#I am in fact a wanted man by peta | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wwilloww · 4 years ago

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the bodyguard | ksj

pairing: bodyguard!jin x reader

genre: smut, fluff

rating: explicit

wc: 5k

summary: As your bodyguard, keeping you safe from the world comes with rules for Kim Seokjin. But you’re used to getting what you want, and you want him.

warnings: nudity. pining. makeout. YN always gets what they want. no pronouns used to address reader. public sex. exhibitionism. unprotected sex (pls be smarter than these fictional characters). creampie. fingering. oral sex. multiple orgasms. fluff. oh my god so much fluff.

AN: The first part of this fic was written entirely wined up with the INTENTION OF IT BEING A DRABBLE. The second part of this fic was written with the intention of showing all the love to Jin, but then came the idea of smut and bam here we are. 1 million thank yous to @jin-fizz, who beta’d this at the very last moment and helped me rearrange some things. SMOOCHES to you, you lovely!

The Bodyguard

“Help! Someone, please, Help!”

The cry rings through the rooms, splitting through walls, through the heavy wooden doors of the almost-empty city manor.

Jin’s footsteps echo from what sound like too far away, climbing the stairs, sprinting down the creaking wooden boards. He bursts through the door to find you, crouched and hunched over your leg on the floor.

“What! What’s wrong?” he almost yells.

His gaze flicks around the room, taking in every detail possible. The unmade bed, the open perfume bottle on your vanity, the doors open to the balcony, curtains fluttering in the late-night breeze.

“My leg!”

In a split second the man your father has hired to be your bodyguard is on his hands and knees next to you, large hands reaching for your palm, gripping it tight.

She had shown you exactly how to do it. Mixing the expression of pain and beauty so expertly on your face. Your mother, despite all the awards and golden trophies she had won for her Hollywood success, had always been the best kind of actress at home.

His eyes light with the slightest amount of relief as he scans your face.

Alright. She’s alright.

“Where?”

Before you can even say anything, he’s gripping your ankles, pulling you to him, looking for any sign of injury.

“Higher.” You lace the pain so particularly into your voice.

His deft fingers kneed into the flesh of your calf, searching for the cause of your cries.

“I don’t see-”

“Higher,” you insist.

His fingers trace so delicately, so carefully, over your knee, pressing into your thigh, higher, higher, until he’s brushing back the silken fabric of your nightgown.

And then, breath drawn so quickly through his nose, fingers digging into you, holding you tight.

“Oops,” you breath. “I must have completely forgotten.”

“To put panties on?”

“Mhmm. Exactly.”

With a quick movement, he’s wrapped both of his hands around your calves and tugs you forward to him.

“You’re a liar,” he drones, your legs nearly wrapped around his waist.

“I am.”

“And a cheat.”

“Of course.” You grin. “You know more than anyone that I don’t like to play these kinds of games by other people’s rules. And I know that you love it.”

He doesn’t respond. Just closes his eyes, takes a long controlled breath. When he exhales it brushes so teasingly across your face.

“I might be a liar, but I know you’re not.” You reach for his cheek, and you think you see his eyelids flutter at the touch. His hands are still wrapped around your leg, the warmth of his palms seeping through into you. “So tell me you haven’t been thinking about this,” you whisper.

He growls softly, his eyes flashing bright and conscious towards you.

“You know I can’t.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me?” You draw on your prettiest of pouts.

“I can’t.”

You just blink back at him, letting your eyelashes brush against the warming rise of your cheeks.

“That’s not a no.”

“Your father would kill me.”

“Father’s not home.”

“He’ll be back by morning. And he’ll take pleasure in killing me if he were to know,” Jin asserts, running a hand through the falling wave of his sky-dark hair.

“You’re avoiding the question. Why do you always avoid my questions?” You push yourself closer to him, coming to wrap your hands around his neck and tug on the fresh pressed angle of his white dress shirt collar. He looks away from you.

“Because you always ask all the wrong questions.”

“I do not. In fact, I’d argue I’m asking all the right ones.” You glance up at him. The look in his eyes is unmistakable. Desire. Mixed with restraint. You know which one he’ll let win out over the other, and within a second he’s proving you right.

“I should go.”

He begins to pull away from you.

“You should stay.” You push yourself forward, wrapping your legs around his torso and slinging your arms around his neck. Impulsively, his hands press against your lower back, supporting you. So when he stands, you’re face to face. He blinks, taking a second to realize your position.

“Stay. Please,” you whisper.

He continues to stare at you, eyes tracing the shadow of your brow, the press of your lips, the mound of your warm cheeks. Your confidence crumbles in his silence.

“At least tell me you want this. Tell me I’m not making it up. Tell me I’m not alone in this.”

Finally, his eyes flick up to yours. It’s there. The answer. But he remains silent, his breath moving through his chest, and then through you. The stillness of the moment — being held by the man you can’t get out of your mind — mixed with the bitter taste of a lingering question. You can’t. You can’t hold it all, not in one body: the tenderness of his being and the acrid promise of his rejection.

And so you release your arms from around his neck. Unhook your legs. When your body drops softly to the floor he lets you go.

“It’s okay,” you say. “If you want to go, you can go.”

Without looking at him, you pad silently to the cracked open french doors. With a light push, they swing open before you and the crisp of the night air ruffles through your hair and the thin fabric of the night gown you’re wearing.

Silly. Silly. Silly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the breeze swirl around you and prickle with ice against your skin. If only you might lose yourself in it. If you could lift yourself up off the stone balcony to fly through the city streets, feeling nothing but the brush of strangers against you.

Had you mistaken it all? The lingering gazes. The tightened grip on your waist when your father introduced you to potential suitors — all of whom you’d quickly turned away in front of Jin, by the way. Did you misread the way that his gaze had begun to latch onto you to trace not just your safety, but your sense of being in a way that surpassed his usual loyalty? And most important to you, the way he’d begun smiling around you for the first time. Letting cracks show in his usually pristine professional behavior.

You wait for the sound of the doors to your bedroom slamming shut and Jin leaving, but you must be so lost in yourself that the sound never comes. It’s just the wind, howling. The beating of your heart in your chest. The bite of something that tastes like regret nibbling at your throat.

“How could you think I didn’t want you?” It’s so soft you can barely hear it. But you do.

Spin back towards the room.

Jin stands between the doors, his broad frame flickering gold in the soft light behind him. His face is shadowed in blue as he faces out into the night, out towards you, but his eyes shine with a warm light.

“How dare you?” he says softly with a smile playing against his lips. He steps towards you. Before the smile can fully take position on your lips, he’s so close to you you can feel the warmth of his large body radiating out towards you. “How dare you think I don’t want you.” A long pause. And then, as softly as if the words might break him: “You’re all I can think about.” Tentatively, he reaches out towards you.

And then he stops, just as his hand is about to touch your burning cheek.

You do the rest, stepping back into your usual tradition of goading him on. With a soft movement, you reach for him, interlacing your fingers with his and letting his touch fall across your face. You sigh into it. His thumb strokes slowly over your cheek bone.

“How dare I?” you say. “How dare you make me wait this long.”

He just smiles back, his dark eyes reflecting the streetlights back to you.

“Will you let me kiss you, now? Finally?”

“Finally, yes,” he says.

You reach up, pressing your fingers to the back of his neck where his hair has grown long in the past months, tangling your fingers into them before his lips have even reached yours.

None of your other first kisses have been like this. Sure, you’ve kissed other people. Other men. But you’ve never kissed Kim Seokjin before.

Your lips meet like wings brushing against each other: soft and fluttering, finding a path through the air with ten thousand questions etched into each feather. He wraps one of his long arms around your back, spreading his fingers wide and pressing you lightly into his chest, all the while his opposite hand brushes so lightly and tenderly against your cheek, guiding you ever closer, ever deeper into his affections.

“You,” he whispers against your lips, “are an absolute gift.”

“I don’t know how you did it,” you whisper back.

“What?”

“Resisted me for so long.” He snorts against you and you can’t help but giggle. “I swear to god I’ve been trying for so long to let you know how I’ve felt,” you explain, leaning your forehead against his.

“I’m a dumbass, baby.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Please,” you look up at him. “Kiss me again.”

For a split second he hesitates.

“What?” you ask. The silence that opens between you two opens up something else inside of you.

“If…” He wets his lips. “If I kiss you again, I won’t want to let go.”

“Then don’t.”

The smile that spreads across his pretty face is wide and splitting, but it is only a half second before he is recapturing you in his hold, pushing you back against the stone railing of the balcony as his lips meet yours a second time.

Whereas his first kiss was like a ring of petals opening slowly to the dawning sun, this kiss is midday heat. It is searing, pressing through you like a flash, lighting every nerve within you on fire. It is red and pink and all the warm colors on the spectrum of life. It burns you tender with its quickness, but all you want is more.

As if he is feeling exactly as you, his kiss quickens. He bites your lower lip and greedily swallows the moan that slips out of your mouth. When you tangle your fingers in his long hair, he hisses back at you and you can feel the curl of his smile against you.

“You like that,” you note quietly when he moves to nip at the cut of your jaw.

“I like you.”

With a graceful move, Jin twirls you around, slamming your back against the open door, effectively slamming it shut and leaving you in privacy on the balcony. Your breath rushes out of your lungs in a gasp.

“Jin?”

“Darling?”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get as close to you as possible.”

“Then, goddamnit, get closer.”

He grins, takes your begging, and runs with it.

With the kind of grace and speed you were so used to seeing abound in him while he was working, he dives for your neck, intertwining the pillowed press of his lips with sharp nibbles against the sensitive skin.

“Closer.”

He chuckles and does as you bid. With his awkward strength, he lifts you, balancing your weight on his hips as you wrap your hands around his neck for balance. An unfortunate time to remember your current situation: entirely unclothed except the thin slip you donned just at Jin was sprinting up the stairs.

He adjusts you and your bare cunt brushes against the silky smooth fabric of his dress pants. But that’s not what makes you gasp. It’s the bulge that nestles hard and hot against you as he dives back in for your neck.

One hand tangled in his thick locks, you can’t help but grind your hips down on him. The sound that spills from his lips is needy, desperate, and it reverberates straight through you.

“I want you,” you whine as his hand graces up your torso. He pulls back. Cocks his head to the side ever so slightly.

“You want me?”

“As if having me half naked and wrapped around you isn’t enough to convince you of that?”

“Isn’t that a little… fast?”

“Is waiting four years a little too fast for you?”

“Good point.”

And he’s diving back in, nipping at the already blossoming marks on your neck. Throw your head back, relishing in his every touch and the even more divine gift: his entire attention focused on you.

“Please, Jin, I don’t want to wait anymore. I mean it.”

“What do you wan—”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh.”

“Here.”

“Here?”

“Mhmm.”

“On the balcony? Where everyone can see?”

You kiss him then, taking his lower lip between your teeth and relishing in the gasp that you pull from him.

“No one will see. And if they do, then they’ll know.”

“Know what?”

“That I’m yours.”

He grins back at you. “Mine?”

“If you want me.”

“Of course I want you. Don’t you know what you do to me?”

“You could tell me about it.”

“I could, but then I’d miss out all on this.”

Gently he lets you down, but his lips never leave yours as his hands come to meet your hips and guide you where he wants. You let one of your hands drift down from where you’ve kept them locked around his neck. Kissing him still, you pluck open the first two buttons of his dress shirt and trace your hands down the burning skin.

If you’re known for anything, you’re known for your impatience. So you don’t linger long on the smooth planes of his chest, and instead glide your hand down his torso until you reach his belt buckle. You make as if to dip underneath his pants, but at the last moment you pull away and cup the impressive bulge he’s already sporting.

“Shit,” he hisses as you trace a manicured nail around the shape of his cock. But all sound chokes in his throat as you grip his erection through the fabric of his pants and begin to stroke him. “Need you. Now.”

“Good.”

You begin to turn, to pull your nightgown up over your bottom, but he’s tugging you back towards him and spinning you around so you’re pressed to his chest.

“I want to see your face.”

It’s hasty work, him pulling himself out of his pants, wrapping his veiny hand around his throbbing cock and notching the head of it against your dripping folds. But you’re no more patient, hopping up so you’re seated precariously on the balcony railing and kissing at his neck steadily and reaching down to part your lips just for him.

He only teases you for a moment, stepping between your legs and dragging the head of his cock against your clit. He wraps one hand around your waist, securing you tightly to him.

“Please,” you breathe against his chest and he pushes into you in one swift thrust. The sensation of him filling you is everything. It clouds your vision. It resets your senses till all you can think of, can feel is this man’s existence, beating so close to yours.

“Fuck—” he hisses as his cock settles inside you, as you adjust around his thick girth.

“You’re so—” you pant against him.

“Is it too much?”

“Big. Just give me a moment.”

He does, reaching to cup the back of your neck and press a kiss to your forehead. It’s almost too intimate, the way he holds you so softly, so tenderly, all while his cock throbs within you. It’s in that moment that the discomfort of the stretch shifts to pleasure. Warmth, spreading from your abdomen outwards. You relax in his hold, hands falling from his neck to the strong muscles of his arms.

“Please,” you murmur. “Need you.”

His hips rut against yours as if he’s never had anything as good as you before.

“Want you to feel good,” he tells you. “Tell me—”

“Just need you—closer.”

You weren’t sure that he could get closer but it’s what your body craves and it’s what he serves. He wraps his arms around you, hands spreading wide and pressing you impossibly close. In the moment, you wish you two were bare as your bodies move against each other as if they’d known the shared rhythm all along.

He fucks you like that, like you’re suspended in air. The warmth of his body keeps you grounded as the height that hangs behind you reels through you, adding a giddy, heady feeling to it all. Or maybe the giddiness comes from the way you relish in the quick pants and desperate grunts that fall from his lips and to your shoulder. Or the way he gasps your name like a monk’s chant into your ear, the sound of it like nothing you’ve ever heard before. You don’t want to hear it any other way either.

When he comes, spilling deep inside you, it’s your name on his lips. When you come, it’s his name splitting through the silent sky.

Jin holds you there, pressed still against his chest for a long moment as you both catch your breath. It’s only when he feels the slight shiver of your body that he pulls back.

“You’re cold?” You nod. “Let’s get you inside.”

He helps you down carefully from the balcony banister before tucking himself away and grabbing your hands in one of his large ones.

“Come, I’ll take care of you.”

You can’t help but let the joy show on your face as he leads you forward.

He reaches behind him, opening the balcony doors. The light curtains wash out into the room with the cold air, brushing around Jin like some kind of ethereal welcome.

Welcome back to my world, you think. But the thought of reality, of the conversations, the negotiations, the reality that will await you in the morning slips out of your mind as Jin twirls you into his arms and suddenly your whole world is warm again. Suddenly your world is Jin again.

He peppers your whole face with kisses as he walks you backwards, loud smooching sounds echoing through the large room coupled with your giggles that turn into full blown laughter.

“Hey hey hey!” you chide, grabbing onto the loose collar that now teases the delicious arch of his collar bones and neck. “You can’t do that!”

“What!” he snaps between kisses. “I can’t kiss you!”

“Not if you’re going to be that ridiculous!”

At that moment you feel the soft edge of the bed hit the back of your knees and you are tumbling backwards, eyes widening with shock. At the last second he’s reaching behind you, catching you and lowering you slowly to the soft mattress. You reach for him, but he kneels at the edge of the bed, just far enough that your grabbing hands only find empty air.

“So then tell me, if I can’t drown you in kisses, can I at least do this?” His hand teases the hem of your slip, tracing circles on your upper thigh. The touch is simple, but it raises goosebumps all over your body. He slaps away your reaching hands.

“Or this?” His fingers dip beneath the fabric, tracing up your thigh to dance around your hip. “What about this?” He pulls the fabric all the way up to your waist. With the quickness of a fox, he’s bending down and licking one long line up the slick folds of your cunt.

“Fuck!”

His tongue swirls around your clit, still bathing in soft sensitivity from your most recent orgasm. He seems to sense this as he blows lightly against your lips, forcing your back to arch into the mattress, your hand reaching out instinctively to tangle in his hair.

“Okay, okay, I get it!”

“What, you act like it’s some kind of punishment.”

“It is, when it means you’re not up here, fucking me.” He blinks, still not quite used to your explicit language. “And anyways,” you pant, “doesn’t this kind of foreplay usually come before the mindblowing sex?”

“And who’s rules are you playing by now?”

You grin, giddy at the cleverness of your own words turned back on you.

“No one’s.” You push up to your elbows, taking in the beautiful man above you. “But if I’m making the rules, then I need you inside me, now.”

“Patience, darling,” Jin smiles, sitting up.

“No,” you say, reaching for him. “I will not be patient. Not for you, anyways.”

“No?”

“No.” You’re moving to unbutton his shirt, and he lets you, but doesn’t do much else to help you along. “Off, off, off,” you grumble, tugging on the collar of his now wrinkled shirt, but he stands there like a limp fish. You sigh, sitting back on your heels. “Please?”

Jin throws his head back and laughs that full-belly laugh. “Will I ever be able to say no to you? To this?”

“No,” you smile. “You won’t. And I won’t have it any other way.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your lips, one that lingers long and sweet. Sweet enough that when he pulls back, you miss the taste of him. But he’s doing as you’ve asked and quickly tugs his shirt over his head and drops his pants to the floor.

You don’t know if you’ve ever seen something as beautiful.

Jin had always had the power to command a room with his large but quiet presence, but seeing him like this, bare and breathing hard for you is something entirely different. There is both something soft and sweet about the tenderness of him, and something sharp about the desire he lets swirl through his body. You want it all.

“Your turn?” he asks softly, reaching for the slip that pools around your hips. “I want to see you.”

You nod and he pulls the light fabric up over your head with an unspoken gentleness.

“Look at you,” he breathes, but his gaze doesn’t linger long on your body. Instead, it’s latched onto your gaze, watching for every thought that will flicker across your expression.

“Come here.” You open your arms wide and he is tumbling into your embrace, pushing you back into the bed. You’re both giggling in the sensation of falling, giggling at each other's laughter, giggling because, really, what else is there to do when you’re finally wrapped up in the person you adore?

And then you take a breath. Let the silence of the room, the old, ticking clock in the hallway, the sweeping sounds off the streets filter through both of you. For a moment both of you become everything around you. For a moment, both of you are only the sensation of looking at another and wondering.

It doesn’t last.

It’s too difficult to resist reaching up for him, pressing your fingers lightly against the arc of his neck and drawing his lips back to where they belong: against yours. You’re not sure how, but each time he kisses you it’s a whole new world. This time, it’s spring. Ice melting against the promise of warmth. He melts against your touch and you wrap your legs around his waist.

He pushes into you without resistance. This time, your body welcomes him with ease, wrapping warmly around his throbbing length. He reaches so far into you.

When he begins to move, it’s too much. The spear of pleasure shoots through your abdomen and you arch your back. He stills immediately.

“Look at me,” Jin says. “I want to see your eyes when you come around my cock.”

You smile. Nip at whatever skin is accessible to you. Press yourself as close to him as you possibly can and chase the pleasure of having him, finally, in your bed.

When you grind your hips against his, he grunts and thrusts deeper.

When he lowers his weight down on you, he does it at an angle, one hand near your chest, the other one coming down on your hips. His fingers wrap around your waist and he begins to move you in time to his thrusts. It’s with even more power that he enters you now, but his pace has slowed just enough that your own orgasm dangles in front of you like he’s teasing you with sweetness.

He’s always teasing you, isn’t he.

Pleasure ripples across his face, marking his brow, dancing across his lips like a fleeting ghost. You want to memorize the way his delight radiates out into the world, want to return to it everyday like a favorite book.

He holds you like he has so many times before, but this time there’s a new edge to his gaze. Trust. He knows you’re his. Knows that the blossoming purple on your neck and the breath coming quickly from your lungs are marks of him. That even if the red blessing of dawn tears him from your bed and your arms that this moment is marked, is held, by him.

For now that will be enough.

He has you wrapped up in his arms, your gaze fluttering between pleasure and weariness.

“You’re a gift.”

You don’t know what it is about that phrasing. If it’s the way the words take shape on his pink lips, if it’s the deep sound of his voice flooding through you. If it’s the devotion swimming in his eyes. Either way, your cheeks flood with warmth and you cut back: “You said that already.”

“And I meant it both times.”

He notices your flickering gaze and the heat painting your cheeks and reaches for you, stroking his thumb against the burning flesh.

“You’re so warm.”

“I’m embarrassed,” you say softly.

“What?” He leans in. “The crown jewel of the city embarrassed? By a measly little affection?”

“You’d be surprised at the list of things you do that can bring a blush to my cheeks,” you cut back too quickly — only to realize it’s not as much of a cut as you thought it was.

“Oh?” He rolls closer. So his chest is once more pressed to yours. He lets his hand drift up to tug on a loose strand of hair that falls into your face. “Tell me more.”

“Really?”

“Give me the juicy details.”

“No!”

“Give them to me,” he grins. “I want to know exactly why the hell you’ve fallen for me, me of all people.”

“Fine — that, uh—” Suddenly you are overwhelmed with all of the moments and instances that this dear man inspired you with. Where to begin? “I can’t get you out of my head.”

“I know. You’ve made that quite clear.” He punctuates his meaning by flicking his gaze towards the discarded nightgown at the foot of the bed. “But why?”

Moment after moment flies through your brain and before you can think of censoring yourself, you’re grabbing on to the first one that sparks your attention. “That thing you do when you throw me over your shoulder and run. It’s a little excessive but I promise you it gives me plenty of time to admire your broad shoulders.”

That crinkling scrutiny in his eye glimmers again.

“It’s just my body. Hm.”

“No! No…” You correct him, bringing your hands up to his cheeks and tugging his face closer to you to make sure he is listening.

“Your kindness.”

“Sure. My job is to beat people up for you and you fell for my kindness?” You see the flash of shyness in his expression and suddenly you’re devoted to making him understand. He doesn’t see it.

“Really.”

“Really?”

“Really. You know… when you aren’t out there performing you’re actually quite riddled with kindness and… intricacies.”

He laughs. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Like… that one time you woke me up at 3am because it was our only night at the beach and you weren’t going to pass up the chance to go fishing — and refused to leave me alone just to do something you loved — and how you sat there with your little frown and waited for hours only to realize that we were in the completely wrong spot to be fishing in the first place. You love it. And you’re horrible at it. And in this stupid world where everything either has to be for perfection or for money — that’s so fucking refreshing.”

His laughter echoes through the room, bouncing off of the cold stone and landing warmly in your chest. “That-that’s it? My horrible fishing skills. What about the time-”

“At the gallery?”

“Where I literally-”

“Took a bullet-”

“To my shoulder!”

“Your prized possessions,” you wink.

“Yes, the time I saved your life. That’s not it?”

“Sure, sure,” you flap your hand. “I can find a man to take a bullet for me on any street corner, any day of the week.”

“Sure, sure!” Jin scoffs back at you, but he’s smiling. Watching the way his plump lips stretch towards his cheeks, you realize you could list the reasons you can’t let him go until the sun bridges her gaze over the horizon of city buildings — and still not be finished. And yet, you continue.

“Here’s one: The way you listen. You take things in and notice — but, no, it’s not just noticing. You process them and turn them quietly into something deep and beautiful and meaningful and it never fails to surprise me. And! And the way that sometimes when you laugh it sounds like something horribly squeaky and delightful.”

His jaw drops.

“Something squeaky!”

“Like windshield wipers… Sometimes! Only sometimes! And it’s delightful!”

His brow narrows.

“I’m going to kiss you now to shut you up before you say something even worse than that.” Your eyes widen. “If you’ll have me.”

“Yes-yes, god, I’ll have you.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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poptod · 4 years ago

Text

Cambridge Ghouls: Tree Lights

Description: Christmas is a little confusing what with being a 4,000 year old mummy without translations, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy it. Especially when it comes to you.

Notes: i officially LOVE this series cause i get to write about wacky misadventures for as long as i want and ALSO i get to practice my ancient egyptian! WC: 2.1k

part one

"Oven."

"Off-en.. I... what?"

"I told you not to teach him the words of things he doesn't know about," Amy deadpanned from her chair, turning the page of her book whilst quirking a brow in Ben's direction.

"How does he not know what an oven is?" Ben said, letting his picture cards fall in favor of crossing his arms.

"We told you this already, he's not from around here."

"What, so they just don't have ovens in Bolivia?"

"Jesus," Amy muttered under her breath, sucking in a sharp breath.

As usual, it was the middle of the night, and Ahk was curled up in a blanket beside the library fireplace. Tendrils of warmth licked up his bare legs and onto his face, soothing the ache of cold tension. Ahk, though listening intently to the conversation between Ben and Amy, understood little of it.

Ever since the start of the second semester, it had rained every day. Outside, the grassy fields were soaked in mud, lined by wet concrete and running students. All in all, not the best environment for a man of Ahk's tastes; someone who grew up in a half-desert. Fortunately his time was well taken up – with the start of the new semester, Phillip ended up signing onto a course about ancient Egypt, spending a good amount of time over break to delve into the language of hieroglyphs. Since he got back he'd been trying to communicate with Ahk, and to both their surprise, several of the attempts were successful. A new hope sparked for communication between the two worlds, a hope that Ben apparently adored to the point of buying children's flashcards.

Although Ahk would always be happy to spend his time learning, he worried for you. Just a little. After all, he always did in some way. You could be surprisingly fragile both physically and mentally. There was a time Ahk went out with Amy and Phillip to run a couple errands, only to return to you curled up in the corner and shaking, Rose sat dead still in her chair, and Ben nowhere to be seen. He hadn't been gone that long, but through your incoherent mumbles he uncovered you were scared. Scared he wasn't coming back. You had thrown your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug he happily returned.

That was just you, though – a little clueless, incredibly sweet, and a tad helpless on your own. With Ahk caught up in his new lessons, you were left alone, something that always unsettled Ahk. There was no telling if you would be alright without him near.

From his seat at the fire, he could spy you through the stacks of books, curled up in the corner and playing with your own skin. You pinched it, rolling it between your fingers till it began to tear. He winced and looked away. Every now and then you did something of that ilk, something very zombie-like of you, and each time he had to look away. He never tried to stop you, though; he reasoned that you were in fact a zombie, and it was only natural you would do zombie-like things at least every now and then.

"Star," Ben said, pulling another card out of his deck, displaying the drawing of the night sky. He pointed to one of the bright dots, helpfully clarifying that it was about the light and not the sky itself.

"Star," Ahk returned, earning a bright grin from Ben. "Siba."

"No, star," Ben said again, pointing more aggressively at the card.

"I think he's trying to teach you the word for it in Egyptian," Amy said, not even bothering to look at either of them.

"If you have so many opinions on this, why don't you do it?" Ben snapped back. Amy's mouth fell open, offense heavy on her furrowed brow.

With a deep sigh, Ahk stood and left his place at the fire, blocking out the loud argument he only half understood, if that. Amy always took Ben a little too seriously, something Ahk knew to avoid the second he started understanding just how Ben's mind worked.

Sneaking quietly through the rows of books, he made his way to you, careful to not disturb any towers with his long cape. As usual you sat on the floor with your back pressed up against the corner, relaxed as you fidgeted absently with your fingers. Only when he approached you did you notice him, a soft, almost slack-jawed smile coming to you as he sat down.

"How are you feeling this evening?" Ahk asked you in his native tongue, fully aware you wouldn't understand or reply. Still, there was a sort of reaction evident on your frame, a movement that had him believing you understood at least the gist of his words.

You reached over, the slightest bit of color in your cheeks as you set your hand atop his, running your palm over the back of his hand. He furrowed his brow, but the confusion faded away when you began to pet him. You were reassuring him. For some reason.

"I really... I am sorry that you cannot join me, on this... venture. I do wish we could find a way to understand you, too. There must be something in your head," he said softly, eyes flickering between your hand on his and your downcast gaze.

A familiar silence came to the both of you when Ahk could no longer lament your lack of communication without repeating himself. As usual, you tried to speak with your actions, setting your legs criss-cross beneath you as you motioned him nearer. He shifted, unsure of your end goal until you gently grabbed his head and forced it onto your lap. His cheeks turned a pretty red as you did so. Yet he was always ready to please you; instead of pushing you away he made himself comfortable on the carpeted floor, breathing slow as you began to pet his hair.

You began to hum a song, incoherent and out of tune, in the soft, humming voice you were left with in death. Although it certainly didn't comprise of an actual melody, it was still nice to hear. Every now and then you'd hit a sweet note where the tune evened out, where your voice was best suited, and at each instance he fell deeper into your petting. Soon the arguing of Ben and Amy disappeared into the background, followed by the crackling of fire and the storming of raindrops outside. All that remained was you.

Ahk enjoyed his blissful ignorance for several more minutes until your strokes were abruptly interrupted by the sound of an opening door. Heavy boots fell on the wooden floors, alerting all five of you to a large pine tree being shoved through the doorway. His eyes widened as a particularly wide branch was shoved through.

Amy stood from her chair, passing by you and Ahk as she jogged over to the door.

"Ahk," she said, "an'na."

Come to me.

Reluctantly he stood, brushing the wrinkles out of his cape and skirt before he went to assist Amy, whose hands barely got a grip on the stump due to her being mostly incorporeal. Ben came by a second later, standing beside Ahk as the three of them all pulled on the stump in a single movement. With one good heave, the tree fell into the library, sending Ahk falling back onto his spine. He hissed instinctively, his hand going to rub at his back. The rain-heavy tree, once stuck in the doorway, now rested almost entirely on him.

Now that he could enter, Phillip tip-toed around the top of the tree to reach Ahk, easily lifting the weight off him with his super strength. Ahk didn't know what exactly Phillip was, but he had said he was a vampire – something Ahk knew nothing about. Maybe that was why he was so strong. Either way, it didn't erase the fact that Ahk was incredibly wet and bruised now.

Over the proceeding ten minutes the four shakily moved the tree to sit beside the fireplace, as all other spaces were already taken up by books and desks. Amy helped to stabilize it while Ben rushed away, in search of something Phillip told him to grab, which Ahk unfortunately couldn't translate in his head. Several questions blurred through his head – mainly questions as to why the hell they would want an indoor tree that would most certainly rot – but he found no chance to ask until Ben returned with a box of shiny, new ornaments.

He pulled Phillip aside, watching Amy and Ben hang the ornaments on the branches out of the corner of his eye.

"Why?" Ahk asked, one of the english words he made sure to remember.

"Uh..." Phillip paused for a moment, attempting to remember his classes, "Un.. neteru, ni peta."

For.. the god, in heaven.

"Ah," Ahk said wistfully, nodding in understanding.

Phillip smiled brightly at the successful communication before motioning him over, handing him a bright red ornament and a tiny metal hook. He glanced at his friends, each of them entranced with this strange worship, before he hung up his first ornament. Hopefully this wouldn't induct him into their religion.

"No," Amy said, pausing Ahk's movements, "make it – or, uh.. ieri nefer."

Make it pretty.

Ah. So this was an aesthetic thing.

With ornament in hand, he looked all around the tree, wondering where it would best fit in relation to both the branches and the other ornaments. Most of the little things hung on the tree were dolls of sorts – ceramic statuettes of animals and instruments, even humans.

A hand on his back startled his posture upright, eyes widening in surprise as he inhaled sharply. Another joined it, and warm fingers spread out to encircle his waist, followed by a cheek against his shoulder.

"Oh, Crayon," he breathed out, returning to his native language, "you startled me."

"Mmm," you mumbled, squeezing him tighter against you as your perpetually-tired eyes fluttered shut.

"Do you want to help out?" He asked softly, attempting to turn round to face you. Your grip proved his task difficult, but with a quick stop to hang the ornament, he was soon met with your head on his chest. A blooming feeling in his stomach spread warmth into his face. Of course it'd be you to bring a blushing warmth to his cheeks – not freezing rain nor well-lit fireplace. Just you.

Amy, currently floating near the top of the tree, held one of the many ornament boxes in her hand. Ahk only noted this once she began to drift down, holding out the box for Ahk to take another ornament. This time he took two – a bearded man in a red suit and a brightly colored icicle – and handed one to you. A small sigh left you, a clear indicator of your reluctance to separate from Ahk, but with his encouragement you did just so.

Together, the six of you (minus Rose, who was napping in her chair) set up all the ornaments on the tree, stringing up garland and fairy lights round the branches to let them glitter in the firelight. With Ben's attentive care, the fire was still roaring away in its' brick house, interrupted only by the worsening storm outside the windows.

As Ahk took your hand, Amy set out the record player and began the first of many songs he would most likely never understand. He could still enjoy them, though – there was a certain charm to them, a happiness clear in the garbled words and bright tune. Whether or not you understood them was a mystery, but you most definitely recognized them. Two seconds into the third song you began to hum the melody; a little out of tune as always, but still clearly the soft song on the record player.

Once again the world began to fade out a little, being replaced with your clouded eyes and sleepy hum. You sat in front of the fire now, leaned against the edge of a bookcase with a pillow behind you, and Ahk at your side. He scooted close to you – impossibly close – till your sides were pressed tight together and he could rest his head on your shoulder. A smile tugged at your lips as the quietest of giggles left you.

Ahk stared at the decorated tree, enjoying the strangely intimate happiness in his heart placed there by you and, undeniably, your group of friends. It was an odd celebration, but he'd be willing to be that if he started any of his own festivals, they'd be just as confused.

He tapped at Phillip's leg, drawing his attention away from his conversation with Amy.

"Ren?" Ahk asked, pointing to the tree again.

Name?

"Christmas," Phillip answered with a smile before promptly returning to Amy.

He turned up to you, shifting ever closer to your willing touch. There he nuzzled into you, his nose pressed up against your jaw as you smiled, staring at your intertwined hands.

"Happy Chriss-mas, Cray," he mumbled, his eyes drifting slowly shut.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

Text

bloodhorse

this was supposed to be a short fic,, i was wrong

the Jockey’s name is Sorrel!

also im sorry if i got the Netherworld wrong. i don’t quite know how it works but i am Trying.

using the concept where the Dead can feel the pain of how they died!

Word count: 6071

TW: Blood, death, implied child abuse

----------------------

Sorrel was eight when she first watched The Lion King, maybe nine. She couldn’t quite remember. But what she could remember was the horror of Mufasa’s death. Her jaw had dropped as the big, fluffy kitty was stepped on by all the weird-looking deer, and she screamed in reaction, floundering over to her smartly-dressed parents in tears to blubber about what she had just witnessed. They had, as they always had with anything she did, looked bothered by her presence around them, and her father tiredly explained what was going on to her, but even then she still couldn’t really understand. She just knew that it was scary and sad.

But watching someone get trampled and actually being trampled were two entirely different things.

Despite her best efforts to forget, Sorrel remembered That Day clearly. She was sitting in the jockey room, in a far corner, away from all of the other jockeys. She had already dressed out and was patiently waiting for her race of the day. She was clad in black riding boots, white pants, and a checkered ruby red and white jacket that she knew was going to be covered in dust and dirt by the end of the race. Her safety helmet, goggles, and crop were beside her on the bench she was sitting on. She already had her long brown hair done in a braid and then a tight bun so she could tuck it safely out of eyesight when the time came to race.

At first glances, she almost looked like she knew what she was doing.

Okay, that was an exaggeration. She did know what she was doing, she had been training, but the anxiety of racing was getting to her, as it always did. For example, she had woken up that morning mid-panic attack before her eyes even fully opened.

And she knew for a fact that jockeys that knew what they were doing wouldn’t have that happen to them.

It didn’t help that everyone else in the room was a man, meaning she was not only the youngest, but also the only girl. Now she really had to prove herself worthy of being equal to her male counterparts.

Hoping to distract herself from her festering anxiety, Sorrel had looked up to watch the big TV up on the far wall, where the hosts of the racing channel talked about the odds and favorites of the next race today. All That Jazz was the favorite going into the race, with another horse by the name of Knock Your Socks Off right after.

Names Sorrel didn’t recognize at all continued to pop up on the screen, until, finally…

All That Jazz

Knock Your Socks Off

Fly Me To The Moon

Too Close For Comfort

Killer Whale

When Lightning Strikes

Donut Tell Daddy

Rookie’s Gambling Chance

Dime-a-Dozen

Blazing Berry

“Would you look at that,” A biting voice cackled from the side. “Little girl actually made it in the top five.”

Sorrel whipped her head around to glare at the owner of the voice- a young man about nineteen with enough gel in his hair to start a fire. Sorrel did her best to just ignore him, busying herself with her boots instead, making sure they were fastened properly.

Harassment in the jockey room wasn’t uncommon for Sorrel- in fact, it was weird if she didn’t get picked on at least once. Her young age didn’t deter the men, either. If anything, it made them even more manic in their persecution of her. More…handsy.

Sorrel swallowed thickly and tried not to think about the Other Times. When nobody could see the handprints because of the dirt slathered up and down her sides. When she was accused of trying to slander her opponents because she “couldn’t handle losing.”

“Are you ignoring me?” The young man said. He sidled more into view, and Sorrel could see that his uniform was yellow and white. She turned her head away more, saying nothing.

She was sure the man was about to spew out even more misogyny when someone came into the room to tell the jockeys it was time for them to saddle up. The man, quick to straighten himself up, headed out for the place where all the horses were being held at the end of the walk. Sorrel glared at the back of his helmeted head, considering using her whip on him, finally standing up for herself, but couldn’t find the courage to do so.

Maybe if she had, she would have been disqualified, and then none of this would have happened in the first place.

They all heard loud voices of the fans as they made their way to the paddocks. As the horses and trainers lined up came into view, each jockey moved towards their respective mount. There, amid the rising dust, Sorrel saw her stallion shifting anxiously on his haunches, looking all around as the sounds grew louder and louder. Her trainer was doing his best to calm the colt.

Her horse was well named. After SeaWorld’s most famous orca, Tilikum, aka Killer Whale while on the track, was a massive beast with sleek roan fur and an ebony black head, legs, mane, and tail, as if he had crawled out of the very shadows themselves. His eyes were pitch dark and wild, and he never seemed to stop moving. He was an aloof, ill-tempered, cranky young colt, and nobody ever seemed to have any idea how his caretaker became the most shy, anxious, and socially awkward girl to possibly ever exist.

That girl was Sorrel.

She and Tilikum just had a connection! She had raised him herself, despite how agitated he always was, and never gave up on him no matter how many times he bit her, bucked her, scratched her, or knocked her down. He was her best friend! Not that the bar was very high, she didn’t have very many friends to begin with, but still! They were a dynamic duo!

“Come on, Sorrel,” Her trainer said impatiently. “Up you go. You have a race to win. We gotta pull in cash somehow.”

Sorrel nodded, put on her helmet and goggles, then grabbed the saddle and clambered onto Tilikum’s muscular back, which took a few tries because of how big he was and how much muscle she lacked. Surprised, the horse stumbled a little, pawing at the dirt with a front hoof. Then, he settled. Somewhat. He didn’t seem happy.

Tilikum hesitated. He shuffled back and forth. Under Sorrel’s thighs, his muscles tensed, and, for a moment, Sorrel feared he was going to throw her off (he had done that before. before a race like this. she had yet to get over that one). Then, he craned his head around, looking for something. Sorrel laughed softly and gave it to him- a sugar cube.

A watching jockey wrinkled his nose a little at this. Another bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“He shouldn’t be so fidgety when you get onto him,” Said the first jockey. He was sitting maturely on the back of his dark bay thoroughbred, probably thinking he knew everything about racing. “And you shouldn’t have to tempt him into listening to you with treats… Is he not trained?”

“He is trained!” Sorrel snapped, causing Tilikum to stir in agitation at the tone of her voice. She quieted herself, hunching her shoulders in, and muttered an apology to her mount. “Tilikum’s just…he has a temper. That’s all.”

The jockey quirked an eyebrow at that, but didn’t say anything else. Sorrel looked away.

“Remember,” Her trainer spoke back up. “Let him make his own pace coming out of the gate. Don’t push him until the very end. And don’t listen to those PETA pussies. It’s okay to use your whip. It’s there for a reason. If he isn’t listening to you, give him a good lashing.”

Sorrel didn’t like the sound of that at all. As someone who had been subjected to the other end of a switch (she lived in the country, after all, it was bound to happen eventually), she knew how badly it could hurt and she didn’t want Tilikum to have to feel that. But still, she nodded, not wanting to anger her trainer. He already always looked frustrated with her as is.

“Good luck,” The trainer called after her as the horses were led out onto the track by escorts. “Don’t disappoint us this time.”

Passing that threshold, Sorrel realized she and her horse were no longer Sorrel and Tilikum.

They were Sorrel and Killer Whale.

Cheers erupted from the stands as the ten horses in the race were walked out onto the field. Sorrel had told herself to keep her eyes forward, to stay focused, but she found herself looking all around the track stadium to try and find the only people she wanted to see. It was hard to discern the mass of people, but she hoped they were here this time.

The escorts led the horses up to the starting gate as the announcer spoke loudly to the crowd, introducing the racers. One by one, each horse was walked into the stalls in order. Tilikum-- no, Killer Whale had no problem getting into his designated spot, number six, but once the door shut behind him loudly with a clank and squeal, that was when he began to act up.

Killer Whale began nervously neighing and backing up against the gate. Tilikum was starting to slip out of his race facade, which really wasn’t something Sorrel wanted to happen. Not during a race. Not again.

“Shh, shh,” Sorrel whispered, leaning down to speak into her horse’s ear. “It’s okay. It’s--” She cut herself off with a yelp as the chestnut stallion to her left rammed against the metal grating separating the two of them, startling Killer Whale further.

The clamor was starting to get to Sorrel, too. The stall was so small and it was so noisy from all the rattling iron and horse cries. She felt like she was suffocating and, without realizing it, she found herself becoming shortened of breath. All the dust was choking her. The smell of metal and horses burned in her nostrils.

Don’t freak out, don’t freak out…

“Holy shit, kid, are you alright?” The man to her left, the one with the chestnut stallion who hit into her grate (he apologized, at least) asked.

“She’s fine,” Said the young man to Sorrel’s right- the same young man who had harassed her in the jockey room. “Let her work herself up. Maybe then she’ll realize this isn’t for her.” He laughed cruelly.

His taunting words registered in Sorrel’s ringing ears and she grit her teeth, stamping down her panic attack. It just kept bubbling to the surface, so she finally gave up on calming herself and rather turned to her horse.

“Come on, boy,” She whispered, almost hissed through her clenched teeth as her anger mounted. “Calm down. It’s okay. I’m with you.”

Just when she thought she had Killer Whale settled, an ear piercing ringing sounded from above and the gates flew open.

The horses jetted from their stalls, and Killer Whale took off.

The sound of the hoofbeats was hypnotizing. And it only got more and more hypnotic the closer and closer Sorrel and Killer Whale inched towards the competition.

Sorrel leaned forward, keeping her balance with ease, her legs an iron band around Killer Whale’s girth. She could feel the powerful muscles bunching and releasing, the heat and sweat leaching through her pants, searing her skin.

The herd of professionals was galloping, yet Killer Whale ran just as fast. He twisted to the right, to the left, his body never straight. Sorrel felt like she was riding a wild, plunging river, a torrent that tossed her, battered her, until she hardly knew where she was.

It was incredible.

The first horse they passed was a deep red color, then a chocolate brown one, then one the shade of bloody mud.

“Easy, Tilly, easy,” Sorrel said to her horse. “You’re doing great, buddy. Steady on.”

Killer Whale snorted and urged himself forward without his rider’s command. Almost sensing his need to speed up, Sorrel obliged and finally lifted herself fully off of the saddle, leaning forward and adjusting her weight so it would be at the front. Practically standing up on this sprinting beast’s back made a strong sense of vertigo wash over her, and she thought she might fall off, but Killer Whale’s increasing speed brushed away her worries.

Sorrel’s grip may have been tight on the reins, but Killer Whale was controlling himself. He weaved through two horses almost perfectly, despite them never training with moving obstacles, only the occasional stock-still ones. He knew to angle to the right to avoid getting his legs tangled up in an opponent’s and banked a hard left at the next turn that was so sharp it cut off the rider in front of him.

They both crossed the finish line for the third time, starting the final lap. Sorrel was still shouting in glee when, suddenly, something slammed into Killer Whale’s side on the last leg of the race, ramming him right against the wall where one side of the stands were situated above. Sorrel yelped as her shoulder and side were grated painfully against the metal as her horse was pushed further against the structure. She turned to see the man from the jockey room glaring at her from his raging red horse, Knock Your Socks Off.

“You’ll learn one way or another, little girl!” The man spat, “This isn’t for you!”

Sorrel grunted and she heard Killer Whale screech a furious neigh. He whipped his head to the side, baring his teeth and rotating his ears back. His anger was a cold, deep, dark thing that Sorrel knew about well. He once kicked down a barn door just because he was pet in an area he didn’t want to be pet in. That being said, Sorrel has taken a lot of time to learn his mannerisms and techniques to calm the beast.

Now was not one of the times to use those.

“You don’t belong here!” The man hissed.

Sorrel grit her teeth, feeling the scrapes already tearing open on her shoulder thanks to the wall. Even over the sound of hoofbeats and horses, she could still hear her trainer’s words ringing in her ears.

“It’s okay to use your whip. It’s there for a reason.”

Sorry, buddy, Sorrel thought before yanking on the reins to get away from the man and unholstering her crop. The sound of it cracking against Killer Whale’s side echoed in her head.

That was her biggest mistake.

Killer Whale screeched. He sped up with a burst of speed, then began to have a fit.

Sorrel helplessly cried for her steed to calm down, but her yelling only seemed to spur his frenzy further. He whipped his head back and forth, turned in every direction, reared and bucked until, finally, Sorrel came loose from his back and was flung to the dirt.

Sorrel lay dazed on the ground for several long seconds. She was winded, confused, and very disorientated. She struggled to breathe as several other cries of horses sounded around her. They must have gotten spooked by Killer Whale’s tantrum.

And then, a hoof came crashing down onto her stomach.

Now, Sorrel had felt pain before, that in itself wasn’t anything new. Once, when she was ten, she had gotten stung by a hornet while at a birthday party for her younger cousin. At the time, she thought that was the worst pain anyone could ever go through. But now, five years later, with 1100 pounds of pure muscle pressing into her abdominal cavity, she would have much preferred the hornet.

Sorrel couldn’t scream. She couldn’t even wheeze as the horse that had stepped on her charged onwards, the edge of its hoof catching on her uniform and flesh and taking some of it with it. Another hoof came down on her, then another, then another, then another, until it felt like she was caught in a hurricane that had raindrops made of thick keratin. She tried to curl in on herself, tried to protect her organs, but they hooves kept coming and she couldn’t move and she was so fucking scared.

Through the dust and black spots that began to appear all along her vision, she saw Killer Whale, and his eyes were stark white and full of rage.

Pure rage.

She could see it now. That wasn’t Killer Whale looking back at her. It wasn’t even Tilikum. It was a horse she forced into racing because she wanted them to be a duo. And he hated her with every inch of his being.

I’m sorry, dear friend.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the horses are up for the fifth race here at Hartford Stadium. Once again, Maxwell Gingham and the incredible All That Jazz bring up the front in a crowd favorite.

And they’re off!

With the gate up, Blazing Berry and Knock Your Socks Off tie for the front, but All That Jazz is not far behind. Donut Tell Daddy right there. Too Close For Comfort a length off the pace. Killer Whale is in front of When Lightning Strikes, but All That Jazz trails the leader by only three lengths. Blazing Berry leads by a head. Dime-a-Dozen hangs tight with jockey Richard Bride aboard. Rookie’s Gambling Chance is challenging the rest of the pack.

Into the next turn, Blazing Berry still controlling the pace, with All That Jazz close behind. Knock Your Socks Off content with third place at this point. Fly Me To The Moon falling off a bit. Donut Tell Daddy and Too Close For Comfort are in good position in the second group. Killer Whale mounting a challenge, but it could be too much. He’s making a bold move on the outside and looking for a way in around the bend-- Look out! Killer Whale’s rider goes down! Jockeys do their best to avoid a pile-up! All the horses go through, but the rider… Oh dear-- oh god! Stop the cameras! Stop! Someone get help down there! I don’t think she’s--”

Sorrel had not been looking forward to dying. Not one bit. There were still so many things she wanted to do. She was supposed to become the world’s best jockey, become famous, finally be loved by her parents… She wasn’t supposed to die, not this soon, not this early.

But she could safely say that she was looking forward to not being in pain anymore. Death, at least, would provide respite from the awful way she went out. She would no longer feel the crunching of her bones, the tearing of her flesh, the ripping of her organs, the spilling of her own blood, the pounding of the hooves of her enraged horse who wanted nothing more than to pummel her into the dirt. It would finally all be gone and she would be at peace.

But she wasn’t. Because when her eyes opened and she found herself lying on the track, sprawled in mud that was mixed with her own blood, she was met with the unbearable agony of invisible hooves smashing her organs and had to roll over to vomit blood all over the dirt.

For a long time, Sorrel cried until it felt like she couldn’t breathe- and then she realized she wasn’t breathing. Not really. But she could still feel pain and her lungs felt like they were being ripped right out of her chest, her rib cage crumpling inwards to pierce her heart and diaphragm. She gurgled on her blood.

It was dark. The track was dead. She was dead. The only people around were a few stragglers who must have worked at the stadium. She tried to get up to run to them, but she couldn’t stand up. When she looked down, she saw that her right femur was sticking out of her thigh. She threw up again, then settled for crawling.

“Help me,” Sorrel begged, dragging herself to a group of three people speaking in hushed whispers. “Please, please help me-- it hurts-- I want my mom--”

But her pleading went unnoticed. It wasn’t until her hand phased right through one of the men that she truly realized what had happened.

Sorrel curled into a ball again, weeping even more. The pain grew unbearable. She thought death was supposed to be peaceful.

The group left, eventually. The moon rose high in the sky. Its glow caught on something lying listlessly in the dirt of the track. Sorrel crawled over to it.

The Handbook For The Recently Deceased. That was what it said, and reading it made Sorrel feel even more sick. She forced herself to not throw up this time, though she could feel the blood slowly filling her lungs like a thick red tar.

Sorrel accidentally stained the dusty pages when she flipped through the book. Her gloves were coated in a fine layer of dust and blood. Her uniform was the same way, she realized, slathered in the muck of her own fluids and dirt from the track. Hoofprints trodded up and down her chest, stomach, and legs, marks to remember what had happened, though she was sure the trauma would never leave her brain, even after death. Her helmet was cracked down the middle, but still firmly strapped to her skull. It did its job, it seemed, because her head hurt the least amount out of every spot on her throbbing body.

She read through the book with cloudy eyes. She was exhausted, mentally and physically. She wanted to lay down and never wake up. She wanted the pain to go away. She wanted her mom.

Eventually, she managed to find a passage with directions to some place called the “Netherworld,” and she was in little room to question anything at that point, so she followed what it said.

She didn’t have any chalk to draw a door, so she had to settle for her own blood. She hobbled to one of the stadium walls, which took forever because her small intestines came out at one point and made her have a screaming fit for five minutes straight before she was able to stuff them back into her abdominal cavity and continue her journey. When she finally got there, she slicked her already-filthy hands with the blood from her many, MANY wounds (god, those horses did a number on her, didn’t they?) and sloppily drew a red door on the wall. She added a doorknob, which ended up being too large because she had slammed her hand down in the reaction to the pain of her small intestines trying to slither their way out of her again, then knocked three times while hugging her stomach with one arm, trying to keep her organs in where they belonged. Slowly, the door opened up to her and she was bathed in green light.

It did little to comfort her.

The myriad of dead people through the doorway did even less.

Sorrel spit blood, then let her guts fall out as she sank to her knees.

She was so tired.

It was official: Sorrel hated being dead. And it wasn’t simply because she was dead, no, she could have dealt with that if the afterlife was cool like it was in Coco or something, but this-- this fucking sucked.

She was lonely. Even though the Netherworld was built like a regular society- a society that glowed green and sheltered walking corpses, but a society nonetheless- there were no people for her. Nobody ever wanted to talk to her, no matter how hard she tried. And even though she was only a “few dead days old,” she was already thinking about giving up because how the hell were you supposed to make friends in hell? Surely that was what this place was. That was what she got for being born into a family that was above middle-class.

It was also just so confusing. Why was she in debt? Why did she need a job when she was fifteen and, you know, DEAD? Why was there an economic system in the underworld? What was all this paperwork for? WHO WAS BEETLEJUICE???

She couldn’t wrap her head around any of it. And that was saying a lot because her head was the only thing apart of her that was completely intact after The Accident.

She tried to get help, tried to ask questions, but everyone else looked at her in amusement or disdain whenever she did. It was the same way whenever she expressed any form of pain or didn’t understand something or let her organs fall out on accident. It was like they were expecting her to instantly know everything there was to know about being dead and if she didn’t, she was beneath them and wasn’t worth their time.

Funny. Her parents were the same way.

And then, there was the pain. It always came back to the pain.

Some days, she could deal with it, really. Some days it was only a dull pounding in her stomach or soreness in her chest. Some days it was only her legs, other days her shoulders, and other other days her sternum.

But some days, it was all over. And she couldn’t handle it.

This was how Those Days usually went: Her stomach began to throb and ache an hour after waking up. Joints and muscles started swelling two hours in. At three hours they’d go numb and heavy, forcing her to strain her body just to keep moving. Four hours in, feeling would return in the form of deep, slicing pain that lingered long into the day. After that, her bones would begin splintering, her organs would try to shove their way out of her, and her lungs start to hemorrhage.

The pressure and pain her death put on her very being was constant. Oh how she wanted to be rid of this deep-seeded agony that was not only tearing her body apart, but her second “life”, too.

The way the shock from each throb made her fingers start to go numb if she had a grip on just about anything for too long, and she didn’t even know if she would be able to speak when she opened her mouth. The way her spine, heavily trampled and damaged from the hooves, knotted up until it felt wooden. The way her guts sloshed in her stomach like soup on some days, leaking viscous fluid that wasn’t really blood out of any opening they could find, forcing her to hug her middle or be shamed with them spilling out of her already-soiled uniform. The way her limbs screamed when she flew with an agony that seemed to echo in her more than her joints at some point. The way she would lie in the bed of her lonely Netherworld apartment and try not to shriek along with every muscle in her body, the way her body didn’t even seem to belong to her anymore.

She ached when she was lying down.

She ached when she was standing.

She ached when she was doing her job.

She ached on days she did nothing and she ached on the day that Breather in black came by with her father.

She ached because she ached.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she sometimes found herself making a litany of her pain. A whisper of suffering that she tried to focus on so she wasn’t focused on the actual feeling. Anything but the feeling.

But if that wasn’t bad enough…

The fact that she had to constantly deal with what felt like physical torture day to day wasn’t enough of a burden for one person. She had also been burdened with being an eyesore and a disappointment, though that wasn’t really new. She could feel the scorn and disgust the other dead felt when they saw her. Sometimes, that was worse than the pain itself.

It was just discomfort. All the time. Even things like getting up in the “mornings” (she still had no idea how time worked down here) and sleeping couldn’t be taken for granted. There was nothing good about her body.

It rocked to a rhythm that felt like it was being conducted by her very soul, but it did nothing to ease the fire in her veins.

She wished it was fire. That was what she had thought it was, at first. A little while ago.

Fire burned, but not in the same way. Fire was detached, impersonal. It didn’t care what got in the way. It burned and charred and devoured everything in minutes and went on its way, leaving the scorched corpses in its wake. Fire was powerful and murderous but it wasn’t torturous- the man who had gone up in flames because he smoked in bed proved that to her because he seemed to be doing just fine. Sulfur on the other hand…well, falling into a burning pool of that stuff was a different beast entirely.

Sulfur clung in a way that fire did not. It wrapped its monstrous hands around you, drawing you in closer, exposing more of you to its touch until it framed each piece of you intimately, until it was every much a part of you as your skin was.

Fire would leave. Sulfur stayed.

It stayed even after your death. It made you burn until you lost yourself, until there was nothing left except the fiery red afterglow and the screams inside of your head. It branded you, so that you and the whole fucking Netherworld knew that you were being burned. Being roasted alive. Being cauterized, like an open wound. You were something that was wrong, something bad, something that needed to be fixed or punished.

Mama has the switch. Can she get me down here?

Sorrel would have much preferred fire.

The sulfur had burned her consciousness away, seared her eyes until all she saw was black spots. Filled her lungs until her chest felt like it was an open furnace. Blistered through her stomach and chest and legs and arms and back until they became a sick rendition of what they were supposed to be, like one big fucking cosmic joke. Sorrel was so sick of being the fucking punchline.

But, in the end, it didn’t really matter much one way or another because she suffered in silence. She strained herself to keep her body functioning so none of the other dead would get annoyed with her. She forced herself to go to work because she was a people-pleaser at heart and didn’t want to disappoint anyone. She tortured herself just to keep people who didn’t even care about her content, but there was nothing she could do about it. Not anymore. She was in too deep to do anything now.

This week had been especially brutal. The bruises stamped up and down the front of her body seemed to be at war with the cuts from the hooves, determined to see what could make her hurt more. Her lungs were bleeding extra today, too, and she kept accidentally spitting blood into people’s faces when she talked to them. She ended up spraying the wrong person, a woman with pale blue skin and deep purple brittle fingers and icicles hanging from her frosted hair (hypothermia, Sorrel guessed), because she was shoved backwards with enough force to send her careening into a desk in the office she had been bustling through. The edge of the table stabbed into her lower back, making her entire body tense up. When she tried to sidle to the side, a bloody apology dripping from her lips, her right femur suddenly snapped beneath her weight and she crumpled to the ground. Despite her training herself to not react to any pain she was in, she couldn’t bite back a scream this time.

There was a reason why broken femurs were so severe.

The hypothermic woman leered down at her squirming figure as if she were a worm she found nibbling on her corpse. “You’re a disgrace to the dead.” She spat.

Sorrel gurgled on her blood in response, digging her fingernails into the gash in her thigh where the bone was trying to inch its way out to freedom.

The hypothermic woman sneered in disgust. A cloud of freezing fog puffed out of her nostrils as if she were a terrifying ice dragon. Shaking her head in contempt, she wiped her face, then walked away, leaving Sorrel to reset her femur on her own.

Sorrel looked at the fallen stack of paperwork she had dropped in dismay. Juno wasn’t going to be happy with this one.

All things considered, Miss Argentina was quite lucky. Compared to the rest of the Dead, she had a rather simple, easy-to-deal-with death. Not to say that slashing open her own wrists with a razor blade wasn’t painful, but “living” with it in the Netherworld was like living with carpal tunnel syndrome- it was manageable.

Certainly more manageable than whatever the hell was going on with the horse girl in one of the offices.

Miss Argentina knew a lot of people. One of the perks of working in maintenance, she supposed. So she had seen this specific Dead before, quite a few times, actually, the most notable being when the goth Breather and her father stupidly decided to come down for a visit, but she never got around to talk to the child.

Until now, of course.

When the “work day” finally ended and Miss Argentina was leaving for her apartment, she heard it. The whimpering. It reminded her of something a sick puppy would make or maybe a kitten with an upset stomach. Whatever it was, it was distressing, but also very intriguing, so she followed it deeper into the building. Stepping into one of the offices that was rank with blood, she found where those papers she had been looking for were.

Slightly sticking out from behind a table, Miss Argentina saw the little jockey sprawled on the floor, a fresh staining of blood seeping into her already-bloodied horse racing uniform. She was twisted into an awkward position, similar to how the corpses in those crime shows she used to watch when she was alive would be in- face-down with her arms tucked into her and her legs folded inward and knees pointing sharply to the side. Inching closer, fuelled by morbid curiosity, Miss Argentina realized why she was in such an arrangement.

The femur was sticking out of her right thigh.

Miss Argentina couldn’t help grimace. When she was alive, she had a friend who broke his femur during a sports accident. He had to go to physical therapy to simply learn how to walk again. Death and the supernatural body, at the very least, saved this child from that, but the pain she had to have been in… No wonder she was lying on the floor.

Miss Argentina had heard about what happened to this little one. Trampled to death by horses. And she would admit that she got a laugh out of it at first, because what kind of death was that? But it quickly became less amusing when she saw the state the girl was in when she first showed up two weeks ago.

Hoofprints stomped all along the front of her body, uniform ripped and bloody, cuts and bruises all over, crunching bones when she moved and spilling organs that constantly tried to escape her abdominal cavity like restless snakes and gushing blood from her mouth. What made it worse was how little she was. A young jockey that died in the middle of a race. She couldn’t imagine what that had been like for her.

The jockey didn’t stir when she stepped towards her, and Miss Argentina rationalized that she must have fallen asleep. Or blacked out, which seemed way more likely because that exposed bone looked worse and worse the closer and closer she got.

She knelt down to the jockey and gently shook her shoulder.

“Honey?” Miss Argentina called out. “Wake up.”

The jockey gasped, sharply drawing in a useless breath of air, which quickly thickened with blood and came back out red. Miss Argentina grimaced and wondered if she should pat the girl’s back to help her get the gunk out of her throat (you were supposed to do that, right? or was it just a myth? she never thought to test it when she was alive), but thought against it when she saw the hoofprints on her back. She grimaced again. Did this child have any spot on her body that hadn’t been beaten mercilessly by horses?

The jockey eventually stopped leaking from her mouth and looked up at her dazedly, blood dripping from her chin in a dark waterfall of red. She squinted at her, then turned her head to the accumulating puddle beneath her head.

“Sorry about the floor,” She croaked, and her voice was hoarse, but high and youthful.

“It’s alright,” Miss Argentina assured her. “Are you okay?”

The jockey blinked at her slowly, as if confused as to why she was checking up on her. Miss Argentina could understand why, though. There was a reason she had told Lydia that everyone was alone in the Netherworld- nobody liked meddling in the affairs or business of others.

And yet, here she was.

“Yes…” The jockey said slowly, sounding unsure. She tried to sit up, but froze when she moved her legs and looked back at them nervously. She bit her lip when she saw the state of her femur, but didn’t say anything.

“Are you sure?” Miss Argentina asked.

“Yes,” The jockey said again, this time less unsure, but much meeker. She ducked her head to avoid Miss Argentina’s worried gaze and the rim of her helmet fell into her eyes.

Miss Argentina frowned. She watched as the jockey twisted around and managed to sit up, bracing herself against the table she had been laying beside. She pushed her femur back into her thigh with a horrible grinding-crunching sound and was very clearly struggling not to scream.

“Sorry,” The jockey whispered after a moment. Her hands were still resting on her thigh, and her gloves (Miss Argentina thought they may have been white at some point) were soaking up a new layer of filth as blood drooled agaisnt them.

“What for?” Miss Argentina tilted her head. “You haven’t done anything wrong, sweetheart. I promise you that.”

“Y-yeah, but--” The jockey sounded anxious, like she was afraid of being yelled at for simply expressing discomfort. “The Dead-- I don’t wanna be weak, but-- it hurts. Everything hurts. And I--” She caught herself. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

Miss Argentina frowned. She reached out and lifted the jockey’s head with one hand. Using the other, she pushed her helmet back and saw that her eyes were a brilliant shade of hazel. There were tears gathering inside of them. The jockey stared up at her in shock, then leaned into her touch like a kitten seeking warmth from its mother.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Miss Argentina murmured to her. “It’s okay. You aren’t going to get in trouble for hurting. Everyone else are just uptight a--” She looked the jockey over, taking in how young she really was. “Jerks.”

That got a giggle out of the jockey, which quickly became wet with blood. She covered her mouth and swallowed, then pulled her hand away. Miss Argentina couldn’t imagine having to deal with a chronic bloody mouth.

“Okay,” The jockey whispered. She sniffled. “Sorry. I mean-- I apologize a lot. Sorry. Oh--”

Miss Argentina laughed. She felt endearment grow in her heart for this ragged, bloody child.

“It’s quite alright, honey,” Miss Argentina told her. She stood up and extended a hand down to the jockey. “Do you have anywhere to be?”

The jockey took her hand and was pulled to her feet. She staggered for a moment, then steadied herself, wincing slightly. “No, ma’am.”

Miss Argentina raised an eyebrow. “‘Ma’am’?” She echoed. “That’s new for me.”

The jockey blushed shyly. “Sorry. Raised to be well-manered and all…”

“No, no,” Miss Argentina was quick to assure her when she began to get nervous. “You’re a very sweet girl. It’s a nice change of pace from everything else. But you don’t have to be so formal with me.”

The jockey gave a light laugh. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am. I was, like, bred to be the perfect, polite daughter.” She said. “But, ahh-- no. No, I don’t have anywhere to be. Usually I just sit in my bed after work and try to turn out the sound of screeching horses in my head.”

Miss Argentina blinked worriedly. “Why don’t you tag along with me? You look like you could use some good company.”

The jockey perked up. “Really?”

Miss Argentina smiled at her warmly. “Really.”

It could be a start to make the pain go away.

#i just. i love her so much #baby girl #beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice the broadway musical #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fic #the jockey #miss argentina #lydia deetz #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: abuse #bloodhorse

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rpmemesbyarat · 4 years ago

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RP meme from 24 Frames of Nick videos

It's a bunch of farty fart farts

If you don't know what a baby is, a baby is stupid. A baby doesn't pay taxes. A baby is a dumb loser. A baby is the crux of all evil.

I'm sick of babies.

This, on the other hand, was just obviously for money, and I guess it worked.

I seriously hate babies.

If I saw a baby get thrown around 300 times in a minute, I'd probably get bored immediately.

That's not a movie concept, that's a short film concept.

Puppies don't use hamster tubes.

What an intense climax dude

They literally show children being baked alive in burning goo.

That disgusting freakish baby.

Throw him in that boiling liquid.

I just love accuracy.

He also talks with his nose, which looks very very gross.

Freak.

He's a meanie! He's a liar meanie!

Yay, they wanna eat the baby! I stan!

Hey, you guys hurt us, and now we're gonna hurt you.

Justice for these dogs!

There's a lesson of forgiveness to be found in Ray Romano.

He's a big ol' hunk.

It exhudes nothing but a taste of dirt and excitement.

Of course he flies way too close to the fucking sun

Aren't turtle shells like attached to them physically?

That's just not correct.

Male cows are literally just bulls!

Man, I just know that PETA is really gonna enjoy this video

If I play a certain song, you'll just have a flood of memories that you repressed oozing out of your brain

It's full of mud, sweat, tears, and trauma

Everyone wants to eat chicken

It's honestly incredibly underrated considering the fact you squirt milk at people

There's a lot of rats in the world

Put a little butter in that bowl and let's go!

Maybe don't go mutilating them every time you see them

I could give her a better life than him

You can feel the stench coming off of this man

Look at her, she's a true queen. Like the queen of queens!

I want to taste what these are like so bad.

Don't worry, they be chilling, they be chilling dude!

Little pinhead-looking dummy

It's too bad she's an ant and I'm a human, we can never be together

I'm fast boy!

Snails, oh my god, snails! They're so slow! What is wrong with them?

We can make money from anything, and that's okay

Options are good

I like being surprised by something

It's basic stuff but that's okay.

Snails. I hate them. They look dumb. I hate the design of them.

He should be mocked. He's a weirdo. He deserves it.

He ruined my life. He's too fast! He's so fast!

He's more of a freak now

I always supported him! I never called him a loser or anything! I love this man!

We all grow some way or another, it's just good to be given a chance

We all have to grow from somewhere

Hey, it's not the worst

How much do you love trees, dude? How much are you willing to put on the line to protect trees?

I will kill a man for this tree

He had one job and he didn't do it because he was a dumb lazy boy!

Deforestation is adorable!

Why are you messing up our vibes?

Thirty thousand scenes of cute animals doing cute things!

Do your part, don't just vibe

Life is full of pain. Lots and lots of pain.

God this stupid bear. This stupid, ugly bear.

He's just a big ol' baby.

He's a loser. He's downright a loser.

I hate this guy. I hate this guy's face. I hate the way he talks. He sucks!

She looks gross. She looks really gross. God, I hate her.

He wants to be a better person, but he sucks so bad.

God, we can't have one good thing in life, can we?

I hate that it exists, more than anything else.

I am tough and cool.

My bedtime is late, like 9 PM

It's a treat to defeat!

Dive into the pain, sadness, emptiness

A slightly irked bird might commit acts of violence if antagonized

With anything popular, there will always be a movie adaptation

Excuse me if I find a bird kicking a child to be SO FUNNY

He's honestly justified in chucking babies over cliffs, in my opinion

They're Angry-Birdsing right now

You ruined it hard

What defines power?

As shocking as it may be, I am a man. A hairy man.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay memes #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #24 frames of nick

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alarawriting · 4 years ago

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52 Project #39: Seista Nikita

Wow, my brain is a sieve lately. I just didn’t notice it was getting to be 5 pm until it was almost 6.

I wrote this story originally in senior year of high school, in a college creative writing course. Even if your political views don’t change over time, the culture around them does. The Culare was a mockery of ridiculous extremes of environmentalism and animal rights, a la PETA and suchlike. I wouldn’t write a story like this nowadays because the pendulum’s gone so far in the other direction, I wouldn’t see that worthy of mockery, even though I still disagree with such extremes as much as I ever did. I am very fond of the trickster heroine, though, so I’m publishing it anyway. It’s kind of a stupid story, but I still think it’s funny. There have been some revisions made, so if you note things that didn’t exist in 1987, that is why.

-------------------------

Once upon a time, in a distant province that never appeared on any map, probably because either a. it was too small to bother with or b. someone bribed the mapmaker, or possibly both, an evil beast called the Culare reigned. (It was pronounced like “Cool air”, but if anyone tried to spell it that way, the Culare would eat them.) Some said the Culare was an experimental mutation; others, an ecologist gone mad. The Culare was an intelligent lion-like being with teleportation powers who took the concept of “protecting the environment” to a degree so ludicrous, not even the most extreme environmentalist would support it. He refused to let the human beings in his province harm the native wildlife by picking it or killing it. That would have been reasonable, but he also wouldn’t let people pick anything they planted themselves, even on their own property. If the plant in question was native, he wouldn’t let them harvest it, and if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t even let people plant it, claiming it was an invasive species. And of course he wouldn’t allow anyone to raise animals for food. Not even unfertilized chicken eggs. (He also took a dim view of the cellophane wrapper industry.)

If people wanted to eat meat, they had to find roadkill, or something that had been killed by another predator. The problem was that the Culare thought that “protecting nature” meant preventing predators of any kind from killing other animals… which meant there were very few animals who’d died of anything other than starvation or disease as their populations exploded. If they wanted to eat vegetables or fruits, people had to find things that were lying around on the ground. In the beginning of the Culare’s reign, there had been shipments from other countries of rice, and bacon, and potatoes, and tomatoes, and whatever else people wanted to eat. But the Culare wouldn’t tolerate ships that consumed fossil fuels coming in to the ports, and the people of the small nation couldn’t pay enough to make it worth sending sailing ships. Also, packaging. If the food came in anything other than packaging made from recycled matter, which would biodegrade, the Culare would eat the people who brought it.

The Culare himself was sustained on sunflower seeds and papaya juice… when he wasn’t consuming errant humans.

(Some said the whole thing was a scam, giving the Culare an acceptably environmentally correct reason to eat people. None of them said it very loudly, though, or else they never said it more than once.)

One day, an old man who had once worked for a living making cellophane wrappers, and his 20-ish son Harold, were out, searching for rotten apples and fallen nuts to eat. It was hard enough to find such things, when the entire country was desperately trying to find the same things so they wouldn’t starve to death. It was made even more difficult by the fact that it was springtime. You might think that the reason springtime was an issue was that nothing had had a chance to get ripe enough to fall, and you’d be correct enough. But the bigger part of the problem was that Harold was in love, with a girl named Seista Nikita, and he seemed to think that he could live entirely off air, sunlight and his love. At least, one would suspect that from how much attention he was not paying to finding food.

The old man finally got ticked off at the way his son was paying next to no attention to the task at hand, and hobbled off.

“At last,” Harold thought. “That old geezer’s gone. Him and his stories about the glorious days of Saran Wrap! I’d much rather sit under a tree and think about Seista.” With that, he sat down under a tree and thought about Seista.

At the height of his romantic musings, he saw a bunch of flowers. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could pick them and give them to Seista,” he thought, ignoring the fact that Seista would probably prefer nearly anything to flowers. Quickly, he looked around. He saw no one. His hand reached out and he plucked the blossoms.

Suddenly there was a burst of acrid smoke, and a huge lion-like beast appeared in front of him, kind of like the Wicked Witch of the West. “The Culare!” Harold babbled, and tried to hide the flowers.

“SLEAZOID,” the Culare rumbled. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THOSE FLOWERS?”

“Well, it was – it was an accident, yeah. I – you see, I, I thought they were looking ill, that’s it, and I tried to lift them up to inspect them. Yeah, that’s it. And – and they accidentally came loose, yeah—”

“FOOLISH SLIMEBUCKET, DO YOU REALLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE SUCH A RIDICULOUS STORY?”

“Oh, please don’t eat me!” begged Harold. “I’ll never do it again!”

“THAT’S WHAT THEY ALL SAY. BUT IT ISN’T GOOD FOR ME TO EAT A HEAVY MEAL THIS EARLY IN THE MORNING. I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU AT SUNSET.”

With that, the Culare vanished.

Harold ran straight to Seista Nikita’s house and told her the news. “And so we must be forever separated, beloved,” he said, tears in his eyes. “For I am doomed! At sunset tonight, I am destined to lose my life at the hands of the Culare. The paws? The claws? I’m not sure ‘hands’ is the correct thing to say here…”

Seista sighed. “You would go and do something like this, wouldn’t you? Stop moaning like that, you sound like a dead cow. I’ll kill the Culare for you and save your idiot backside. Okay?”

“Okay,” Harold sniffed.

So Seista Nikita put on her very tall platform shoes. These shoes were easily a foot and a half tall. You wouldn’t think anyone would be able to walk in such shoes, unless maybe they went to clown college and learned how to use stilts. Seista was a very acrobatic and skilled young woman, though, so while she wobbled a bit, she managed to stay upright all the way to the nearest meadow, which was badly overgrown with wildflowers, pokeweed, ground cover plants, and about half a billion tiny mimosa seedlings. She began to pick flowers and toss them into the air.

The Culare appeared. “SLEAZOID!” he boomed.

“Come and get me, shag-face!” Seista yelled, which was a reference to his lion-like mane rather than some sort of rude reference to a private activity. She kicked off her shoes, directly in front of the Culare, and ran. The Culare tried to pursue, but he tripped over her shoes and broke a forepaw.

“Damn,” Seista said, after escaping. “Those shoes were big enough that he should have tripped over them and broken his neck.” The thought occurred to her that perhaps she should have factored in the fact that he had four legs, and therefore had better balance than she’d accounted for. “I’ll just have to think of something else!”

An hour later, after getting into sneakers and sensible clothes, she climbed a tall cherry tree, went up as far as she could before the branches could no longer hold her weight, and began to pick cherry blossoms. It wasn’t long before the Culare appeared. “YOU AGAIN?”

“Nah, nah, nah nyah nah!” Seista taunted. She was tall and strong and very acrobatic and fairly smart, but she was, admittedly, more than a little childish.

The Culare leapt at the tree and began to climb up. Seista waited until it had almost reached her, then dropped, letting go of the branch she was on… having already checked that there was another branch right below her. From there, she clambered down as fast as she could go. She figured that would hold him until he starved to death; the Culare was obviously a type of cat, and cats are terrible at climbing down trees.

So she went home to Harold, who was watching a Tarzan movie. It was an animated Disney reboot in 3D. “Well, I took care of that problem.”

“Really?” Harold turned, his 3D glasses sliding off his face. “O my beloved, my thanks know no bounds—”

“Skip it.”

A bulletin interrupted the Tarzan movie. “We interrupt this movie for an important bulletin.” This was impressively implausible, since the movie was on a streaming service and you wouldn’t think anything could break into and interrupt one of those.

The Culare’s face appeared on the television. “SEISTA NIKITA, IF YOU’RE OUT THERE, YOU’RE DEAD!”

Seista stared in shock, as the movie resumed. How had he gotten out of that tree? …oh yeah, he could teleport. She probably should have thought of that.

“I thought you said you took care of it!” Harold whined.

“Shut up, I’m trying to think.” Tarzan swung across the jungle floor on a vine. The 3D was powerful enough that he visibly swung toward Seista, despite the fact that she wasn’t wearing 3D glasses. “Oh! That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“Harold.” She patted his very handsome cheeks. “I love you dearly but you’re too stupid to know what I’m talking about.”

***

Nearby, there was a ravine, where Seista found a tree on one side. With a very long rope, tied to an upper branch of the tree, and a rock tied to one side of it, she flung the rope to the other side, getting it caught on the other side of a bush. There was a bridge a few hundred feet away; she ran down to it, crossed it, and went back to the bush.

With the rope held in one hand, she picked a dandelion.

The Culare appeared. “THAT’S IT! YOU’RE DEAD!”

As he leapt at her, Seista grabbed the rope and swung to the other side. The Culare roared and leapt at her, apparently unable to see the cliff through the bush. It turned out he couldn’t teleport if he was in midair; he fell to his death in the ravine below.

She and Harold were married the next week. Three months after that, Seista left Harold to find herself, and ran away to a country where she worked as a stuntwoman in movies. Harold mooned over her for another month before finding his next true love. Seista herself never married again, having decided that being tied down by romance wasn’t for her… particularly since she seemed to be sexually attracted to idiots. She had many fun and satisfying sexual relationships with people whose stupidity didn’t have to impact her life very much.

#52 Project #comedy #trickster tale #fairy-tale-ish

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skvaderarts · 4 years ago

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Hiraeth Chapter 22: Proposition

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Twenty-Two: Proposition

Note: This entire chapter feels like a shitpost, and I love it. Also, dear god have I been busy working on things for a physical release of the fic! You’ll hear more about that next week on Wednesday, but if you are interested in beta reading, I have left a form below. Doing it myself is tricky, and there is a free copy in it for you bound in your choice of type (hardback, paperback, hardback with a paper cover, etc) and you will receive credit because I’m not a monster XD.

I think I want to do it as a charity thing, so suggest charities the proceeds should be donated to in the form below even if you’re not interested in being a beta reader! The size of the charity is irrelevant. They just have to be credible (IE not a nightmare like Autism Speaks or the Salvation Army, or PETA, not to get judgy or upset anyone. They just have a very bad rep.) Anyway, enough of that! Back to the story!

(-~-)

By all accounts, the initial plan had been simple enough. They were going to eat dinner and then see where the evening took them. The only issue was that not a single one of them had really thought the plan through. That was typical enough, all things considered, but none of them really considered the fact that accomplishing that goal might be a little bit harder than they had originally expected it to be. Namely because of one major problem.

While Sirrus’s intentions had been pure enough when he had offered to cook, and V’s had been equally so when he had agreed to allow him to do so, the execution of those plans had left much to be desired. Making plans without knowing the full extent of their impact seemed to be something that ran in the Sparda family, regardless of the context of the plan, and while this was a minor occurrence in a sea of what had otherwise been huge high stakes situations, that didn’t change the fact that it was literally impossible to cook without food. And if it wasn’t, no one present wanted to know how that was done.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems that you might be a little short on… everything at the moment.” Sirrus said as politely as he could, clearly amused by the utter emptiness that he was presented with when he opened the cabinet door. “Am I getting my hopes up by assuming that you have something in the refrigerator, or are we just going to have to make a run to the store? I mean, we’re probably going to have to for what I had in mind, but still.”

V felt himself die a little inside at his companion’s polite yet ruthless assessment of his current living situation. Sirrus was entirely correct, it was too much to hope for. He hadn’t really been home much recently, if at all since he had acquired the place, and as such, grocery shopping had been very low on his list of priorities. It had been easier to just grab something and call it a day in the two days that he had actually been in the house so far. He only wished that he had thought of that before he’d offered to allow Sirrus to cook! He could have saved himself a lot of unneeded embarrassment.

Was this what it felt like to be Dante? Because if it was, that was a tragedy. The only upside to his current situation was that Lucia, Nico, and Nero were in the next room talking, so they were not able to experience his deep loathing and shame first hand, not to mention the verbal beatdown that he had just suffered at Sirrus’s hands. Or should he say vocal cords? Either way, the point still stood that he did indeed need to procure food because the only thing available to consume in the house was peeling wallpaper, dried-out paint, and dust. And knowing V’s luck, Shadow had probably already consumed those already when he wasn’t looking. That was absolutely something she would do.

“I would say the latter is the most true, given the options at hand. That is not to say that the second option is not correct, as it absolutely is… but that’s not the type of narrative I’d like to weave at this juncture.” V “But the thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest, so it is probably best that I simply accompany you to the store so I can see to it that my cabinets are not as bare as Dante’s office is dark.”

Sirrus nodded as he closed a stary cabinet door, turning to fully face the slightly frazzled young man. “That seems agreeable enough. Hopefully my matter of fact, no-nonsense way of stating the obvious wasn’t as abrasive as it seems now that I am able to look back on it. Hindsight is 2020, as they say.” He straightened out his long shirt, adjusting his shoulders as he allowed his head to pull from side to side. He was slightly uncomfortable as, for the first time, he stepped close enough to V to notice that they were largely the same size and stature. What an eye-opening realization. “I’m sarcastic, some would even sardonic, but I like to think I’m not unfeeling. I’ve yet to lose my grip on the reality of the world around me and start to view the rest of the world with a sort of cold dissonance like so many around me have. What do people call that now? Being edgy? Somehow I am under the impression that that might not be the proper use of that term.”

V brushed him off, taking a step to the side instead of taking a step back. He wasn’t intimidated by the tall redhead despite the fact that he was sure that he probably had ample reason to be. There was a certain mysterious quality to him that was carefully outlined with a certain measure of involuntary menace that he couldn’t quite place, and his prior comments didn’t help in that regard. There was just something… feral about him, some sort of wild strength that he knew that his guest could reach into if he wished to do so and bring to bear against those he considered deserving of it. It was something that he could just feel in the pit of his stomach, a sort of primordial sense of strength and power that reminded him of his own family, but it was notably different in a way that was hard to describe. Was it darker somehow? Was that the right way to put it?

But that wondering was enough to keep him grounded in a situation like this. He seemed trustworthy, but he would still keep his guard up until he was absolutely sure, even if he wasn’t actively trying to do so. It was simply instinct, and going with his gut had kept him alive this long, so he was going to continue doing so. If it wasn’t broken, then he wasn’t going to fix it. “Think nothing of it. I take no offense to you stating the obvious. I don’t think that there has been food in this house in at least a decade.”

“Probably longer than that, if I remember correctly. This place has been empty for about fifteen years. After the will was read, Magnolia’s side of the family cleaned the place out as quickly as they could before they went their separate ways. Quite a lot of bad blood between them, from what I could tell. It was a shame how that all played out, but grief brings out the worst in people, especially when the root cause of that grief is so… unexpected.” The man with the long red hair peered out of the back door for a moment as though he were expecting something or perhaps had heard a commotion of some sort. He seemed to study the bushes against the back wall for a long moment before continuing. “As per your request… that is more than fine by me. I won’t, then. I shall pretend that we never mentioned the food in the first place.”

“You say that as though you were personally there to see it. You seem too young to have witnessed something of that nature, but you have first-hand knowledge of it from a viewpoint that would suggest that you were a neutral party witnessing it from within the inner circle of what was going on.” V was admittedly curious as to how Sirrus would explain something like that in a way that made sense. Or would it make sense at all? Who was to say. He would simply have to wait and find out. “I had assumed that we were quite close in age. But then again, everyone knows what they say about assuming things. I should have known better than to think that I know everything about someone that I barely know. My mistake.”

“Looks can be deceiving, as I’m sure you know first hand. Your family is quite literally living proof of that concept. I assure you however that I was present. I just seem younger than…” He stopped, catching himself as though he were about to say something that he didn’t mean to, waiving off both his near mistake and V’s apology casually. V was clever, something that he had pegged about him from the very first moment that they had made eye contact. It was something intrinsic in the way that he held himself, and every time that he had opened his mouth since then had only served to strengthen that notion. But now his keen intellect was becoming troublesome, not that it changed anything in the end either way. ”That quote from before about the harvest… William Blake, if I remember correctly? I’m quite fond of his works, especially the illustrations. Quite the brilliant man.” He stopped for a moment, seemingly considering something before looking over at the doorway. He then nodded quietly to himself before redirecting his attention towards V once more, finding his companion’s silence interesting. He seemed to be waiting for him to continue. “Personally, Mary Shelly is my all-time favorite. Frankenstein and all that. I have a more contemporary favorite as of late, but telling you that might say more about me than I mean for it to, so I’ll keep it to myself for now.

Now V had more questions than answers. Sirrus was a walking mystery, and the more that he spoke, the more V questioned his own perception and his impression of him changed. It was as fascinating as it was confounding, but he couldn’t say that he disliked it. There was just something captivating about not being able to read him, regardless of how hard he tried. A part of him wondered if anyone else in his family had this issue. He would ask them when presented with the chance to do so. Well then, back to what we were discussing before.”

“We were discussing something before? I can’t say that I remember anything. But I do recall you saying to “think nothing of it.” The playfully smug, all-knowing tone of voice that he spoke in was enough to make V shake his head and roll his eyes, but he resisted. It was a welcome juxtaposition to the conversation that they had just indulged in, and they were both somehow simultaneously relieved that they didn’t have to indulge in it any longer.

He couldn’t help but snicker somewhat at that response. Sirrus was endearingly hatstand, wasn’t he? Despite the unintentionally tense conversation that they had just indulged in, the white-haired summoner couldn’t help but be amused. It was complicated, and yet so very simple. “Let’s go to the store, Sirrus. I’ll tell the others that we will return shortly. You may accompany me if you’d like.”

Sirrus nodded politely, using both hands to signal to him that he was to walk first as he bowed lower than what was needed and stepped back out of his companion’s way. V scoffed in amusement but went along with his slightly antiquated gesture, admittedly entertained by it. Yes, this had to be what other people felt like when they met him for the first time. He understood why they looked at him like that now. Slowly but surely, it was all coming together.

(-~-)

From what they could tell, the store was mostly empty. It was nearly 9 o’clock at night, and it seemed that everyone who wanted to buy groceries had done so by then. While it was understandable that most people in the city wouldn’t want to start cooking this late, it was still a little bit surreal to see just how few people were willing to make a midnight dash to the supermarket to stock up on general goods and necessities. One could only imagine that recent events in the region had made people more than a little bit jumpy, but this was an entirely new level of silent unrest that made an already somewhat eerie environment that much more uncomfortable.

As the absentmindedly browsed the shelves in relative silence, V shifted in discomfort. He couldn’t shake the persistent feeling that something simply wasn’t right, and that he should go with his gut and leave this place before something happened. Although it was basically impossible to predict something like that, V was convinced that the persistent feeling of unrecognizable dread that he felt brewing in the very pit of his stomach was something more substantial than he was allowing himself to believe. And under the guise of trying not to seem silently panicked, he couldn’t help but feel a nameless terror overtake him. This feeling that he felt was familiar in the worst way possible. It reminded him of the train ride back in Lucia’s homeland, the strange subconscious sensation that he was no longer in the driver’s seat in regards to his own cognitive feedback. And the idea that his enemy might be trying to do something, anything at all, was not good. He needed to do something fast.

“I apologize if my being around you alone is subconsciously offputting. I get the impression that you are disturbed, and you probably aren’t sure what that is just yet. Let me assure you that it is in fact, me, and that I am not doing so intentionally.” Sirrus casually reached up and took a can down from a shelf, turning it over in his hands absentmindedly as he studied it to see if it was something that he could use. “But the disturbance that you feel is most certainly tangible. I recognized your specific gifts and aptitudes a while back. You have a heightened sensitivity to certain things. Very useful if utilized correctly.”

He paused for a moment to look at V, seemingly waiting for him to respond in some way. As he realized that his companion wasn’t speaking, he sighed with bated breath, looking slowly from side to side as he checked to make sure that no one was around them. Not that he needed his eyes to do that. It was more for V’s benefit than his own, in any case. “To someone with a trained eye, abilities like that stick out like a sore thumb, especially when the person in possession of them doesn’t yet know how to control them. But that is not to say that you don’t have amazing potential if only someone were to educate you as to how to do deliberately what already comes to you so naturally.”

“Gifts? What are you…” V paused as he considered what he wanted to say next. Sirrus could see something about him that the rest of the people he knew couldn’t? That was alarming to him for reasons that he couldn’t quite place at the moment. Was he that obvious? What else had he been doing that he just hadn’t noticed was a dead giveaway in regards to his true nature? Could anyone else tell, or was that something specific to Sirrus?

“Your grandfather is the Dark Knight Sparda, yes? I couldn’t help but notice your surname. He was a good man. And he was very powerful. I see things in both you and your brother that I do not see in your older relatives.” He seemed to be speaking carefully as he headed to the center aisle in his search for… whatever it was that he was looking for to cook dinner with. He seemed to notice V’s quiet, well-concealed panic, but the atmosphere had changed notably in the air around them. There was a certain latent hostility to V’s demeanor that hadn’t been there before, and for the first time since he’d arrived in town to carry out his mission, he felt genuinely threatened by someone. While he had indeed encountered resistance, nothing so far had felt so pure, so dynamic in its ability to utterly destroy him, and he got the impression that neither V nor himself truly knew what the young man with the white hair was capable of at that moment. And as exhilarating as that might be under most circumstances, this was far from the case at this moment in time.

It was time to start explaining himself.

“... Sometimes things skip a generation, carried in latent genes by your forebears. This may be one of those cases. That’s what makes me as powerful as I am in some regards. And it is why we have what I like to call Dry Generations; instances in which nothing particularly interesting happens.” The hostility level didn’t decrease much, and Sirrus took a mental note of that, preparing himself should the worst happen. And he hoped with every fiber of his being that it wouldn’t. Something told him that if he had to resort to that, Vergil wouldn’t appreciate him having to explain it after the fact, and the last thing he wanted to have to do was pry Yamato out of his own chest. Vergil had quite the throwing arm. And as fast as he was, he wasn’t sure he was quite that fast. “But when more interesting individuals are born, well, they are most certainly more… intriguing. You and Nero seem to fit that bill nicely.”

“Are you threatening me?” V asked point-blank, his posture slightly more straight than it had been a moment before. Perhaps without thinking it, V had shifted into a readied stance, unwilling to be taken off guard by any kind of sudden attack. Resorting to this kind of public display of power had to be against some code of ethics or something, but he wasn’t going to stand there and take something like that laying down if it came to it. He needed to make that clear, even if Magnolia probably wouldn’t appreciate him bringing Sirrus to her in the middle of the night filled with puncture wounds from Shadow and several broken bones from a trip off of a local roof, courtesy of Griffon. He just hoped that he wouldn’t need to do that. And although he was somewhat sure that he wouldn’t need to, that didn’t change the fact that he might still need to defend himself.

In a moment of self-awareness, Sirrus shook his head, stepping back slightly as he allowed his head to rest on the edge of the center bin that he stood next to. There was some kind of meat inside of it with a sale sign next to it, but that would only become relevant if they made it out of this encounter in one piece. What a fascinating reaction. I would have never thought that he was capable of actually being overtly aggressive considering his physical state and general disposition. He normally has such a mild mentality.” He thought to himself as he let his arms fall to his sides, wanting to demonstrate as clearly as possible that he was not trying to intimidate V or cause him any harm. One could only imagine what he had been through in his young life, and he wasn’t going to add to that pain and suffering if he could help it.

Maybe it was simply the demon side of him showing itself a little in that moment as a natural defense mechanism? He knew that they were not entirely human, after all, and he had no idea how much demonic blood ran through his veins. It mattered very little if he was being truthful with himself. His pedigree alone ensured that he was powerful, And that was something he could deeply sympathize with on an extremely personal level. He too carried his own darkness locked away deep within himself, even if it was a different form of it. He couldn’t judge him for the one time he slipped up. Hell, he’d give him a hug if he wasn’t so sure it would get him stabbed through the gut with V’s cane.

“Oh, perish the thought. Not even slightly. I wouldn’t dare. Though I do admit that it probably seems that way.” He watched V relax slightly, at least physically, sliding back into the comfortable leaning position that he was accustomed to associating with him. It made him wonder what the young summoner had been through that had made him this way, or if perhaps it was a one-off fluke reaction to this exact situation. Maybe he could ask him another time when he calmed all the way down. It seemed that he had at least a little bit of his father in him after all. “Quite the opposite though. I am extending an invitation. I would like to help you with that. Now, were you thinking fin or fang in regards to protein for this meal? It seems we have simpler choices to make this time around. But something tells me it won’t always be that way. Darkness looms on the horizon, and I have the feeling that something sinister might be readying itself just out of view.”

V gave him an apprehensive look, unsure as to what to really say to that. This entire conversation had certainly changed his outlook on a few things, to say nothing of how it had nearly taken a turn for the worst. He needed ample time to think things through. He was used to being the logical, level-headed one in situations like this. Something about that conversation had severely taken him out of his element, But at least a few of his questions had been answered, even if more now lingered in the back of his mind. And more importantly, there hadn’t been a public display of supernatural violence that could have destroyed both of them and the building along with them.

Sighing gently as if to physically rid himself of the toxic experience he had just suffered through, V looked at Sirrus, the both of them somehow knowing that the other regretted what had almost just happened even without saying it. It was best to leave things alone for now and just leave this store. Maybe the building itself was driving them both insane. “Fang.”

(-~-)

Gosh, writing this chapter makes me want to work on the story that I’ve been wanting to write for so long now. But not yet! I don’t pick projects up easily after I walk away from them, so for now, I will wait. There is still much to be done with this AU, but gosh writing Sirrus gets me in the mood for that. Let’s just say he doesn’t originate from this AU universe.

Here is the link to the form! It’s only 4 questions and should take about two minutes to answer. Thank you! You’re a big help to me. I want it to be clear that I’m not making anything from this fic, I just want to do something neat for charity and give you something cool in return.

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1jD0AKYiX3EfLjt-M_Rk8CapJ0GdzVqB-9oDMhV3SG2A/edit?usp=sharing

Sorry for my rambling this week! I’m just excited, I guess! Also, a special thank you to the like 2 people on Tumblr that like my chapters every week. I like your energy =^~^=

#Hiraeth #V #Vitale #Devil May Cry AU #Sirrus #DMC #DMC5 #Post DMC5

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relatablepugperson · 5 years ago

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hi my name is jay and I am a weekly volunteer for an animal rescue. I want to share my take on Netflix’s Tiger King, since I’m also a film student.

TW: mentions of suicide; transphobia; animal abuse

PETA isn’t a good organization. For the most part people know that, however the way the show treated Carole is absolutely insane. The editors clearly wanted to show both sides, which would normally make sense in this scenario, but they made no effort to interview anyone else on Carole’s side aside from her and her husband.

Another thing to consider while watching, is that they showed a suicide on screen. When they were interviewing Travis’ mother, she complained about the treatment she received after his death, and I can 100% guarantee that they did not check with her to make sure it was okay to use that footage. It is disrespectful and frankly unprofessional for the lighthearted nature of the show.

Everyone on the show neglected to use the proper pronouns for Saff, a trans man. He is constantly refered to with the wrong pronouns and they used his birth name in many of the visuals. Saff is honestly one of the only likeable interviewees on the show, and it was disheartening to see him treated in an incredibly disrespectful way. There is no reason he couldn’t have been gendered properly.

Now to the animals. I understand how Carole has problems with some of the issues. One thing she didn’t mention was food. The expired meat was not ethical. Aside from the fact that they should have more room to roam and less tigers per cage, there isn’t much wrong with what Joe was doing while the tigers were with him.

There is no ethical reason to euthanize an animal with a gun.

Shooting an animal is not an effective way to euthanize, and even if the animal needs to be put down, it should be a Vet’s decision and should be done in a humane way.

I’m speaking on behalf of domesticated and feral roaming cats when I say this, but they have a temper. It’s not normal for cats to be able to endure that must physical touch or social interaction. It’s a surprise to me that more people haven’t gotten hurt because of cub petting.

I have no real room to speak on any other part of the show, though I am deeply against everything that Doc Antle does, it’s not my place.

The show did Carole dirty. She did have some good points. Though I don’t agree with everything, I can tell you that I understand her viewpoint. In the show she likely uses volunteers to be able to feed the animals with higher quality food instead of having to pay staff. And while I do not agree that it’s still okay to keep them in cages, for the most part she does so in a more ethical way than anyone else in the show and for that I commend her.

#tiger king #carole baskin #please reply with your opinions because I would like to know

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didilosemymindordidifindit · 4 years ago

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IF ONLY BUHARI'S PARENTS HAD ALLOWED HIM TO FOLLOW HIS DREAM, NIGERIA WILL NOT BE IN THE STATE IT IS IN.

You see why everyday I beg parents to allow their children to study or be what they want to be and not force them to not be one thing or the other but you guys never listen.

"I want my child to be a doctor"

"I want my child to be a lawyer"

"I want my child to be an engineer" etc etc.

This is the rubbish that caused the wahala we are now in. People are being killed on a per second billing, we are all on an hunger diet but yet the presidency is nonchalant. If not for the fact that the price of rope has also gone up, the number of suicides would have been off the charts.

All this because of the ignorance of Buhari's parent. They are in their graves rotting and we are here suffering their misdeeds. I would have love to rain curses on them but what's the point.

You see a child, always waking up before the crack of dawn. Without brushing his teeth, he would go to check on the cows at the backyard. Give them water and fresh grass. This child has been doing this from adolescence till his teenage years. Finally, it's time to decide what this child will do with his life, you open your mouth waaa,

"I want my son to be a General in the army"

The child begged you with heaven and earth to see his passion that he has shown over the years for cows and cattle rearing that maybe he should be a vetinarian or an agriculturist but no you insist that he must be a General in the army.After years of shouting and beating, the boy capitulates and joins the army.

Fast forward decades later, by a stroke of magic, our boy grows up and becomes the Head Of State of the Federal Republic of Nigeria in 1985; A very bloody tenure. people eye see wheeeen! God in his infinite mercies decides to remove the boy(now a man) from the seat.

Fast forward again to 2014, people start shouting "Goodluck Jonathan is too sluggish", "Goodluck Jonathan is too slow". How won't he be sluggish? How won't he be slow? When baba has 'down-ed' five litres of Ogogoro before preciding over FEC meetings. You see him on TV, his eye will now be like a flag on half mast. His eye like that of Eugenia Abu of NTA News fame. People kept complaining "He's too soft" like married women at night.

Some even went further to say, "We need somebody with iron hand".

Kai!!! This mouth get power!!!

Yanga dey sleep, trouble go wake am.

People were eating at least two square meals even if there was no meat, instead of thanking God, they said they wanted iron hand.

Price of fuel was N67, Good luck wanted to remove subsidy, they screamed against it. Wole Soyinka with his canopy of hair, Buhari and the rest protested against it and the 'sluggish' man came to an agreement without the shedding of a single drop of blood.

Yet the clamour for "iron hand" grew louder.

Children were in school studying, no problem. Yes! ASUU striked once in a while(With the way ASUU strikes, If we swear-in our leaders with them holding ASUU membership book and saying the words "if I do not do what I promised in my manifesto,may ASUU strike me dead", they will keep to their words.) unlike now when there is something wrong if ASUU are not on strike. Yet people kept clamouring for iron hand.

Tinubu with his lust for power, went to our boy (who is now a grand father) who was happily rearing his immortal cows; finally living his childhood dream, and convinced him to run for president, that this time he will win because of the support of the south.

I don't know what he used to convince him; Promise of giving him the whole of southern Nigeria for his cows? We will never know but we can only guess because our 'boy' for one reason or the other, left the love of his life and became the president of Nigeria. Or so we thought. For us, we thought this was a new dawn in democracy not knowing it was a DemoCowCy; it's new variant which is the government by the people, of the people, for the cows.

Nigeria should be given an award by PETA(People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) as the most animal loving nation in the world. We are so in love with animals, we are willing to kill thousands just for the life of one.

Farms are destroyed, farmers are killed, we face food shortage, hunger and the threat of a tribalism fuelled civil war but the government doesn't care. For as long as the cows have fresh farm produce to eat, we can all die.

At the moment, human life is way below in the food chain.

All this because Buhari's parent refused to allow him follow his dream. Thunder ehn!!!!!!

#peta #career #careerguardiance #dream #job #be who you want to be #follow your dreams #nigeria #buhari #herdsmen #bandits #bokoharam #repentant herdsmen #killings #cow #farmers #farm #hunger #food shortage

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lanaisnotwool · 5 years ago

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Especially during the last recession. You know, all that time. I remember thinking, man, all this pain I'm going through being over a million dollars in debt, you know, learning how to retire twice. They do it a second time to make it work again. Make sure that these principles are proven to be true. And I remember thinking, if I could just help one person because of the things I'm going through, that would be worth it. And guys, you guys are into the thousands and tens of thousands. And I know this ripple effects gone way beyond that too. And so I'm grateful to be a part of this. Thank you so much.Hey, as quick reminder, check out our website, MoneyRipples.com. There's good stuff on there. Check it out.Okay. Today guys, like I know I just kinda went on a little gratitude rant and I hope you don't mind because I am grateful for you guys. But I want to talk about things that have been on my mind lately, especially with everything going on. Right? You know, the thing I see that there's so many, so much speculation, so many people are like, they want like, you know, a prophet to come out and say, here's what's going to happen. Right? Here's what's going to happen with this or with that or whatever, and sure I've got some things right. Like things that I've been saying that come true. Even when I've talked about before I said, Hey guys, get those lines of credit open and get the cash out now.Wells Fargo just last week announced they're shutting down lines of credit, like including home equity lines of credit. Bank of America said the same thing. The bigger banks already doing it and guaranteed the smaller banks will file a suit. Right? Those are things that I've said. But I want to go deeper. I want to go into, what's really the danger here because everybody's talking about a stupid virus, you know, and they're talking about this and that. And yeah, I get it. It's rough and it's not nice. You know, it's not pleasant, especially for some people, you know, I'll tell you though, prosperity can never be lived in fear. You cannot expect to live in fear and prosper and be abundant. You can't be an abundant when you have feared scarcity in your life. Fear and scarcity and doubt, and all these things only drives money away from you. Drives prosperity away for you.You want to talk about prosperity guys. I'm not just talking about making a lot of money. I'm mostly talking about happiness, joy, meaningful relationships in your life with your family or loved ones, you know, mental health, right? All of these things are part of the same whole. These are true principles. Whether you want them to work or not, they work. So even if you say, Hey, I don't believe in them. It doesn't matter. They're going to work anyways, or they're going to work against you either way. And so there's something that I fear a lot more than a virus right now. In fact, honestly the virus to me is not that scary. You know, I know some of you guys will be ticked by me saying that, I'm sorry. You know, I'll come out and say it. I don't wear masks because I don't feel the need to. Plus there's nobody really around me anyways.So, other than my family, my 5 million kids. Right. But the truth is I'm not going out in public that much anyways. But you know what? I choose not to live in that fear. Now, that doesn't mean I don't respect. And I want people to be kept safe. Especially if they're older, they're immune to compromise. I get that. But here's the thing guys, is that when it comes to prosperity, you cannot live a life hiding. You cannot live your life. Just hunkered down in a hole. I have friends in Spain right now. Guys. I got friends in Spain right now that have been quarantined for months. For over a month and a half now. And guess what? The numbers are barely started to decrease. It didn't take two weeks. Remember, we're suppose to be two weeks in quarantine and then we're supposed to be fine, right? It didn't take that much time, but now there's more fear going on.Now. Finally, they're actually able to go on little walks without a dog. They can go more than 10 meters away from their house now, but only for a few hours, like for an hour or two a day, you know, that's it. And that's going to get better. But guys, the thing that's in a danger or country is not a virus. It's not about whether or not you're going outside with a mask or not. That's not what's in trouble right now. The true thing that's the trouble is SCARCITY. As I said, scarcity drives away money. It drives away resource. It drives away happiness, joy. It drives away people. That scarcity is a disease. That is a virus that keeps coming back. And it has been since the beginning of time. That is something that's destroying much, much more. It's destroying governments. It's destroying jobs. It's destroying people.People are giving into scarcity. There's more people dying here in the state of Utah from suicides. Of the increased number of suicides and our deaths from a virus, right? There's way more deaths from that. From drug overdoses and things of that nature. Guys, the real thing that kills us, the real scare here is OUR MINDS. You know, and I'll tell you, there's two primary things with scarcity that I'm worried about. One is a concept called learned helplessness. Now I remember taking my psychology classes in college and maybe you guys did too, is that they did a study. They said, all right, we're going to take a dog. Right. And this is back before, before we had PETA, right? This is back before those days when they protected animals, but they took a dog and they had a floor and there was a little separation between the two floors, right?So one side they could have electrified. So they had like a little kind of cage that they could electrify the floor. On the other side of this little mini wall, is this like a short little wall that you could hop over. There's another side of that electrocute as well. So of course they won't, just like with Pavlov's experiment with ringing the bell, they said, Hey, let's see what happens if we shocked the floor. So they shock floor in the dog. And naturally the dog jumps over to the other side to get relief. It wants to avoid the pain. They said, all right, we'll shock. The other side. He was shocked the other side and jumped right back over. They said, look at this, we're manipulating a dog. Look, what a bunch of chipped bullies.So anyways, they started doing this and then they said, Hey, let's test this out. What would happen if we shock both sides at the same time? So kind of the "Dang if you do, Dang if you don't" that scenario. Right? So they shocked both sides. The dog hops over realized that shocked over. It hops back over again, hops back, back and forth a few times. And after realizes that no matter where it goes, it's going to be shocked. It went to a corner and it started penal over itself. It got to a point where it said, why should I keep jumping? And so it stopped. And it just sat there shivering, right? Obviously this is really cruel treatment. It makes you feel for the dog obviously, or the dogs. They probably I'm sure they did some more than one. So anyways, that concept that came out of that was called learned helplessness, which comes from the whole "Dang if you do, Dang if you don't" right? I'm editing this to keep this PG.But that's true. What it truly is, is it's trying to say that many cases, we think if there's no hope, right? There's no way out, many guys might feel this way about your own money. Anyways, some of you guys might be thinking, Hey, I just started going ahead. And then all this crap hits the fan and now I'm right back in a struggle. Right? And I get that, you know, some of you thinking like, Oh, I was just about to retire and then bam! There went my stocks, you know, they're on my mutual funds. Right? And all that kind of stuff.That's the kind of thing we're talking about with learned helplessness is that when people start to believe that no matter what they do, when no matter what choice they make, they're doomed. That they're doomed to a life of misery or the doom to a life of lack. You know, lack of money, lack of joy, lack of time, whatever that might be. That is what I mean by learn helplessness. That right there guys, there's a lot of that happening right now. People think, Oh, we just came out of recession, you know, over a decade ago, now we're going into another one, possibly even a depression. What's the use, right? And when people get depressed, they start doing crazy things. We've already seen this, right. We've already seen some craziness happen. I mean, you know, you're hearing stories about people clapping for their balconies when people get arrested on the streets because they want out, you know, we get that. I get why you'd feel that way, you know? But we start to realize that, you know, when you get into a weird place, especially when it's a place of scarcity, when you're feel like there's a scarce amount of freedom, right? There's a scarce amount of time or scarce amount of resources or whatever it might be. Scarce amount of air to breathe, right? Whatever that might be like, that's where you start to have issues. And that's when you start to make really bad decisions.Guys, I was this way, even just in the last recession, I was thinking like, man, no matter what I'm doing, it used to be. I thought, whatever I touched turned to gold. But then when I got humbled. By the other circumstances, I started thinking, man, no matter what I do, it seems like I'm failing. And that's a bad, deep, dark place to be in. Like, I remember just being in that place thinking, Oh my goodness, how am I going to get out of this mess? Right. And that's a hard place to be. So be aware of that. The other one I would be aware of now is also entitlement.Entitlement is very much a scarcity driven type of emotion and belief even, right? We're already seeing this right now. Like there's a family member that recently absolutely despises government money. And so he got a stimulus check, right? You know, I wasn't fortunate to get a stimulus check, but that's fine. You know, but he got a stimulus check and he's like, Oh! I hate that. They sent me this check. And then when he was asked, are you going to give it back to the government? He's like, Oh no, no, I'm going to spend it. And there's a lot of people thinking that somehow the government should bill them out. Like they are somehow responsible for the freedom or have even the key to their freedom. And so they start thinking they're entitled to it. Hey, you know what? I'm entitled that somebody should pay my rent for me because I didn't do this.This isn't my fault. Guys, life happens. You're not entitled to squat. You don't deserve anything. The only thing you deserve is to align yourself with principles, follow them and then accept the consequence. Good or bad. So for example, you know, like I know that if I create value for people inevitably prosperity follows, you know, and it's not just money, you know, sometimes it's appreciation sometimes it's love, you know, other times it's just, you know, the fact that the joy that I have, that I know I'm blessing lives, that personal fulfillment, right? There's lots of ways you can get paid from creating value. That is true principle. And always has been, always, will be since the beginning of time and will be till the end of time, right? Those kinds of things are true. I'm not entitled to anything. I just create as much karma as I can in my favor.And then I let the principals govern and the consequences follow. That's all it is guys. It's purely just about that. It's how we let those consequences follow, doing good, doing, you know, following your line, yourselves, the principles. When I violate principles, especially if it's consistent, I will get a result. The results usually not prosperity. It's usually in becoming impoverished. You know, that's the thing. And that's why you always got to check yourself with the emotions and the belief that you have. Guys. You're not entitled to give them money. In fact, the one thing I'm worried about is that when people start becoming entitled to that money, then they believe that somehow people got bailed them out and they stop producing. They stop being creators. They start becoming consumers and creators are what drives this economy. You want anything to be resolved? If you want true prosperity for a whole society, we've got to go from a place of consumerism, to a place of being a creator. We gotta be in a creative mindset. Otherwise it doesn't work.So guys, that's my thing. I want you guys to really take this in depth. Avoid the entitlement, avoid feeling helpless because there always is hope. I am telling you guys there's many of us prospering right now. Not because we're just got lucky, but because we follow and align ourselves with principles. You do that. You become a master and a student of those principles. And many of these episodes in the show talk about many of them. If you do that prosperity will inevitably follow, one way or the other. And I remember it happened to me in 2009, August, 2009. I remember I released myself. I said, God, I submit myself to you. I know that I've been going through this for the last year and a half the struggle. Right? Really. It felt like the last two years I was going through that struggle of scarcity.And I finally just said, listen, I know these principles work. They're from you. I'll just follow them. I don't care if it takes 20 years, I will keep following these principles so that I know they have to work. And you know what happened, guys? It was after I got to that place of submission, that place where I was able to just say, you know what, I'm okay. I'm going to keep doing what I know is right. And let the consequence follow. That is exactly when by October, just two months later, that's when everything turned around for me and I started to pull myself out of that hole. Guys, these things work get to a place of hope, get to a place of abundance and prosperity and watch what will happen. Your life will be drastically different than the lives of those out there. And around you in the world today, if the world could just hold onto this and truly grasp this. Guys, most of these problems that are in the media right now, the media wouldn't have that much to report. They would just come up with crap, which they already do anyways. But guys give them something new to report on. Do and be something better. That is my challenge for you guys today. I hope we make it a wonderful and prosperous week. We'll see you later.

#Chris Miles #Anti-financial Advisor #Cash flow #Cash flow Expert #Debts #Entrepreneur #Financial Freedom

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prongsmydeer · 5 years ago

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Ayesha Liveblogs Tiger King

“I think it would be fair to say that Carole is the Mother Teresa of cats” now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear

“I’d never been a person who had friends” statements like this always perplex me because surely there had to be ONE other person in however long you quantify childhood that you identified with. Like not one whole ass person? You’re not the only person who loves cats Carole

The juxtaposition between Carole Baskin’s “Animal Print for Animal Rights” and Joe Exotic’s “Tiger King underwear is our bestseller” is poetic cinema

Okay this isn’t a reflection of my opinions on this man but I Saw a Tiger is a good country ballad there I said it

“When I first met Joe, I was like a month out of high school” well that’s not good

[Joe Exotic voice] Some people have tigers to cope

Doc Antle has only been on screen for 30 seconds and already he has made himself memorable by directing the film crew

Is Bhagavan Antle Indian in some way or did he just have a really intense Eat Pray Love journey with his guru

Also is he really a doctor orrrrrrrrr

“I am out there in the forefront so known of being this guy that is in love with big cats and has them love him back” please don’t tell me this guy does anything weird to his animals

“People only care about saving what affects them”

“You can’t put a price on holding a baby tiger” but you did and apparently it’s $625

The fact that multiple tigers have had albinism is probably a sign of major inbreeding practices at these zoos

You know, even if I ate meat*, there is no way I would be able to handle any kind of early prep stage of it bc seeing these cow carcasses is A Lot

*If u r reading this I don’t care if u eat meat leave me alone

“Animals just wasn’t enough, okay? So then I started adding magic” well that took an unexpected turn

I don’t know if it’s for real fair to criticize every person who has brought a big cat out in a public venue/talk show because I know at least like Dave Sal/moni is always going “THESE ANIMALS MAKE TERRIBLE PETS”

As a sidenote from what I understand this Saff person keeps being deadnamed/misgendered throughout this documentary and I do not appreciate it

“I grew up a professional cowboy in a family of professional cowboys” every sentence on this show is a journey

WHO is letting their ONE-YEAR-OLD lay on top of a tiger cub I know you’re at a zoo but BRUH

“It’s going to be a small Waco” to say this ON THE NEWS

This 2 minute stretch of episode is all the PSA anyone ever needs to never own a gun

Well I think we can all agree that PETA is a fucking mess

God this is like battle of the people who are terrible at doing anything good for animals

“What do you carry that gun for?” “People” AHHHHHHHHHHH?!?!!!!?!?

“I sleep with an AK-47 under my mattress, loaded, ready to roll” WILL SOMEONE HELP THE U.S. OF A

I was warned about this show and yet I was still not prepared for the level of UNHINGED it would be

How in the FUCK does a place like this not have an on-site medic

“Why don’t you come back on another day” he said, after telling the public an employee had his arm taken off

“I am never gonna financially recover from this” SURE JOE THIS IS ABOUT YOU

To go back to work a WEEK after getting your arm amputated... BRUH

“Any law that you think’s unfair or unjustice, it is your obligation, it is your responsibility to stand up against that bullshit law” well Thomas Jefferson was a slaveowner so clearly the injustice thing was relative for him

Traditionally don’t drug addictions fuel people choosing extreme paths with their life rather than the other way around?

JKHGKJHGKJH this whole exchange:

Interviewer: What kind of doctor is he?

Maria: Mystical science.

Interviewer: Mystical science?

Maria, nodding: Yeah.

“How many wives does Doc Antle have?” I didn’t expect this but somehow it tracks

I’m gonna bet none of these people with subcontinental names have a single bit of South Asian heritage like okay “Moksha” and “Rajnee” did Bhagavan name you

On a more serious note: It’s really fucked up that these men keep meeting literal teenagers, making them their employees, and then also get into relationships with them. I cannot emphasize this strongly enough THIS IS NOT GOOD OR HEALTHY

It’s pretty weird that Doc Antle keeps emphasizing so frequently that one of his partners is Italian

“I’m gonna go be a yoga animal trainer” ah, white people bullshit

“Goodbye. Don’t fall in love with your boss.” Good advice, Dad

I was not expecting all this subcontinental imagery to get under my skin this badly but what’s your problem dude can’t u be normal for like a second

“You’re this garbage person, but if you listen to me, I’ll make you great” again this tracks but gross

Again, on a more serious note: if a partner ever talks to you this way please call a domestic abuse hotline

Not that India is at all in a good place right now but I personally ban Doc Antle from ever entering India. Banned. Forever. I will not be accepting constructive criticism at this time

“I didn’t really know any better” is a really good way of summarizing what all of these younger partners have been through

Wow Carole is really explaining this abuse issue succinctly

Antle’s indignation at being implied to be a cult leader despite the fact he is most definitely a cult leader

Joe’s story in his documentary is constantly “is this going to be a humanizing moment PSYCH it’s still terrible”

HOW IS THIS LEGAL PAY YOUR WORKERS A LIVING WAGE

Why is this husband-killing thing JUST A FOOTNOTE AT THE END OF THIS EPISODE OH MY GOD

We have deviated so far from the tiger thing oh my god

Why is the only man in this documentary who is faithful to his spouse the man that smuggled drugs inside of snakes

Every time I learn a new thing about a person in this documentary I have to reorient myself

This whole episode has been about this murder and I’m concerned that its title, “The Secret,” hasn’t even been revealed yet

GOD I take back what I said about I Saw Tiger, the concept of this song/music video for Here Kitty Kitty is so disturbing that this man deserves no credit whatsoever as a musician

CAROLE WHY ARE YOU GIGGLING ABOUT THE MEAT GRINDER IT’S NOT FUNNY

Well I don’t have much to say about this episode other than yikes

I guess if you’re really out to spite someone stealing their brand and posting exactly the opposite of everything they stand for is an effective if weird and petty way to do it

Do you think the whole throne footage moment was a “Frankenstein realizing what he has wrought” kind of thing for Kirkham

This is really like watching a sports game of two teams you can’t stand except the sport is murder and other miscellaneous crime

If we’re all being real with ourselves the documentary filmmakers themselves MUST have had some issues going on to be able to walk into this situation and not do anything about it

This series really seems to present a compelling case for why every major figure in this documentary has potentially committed at least one terrible crime

Ah there’s the judgment from the woman in Florida I guess it’s two crimes with one stone

God these poor animals they do not deserve anything happening to them

While obviously people are enticed by the prospect of someone they’re into having an animal JUST GET AN ALREADY DOMESTICATED ANIMAL LIKE DOMESTICATED CATS AND DOGS EXIST OH MY GOD DO NOT USE EXOTIC PETS AS DATE BAIT

It has been so long since we heard about Travis ngl I already forgot about him

Why is every single person in this show SO OFF THE WALLS I mean I know why but also WHY

This documentary is also a treatise in the flaws of the U.S. prison system and how it sets up people up to fail or re-offend upon release

Take a shot every time a middle-aged man in this show mentions that he casually bought himself a big cat as a teen

“Joe was the entertainment director.... by title” I don’t think this was meant to be a burn but what a burn

I am almost certain I WATCHED that Last Week Tonight episode during that election and if u told me that 4-5 years later I would be rewatching that clip in a documentary about this man’s journey to being convicted for murder then I cannot say I wouldn’t be surprised but I would probably believe it

Also I have to wonder what John Oliver thinks about being part of this

[“Beyonce?” voice] Shaun Majumder?

Sidenote: Until this exact moment I thought of Shaun Majumder as Ben Mulroney even though Brian Mulroney is white as hell I guess I have faceblindness but only for Canadian talkshow personalities

I have been aware of this before now but the fact you can buy a GUN at a Walmart what in the FUCK is U.S.A. doing

Man does this campaign manager really want to take ownership of anything Joe Exotic has ever done

Ngl I was wondering why someone who had at one point clearly had a lot of money seemed to have such poor dental care access but meth certainly does explain it

I mean people can be attracted to both men and women (hello) but since Joe was fuelling their drug addictions since they were teenagers attraction is at best a null factor and at worst an added layer of terrible to this whole mess

It’s hard to even respond to this in a meaningful way because this is so fucked up. Don’t own guns.

“That was a big fucking mistake,” he said, right after someone explained that he was driving large groups of people in an enclosed space in a busy city with wild animals that could maim or kill them

Padlock penls piercing really does not seem like a first date bombshell

“We went to dinner and he never went home” well if that doesn’t set you with a sense of foreboding

TWO MONTHS AFTER WHAT IN THE HELL OH MY GOD also I hope Dillon is okay

“It wasn’t about the animals anymore” you THINK

“It was sort of funny when they started but it’s gotten really dark” how meta

Of all the reasons Joe could’ve abandoned his zoo, I really didn’t think embezzlement would be what pushed him

“He won’t tell anyone where he’s at, not even me,” said Dial, with no acknowledgement of the fact that Joe is also theoretically still married and would maybe tell his husband???

Oh Dillon spotted??? Yikes get out dude

Take a shot every time a white person who really doesn’t understand where the word “karma” comes from starts talking about karma as if it is the Law of Revenge

The fact this man brings a film crew out with him while he’s on the run evading a federal investigation..... incomprehensible

“Joe just wanted to put it in somebody’s name and continue to be the tiger queen, I mean king,” really REALLY of all the reasons to object to Joe you’re going to choose homophobia wow

Is this about an attempt to have someone murdered or does something happen to Baskin it is very unclear

This documentary has an interesting format of switching focus from crime to crime to crime

“I’ve never been as proud of being married to anyone as I am being married to you” It’s weird to compliment your husband by comparing him to all your other husbands

How is the lesson for Jeff Lowe in this “let’s build another zoo” surely at that point it’s better to just cut your losses

[Garretson voice]: You should pay me for being a bro, dude

“I’m a libertarian, so technically, fuck the Feds,” I’ve never heard an intonation that better suits a conservative millennial

I mean I don’t think it was advisable but honestly why are people surprised Joe took the stand isn’t delusions of grandeur kind of his thing

Sometimes it’s just that they’ve added in other moments to break up the awful immoral crimes with just run of the mill douchebaggery like the nanny/gym thing huh

I guess the silver lining in this is that potentially these big cat zoos will shut down but like where do these animals who have been raised in captivity go??? I don’t trust anyone in this documentary to not exploit them in some way ugh

“Not a single animal benefited from this war,” correct, Saff

“I was wrapped up in having a zoo,” not really an excuse but ok

#tw: literally everything #ayesha says things #ayesha liveblogs tiger king #long post #u ever quarantine so hard u watch an entire docuseries in a night #no but seriously it would be hard to warn for everything but proceed with caution #liveblogging

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tisfan · 5 years ago

Text

Tony Stark Flash Bingo

December Flash Bingo 014 - Feasts

A/n - based on conversation at my dinner table, the Jurassic Park fusion that nobody asked for.

The man who sat down across from Tony looked like a high tech cowboy, down to the boots and up to his hat. “So, you’re the new hire,” he said. “I’m Peter Quill.”

“Tony--”

“I know who you are,” Quill said. “I hired you.”

“You did-- I thought--”

“So, what we have here is a grand case of misdirection to protect company secrets. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Tony could. He’d recently lost control of his company, been pushed out by people he’d wrongfully trusted because he didn’t want to make weapons anymore. Well, now Obie had the company, rebranded it, and was making more weapons than ever.

“You need a new start, to try to rebuild your empire, or at least, eat for the next few years, I understand that,” Quill was saying and Tony tried to pay attention. The job had come with a lot of caveats and NDAs and addendums. But the pay was good; more than good, really. A few years and he might be able to have enough seed money to build a few prototypes, get back into the game.

“So, here’s the deal, I lost my last IT guy, and he was good, I’m telling you, really good, but he’s gone now, and I need help. There’s only a few of us who work here, but we’ve got a good lab, a good workshop, I can get you pretty much anything you want or need, both for business and for-- your own personal stuff. But it’s a little bit… not what you’re expecting. You ready to see the place?”

He’d been flown out to a remote island in the middle of the south Pacific and hadn’t seen much more of the place than the helicopter landing pad and the building where he was now sitting, talking to Quill in something that looked like a break room.

“Sure.”

“All right, here’s your communicator.” Quill pushed a small box at Tony, which contained something that looked like a round, black sticker with a glowing light in the middle. “Peel it off, stick it under your ear. It’s water proof, and the adhesive lasts about four days. You’ll get a box of 10 every week. Do not lose it. Do not ever ever not be wearing one. The last thing you want here is to be out of communications range. Mantis is our comms expert, she’ll be the sweet voice in your ear. Say hi.”

Tony stuck the dot on his skin as directed. “Hi Miss Mantis,” Tony said, hesitantly. “Is this thing always on?”

“Hi Tony, welcome aboard,” a cheerful voice said. “If you need privacy, tap the dot twice with your index and middle fingers. It works off a bio reading, so you shouldn’t turn it off by mistake. It’s also a tracker, we’ll know where you are at all times.”

“Big sister is watching you.”

“I am protecting you,” Mantis said.

(more below the cut)

“That’s what they all say.” Tony grinned though, when he said it, because she was probably watching him, too. No need to start things off on the wrong foot for his co-workers. He needed this job. “I’m sure you’ll keep a good watch.”

“So, mostly you’ll be working in the building, which is steel reinforced concrete, and the outside of the building has electric charge capabilities. So, you know, don’t lick the walls.”

“I should think not,” Tony said. “You get a lot of corporate spies around here, or something?”

“Or something,” Quill said, but he didn’t elaborate. “Your room’s down this way, we’ve already moved your bags in.” He selected a door that said Stark on it. From a building to a door. How the mighty have fallen.

Apartment was more like it. Livingroom, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. It was fully furnished, plain, and good sized. Comfortable, if not luxurious. “You can cook here if you want, but most of us eat in the mess. Nebula is our cook. We’ve got all the streaming services you could want for your TV and if you need something else for entertainment, there’s a budget. We have same game consoles in the break room. That kind of thing.”

“So, what, exactly, is my job?”

“Containment, security, keep the server bank safe from cyberhackers. Technical designs. IT stuff.”

“What happened to your last IT guy?” Because this was a sweet set up, really.

“He--”

“He got sat on by a diplodocus,” a brawny man with no hair said, walking buy. “Quill, that orthi’s loose again.”

“The which? A what?” Tony blustered.

“Drax, Tony. Tony, Drax. He’s our resident butcher. Come on, you’ll be needed for fence repair if she’s on the loose again. Grab a tool kit--” Quill was leading them down the hall at a quick pace. “-- and a tranquilizer gun. Also, do not shoot yourself with this.”

“I slept like a baby,” Drax said, fondly.

“For four days,” Quill complained.

“What are we fighting? Elephants?”

“You wish.” Quill threw open the back door. A half dozen tiny animals ran over, making soft clicking sounds. They were-- feathered? But running on four legs like a cat, not like a bird. “Mussaurus. Late triassic, plant eaters. Very friendly. Make friends with one, they’re good pets and they will warn you if any of the bigger ones get out.”

“What is it?” Tony knelt down to examine the creature more closely. “Is this-- is this a dinosaur?”

“Yep,” Quill said. He was already climbing up a tower around the compound, binoculars at the ready. “We bought some of them from Hammond.”

“The Jurassic park guy? But he’s the only zookeeper in the world for these exotics,” Tony said. He made it up in the tower and grabbed his own set of binoculars, scanning the area. A few long-necked animals were in sight. Brachiosaurus, maybe.

“Oh, we’re not zookeepers,” Quill said. “We’re not trying to keep the kiddies safe while they ooh and ahh and spend money on merchandising. We’re a little rougher than that.”

“Illegal dinosaur trade?”

“Perfectly legal. We work with the restaurant business.”

“What?”

“Welcome, Mr. Stark-- to Jurassic Farm.”

“What?”

“Seriously, have you seen the number of steaks on a brontosaurus?” Quill asked. “We provide exotic delicacies for all over the world. A feast on feet. And sometimes a little game hunting for the overly rich thrill seeker. That comes with a waiver for us. They don’t always get their prey.”

“I can see why,” Tony said, faintly.

A woman with green and purple hair came up next to them. “I found her,” she said. “Let’s just put this one down? She’s more trouble than she’s worth.”

“Gamora, our huntress. Tony Stark, IT.”

“The weapons manufacturer?”

“I got out of that business.”

“If I only shoot dinosaurs with it, will you make me a custom weapon?”

“We can talk about it,” Tony said, giving her a smile.

“I like him already,” Gamora declared.

“All right, Stark, you ready to go on your first rodeo?”

“No?” Was that even a question?

“Ha, come on,” Drax said, smacking him on the shoulder hard enough that he almost fell over. “It is fun, and we can introduce you to Groot and Rocket on the way.”

“Our botanist and mechanic,” Quill explained. “And that’s the whole team. Yondu’s our pilot, he brings things from the mainland, and delivers the product. You’ve met him already.”

Tony checked the dart gun. He knew the theory, but he’d never actually fired one.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Tony muttered, but followed along, chanting in his head, I need this job, I need this job...

***

“I shot a prehistoric ostrich,” Tony said, looking down at it. About eight feet tall, with a thin neck, only two legs, and wings that were barely functional, except maybe for steering while the dino ran like hell.

“That is a lot of turkey, right there,” Quill said. Which was probably true; if it could be roasted like a bird, the whole thing would be about four feet long, and probably serve at least a hundred and fifty people. And that didn’t even count the neck and tail.

“So, uh, like, does PETA know about this,” Tony wondered. He wiped sweat off his forehead; it had been a long chase, but the Ornithomimus was a plant eater, and not prone to attacking, although Quill had warned that everything on Jurassic Farm was, in fact, dangerous.

“Part of the reason we need a good internet security guy,” Gamora said. “They keep sending Green Terrorists after us. Shoot the people, save the dinosaurs. Whatever.”

“You want the head for your wall?” Drax offered, pulling out a machete that was practically bigger than Tony was.

“No, I think I’m good,” Tony said. “This was more like big game hunting than farming.”

“Obviously, you have never lived on a farm,” Quill said. “Cows can be real dangerous.”

Gamora laughed, put her arm around Tony’s shoulders. “Come on, Stark, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“No drinking until I get there,” Quill said, pointing a finger. “We still gotta haul this lady over to the butcher’s building. And fix that fence before you go, I don’t need to chase anything else around this farm.”

“All right, Quartermain, we’ll do it your way,” Tony said. He gave Gamora’s arm a friendly squeeze. “Two drinks. In a few hours.”

#TSBFlash #Tony Stark Flash Bingo #Tony Stark/Peter Quill #Jurassic Park fusion

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