl next door #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #mcu #marvel #captain america

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lomemarsupial · 1 year ago

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Hi Hey I was really without sleep for some days and under the weath a bit, so I didn't want my mug to be recorded. But I wanted to play some songs. And get some riffs and drafts recorded. So I carved about 4 pumpkins in 2 days. Decided a lantern head is the best option to this situation. As I wanted these song drafts or ideas recorded to re-work later.

The latter end of this was uploaded a few ago as a separate vid. But I stuck it into here as a music journal I guess you'd say. Playing on a yamaha fg830 10/21/2023 improvising some tracks.

video archives added over with closes local files randomly added as a "media collage randomization" technique that Burroughs I think used via in text and some authors and artists and musicians used a good bit in a popularization revival of it in the early 70s. So I do that with some footage if editing drafts such as this.

Hey so spirits or persona souls kind of dip into the world and collect certain inspirations so some of those in the playing are a bit of Sumeria, Bohemia, American Blues, Irish poetry, earlier style rock'n'roll. It's really a nasty and annoying game to niche and genre stuff though I have trouble with that. I realize I magnet in people that get more pyssed or judgy about what I do than people who like it, haw haw haw, but that's life in the modern web world. But it feels uplifting and healing to play, no matter that thing, and when playing its very true that rock or that spirit of rock music playing is a soulful and imminent visitation to some kind of experience. Which comes to answer "why improvise songs all the time?" I think its fun to let them live in their direct and needed moment. and if played again later on then its fine. But there's some pallette of a spiritual experience where others yell at ya to go to church or believe their whole this thing or that thing. Like, well, I'd rather bond with this wood instrument and do this it's one of the few things that make me happy.

I'll have the two files of this onto https://www.patreon.com/posts/jack-o-lantern-i-91422674

even if they're constructing or b-side material. I put a lot of projects and full albums up there. Gas money to next shows or hard drives to store more stuff on or re-signing up to distrokid. Get creative online and we all become beggars aye? Shyte I mean its economic apocalypse, very neat. spotify is https://open.spotify.com/artist/0kBvq9fPHQivusr4ZjdAiG Main site https://www.lomemarsupial.com not sparming all the rest of the links.

Going to try to rest up better so I dont have to stuff a jack o lantern over my head, thanks have a noice weekend.

This post was posted by automated webjackal.

#blues #rock #american blues #songwriting #improvised music #acoustic rock #pumpkin head #video editing #media collage #collage arts #halloween #jack o lantern #jack-o-lantern

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cagesings · 1 year ago

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@angelsweeps / riff sent: [ HAIR ] : as they kiss the receiver, sender tangles their fingers into receiver's hair.

she didn't think he would kiss her. they've been playing some sort of strange game for the past few months. touches linger longer than an employer and an employee should last. stomach fills with warmth, as if she consumed an entire mug of hot chocolate beforehand, when she catches him staring at her. the other day when one of the waitresses pointed out that she seemed friendlier with their boss than most people were, it's been different. she worries about him as much as she used to worry about anthony. she worries about him as much as she worries about her daughter. it isn't . . . she hates it.

meaning she's been avoiding him as much as possible. not in the way they avoided each other after the night she accidently got intoxicated. a different sort of ignorance. as if she catches his eye in the reflection of a glass, she might do something she isn't proud of. her only goal is to survive the night while avoiding contact with him at all. that's something neither of them want. unprofessional and unnecessary. they'll only break their own hearts.

yet here they are standing face to face. until they're closer than they've ever been and she lets him kiss her. hands freeze the moment his lips are on hers before placing her palms around his shoulders with the upmost hesitation. his fingers tangle into her hair, much too long to be considered fashionable, yet she refuses to cut it. oh, she likes the feeling of his fingers in her hair more than she should. she likes kissing him more than she should.

until they part and she's looking up into is eyes again. ❝ i-i'm - i'm married, ❞ johanna whispers more to herself than to him. she told herself that she couldn't move on from anthony, no matter how many times a well-intentioned neighbor or distant friend attempted to set her up with someone. anthony is her husband. dead or not. yet she kissed another man. gaze falls before she can watch his expression fall. he knows she's a widow. ❝ i should - i should go. ❞

#so maybe i wanted them to kiss in this verse. so sue me.#so many ✨complicated feelings✨#*❈ ‣ how is it that you sing anything? — ( interaction. )#*❈ ‣ if we lay a strong enough foundation we’ll pass it on to you — ( v. single mother )#angelsweeps

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dassandre-00qpidsarrow · 4 years ago

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Scavenger Hunt #43 - Mug

#43 We know Q likes his scrabble mug, but what is his second favourite mug? I chose to use a different definition of “mug” in this instance, the one meaning “a person’s face.” Though it’s a neck and neck race, coffee and tea in his Scrabble mug still come first for Q. It’s the caffeine that allows him to wake up enough to fully and thoroughly appreciate his second-favourite mug. Q has more than one Scrabble mug, of course. One for home and one for work. Odds are R has a few others squirreled away in case of breakage. No one in Six wants a repeat of “The Sanderson Affair,” after all. Took bloody weeks for things to settle down and R just doesn’t have the time for that kind of drama.

#007Fest2020 #fanedit #headcanon #teamqbranch #007 Fest Scavenger Hunt fill #A riff on the meaning of mug #00Q

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writefightandflightclub · 2 years ago

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A little burnt(out): Moon Boys (Steven Grant + Marc Spector) x fem!reader

Summary: you are feeling a little bit “useless”, and your Moon Boys are there to prove to you that’s categorically not true.

Genre: hurt/comfort with emphasis on the comfort - predominantly fluffy.

Rating: teen (but my blog is 18+ / minors DNI)

Author’s note: this is self-indulgent and I’m not even sure it counts as a fic per se, but I’m sharing as there’s a chance someone may enjoy it! This fic is a riff off of (recent/current) personal experiences with what I believe is autistic* burnout, but it’s kept quite general so might be suitable for anyone who is experiencing a whole range of things with similar symptoms (to oversimplify - fatigue, overwhelm etc. etc.). For obvious reasons, I chose the Moon Boys for this one! Written super quickly on my lunch break so don’t expect too much lol!

*that’s a whole other very long story as someone who is trying to get a late diagnosis in my thirties but anyway…

Warnings: maybe read the a/n to get a sense of the themes this tackles and see if it’s for you? Thx!

Gif: by @jenwallters

You had even failed to make coffee.

How?!

The thing you do on autopilot several times a day.

Well… Somehow, you had.

There is oat milk languishing in the microwave.

A boiled kettle which is now cooling, and three empty mugs sat on top of the kitchen counter.

“Er. Are you alright, love?” Steven probes gently, evidently seeing your failed attempt at making coffee for him and you and Marc (he likes it differently to Steven) as he emerges from the bathroom.

You simply pull the duvet more securely over your sarcastic, throbbing head. “Yeah. Clearly.” You ball your fists up and dig them into your eye sockets, scrubbing away the embarrassment of bubbling tears suddenly crowding your eyeballs.

Still, as much as you hate yourself for being unable to function the way you generally can, you have to admit it feels sort of nice to hide under here, in the dark and the quiet. To leave the demands -however small- behind. To be honest with yourself, and listen to your body. For once.

You ignore your body far too often. Shush what it’s trying to tell you - until it’s too late. Until your body has to scream or snap to make itself heard. Too much. Too loud. Too tired. Too long.

You can do plenty. And because you can do it, you often ignore the toll it’s taking on you, particularly when the outputs exceed your inputs. When your life isn’t set-up in the best way to make sure you can function sustainably. For the long-haul. Instead of this boom and bust cycle you seem to have found yourself trapped in, each “bust” growing harder and harder to drag yourself out of.

You refuse to listen to your body, but it always catches you up eventually - and this time, it feels harder than ever to spring back from.

Progress is slow. Whatever “progress” means anyway - an endless pursuit for more, better, faster, and perhaps you’re tiring of that. Perhaps you want things to be slow and light and easy. Soft.

Truly, lying here is just about all your body has the energy for today, even if -in contrast- your mind is racing, as per usual. Urging you to do everything.

You hear Steven sigh, and eventually, you hear the wobble of the heating kettle and tinkle of the tea spoon as he kindly finishes your task for you.

Next, you feel his weight gently dip the mattress next to you, those hefty cheeks making quite the impression. “Coffee, love,” Steven offers, in an attempt to coax you out from your duvet den. “Come and get it while it’s hot, yeah?”

You sigh, but not at him. Only because you’re fed up with yourself. At how long it’s taking to recover. So long, that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to operate like you used to. At the same time, operating like you used to fills you with a sort of dread, as you know that was precisely the problem. That it was precisely what pushed you too far in the first place.

“Come and get these lips while they’re hot, Marc says,” Steven relays on his behalf. “Got a big fat kiss waiting for you, yeah?”

Alright. Well you can’t resist that, now can you?

You abruptly shove the covers down with your forearms, squinting against the assault of the gentle light. Even these subdued sensations prove too much with your currently reduced threshold of tolerance, apparently. Regardless, you allow your grumpy face to pop into view.

Despite your grumpiness, though, Steven looks endlessly happy to see you, a soft, angelic smile lilting over his mouth. He dips to kiss your grumpy mouth, the tender, lingering press of his lips dissolving the frown from off your face like sugar stirred into sweet tea. “Morning, my goddess.”

“Pfft,” you protest, as if you could possibly be anyone’s “goddess”. Goddesses don’t cry so much in the shower, do they? Don’t have a meltdowns over report deadlines? Right? “Can’t even make a cup of coffee right anymore.”

Even so, you can’t help but notice that Steven is gazing at you like you hung the stars.

Steven’s eyebrows rise up, his expression still soft and open. Free of judgement. “That’s alright. Got your ol’ boyfriend to do it for you, ain’t you?”

Despite his sunshine -or perhaps because of his disarming brightness - your eyes close tiredly. You feel drained already, even though you’ve just woken up. Even though you’d tried to get an early night last night. Even though you’d already pruned your schedule to within an inch of its life to try and aid your recovery. “I’m just tired, Steven. Really tired.”

You feel a mess of scribbles suddenly animate in the pit of your stomach.

Full of calm, Steven sets the steaming mug down on the coaster to your side, and he reaches to tuck the duvet more closely around your chest, making you all comfy-cosy.

Still, the light frown which settles on his brow shows that he knows. That he understands. Knows you don’t mean that you need sleep. That your tiredness goes deeper than that. He’s been in that place before, after all. Has plenty to say about that.

Steven doesn’t respond in words, though. Instead, he settles his warm hand on top of yours and he nods slowly, demonstrating he’s hearing you. Validating you. That he accepts that when you say you are tired, that’s the truth. It sounds simple enough, but you’ve had an unfortunate pattern of people dismissing you throughout your life. Dismissing your challenges and struggles whenever you have spoken up, which has made it harder to trust now that your assertions will be taken at face value.

The truth is though, that by the time you actually express that you can’t continue, you’ve likely already pushed yourself far beyond your ideal limit. That it has been some time since you found yourself unable to continue, but that you “stubborned” your way through it anyway.

Steven and Marc and Jake understand. They have shown, through their words and actions, that they believe what you tell them - and after a lifetime of being sidelined, that’s no small thing.

You watch his expression shift as his eyebrows knot and travel up, his eyes shining with concern. His whole being a picture of receptiveness. Eager to listen. Promising to hear you.

You are grateful.

That openness provides you the space to say it. “I want to be better, Steven. It’s just… taking so long. I don’t even know when the last time I had energy was. Like, proper energy. I’m talking enough energy. Even tiny things seem so overwhelming. And… I can’t… I don’t think I can do it anymore. I can’t keep up.”

It’s true. Even the most basic of routines feels too much for you right now. And meanwhile, all your usual tasks and responsibilities have been piling up. So many deadlines looming. An ever expanding “to do” list. But, try as you might, you simply can’t manage to pull it back. It seems the harder you try the further you dig yourself down into this pit. The more depleted you feel. The less you are able to do the more you try to scrabble your way out of it.

You’ve tried, but you’ve been so overloaded and overwhelmed for so long that all your resources are just… gone. Right now, it knocks you into the red just to perform basic tasks, and you feel like you’ll never be in credit with your energy again.

You’re trying to go easy on yourself and allow yourself the space to recover - Steven and Marc and Jake have been supportive every step of the way too - but this coffee? That was the final straw. One of many final straws, it seems, as you keep finding yourself surprised by how many straws there are left to draw. An abundance of straws appearing from nowhere when you least expect them. How it keeps getting a bit worse without getting better.

Meanwhile, everything else is there waiting for you. Expecting you to carry on as “normal”. Your job, friends, family. You’ve told them. You’ve said, I can’t keep doing this. But they see you keep going anyway, and assume you’re fine.

Well, sometimes that is normal for you. To go go go a mile a minute. But, you are trying to accept that this is also a part of your normal too. Sometimes you can go full pelt, and sometimes… you can’t. It’s like… every activity has a cost, but unfortunately the price tags remain hidden from you. That is, until your bill hits the mat with a thud, and then suddenly you’re expected to pay up all at once. What’s more, you can never quite predict when that day is going to come.

Your boyfriends are different though, and for that, you are grateful. They know your experience is real and valid, and they acknowledge what you need. Even if you can’t always do that yourself - after so many years of masking and pushing aside your own needs until you couldn’t even recognise them.

“It’s okay,” Steven soothes, and you take a moment to admire the specific shapes the coils of his hair are making today - everyday a new delight. You’re trying to mindful of all the little things which replenish you. There is something to cling on to. “S’alright if you can’t do it for now, love. I mean… It’s okay if you can never do it again, to be fair.”

Your eyes brim with sorry tears. “I feel useless.”

Steven looks positively affronted on your behalf. He doesn’t like it when you’re unkind to yourself. You know it breaks his heart, but you can’t help it. He clamps both his hands around yours now, squeezing tight. “Aww. Come on. Look. You’re definitely not.” He brushes your face tenderly with the crook of his finger, and you know you must still look sceptical. Steven tries again, a truly valiant effort. “Anyway, you don’t even need to have a use, sweetheart. You’re a human being, not a bloody JML gadget.” Steven laughs lightly at his own attempt at kitchen-appliance-themed humour, and you manage a watery smile, at least.

“Steven…”

You shake your head, about to protest further, but he is having none of it. “How about you drink your coffee, darling, and we make it nice and dark and quiet in here, yeah?”

That does sound nice. Sounds like what you need so desperately. Still, it’s hard to allow yourself to rest. To say no to things. “We’re not going to do anything today? We need to do a food shop and I told Max I would help her with the-“

“Ssshhh,” Steven soothes. “Forget all that, yeah?”

He stands and efficiently flips the blinds. Dims the lights, before returning to you.

You take a deep breath, basking in the relief of having fewer things on your plate. Steven, for his part, scoops up the warm squashy covers and wriggles in beside you, fitting his body around yours - securely, like a big spoon.

You feel his next words warmly against the back of your neck. “You’re a human being not a human doing. Remember, love?”

You can’t help but scoff fondly at that. “Christ. You’re so cheesy, Steven.” Still, you wiggle yourself closer to him, and settle your arms on top of his where they loop around your middle.

“Maybe. But I make a mean coffee though.”

You snicker at that. “No. No, your coffee is sweet, Steven. I doubt you could make a mean thing even if you tried.”

He exhales a gentle laugh into your skin, and you feel and hear the soft wet smack as he plants a gentle kiss right behind your ear.

“What about those biscuits I made last week? They were pretty bloody offensive, weren’t they?”

You laugh. “A little burnt,” you admit, smoothing your hand over his.

You breathe in deeply, remembering. You hold your breath for a moment before you let it go, and when you do you feel a modicum of the tension eke away from your body. Steven simply nuzzles happily against you, seeming perfectly content with just this.

Today, this is all that matters.

You simply get to be.

No rushing. No expectations.

Only rest.

And that is more than enough.

You feel a little better already. More able to cope with the day, even as your eyes wander to the scene of your prior failure, Marc’s mug still steaming on the counter.

Wait.

Actually…

“Oh. Shit. Tell Marc not to drink his coffee would you, honey?”

“Too late,” Marc’s voice sounds against your neck, startling you just a tad. “I already tried it.”

Yikes.

You swivel on to your back to greet him and he remains on his side, propping his head with his elbow to get a better look at you. You slide your palm up his face by way of greeting - and apology. “Shit, sorry.”

His mouth slants into a lopsided smile. “Flour instead of sugar? Now that’s a mean coffee, babe.”

You snicker, facepalming at your slip-up, and Marc strokes his hand over your hair, studying you with a gentle vigour. Tracing nonsense shapes along your arm with his fingertips.

“Listen,” he says after a while and you tense up, his voice weighed down and a tension settled on his brow. “You’re not useless. I just needed you to hear that from me too, okay?”

You knew he’d been listening. Knew that he’d have something to say on the matter. No way he was going to let that one slide.

You can hear from the weight in his words that Marc never wants you to so much as think anything like that about yourself ever again.

“No?” you ask weakly. “Even taking into account the, um, flour in the coffee situation?” You suck air through your teeth.

Marc bends to press a lingering, soft, slow morning kiss to your mouth, and even after he has pulled back your lips still tingle. “Even then, honey.”

Marc looks down at you then with such sincerity that you could swear that -between him and Steven showering you in love- your heart grows three sizes.

Maybe it’s true - all that the boys have been telling you.

Maybe it’s not your fault that certain things seem to take a harsher toll on you, on occasion.

Maybe it is as real and valid as you’ve always suspected.

For years, you’d wondered if you had been making it up. Wondered if you should simply be able to… manage. But, pushing your discomfort away and extending yourself beyond your personal limits again and again -attempting to just manage- was exactly what had pushed you into this pit, over and over and over.

Besides, each time you found yourself here, it was proving harder and harder to crawl out of it.

Something has to give, you think. And you can’t change the world and you can’t change your wiring. Maybe all you can change -apart from the practical structures and features of your days, deciphering what support you may need - is believing you are enough, just as you are?

After all, Marc and Steven and Jake seem to have no trouble at all believing that.

Your chest tightens with the feeling of being so loved. So understood. So accepted. Your voice splits apart with a raw emotion. You could say a million things, but you only have the energy for three little words. “I love you.”

Marc’s full lips curl up at corners, his deep brown eyes glistening with emotion. “We love you too, Princess.”

Eagerly, he sinks his mouth to yours for another slow kiss.

You focus on just being.

Being here with him.

With them.

This is not just enough.

This?

This is everything.

It will all be okay.

#Marc Spector x reader #Steven Grant x reader #moon knight x reader #Steven Grant #Marc Spector #imposter syndrome: activating *****

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