#Machete Ridge

[thorsenmark]

Balconies and Machete Ridge by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While hiking the Jawbone Trail with a view looking to the northeast at eroded volcanic formations. This is looking to the Balconies and Machete Ridge and is in Pinnacles National Park.

[nellarw95]

Happy Birthday Mel 🥳🎂🎈🎁🎉

January 3,1956

Buon Compleanno 🥳🎂🎈🎁🎉

3 Gennaio 1956

[pipartuuli]

Kloktober 2023 Day 7 - Missing AOTD scene

...

They'd let him get too close. They'd been so focused on Nathan's injuries - serious injuries, enough to have downed the vocalist - that none of Dethklok had noticed one of Salacia's fanatical devotees creeping close, machete in hand, raising it in preparation to strike--!

CRACK!

The would-be assassin, sporting a new fist-sized hole in the center mass of his torso courtesy of the buckshot that had ripped its way through him, collapsed onto the snow with a soft thud, dead. The four still-conscious members of Dethklok wheeled around to determine the source of the gunshot. There on the ridge were two familiar figures: Nathan's mother and father. Rose, her entire five-foot-two frame trembling with maternal rage, still held a double barreled shotgun leveled, ready to fire another round if their attacker dared to show any residual signs of life.

Over the cacophony of the battle raging behind them, the band could just make out her battlecry: "Not my baby you don't, you bastard!"

...

Would have LOVED to see the parents in the final battle! Could totally see them all cresting the ridge, holding various makeshift weapons. They might not always be the best parents or easiest to get along with, but no one - NO ONE - touches their babies, dammit!!

[thebunnednun]

Whispers of the Heart Dracule Mihawk x Fm! Reader (Part 4)

I do not own the artwork its by: @xuchuan25 Tell them they're amazing y'all!

Chapter 4 in the building y'all!!!! I just needed to see my Buggy.

Part 1 can be found: Here

Part 2 is right: Here

Part 3: Right over yonder

Don't be afraid to send me any requests my loves and if you are waiting for the next installment I have another Mihawk story:

*Shadows of the Blade (Dracule Mihawk x Assassin reader)

If you like sexy swordplay and themes of overcoming trauma then this is the story for you!. If you wanna skip to the good stuff try chapter 3.

Backstory:

You've been Dracule Mihawk's personal maid and housekeeper for what feels like an eternity. Let's cut to the chase – you're a badass, sweetheart. Sexy, cool, and confident, with a reputation that precedes you. Been friends with the stoic man for eons by now.

Everyone knows you or knows of you, and it's not just because you keep Mihawk's castle running like a well-oiled machine.

So what happens when you develop feelings for your old friend and boss?

What does he do when he comes home to find you in his room without your panties?

Also, muneca-chan= baby doll

ON WITH THE SHOW!!~

________________Chapter 4: A Clown's Counsel___________________

"Everything is going to be fine," you murmur softly, your voice echoing faintly into the open air. 

Your heart pounds with a mixture of excitement and nervousness as you stand alone in the vast, empty waters of the ocean. With a determined expression, you whisper reassuring words to yourself, trying to quell the rising tide of anxiety.

"You've locked down the castle securely. You just need to make this quick trip and return before Mihawk, Perona, and Zoro even realize you're gone." Taking a deep breath, you glance around the dimly lit deck one last time before turning your attention to your bag.

With meticulous care, you rummage through its contents, double-checking that you have everything you need for your journey. Each item holds a significance, a memory of past adventures and encounters that fuels your determination.

'I am a pirate queen of all the oceans. I was raised on an island in the Grand line and chose to live a life of peace. I can fucking sail a boat!'

After hanging up with Shanks last night, you decided to get up and moving if you were going to make your trip in time. Mihawk rarely ever sent word of his return home, unless he wanted a specific dinner and wine waiting for him.

You knew you'd have anywhere from a few days to two months before you saw him again. With a long sigh, you held your face in your hands for a moment of calm. 

The weather had turned for the worst overnight leaving you to sail the nearby waters in the middle of a rain storm. But, you honestly didn't mind one bit. It reminded you of your home island and like the homesick tall-child you were, you stood there on your little boat without a jacket or umbrella.

Call you crazy, but you wished for it to rain harder so all the confusing emotions inside you could be washed away somehow. Looking behind you, your eyes caught the slight glimmer of two familiar objects looking out of the bag behind you.

"Mhm," walking over, you reached inside, allowing your fingers to grasp the handle of two familiar old friends. The golden ridges caught the light from your dimming lantern.

Two identical machetes gleamed back at you, a parting gift from your mother. Your native tongue etched into the blade, they possessed a soft hum, almost whispering out to you. The temptation to harness your belt on and feel them resting on your hips again was almost irresistible. But instead, you drew your bag closed over them and set it down once more.

Constantly fighting for your life and the life of your crew mates was not something you missed about the old life. Yes, battles of honor were fun and sometimes even lead to creating new friends, however, there were too many attempts of pure murder. 

As a caption, you very much followed Gold Rodgers example of what a pirate should be. However, you also believed in not looking for fights. Now, you weren't out of practice by any means, Mihawk would never allow that.

But you could feel yourself adjust instantly to this old way of living and it kinda bothered you. However, resisting the temptation let you know that you were still you. 

You really have come so far in life. <3

Satisfied that you are well-prepared, you make your way to the shores of a nearby island, your footsteps echoing softly in the silence of the night. As you reach the edge of the water, you pause, your gaze scanning the horizon with a sense of anticipation.

Knowing that discretion is key, you reach into your bag once more, retrieving a carefully crafted cloak. The rumors of your death would fool the general public, but not other pirates or worse- fame hungry pirate captions.

You disappeared under the deck for a moment to find an old mirror. Then with practiced precision, you transform your appearance, concealing your identity behind a clever facade. As you adjust the final details of your disguise, you feel a surge of confidence wash over you. A small smile reaches your lips before a giggle slips out.

'Shanks would love this.'

With your transformation complete, you set off along the shoreline, your eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of activity. This island was Buggy's last known location, and you are determined to find him. Every step brings you closer to your goal, your senses heightened with anticipation.

'Now or never.'

As you navigate the sandy shores, the salty breeze caresses your cheeks, invigorating your spirit with a sense of adventure. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a soft glow upon the landscape, guiding your way through the darkness.

With each passing moment, your anticipation grows, fueled by the promise of reunion and the thrill of the unknown. Your senses are sharp, attuned to the subtlest of sounds and movements, as you scan the surroundings for any sign of life.

And then, in the distance, you catch a glimpse of movement—a flicker of movement amidst the shadows.

A big top. 

Without a second thought, you take off running in that direction. Unworried about the rain, you can barely hear the sound of your feet hitting the muddy ground over your pounding heart. Your breath quickens with excitement as you draw closer, your footsteps quickening with each stride.

"No you fucking shit head, it's WRONG!"

"Found you!"

Finally reaching the tent, you poked inside to see where that lovable asshole was. Ducking under the bleachers, you watched as a tall familiar figure threw a barrage of insults at some huddled performers. Several freaks were passing and going throughout the chaos to practice their acts and hone their talents. 

Amidst a flurry of activity, stood Buggy, his presence commanding attention amidst the chaos. You pause for a moment, watching him rehearse with his performers, a fond smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"If you can't get the lion to dance by this Friday, I am going to eat him. I don't give a FUCK how chewy he is!"

There stood a timid man with an animal that cowered before the infamous caption of the East Blue.

Ever the drama queen, Buggy's appearance was as flamboyant and eccentric as ever. He stood tall and proud, his colorful attire adorned with sequins and feathers that shimmered in the light. His hair, a riotous explosion of bright blue curls, framed his face in wild abandon, adding to his larger-than-life persona. His eyes, usually twinkling with mischief and charm, were now almost bloodshot and darted around the room, taking in every detail with a keen sense of curiosity. 

You can't help but chuckle at Buggy's theatrics, a familiar warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of him. Despite his bombastic demeanor, you know there's a soft side to him that few ever see.

As the chaos around him continues, you take a moment to compose yourself before stepping out from your hiding spot. With a mischievous grin, you call out to him in a teasing tone:

"Now that's not nice and you know it." 

Buggy's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, "We're closed right now!"

"Oh, this dumbass." You roll your eyes under the hood before pulling it from your head. His eyes widening in surprise before a wide grin splits his face. Without a moment's hesitation, he strides forward, his arms open wide in welcome.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite troublemaker," he replies, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. With a dramatic flourish, he strides over to you, sweeping you into a tight hug that almost knocks the breath out of you.

Finding yourself unable to keep your composer, you giggle into the chest of the shockingly 6'5 man and snuggle into his chest to quil the ache in your heart, returning his embrace with just as much intensity.

"How've you been, sis?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern as he pulls back to look at you, his hands resting on the apples of your cheeks.

You relish in the familiar comfort of his presence. "Oh, you know, same old same old," you reply, trying to play it cool despite the category 8 hurricane of emotions swirling within you. "Just thought I'd drop by and say hello."

Buggy quirks an eyebrow at your casual tone, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh really? Or is there something else on your mind?" he teases, giving your left cheek a playful pinch with his fingers.

You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh at his antics. "Maybe a little bit of both," you admit, your voice softening as you meet his gaze.

"I've missed you, Buggy. It's been too long."

Buggy's expression softens, his eyes reflecting the sincerity of your words. "I've missed you too, [Name]," he replies, his voice gentle as he squeezes your shoulders affectionately. "But something tells me there's more to this visit than just catching up."

You let out a sigh, knowing you can't hide anything from Buggy. "You know me too well," you admit, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

As Buggy's eyebrows furrow in concern, his gaze searching yours for any hint of distress, you take a deep breath, gathering the courage to confide in him. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You glance briefly at his performers, then lock eyes with Buggy again, a sense of urgency gripping your heart. "Got a place where we can chat in private?" you inquire, your voice barely above a whisper.

Buggy's expression flickers to something fierce, a glint of determination in his sea-green eyes as he analyzes you. Without a word, he stands tall, his shoulders squared, commanding the attention of his crew.

"Everyone is to keep performing," he announces firmly, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. "And when I come back, that lion better know how to tap dance or I'm making good on my promise!" His crew responds with a chorus of "Eye Sir's!" before Buggy ushers you away, leading you to a different part of the tent.

With swift efficiency, he pushes you inside a dressing room adorned with a star, the blue clown's symbol adorning the door. As you step inside, the door closes behind you with a soft click, enveloping you in a cocoon of privacy.

Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you brace yourself for the conversation ahead, knowing that Buggy's keen intuition will leave no stone unturned. As you await his prompting, you can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for his unwavering support, even in the face of your deepest secrets.

The dressing room is a small, cozy space adorned with whimsical decorations that reflect the flamboyant nature of its occupants. The walls are painted a soothing shade of sky blue, with colorful streamers cascading from the ceiling, adding a playful touch to the atmosphere.

In one corner of the room, a vanity table sits adorned with an assortment of makeup and accessories, its surface gleaming under the soft glow of a dim lamp. A large mirror framed in ornate gold stands at the center, reflecting the room's eclectic charm.

Against the opposite wall, a row of hooks holds an array of costumes, each garment more vibrant and extravagant than the last. Sequins sparkle in the light, and feathers flutter gently as if caught in an unseen breeze.

In the center of the room, a plush red armchair beckons invitingly, its cushions adorned with polka dots in varying shades of blue. A small side table sits nearby, stacked with magazines and trinkets, offering a glimpse into the eclectic tastes of its occupants. The air is tinged with the faint scent of powder and perfume, a lingering reminder of the performers who call this space their own.

Despite its small size, the dressing room exudes an undeniable sense of warmth and camaraderie, a sanctuary where secrets are shared and dreams take flight.

Walking over to the vanity, you plucked a familiar red lipstick off the dresser before turning it in your fingers. "Ya know, I used to hate when you'd steal my lipstick," Buggy joked softly, crossing his arms over the swell of his chest. 

Upon hearing his words, your fingers instinctively squeeze the familiar red lipstick perched on the edge of the dresser. You hold it tighter, feeling its smooth texture against your skin, a sense of nostalgia washing over you. Looking up in the vanity mirror, you make eye contact with Buggy. His eyes sparkle with fond memories, a playful glint dancing in their depths.

You chuckle softly at his remark, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you remember the countless times you had playfully raided his makeup collection. "Well, you always did have the best shade of red," you tease back, your voice laced with affection.

Setting the lipstick back down on the vanity, you turn to face Buggy, the warmth of his presence filling the room. Despite the gravity of the conversation looming between you, his easy demeanor brings a sense of comfort, grounding you in the present moment. 

(You know shits bad when you gotta go to the crazy killer pirate clown for advice and comfort. Love and life advice at that!)

As you lean against the vanity, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm hue across your features, you find yourself lost in a moment of quiet contemplation. Memories of past adventures with Buggy flood your mind, each one a vibrant snapshot of the bond you share.

"You know," Buggy begins, his tone softening as he meets your gaze, "I've missed having you around. Things just haven't been the same without your antics to liven up the place."

His words stir something deep within you, a mixture of gratitude and longing intertwining in your heart. Despite the passage of time and the distance between you, the connection you share with Buggy remains steadfast, a beacon of light in the darkness.

"I've missed you too," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

"It's been lonely without you."

A flicker of sadness crosses Buggy's features, his gaze softening with empathy. "I know, sweetheart," he says gently, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "But you're here now, and that's all that matters." You gently grasp the back of his hand that cradles your face. Almost afraid that you'll wake up in that cold and empty castle again. The warmth of Buggy's palm anchors you to the human world.

In that moment, as you stand together in the quiet intimacy of the dressing room, you are reminded of the strength of your bond with Buggy. Through thick and thin, laughter and tears, you know that he will always be there for you, ready to offer his support and unwavering friendship.

No matter the situation, you'd always been there to defend Buggy and build each other's esteem up. Even Mihawk knew not to slip up when talking about the Flashy Jester if he didn't want to be shanked again. 

Speaking of Mihawk-

"So, you gonna tell me why you showed up all of a sudden instead of sending a letter or are we gonna stand here quietly together?" His voice snapping you out of your thoughts with the buzz of its low tone.

"Don't get me wrong muneca-chan, I love seeing you." He softly muses, stepping closer towards you until he pulled the stool from under the vanity out and sits you on it before dropping into his own red chair. 

"But something tells me there's more to this visit than just catching up."

You let out a sigh, knowing you can't hide anything from Buggy. "You know me too well," you admit, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "There's something really important I need to talk to you about. Shanks already knows before he called me last night, stop making that face, and you can't tell anyone else under any circumstances!"

Buggy's eyebrows furrow in concern, his gaze searching yours for any hint of distress. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Taking a deep breath, you gather your thoughts before speaking. "It's about love," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... I think I have feelings for someone, Buggy."

"I think I'm in love."

Buggy's eyes widen in surprise, his expression shifting from concern to understanding.

"Ah, love," he murmurs, his voice soft with sympathy. "Love can be a tricky thing, especially when it comes to matters of the heart."

You nod, grateful for his understanding. "I just don't know what to do," you admit, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "I'm torn between staying here and following my heart."

Buggy places a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you in the midst of your turmoil. "Listen to me, [Name]," he says, his voice gentle yet firm. "You can't let fear hold you back from pursuing what makes you happy. If you have feelings for someone, then you owe it to yourself to explore them, regardless of the outcome."

You take in his words, feeling a sense of clarity wash over you. "Thank you, Buggy," you say softly, your voice filled with gratitude. "I needed to hear that."

Buggy gives you a reassuring smile, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "Anytime, sis," he replies, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"Now, let's hear who the lucky one is!" 

Your smile stiffens before you whisper out quietly. Buggy frowns and leans closer from his chair.

"What's that, starshine?" 

As you gather your thoughts, the weight of your confession is lingering heavy in the air. Buggy's concern deepens, his brow furrowing as he leans in closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

With a sigh, you summon the courage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's... it's Mihawk," you confess, your words hanging in the air like a delicate thread.

Buggy's eyes widen in surprise, his expression a mixture of shock and understanding. "Mihawk?" he repeats, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"As in, Dracule Mihawk?"

You nod slowly, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as the truth finally comes to light. "Yes, Mihawk," you confirm, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "I... I think I'm in love with him."

Buggy's initial reaction catches you off guard. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and for a moment, a look of concern flashes across his face. "Wait, hold on a second," he says, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Are you serious?"

You nod, feeling a pang of uncertainty creeping in. "Yes, Buggy," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know it sounds crazy, but... I think I might be in love with him."

Buggy's expression darkens, his features contorting into a mixture of shock and concern. "Are you feeling okay?" he asks, his voice laced with worry. "I mean, have you been feeling sick or something?"

You shake your head, a sense of frustration bubbling up within you. "No, Buggy, I'm not sick," you retort, a hint of irritation seeping into your tone. "I'm serious about this."

Buggy lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his wild blue hair. "Look, muneca-chan," he begins, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "This isn't something to take lightly. Mihawk is... well, he's not exactly the most approachable guy, you know? And besides, he's your boss, for crying out loud!"

You feel a surge of defiance rising within you. "I know all of that, Buggy," you say firmly, your voice unwavering. "But I can't help how I feel."

Buggy's frustration mounts, and suddenly he's popping his hands off in a fit of anger.

"Has he been trying to feel up on you? OW- OKAY! PUT THE PALLET DOWN THAT ONE WAS EXPENSIVE!" 

While you were holding his makeup hostage, the clown was now rubbing where his hair brush had struck his pectoral. Slowly, you sat back down in the chair as he regarded you like a wild hellcat. A pit of dread now knotted your stomach. 

"I'm not joking Buggy, I need thoughts!" 

"And prayers, you're gonna need them with that eagle- NOT THE FUCKING FACE!" You lobbed a jar of hair cream at him before breaking down in the vanity stool. "Don't be an ass okay! I didn't say anything about you and Shanks!" You gasped, hoping that your voice wouldn't crack any further. 

The weight of your words hangs heavily in the air, and you realize just how much you've been holding back. "I... I'm sorry," you stammer, guilt washing over you as hot, fat tears slip from the corners of your eyes.

Before you can even register it, Buggy has crossed the room in a few quick strides and scooped you up into his strong arms, returning to his chair and settling you onto his lap like a small child.

With your face pressed into his striped shirt, you let the dam burst, unleashing all the pent-up tears you've been holding back. Buggy's hand runs soothingly over your back, cradling your head to his chest as he murmurs comforting words.

Reaching into his sleeve, he pulls out a ridiculously long handkerchief, prompting some weak laughter from you despite your tears.

"You've been doing that corny ass joke since we were kids," you sniffle, gingerly wiping your nose before he tosses the hanky into the wastebasket.

"Yeah, well, it still gets a laugh outta ya, so I'ma keep on with it," Buggy replies with a soft smile. He gazes down at you with those piercing eyes of his, scanning your face with a mixture of concern and affection.

Buggy lets out another exasperated sigh, his frustration evident but tempered by genuine worry. "Look, muneca-chan, I get it," he says, his voice gentler now. "Love can make you do crazy things, feel crazy things. But you need to be careful. Mihawk... he's a complicated guy. He's got a lot of walls up, and he's not exactly known for being... well, open-hearted. I know you guys are friends and I was shocked he let you stay with him. But love is a whole different ball game."

You nod, feeling a bit more grounded by his words and presence. "I know he's complicated, Buggy," you say, your voice steadier now. "But I can't help how I feel. I just needed to tell someone, to get it off my chest."

Buggy holds you a little tighter, his grip reassuring. "Well, you've told me now, and we'll figure this out together," he promises. "Just don't go making any rash decisions, okay? Take your time, think things through. And remember, no matter what happens, you've got me in your corner."

His words, laced with both caution and encouragement, bring a small but genuine smile to your face. "Thank you, Buggy," you whisper, leaning into his embrace. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Anytime, starshine," he replies softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "We'll get through this, one step at a time." He wipes the tears from your face with his warm thumbs, "But promise me you'll be careful, okay? I don't want to see you get hurt."

You can see the genuine concern in Buggy's eyes, and it touches your heart. Despite his gruff exterior, you know that he cares deeply for you, and his protective instincts are kicking in full force.

You nod, grateful for his understanding. "I just don't know what to do," you admit, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "I'm torn between staying here and following my heart."

Buggy places a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you in the midst of your turmoil. "Listen to me, sis," he says, his voice gentle yet firm. "You can't let fear hold you back from pursuing what makes you happy. If you have feelings for Mihawk, then you owe it to yourself to explore them, regardless of the outcome." Your eyes glance over his right pec, knowing what picture was hidden inside that pocket. 

"But here's the thing about love, [Name]. It's not always easy to understand, and it's certainly not always convenient. But when you find someone who makes your heart skip a beat, someone who makes you feel alive in a way you've never felt before, well, you'd be a fool not to hold onto that with both hands."

Buggy's gaze softens, his features morphing into a look of genuine empathy. "Love is a complicated thing," he murmurs, his voice filled with compassion. "But if Mihawk is the one who holds your heart, then you owe it to yourself to pursue those feelings."

He gives you a reassuring smile, his eyes reflecting the depth of his friendship and loyalty. "You'll figure it out, sis," he says, his voice filled with confidence. "And remember, I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

His words struck a chord deep within you, resonating with the turmoil of emotions that had been swirling inside you since Mihawk's departure. Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place, the confusion and uncertainty giving way to a newfound clarity. Buggy gives you a reassuring smile, his eyes sparkling with warmth.

"Anytime, [Name]," he replies, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze.

You nod, grateful for Buggy's understanding and support. "Thank you, Buggy," you whisper softly , a sense of gratitude flooding your heart. "I needed to hear that."

As you stand wrapped in Buggy's embrace, you feel a sense of relief wash over you. His arms are strong and comforting, a reminder of the unwavering bond you share. But as he pulls back, a toothy grin spreads across his face, and you catch a glimpse of a familiar, sinister gleam in his eyes.

"And if he fucks up," Buggy says, his voice low and menacing, "there's gonna be one less Warlord in the sea."

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but chuckle nervously. Buggy's expression is a mix of protective determination and a hint of madness that you've come to recognize over the years. His blue curls frame his face, giving him an almost theatrical appearance, but you know better than to underestimate the seriousness behind his words.

His gaze sharpens, and for a moment, the room seems to grow darker as he continues. "I mean it, muneca-chan. Mihawk might be a badass with that big-ass sword of his, but he's no match for my flashy tricks. One wrong move, and I'll make sure he regrets it."

Buggy's eyes glint with a dangerous intensity, and you can tell that his big-brother instincts are in overdrive. Despite his eccentricities, you know that he would go to great lengths to ensure your happiness and safety. You reach out to place a hand on his arm, squeezing gently to remind him that you appreciate his concern.

"I know you would, Buggy," you say softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But let's hope it doesn't come to that. I just needed to talk to someone who understands."

Buggy's expression softens at your words, the sinister edge fading as he looks at you with genuine affection. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters, rolling his eyes playfully. "Just remember, I'm always here for you, no matter what."

With that, he pulls you into another tight hug, his embrace warm and reassuring. You know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you'll always have Buggy by your side, ready to offer his unwavering support and friendship—even if it means taking on a Warlord of the sea.

"I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably live a very boring and un-flashy life."

"Oh no~, what a nightmare, HEY!"

He flashed you a smile as you held your recently pinched side. 

"Now, let's get you set up to spend the night. We've got a lot to catch up on." 

______________________________________________________________

And that wraps up chapter 4 of this series. Oh I am going to make you all work for 'that' delicious chapter.~

Part 5 is now posted.

At the time of this being posted, 5/19/2024, there is a poll ongoing for what, you, the lovely readers, would love to be called. Be sure to cast your votes!!

Make sure you check out the a03 account by the same name. Everything I have posted here is there in chronological order. I also have a few Buggy the Clown x Reader's posted in the masterlist! Give it a read if you please!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

Seen you soon my loves!!~ <<33

[crystalbeetle888]

Voyage into the Unknown Pt.1

Master List

Pt.1 - Pt.2

The cold wind nips at the back of my neck, as I trudge through the thick brambles whacking them out of my way with my machete. Dark clouds roll over the mountain tops, spitting down a freezing shower. I flip the hood of my poncho over my soaked head. My legs burn from hours of walking through the wild, my hands swollen from constant swaying, my lungs heavy from the frigid air. Relief washes over me as the sight of the wooden cabin finally breaks through the tree line. The howling wind almost knocks me over as I march up the steps and through the heavy front door, slamming it shut behind me. I exhale heavily, the warm air embraces me gently, the sudden halt of the deafening wind in my ears is a shocking contrast to the silent cabin.

I slip my day bag off by the door and make my way towards the bathroom, stripping off as I go, leaving a trail of sweat and rain soaked clothes behind me. Hopping into the shower the burning hot water washes the dirt of the day away, soothing my aching muscles. I grasp the soap and begin scrubbing the filth off. I gently run my hand over my left shoulder, the smooth ridged feel of the scarred skin no longer holds any feeling in it. I follow the mark down the length of my arm finishing at my wrist, the skin looks pink and agitated by the hot water. I open my right hand, branded with the same angry scarring on my palm. 

I moan in annoyance finally hopping out of the shower and wrapping myself with a towel. I exit the bathroom and begin to dress in my thick nightwear. Suddenly, the cabin walls begin to shake loudly as the wind rages outside “Fucking hell” I mutter to myself. The wood creaks and groans a little too loudly for my comfort. Worried, I pick up my phone, no signal. “Shit” I toss the useless thing into my pack, it clatters loudly against the small handgun I've not so subtly hidden.

“I guess this getaway trip is going to be longer than expected” I mutter to myself in annoyance “The gallery is going to kill me”  Another loud gust of wind shakes the cabin more violently than before. The ground shakes and the ceiling rumbles, picture frames on the hearth rattle and fall onto the ground shattering loudly. The bricks around the fireplace crack, dust falls from the rafters. “Shit! If the fucking weather doesn't kill me first!” I yell to myself over the roaring noise. Throwing my belongings haphazardly into my bag I shrug on my coat and bolt outside, making a dash towards the car. I only take a few steps across the grass before the wind throws me off my feet and across the clearing. I hug my body close to the muddy ground and scream in fear as the winds tries to take me again “FUCK!”. My screams are silent in comparison to the booming noise surrounding me. A faint chanting travels on the winds ‘What the shit?’ I think to myself as the chanting gets louder and louder until a man's voice is clearly heard above the belting winds. The foreign chanting strikes my body with anxiety “Fuck this fucking Blair Witch bullshit” I cry out, as I attempt to stumble towards the car again. A strong blast of wind picks me up, throwing me high up into the air before suddenly dropping off. My heart stops as I begin to plummet towards the earth “FFFUUUUUCCKKK” I scream before hitting the ground with a crack, instantly losing consciousness.

The first thing I feel is the burning ache across my back shooting up into my skull. I groan, opening my eyes slowly to the sun beaming down on my face. “Oh my god” I whisper airily cradling my neck as I sit up. Looking around at my surroundings, wood and brick debris lay scattered across the clearing, the whole cabin, including the foundations, have been blown away. I sigh in exhaust, still clenching my backpack tightly. The feeling of frustration and exhaustion from the previous day's travels overwhelms me, I let out some shaky breaths. “Easy girl, you're alright” I breathe “Keep it together”. I begin to break out into a sweat as the midday sun beats down on my miserable sitting form, still clad in my thick flannel pajamas. Huffing in frustration I shrug my jacket off and stand shakily. Life just seems to be throwing everything it can at me lately. Trudging towards the forest line I notice something eerie, the trees are a different now, the fucking trees are a different species! ‘How far did that wind throw me?’ I think to myself. 

After changing into the previous days smelly damp clothes I begin to wander through the woods, hoping to find someone who can help. After what felt like hours of plodding through the creepy unfamiliar forest I finally stumbled across a dirt road. To turn left? Or to turn right? That is the question. I turn right “right is right” I mutter to no one. Fatigue rakes my body as I continue down my path, sookie that I had skipped dinner the night before. Eventually the sound of baaing animals breaks through the silence and relief washes over me. Shakily passing over the hill, I gaze out over a beautiful green valley. The houses are round and built into the hillside, adorned with lush gardens of flowers and fruit. As the sun begins to set, the sky is painted with vibrant pinks and purple, and glowing lights sprinkle the valley like stars across the night sky. “Oh my god” I almost cry in relief and happiness, completely delirious from hunger. 

Floppily jogging down the hill and along the dirt path, I pass many homely houses. ‘I don't think I've ever seen houses built like this before’ I let my thoughts drift ‘Maybe they're some sort of commune’ I gaze in passing at the arched windows, and colourful round wooden doors that are unusually short ‘Maybe they’re a commune of little people?’ It doesn’t make any sense but neither does an entire cabin and car, flying away and leaving little to no trace. My patience is waning as it becomes the second night without food. Throwing caution, and pride, to the wind, I open the closest little picket fence and tiredly stomp up the stone steps towards a large green circular door. Knocking three times, I hurriedly rake my fingers through my hair and straighten out my jacket and shirt, anxiously waiting. The door opens with a loud creak, and behind it stands a surprised little man with pointy ears and wavy brown hair. ‘Definitely not a little person’ I think to myself.

“Good evening?” he says warily, straightening out his patchwork dressing gown. 

“G’day, look this is super random but I think I’m lost” I swallow, the hard lump in my throat “And I haven't eaten since yesterday, and I don't know where I am, and I’m really fucking tired” I choke out, tears begin to well in my eyes as the stress from it all finally hits me. The mans eyes widen in shock, and my cheeks burn hot in embarrassment from unloading onto this rather awkward looking strange.  The man shifts his weight uncomfortably “Well there's no need to cry Miss..?" He trails off, "Y/N" I sniffle, " Well Y/N, I'm Bilbo Baggins, at your service,” he bows “I suppose you can come inside, just till we’ll get you sorted out” he wags his finger, clearly flustered by my emotional outburst. The man steps aside and opens the door wide, I duck under the door frame and enter. 

The entrance room glows from the candle lit chandelier, the air is warm and inviting. I hug my arms around myself tightly, shuffling out of his way as he shuts the door and potters past me “Come on Miss this way”.

I stammer uncertainly “Um should I take my shoes off?” I notice his comically large and oddly hairy feet are bare. He stops and spins around in surprise “Oh certainly, thank you” he smiles surprised. “You can store them behind the door”. Plopping myself on the floor I take my tan hiking boots off and stuff my socks inside, cringing at the smell and stiffness of my toes. “I’ve never seen such craftsmanship before, you must have a unique cobbler” Bilbo quips. I stuff them neatly behind the door “Ah yeah they’re alright” I stand brushing myself off, smiling at him awkwardly.  He pats his hands on his sides like an awkward penguin before spinning round. “This way” He guides me through curved corridors into the kitchen. “Sit please” He pulls out the smallish chair for me, the matching table size makes it difficult to sit politely. Judging by Bilbo's proper gentleman nature he probably values good manners. I ponder to myself, shuffling uncomfortably trying to straighten my posture. Bilbo treads back and forth across the kitchen, setting a pan on the hot plate over the fire, “I bought some fresh fish today, I hope that's alright?” He turns to look at me. My stomach growling loudly at the thought, I nod, cheeks heating  “That’d be great thank you”. He nods back, before turning round again. Bilbo places two whole fish, along with some vegetables into the hot pan before covering it with a heavy metal lid. The smell of cooking fish permeates through the room making my mouth water. I continue to watch the strange little man as he sorts out two tea cups and saucers “Chamomile or lavender?” he says over his shoulder “Chamomile please” He nods, continuing to make the pot. He rests the teapot on a hook over the fire before sitting down across from me.

“If it’s not too rude, may I ask where you’ve come from? You wear very peculiar clothes” My eyes widen, not knowing how to respond to that, I glance down at my dirty looking clothes. I was clad in a khaki green, slim fitting shirt, and a pair of long black leggings with my denim jacket tied around my waist. It didn't seem very ‘peculiar’ to me, but I suppose if I lived on a mediaeval commune filled with little gnome people, I’d find it strange too. 

“Well, I come from a small outback town, though I moved around a lot when I was younger” He nods in understanding, hand rubbing his chin in thought “And where is the outback?” I stop, realizing the stark differences between our cultures “It means like, rural, or country” Bilbo ahs in actual understanding this time “Still, quite strange clothes for country folk” He states “Though I don’t travel much myself, so I suppose the race of man may have changed beyond my knowledge” He nods to himself “Yes that must be it” he trails off before the loud whistle of the kettle interrupts our conversation. Bilbo hops up and busies himself in the kitchen again, before coming back with the hot food and drink, placing it down on the table along with some ornate silverware and napkins. “Well, dig in”. Bilbo and I chatted idly over the delicious hot meal, it was exactly what I needed to regain my strength. 

I sigh in relief, patting my now stuffed belly “That was amazing, thank you” I say gratefully. Bilbo nods, staking the dirty dishes in a pile “Well you came at the right time honestly, I’ve just restocked my pantry” He says placing the dirty dishes in the sink. I rise from my spot “Here I can help with that” I offer. “Oh no no no, you rest now Miss, I’ll handle it, you should bathe though” I frown, raising my eyebrow at him “I stink that bad huh?” He freezes, mouth agape and eyes wide, “Ah” he stutters. A smile stretches across my face “I’m just taking the piss, I know I stink” I laugh, as relief clearly washes over him, he lets out a gentle chuckle. “Ah yes well, the guest room is just through this hall, then left through to the very end, then left again, it should have everything you need” He says. I grab my bag from next to my foot, “Thank you again Bilbo, really, It’s very generous of you”. He smiles kindly “Yes well, what kind of hobbit would I be if I were to leave a lady in distress, Hmm?” I smile in confusion but nodded along ‘Hobbit, what the fuck does that mean?’. As he turns back to the dishes I walk down the hall following his directions “Taking the piss” I hear him mutter to himself, I chuckle quietly and continue on my way.

Opening the door to the guest room a gentle light emits from the dwindling fire on the left wall, across from it lays a medium sized bed, probably a queen or king size for him but it’ll do. A copper metal bath sits tucked into the far left corner. Dumping may bag on the bed I stride over and begin running the bath. ‘Hot water, thank fuck’ I think running my hand under the stream. Stripping down naked, I hop slowly into the tub, skin burning against the hot water. Despite enjoying the outdoors I can only tolerate so much of it for so long. I turn the faucet off and sink into the water until only my face peeks out. I hum in content before spying a supply of ornate bottles sitting on a shelf next to the tub. Picking one up I glanced at the label tied around it ‘Cleansing Ash’ it reads.

‘Pretty self explanatory’ I pour some of the contents out onto my palm. A floral smelling powder falls out, I hum curiously rubbing it into my scalp and across my body. The smell of roses and lavender permeates through the small room. Lines of dirty water run down my body as I scrub the filth away. I continue methodically scrubbing and rinsing until the water running off me is clear, and the water is cold.

Flopping out the tub, water splashing onto the floor, I wrap myself in one of the fluffy towels before heading over to my bag and pulling out the last of my clean clothes. A plain oversized shirt and hiking shorts. I throw them on before crawling into the warm bed. I snuggle tiredly under the covers ‘I’m sure Bilbo won't mind if I rest my eyes for a bit’ I think before drifting off into a deep sleep.

Master List

Pt.1 - Pt.2

[femmeslashed]

Amazon

Maggie Greene x F!Reader

Content/Warnings: First Meetings, Canon Typical Violence. ~ 400 Words

There’s only one bullet left in the chamber of your handgun when three walkers catch up with you in the middle of the woods. You aim and shoot at one of them, but the smothering heat, the running, and the sweat, makes you miss your mark and the bullet hits a tree instead. Your vision blurs, but you keep your feet moving.

Exhaustion cause you to fall on your face. You're quick to bring your hands down to ease the fall as much as you can, but one of your shoulders still hits the ground. 

Hearing the feet dragging of the dead at your tail, you look back to see them inching closer, and you think this is it. You’re about to become one of them. You try to push your body up and grab one of your arms, but you jerk away from his rotten hands. Suddenly, all their heads swivel, as so does yours, at the sound of loud galloping approaching.

A woman emerges between the trees, riding a horse like an Amazon, with a large machete in hand that quickly slashes two of them with practice ease. Then, she brings the horse to halt, pulling the rains before taking care of the other walker.

You sigh heavily and swallow. “Thank you.”

“We oughta watch each other’s backs.” The mysterious woman with stunning green eyes responds with a shy smile.

“How did you…”

“Saw you from the ridge.” She drawls.

“Oh.” You look around, a little lost, and collect your weapon from the ground. “Well, thanks again.”

“It was nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t. Most people don’t just drop everything to help someone nowadays.”

“I’m not most people.” She smiles sweetly as her horse moves sideways. “You’re not from here, are you?”

You shake your head, “I was just passing by.”

“Do you have a group?”

“No, ma’am. I’m on my own.”

“Name’s Maggie.” 

You tell her your name in return and nod ruefully at her.

You can see her contemplate for a long moment before offering you a place to stay for a few days. You hesitate when it comes to trusting strangers. Maggie seems genuine, good Samaritan, but one can never be too careful.

“It’s just daddy, Beth, and some friends. The farm is secure, you can stay a few days to regroup. I promise we won't bite.”

You can’t help but laugh a little at that last pun.

“Okay.” 

[g0dspeeed]

May I please have one snippet of the art piece Oh The Bliss that I read had Cappa in it?

Thanks for asking 🥺

"Oh The Bliss" is a hard WIP because it involves Cappie in a dynamic pose that may be above my skill level 🫠

But!

It's a good challenge. What is art if not suffering.

Anywho, I just love the thought that Cappie on the Project's Bliss just makes her 100x worse

Whatever rational thing Tammy radioed back to Eli was drowned out by a loud, earth-rattling explosion up the ridge. His dark eyes snapped in the direction of the blast, for a bright fireball was blooming tall and hot above the treeline, followed by a chorus of terrified cries and erratic pops of gunfire.  Footfalls sounded ahead of his position, drawing closer and kicking down loose stones. Eli quickly nocked an arrow in his compound bow. Moments later, two of the Project’s Chosen, each outfitted in red balaclavas and gray camo, emerged from the thick brush in a flurry of flailing limbs and panicked cries. They fumbled over the foliage, unaware of the militia leader staring right at them. One even slowed to look over his shoulder, his eyes filled with terror as he blindly loosed an arrow into the forest.  “C-Call Jacob!” panted one cultist to the other. “Tell him–” Whirling, whirring, something fast was hurled from behind the men, slicing the air until it hit its intended target. Eli froze as the Chosen’s skull was split from behind, hot blood spattering from his forehead as the viscera of the man’s blue eye was crushed by the sharp blade of a machete. The body crumbled in a bloody heap as his partner stood in absolute horror.  His fear was short-lived. Eli released his drawstring, landing his own arrow into the Chosen’s chest. The cultist flinched from the blow. He was dead before his body hit the ground, his eyes forever wide. Eli listened. Other than the fire on the ridge, the forest took on that eerie silence that made his skin crawl. He approached the men, low and slow, but when his eyes recognized the old machete sticking out of the Peggie corpse, his shoulders laxed. “That you, gorgeous?” called Eli.

Silence followed. Eli dared not blink, dared not tear his eyes away from the break in the trees from where he heard heavy, slow breathing.

When she emerged, the sight of her-- bloody and eyes as verdant as the pines-- it took his breath away.

[jazzyinspace]

⌚️

🤝

🔫

⭐️

Thank you! 🥰❤️

(You definitely asked me the toughest questions, which I know you did on purpose 🥹✨️)

⌚️ How old were they when they entered the vault? Were they born in there? Or alternatively, are they from Vault 76 at all? (if not, where are they from and how did they end up in West Virginia?)

Jeff is not from Vault 76, nor is he a vault dweller whatsoever. He was born in West Virginia to parents who were a part of the Appalachian Free States. However, he did experience life underground when he was around 8 years old. 

🤝 Do they have any other CAMP allies? (either in-game or added via headcanon)

Brian 🦩

Jeff met Brian at one of the lowest moments of his life. He was still trying to make sense of everything following his disastrous new beginning, all while trying to stay alive. 

Rather than choosing to live a somewhat peaceful life on the cliffs between Slocum's Joe and Arktos Pharma, Jeff left the safe haven that he built for himself and continued on his adventure.

Wilson Brother's Auto Repair became his temporary home base while on the road. And all was going well enough until the night when scorched hordes surrounded the building. 

Panicked, Jeff grabbed the rifle that he picked up in Berkeley Springs and commanded a lone plastic flamingo to keep an eye on the garage. In the same moment, he gave the flamingo a name: Brian.

Together, Jeff and Brian managed to fight off the scorched and save the garage; but, Jeff wasn't ready to face another horde at this point. So, the pair packed up everything and left, searching for another place to call home. 

Today, Jeff and his best friend Brian are constantly building/rebuilding, helping others, and going on adventures together. Their recent trip to Nuka-World on Tour (pictured below) was so much fun! 

Brian would tell you that along with being Jeff's most powerful ally, he is also the CEO and acting secretary of the Jeff Stone Complaint Department™️

Ralph 👽

One day, Jeff heard a crash from outside his C.A.M.P. and when he looked out the front door, he saw [REDACTED].

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[Jeff is just as clueless, believe me]

Jeff has been on many adventures past and present thanks to his neighbor and good pal, Ralph 💫

🔫 What's their preferred weapon type? Is there a specific weapon they mainly use?

With the exception of his Fixer and Flame-ingo, Jeff is a melee specialist. Chances are, if it's one-handed or two, Jeff has brought it along with him on missions or otherwise. 

💙 Redd-Upper–most used 

💙 Shishkebab–most used in [REDACTED]

💙 Plasma Cutter 

💙 Samurai Machete 

💙 Blue Ridge Branding Iron–uses this during Riding Shotgun + Friendly Fire perk. (Kieran voice: Guard the Brahmin.)

💙 Sheepsquatch Staff 

💙 ProSnap Deluxe Camera–he gets startled sometimes! 

⭐️ The Free States?

Jeff was just a child amidst the growing tension between his extended family and most everyone. He would hear whispers of treachery and scandal and notice the accusatory stares coming from his neighbors. Much of this was beyond him at the time, yet still managed to upset him. 

With said tension and the threat of war becoming more of a reality with each passing day, the Free States sheltered underground. They remained there until it was finally safe to re-emerge and rebuild again. 

Post-war, Jeff was able to experience something that could resemble normalcy. The Free States made their home in Harpers Ferry and offered assistance to other survivors and their factions. Unfortunately, all of their efforts would come to an end with the emergence of scorchbeasts and the plague that ultimately spread throughout The Mire and beyond.

Jeff lost his mother and father, his extended family and friends. He was among few survivors of the scorched attacks and felt tremendous guilt because of it. 

(Not so much related to the Free States, but the following is for you, @jonnyonearth ❤️)

Jeff carried his guilt with him as he traveled across the map in search of folks like himself and safety. It was a difficult journey, but he was able to eventually find both of those things in the Forest–and yet his new beginning almost ended before it even started. 

A vault dweller turned wasteland nurse, Emily, found an unresponsive Jeff next to one of the saddest C.A.M.P. creations she had ever laid eyes on. She saved his life that day as her and another wastelander, a preacher, brought Jeff down to her clinic. Even in the present day, Emily still teases Jeff about the whole ordeal, especially the moment when Jeff realized he was sporting some strange gadget on his wrist. 

Jeff started to understand the Free States through holotapes, notes, and hushed stories shared over drinks. Among his personal belongings are Free States items that he has collected over the years. 💙

[unhingedselfships]

She really does adore him

NSFT/smut

She didn't wake up before him all that often. Occasionally, but it was rare.

When she did, she found she liked looking at him. He looked good in any lighting honestly, but dawn held a special place in her heart. The way the early morning light cast a glow over the planes of his body. Lit the sharpest edges of his face.

Fuck he was so beautiful. 

She sat next to him, watching him breathe. Absently she thought perhaps she should feel a bit like a creep but well. 

It'd been years. So many years. Surely it was fine. After all this time? All they'd been through?

He seemed to be resting well, it was nice to see. He could be so fitful at times. She worried over him. But the rise and fall of his chest was steady and deep and his face was calm. Relaxed. 

Her gaze drifted. Over cheekbones and along his jaw. Holding on the lovely curves of his lips before slipping down the line of his throat. Across shoulders and collar bones, and from chest to abdomen.

He was scarred. Much so. A story, many stories, written in knotted and puckered skin. 

She wondered, but never dared to ask. She'd never push but- quietly, in the safety of her own mind, she could admit that she was, perhaps a bit sad, a little hurt, that he didn't trust her to know him. Not completely.

That was alright. She'd take anything she could get and be happy for it. 

Worrying at her lower lip, she gave into temptation. She knew it wasn't the same as just looking but let herself pretend that it was surely still fine of her to do.

what a terrible wretch she was

Soft fingertips ghosted over the planes of his body. She traced the edges of scars, the worst one at his side, a machete was all he'd said, and in passing. She ached for the thought of his pain but. It was his. Part of him. It was no less beautiful than the rest of him. 

She found every mark, every dip and divot, the edges of every gently defined muscle. He wasn't the sort of sharply carved that men like Mine and Majima were, and she found she didn't mind it at all. 

He was perfection itself. 

The hollow of his throat, and the ridge of his clavicle. Down the center of his sternum.

The edges of his hips, where his pajamas had rode low. Across his flank, and tracing the farthest bared edges of his abdomen. 

A startled gasp forced its way out of her as she suddenly found herself on her back, flawless male perfection pinning her in place, nestled between her thighs.

Her heart stuttered and her body throbbed, heat pooling. Many places, for many reasons.

His face hovered over hers, as he caged her in, locking her in place with a tired glare.

"You've been mumbling all morning princess."

Oh. 

Oh.

Had she said all that out loud?

The faintest trace of a wicked smirk, "I'm afraid so."

Her teeth pulled at her lower lip, pinning it as she fought the whispers of adoration, devotion, back under her tongue.

"And see, now I have a problem, thanks to you."

He rolled against her and she gasped, as his hardness met her core.

She opened her mouth to apologize and he cut her off.

"Don't say you're sorry, just fix it."

Something in her shifted. She never really got to play with him, did she? What was life without a few risks now and then?

"No," she barely breathed the word.

He froze, blinking at her, before something aggravated settled over him.

"No?"

She fought back a tremble, the urge to shake in his overwhelming presence.

He was so much. 

He was everything.

"No," she whispered, "if you want it, you're going to have to take it."

It wasn't a matter of consent. Never. They both knew she wouldn't deny him. Not this, not hardly anything. 

Her enthusiastic consent was a given, and they were both comfortable in this knowing.

It was a matter of effort. She wanted him, she always did, and badly. She ached for him. But if he wanted release, he was going to have to put in the effort himself.

No laying back and letting her do all the work today.

His eyes warred somewhere between incensed, and delighted. He did like it when she pushed back. Resisted. 

Something so lovely about showing a little bite, so to speak.

He huffed at her, irritated, "You always do this, cause problems, then make me fix them."

His hand cradled the side of her throat, thumb brushing against the underside of her jaw.

"Such a pretty little trouble maker."

She gasped, something dark in his words. He knew what his praise did to her. The effect his voice had. Every note and tone, deep and sultry. 

"I won't go easy on you, princess."

The near growl made her breath catch in her throat and her lips parted in want. In need.

Fingers traced down the lines of her body, finding the ties on her shorts, pulling them loose.

With a single clean, rough, motion, he was sat back on his heels, and her shorts were yanked half way down her legs, leaving her only unexposed by virtue of the instinctive way her thighs clamped shut at the action.

“So annoying,” he tsked at her, disapproving, and she whimpered, thighs clenching harder.

"No getting shy on me now," his eyes glinted with something dark and mocking.

The shorts were tugged the rest of the way off and casually tossed aside. Knees pushed apart so he could settle back between them.

A knuckle traced the bare seam of where hip met thigh and she shivered.

Sliding hands smoothly up her sides, pushing her shirt up over her chest, palms carelessly slipping over sensitive flesh. The soft whimper tugging amusement onto his lips. She raised herself on her elbows and helped him get her free of the cotton. 

Bare before him, she felt small and vulnerable. 

So entirely at his mercy.

It was heady.

His teeth found her throat, and she knew he was going to leave marks.

She wanted it. Wanted to bear his mark.

Wanted everyone to know.

She belonged to him.

As if the tattoo, the brand, she'd painted in her skin wasn't enough. 

An annoyed huff had him freeing himself of the pants, and she shifted her hips to give him easier access.

The annoyance shifted to amusement, a wry smirk crossing his lips as he looked back down at her.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” he teased, voice low.

An embarrassed whimper, even as she clung to him, finger tips finding purchase on his shoulders.

His tongue found the hollow of her neck, a hand at the base of her spine raising her hips just so, as he slid home. 

A single, slow, purposeful movement, one aching stroke, and he was buried completely within her.

Her body trembled, and her eyes fluttered, lips parted in a soft, drawn out, gasp.

Her thighs spread just that tiniest bit wider as her heels came up to hook behind him.

It took him a moment to move, and a moment longer to set a slow, steady, pace.

Perhaps not the most coordinated, or graceful but. Well.

It was apparently working just fine, given the way she rolled up to meet him with every movement. 

She gasped and moaned so prettily, such a fragile easy thing, at his mercy. For his use.

Her delicacy scared and delighted him. 

Her willingness, purely out of want for him, no desire for money or power or status. Just him. Scared him more.

The bite of her barely grown out nails in his shoulder was pleasant. That spark of pain to really send the pleasure home.

And he had to admit, annoyed as he was to be in this position-

neverminding how happy it made her

-it did feel good. 

The nips and nibbles to the soft skin of her neck and chest faded off, as he bit back on his own moans.

The space between them became less and and less as her hold tightened, arms looping shoulders and fingers finding purchase in his hair. Her face buried in the side of his neck as she whimpered. Gasping and writhing. 

Had she been anyone else he'd have thought it an act. Kadokura was passable, at best, and he knew it. While he had many talents, sex was not one of them.

Yet here she was. Rapturous beneath him.

And she meant every sound, every movement.

It was all so terribly real.

All for him. Him him him.

He felt her breath hitch, the way her thighs clamped harder still on his hips, the way her body tensed and trembled. She was so close, climbing ever quicker towards her end.

She pulled her face away from his shoulder, with a soft cry, tugging lightly at his hair before her hands came to cradle his face.

And she kissed him. Deep and desperate and needy. 

And he let her. 

Returned it, as much as he could. 

Pulling away, soft words, sweet words, tumbled from her lips.

"I love you. My light, my life, my love. You are everything. Everything."

Her breath caught as the pressure kept building, overwhelmed by sensation.

"I give you everything. All of me. My heart, my soul, my life- it's yours, I’m yours, yours yours yours-"

The soft chant cut off with another pretty whimper but it didn't change the words.

Gasped, desperate, meant. 

An oath.

A vow.

He held her just a little tighter. Pressed her just a little closer.

She clenched and shook around him, clinging to him, the peak of her pleasure cresting, and she rode the waves, crying out and overwhelmed.

He shifted his pace, seeking his own end, not that it took long. 

He clung to her as she did him, arms wrapped around her soft body, fingers digging into shoulder and hip, face buried in her neck, shuddering through his own release. 

They lay together in the early morning light, catching their breath and just- basking. In this shared moment. This close existence.

In each other.

He found himself uncomfortable with how comfortable he was.

He still didn't move.

Didn't want to.

He nuzzled into her throat with a content sigh, letting his weight rest on her, and she held him, fingers stroking gently through his hair.

"Hey love?"

He hummed in askance.

"I gotta pee."

Freezing for a moment, he snorted a laugh, and rolled off of her.

She stretched and rolled out of bed, wobbly on her feet but with a satisfied sway.

He may not care much about sex one way or the other in general, but something about knowing he did that to her made him just that tiniest bit smug.

He watched her go with a soft smile, before sitting up to dig out a cigarette.

He needed a smoke.

She slipped out of the ensuite a few minutes later, not bothering to pull anything on, and slid back under the sheets.

He huffed, taking another drag off the cigarette before giving a fond, “Lazy.”

She hummed. Content.

Breathing out a laugh, he spoke again, “So. Happy Birthday.”

Groggily she made a noise of confusion, “Kenshi, do you know when my birthday is?”

“October,” the quick response.

“Babe, it's June.”

“So it is. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

(Some things would be unsaid. Always unsaid. How much her words meant. How much she meant. What she felt meant. What he felt. Always unsaid. No less real. 

… Did she know?

Fuck he hoped she knew.

I can't say it out loud I'm sor-)

She nestled in the blankets, fully intent on falling back asleep.

Soft, quiet, true, "I love you, Kadokura Kenshi."

He took another deep pull off the cigarette, blowing the smoke into the air above them.

"I know sweetheart. I know."

[thorsenmark]

Impressive Views Enjoyed Along the Jawbone Trail (Pinnacles National Park) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While hiking the Jawbone Trail in Pinnacles National Park with a view looking to the northeast across a forest and trees present along the ridge I on. My thought in composing this image was to take advantage of a clearing I had along the trail with a more distant view to the Balconies and Machete Ridge. That clearing allowed me to look down and then across the forest and center the volcanic formation. The blue skies and clouds would be that color contrast to complement the earth-tones in the lower portion of the image.

[askthesawyers]

He nodded gently, he knew he r e e k e d.. his hair and skin were all dusty n dirty

"..scar?" He mumbled, his hand instinctively going to his lip. "Oh-.."

"..thanks." He mumbled, not expecting a compliment. He was..a freak, after all. "..how'd you get that metal thing in yer' head?" He mumbled, reaching up and touching around the ridges of his plate. He wasn't taught manners.

Chop shivered at the touch and let out a shaky chuckle, holding onto the other so he didn't fall to his knees, he was so sensitive in that area.. not that he minded being touched. "fought in the war! got it from nam.. some fucker sliced chunk of my head cleeaaan off with a machete.. c-caareful when touchin' it!"

[oxnature]

From Bean to Bar: The Fascinating Journey of Cacau & Chocolate

Chocolate, a beloved indulgence enjoyed by millions around the globe, has a rich and storied history that begins with a humble bean—the Cacau bean. From the tropical rainforests where Cacau trees thrive to the bustling chocolate factories where bars are crafted, the journey of Cacau & Chocolate is nothing short of fascinating. Join us as we delve into the intricate process of Cacau & Chocolate which transforms Cacau beans into delectable chocolate bars, exploring each step along the way.

Harvesting Cacau: From Pod to Bean

In the heart of lush tropical rainforests, nestled among the vibrant foliage, lies the treasure trove of the chocolate world—the Cacau tree. Bearing colorful, football-shaped pods filled with precious Cacau beans, these trees hold the key to one of humanity's most beloved indulgences: chocolate. But the journey from pod to bean is a labor-intensive process that requires skill, patience, and a deep understanding of the Cacau tree’s nuances, the Cacau & Chocolate itself.

1. The Cacau Pod: Nature's Gift

   The Cacau pod, with its distinctive oblong shape and vibrant hues ranging from green to yellow to red, is the fruit of the Cacau tree (Theobroma Cacau ). Each pod contains a treasure trove of Cacau beans encased in a sweet, tangy pulp—a stark contrast to the bitter richness of the beans themselves.

2. Selective Harvesting: A Delicate Touch

   Harvesting Cacau is a delicate process that requires careful attention to detail. Skilled farmers traverse the Cacau groves, carefully inspecting each tree to identify pods that are ripe for harvest. Ripe pods are characterized by their vibrant color, firm texture, and slightly protruding ridges.

3. Hand Harvesting: Precision and Patience

   Once identified, ripe Cacau pods are harvested by hand using machetes or specialized tools. With a swift and practiced motion, farmers carefully cut the pods from the tree, taking care not to damage the delicate fruit within. Hand harvesting ensures that only the ripest pods are selected, resulting in high-quality Cacau beans with optimal flavor and aroma.

4. Opening the Pod: Revealing the Treasure Within

   With the pods safely harvested, farmers gently crack them open to reveal the precious Cacau beans nestled inside. Using knives or wooden implements, they carefully split the pods along their seams, exposing the beans ensconced within the sweet, sticky pulp. The aroma of fresh Cacau fills the air, signaling the beginning of the next stage in the journey from pod to bean to Cacau & Chocolate ultimately.

5. Fermentation: Unlocking Flavor Potential

   Once extracted from the pods, the Cacau beans are transferred to fermentation bins or wooden crates, where they undergo a transformative process known as fermentation. During fermentation, naturally occurring microorganisms break down the sugars in the pulp, generating heat and acidity that facilitate the development of the beans' complex flavor profile. Over the course of several days, the beans are turned regularly to ensure even fermentation and optimal flavor development.

6. Drying: Preserving Quality and Flavor

   After fermentation, the Cacau beans are spread out in the sun to dry, either on raised beds or on large drying racks. Under the warm tropical sun, the beans gradually lose moisture, reaching the ideal moisture content for storage and further processing. Drying also helps preserve the beans' quality and flavor, ensuring that they retain their characteristic richness and aroma.

From the moment it is harvested from the Cacau tree to the final stages of fermentation and drying, the journey of the Cacau & Chocolate is a testament to the skill, dedication, and reverence of the farmers who cultivate it. Each step in the process—from selective harvesting to meticulous fermentation and drying—plays a vital role in shaping the flavor, aroma, and quality of the Cacau beans, ultimately determining the character of the chocolate they produce.

From its humble beginnings as a Cacau bean to its transformation into a delectable chocolate bar, the journey of Cacau & Chocolate is a testament to human ingenuity, craftsmanship, and appreciation for the finer things in life. Whether enjoyed as a simple treat or savored as a gourmet delicacy, chocolate continues to captivate our senses and bring joy to people of all ages around the world. So, the next time you indulge in a luxurious piece of chocolate, take a moment to appreciate the labor of love that went into harvesting the humble Cacau pod and transforming it into a delectable treat.

[olet-lucernam]

progress update: A Hollow Promise, CHVI

word count: 26,232 estimated percentage completion: 67%

progress notes: so i ended up taking an editing machete to several parts of this chapter (including parts that i've published- will update those posts later) to fix some pacing issues.

but then i also wandered into accidentally writing my first sex scene.

so it's a net positive i guess.

(preview snippet of said smut scene is under the cut. as a treat. especially for those sitting through me doing a lot. of. foundation. building. i promise it is going somewhere, i have Plans)

i'm getting into the final stretch, albeit my current status is "trapped in a Very Interesting scene that I Do Not Know How to move along". i'll figure it out, but think i may actually need a beta at some point. i'll probably keep putting it off for forever, though, since i can still barely stand to let @femmealec look at my barely-edited stuff. (true trust, right there)

PREVIEW

-

The mattress dipped as he levered back up the bed, slipping loose from her hands, before dipping down to smudge a kiss against her cheekbone, just under her left eye. Astrid sighed, tipping her face into him. Her hand shifted up to find the ridge of his forearm, where he was propped up above her, stroking along honed muscle and the curve of bone. Although she had sincerely never felt deprived, Astrid could admit that she wanted this. Two deft fingers scraped the inside seam of her shorts. The friction of soft jersey against her damp, expectant flesh set Astrid’s hips snapping up reflexively, muscles pulling taut. “Mn-!” Loki exhaled his satisfaction against her, his breath dusting her lashes like frost, before his lips grazed upwards to the corner of her eye. Let me hear you, he reminded her, darkly, setting a shock of pleasure through her bloodstream. His fingers curved against her again, pulling a bitten-off cry from Astrid that pitched higher towards its tail, becoming strangled in her throat as her head pressed back. The pads of his digits barely scraped against her, swirling in a tight droplet shape, testing and gathering the dense slickness that was clinging to the gusset of her shorts, heavy and rich. Astrid’s grip upon Loki’s arm tightened, nails dragging into his skin for purchase, heels dragging against the sheets as she drew her body open to him. Loki lowered his head to slide his tongue languidly along the line of her clavicle. From behind closed eyelids, Astrid blindly reached for the artifice of his shoulder, anchoring herself against him; her palm slid along to the curve of the nape of his neck, carding her fingers through the cool satin of his hair, scraping pared nails against his scalp and lilting her body up against his perfect mouth. It elicited a faintly agonised noise from Loki, ghosting across and cooling the saliva on her skin. Loki’s form dragged a few desperate inches against her, his spell wavering and sparking under a rush of uncontrolled mana, rippling through Astrid as its conduit. Almost in retaliation, he dipped his touch deeper, and began setting a rhythm in earnest. She was lost in under four strokes, pulled under like a riptide, raw nature hijacking her brain.

[dzmoot]

Well, March was certainly an interesting month but it's time to get back to the tales of the Tuuns. I have many stories in the pipeline, but for now, I have a special treat. While cleaning my basement the other day, I came across several pictures I have done in the past. Severally water damaged and faded to high heaven, I fixed them up and decided to showcase them here today. Some you'll recognize, others you've never gazed at and some might very well be the first drawings I've ever done of that specific character. Either way, I think you'll enjoy them.

MOON OF TOONS DOODLES, CONCEPTS AND NONSENSE 2

Wonder Warriors

Reggie Fastshell, the Snail Speedster. He originally dripped mucus from his arms and mouth and sported a cape.

The first drawing I did of POW! Panda. As you can see, his ears were much bigger but he still retains his trademark jetpack and blasters.

Amphibislash took on a more Ninja Turtle like appearance even though he was a bullfrog with Wolverine claws. Probably one of the few times you'll see him sporting a smile given his cantankerous personality.

Now this character was originally meant to be a villain to POW! Panda called Koalabog (or Koalaborg). However, being a lifelong Koala lover, I couldn't bring myself to antagonize a gentle creature. I think this guy eventually evolved into the sun surfing koala, Kool Walla!

The first drawing of Teddyclops (originally a Halloween die-cut I designed around 2016). Not much has changed with this guy.

Alien Inhabitants

I like to think these are some of the creatures we'd see looming about the evil Lord Bliss Torbelly's castle.

Probably seen this guy in the past. This is one of the crew members of the starship Hovering Horse named Scratchitanius. It's obvious who the sci-fi character was who inspired him. Live long and pros-purrr!

Same with these two. You have the worrywart humanoid robot and the stubborn trashcan robot, only this guy has a tiny alien inside of him with a bulging eye. He keeps his eye on things for sure.

This guy, Sank Survivikus is a vampire ninja and could very well be the sensei of Samur-Eye! Alien vampires hail from the planet Stokeron with no sun in sight and everyday is evening.

Esmeralda is a bounty hunter from Boolikonk and wears a glass helmet over her head. She can breathe fine in space without it, she just wears it so she doesn't mess up her erect Marge Simpson hairdo!

Zoob Noopincher is a mysterious alien who I can very well picture roaming around the Blue Sand Planet, scavenging for trinkets and slaying giant worms with his trident. His species, the Nuix need a high protein diet to survive after all!

RAZLAOBO DWELLERS

A sketch from 2018 depicting Grinkin and Nogg's arrival towards Razlaobo. I liked to depict the stars flashing by in great yellow squiggles of light as the balloon races towards the planet at breakneck speed. The balloon, which is actually called the Spacefloaty can actually change it's face patterns depending on the speed it's going at.

Good old Frigglesnaff was the one who helped the Socktompets escape the Machete Ridge bar. He had pink fur around his feet originally but remained mostly the same. Kinda like the body of Fozzie Bear with the head of the alien from the movie Can of Worms!

When the Socktompets and Frigglesnaff returned to Razlaobo following their adventure on Kowratha's ship, they all returned to their normal appearances and didn't have to worry about the vile hellions tormenting them ever again since the Mitziwonker's influence over the planet dissipated, restoring the planet back to it's peaceful glory.

Hallow End Inhabitants

This guy, officially known as Stormskull is very mysterious. It's not known if he's a zombie or a mutant with an exposed skull but he doesn't make a sound, not even a grunt or growl or snarl like others of the zombie mutant variety. He was a good friend of Baxter Bladely at Goreycrest Academy and got good marks despite being illiterate.

Hallow End has it's own superheroes. In this universe, the horrible killers of slasher movies are in fact the crime fighters, sporting colorful costumes and apparel to boot. Now it's unknown for the time being whether Spider-Man, Batman, Captain America and the like are serial killers in this universe but it's a very enticing thought. There's Mighty Mike, Slashman and the gallant leader Captain Jace!

Of course, we can't forget about the Great Gourdo Head!

[seabreeze2022]

Tanzania Safari 2024, part 3.

Nancy had brought some school supplies and small toys for the kids. On the way to Manyara Park, Raffy saw a group of kids and their teacher under a tree playing games. We pulled in and Raffy talked to the teacher explaining why we stopped. She invited us into their one-room schoolhouse. Above the kids all wanted to hold my hand as we walked to their schoolroom. Those who could not get hold of one of my fingers. Did the next best thing and held the arm of a classmate who was holding my finger.

Each school has their own uniforms. Education is a critical part of the future, and the parents know it. All of these kids were excited and engaged. Sitting at a small table designed for maybe three kids. Were five kids jammed shoulder to shoulder with the outer two kids barely having a bench to sit on.

This is a private school with about 50 students. Public schools don't have buses. Only the very affluent private schools do. It was very common to see very young kids, miles from the nearest building or paved road, walking in groups of two or three. One young kid would be carrying a full-size machete for protection from wild animals.

Tanzania is coming up on an election year, so here are a couple of street rallies. Currently, Tanzania has its first female President. I believe Green is the symbol of this political party.

We drove up to the top of the ridge overlooking the rift valley. There we had a beautiful lunch with a great view at the Lake Manyara Serena Lodge built in 1996. Then back down the winding road to enter the oldest park in Tanzania, Lake Manyara National Park.

We barely get in the entrance and start seeing baboons and an elephant. Here as in Arusha National Park, we are required to stay on the main roads which are dirt. The road travels mostly through wooded areas opening up at the southern end of the park into more open views. I saw my first of two Nile monitor lizards at a water crossing. On the last day of the safari, I was able to photograph the other one.

Here are two Baobab trees. The one on the left is a male, and the one on the right is a female. Limbs for the male droop down whereas the females reach up. The baobab trees live as long as 2,500 years. The larger trees hold up to 36,000 gallons of water to survive the droughts. The inside of the tree trunk is spongy like the inside of a cactus.

This troop of baboons and their babies kept us entertained while Raffy went into the headquarters at the Lagoro entrance for Ngorongoro Crater National Park.

This was another beautiful lodge we stayed in. Typically when you arrive at the lodge or camp you are met by several guys to unload the luggage and one person with a tray of scented warm hand towels. Very refreshing after a dusty ride in the open-air jeep. This lodge was huge and reminded us of the lodges in the old US western parks like the “Old Faithful” lodge. Being at an altitude of 7,546 ft. we got winded walking the many steps back to the lobby.

After a great dinner in the main dining hall, we retired to our room overlooking the crater with a full moon illuminating everything.

This ends day 3 of our time in Tanzania.

[unknownjpegs]

lights

Benji has read Tanaka’s file cover-to-cover. Has, at this point, read the entire extraction unit’s files. Been a recently inspired bit of study, that. Prior records, applicable military histories, reprimand log. All meat for him to chew through. Sinew to work until it was soft enough to swallow.

And swallow he had. The tastiest part of the meal had been those psych evals. Reading them had made him drool, sitting in the infirmary. Made his fingers twitch as they flicked through the pages. 

Twitch because it felt like he was worming them through brains. And he was, in a way, thumb swiping back and forth along an edge until it sawed in a stinging prick and seeped into the paper like spilled ink.

He’d got possession of those copies by railing one of the intelligence officers, of course: hand wound gently about a neck, tearing ten identical red streaks down a flexing back.

Need a favor, he’d purred afterwards. Bit of reciprocation, yeah? 

S-sure, the guy whispered back, as if the reciprocation hasn’t already happened. As if anything else out of his mouth, perhaps a denial, had been considered and flung aside in terror. 

Wise choice. Called intelligence officers for a reason.

Benji had wondered if his reddened shoulders had stung, how he’d pressed into the wall like that. Maybe the cold concrete was a good enough respite from the bite of pain.

Some of them enjoyed worse — Benji, too. But this one had been particularly keen to have him lay in with bruising fingers and soft, needy praise. Lots of insect-bite pricks of illusionary kindness. Followed, naturally, by an embarrassed request for a demeaning word. He could deliver — always did. Always enjoyed making someone feel as if they’d been fulfilled in some manner. 

Fulfillment wasn’t why he slipped into Tanaka’s room late one evening. He made extra sure to be quiet, to be as silent as he possibly could. But of course, it was Tanaka. This is what he was known for.  Expectedly, he heard Benji enter. The soft shhh of the door closing. 

And, expectedly, he’d launched himself across the room.

Benji is pinned to the door. Allows himself to be pinned to the door. It’ll help the other man feel safer, if only a little bit. 

Has a feeling that sense of security shivers off when the lights flick on, and they’re standing face-to-face. His eyes adjust, find Tanaka’s, and with their connected gazes the corners of his mouth lift slightly.

Tanaka looks absolutely fucking terrified. His gaze is paranoid and and cornered and wild, darting around Benji’s face. Very pretty on him, fear. 

“A’right, Lark?” He greets cheerfully, words coming out in a rasp thanks to the forearm pressing against his throat.

He lifts a hand and skates his fingers over the skin. Watches the hair raise and the goosebumps blossom and watches it twitch, like Tanaka would like very much to pull away. Except if he pulls away, then Benji is freed, and isn’t that the last thing he wants? 

He dances a finger over the flexing ridge, from the base of his wrist in a twisting, slow spiral towards the elbow. Ulna. Lips wetted by his tongue. Such a delicate bone. Snappable, with the right sort of grip.

Benji’s got the right sort of grip.

Bones are smooth, under all that flesh. Strangely warm, in a way most people wouldn’t expect. Heated from the wet cocoon of the body. And heavier —  with marrow. Benji knows all this, but it isn’t the sort of knowledge you get reading injury reports or textbooks.

It’s intimate knowledge. 

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Tanaka hisses. It comes out more like whiny air from a balloon than a snake. But he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have fangs, this one.

There’s a knife pressed to his stomach. Switchblade. Not like the heavy duty ones some of the Shadows carry, or the big mean machetes other soldiers strap to their chests. 

Benji glances down at it. Little low, to sink into something that’ll put him on the ground right away. He wraps the hand not resting against a forearm around a fragile (breakable) wrist, and adjusts the angle of the knife. 

When the tip of it glides up his shirt, scratching skin beneath, it fits right over Benji’s heart.

“There we are. Make sure you push hard enough, mate.” He pats the back of Tanaka’s hand and lets his own drop. “Still a muscle, still kinda tough.” He tilts his head. “Takes a bit of pressure, y’know?”

The weapon slips a little in Tanaka’s grasp. A steady flicker of emotions on his face: determination, repulsion, fear. He wants to do exactly as suggested — sink the knife in. Kill another operator. And recognizing that of himself, that he wants to, disgusts him more than Benji. Horrifies him. 

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Tanaka breathes. Pinched brow, curled lip. And yet still bravely holding 

Benji glances up at the ceiling, notes the texture. “Long list, mate. Want the abridged version, or have we got time?” 

“No.” Tanaka shakes his head. There’s sweat beading at his temple. He readjusts his grip on the blade’s handle. Benji could knock it away, then, take control of the situation with that wavering clutch. Doesn’t, of course — no fun.  “Shit, never mind. Just…why are you here?” 

“To feed on you in your sleep, obviously.” He bats his eyes. “Eat your dreams, or whatever.” 

Now the other man’s fear levels with exhaustion. Tired of his shit in a way that nearly overrides it. “Man —”

“A’right, fine.” He holds up his hands. “M’here to ask a favor.” 

Tanaka’s steady, nervous gaze narrows into a hard glare. “You seem like the kinda freak I really don’t want indebted to me.” 

“Right, well, no debt necessary. It’d be reciprocal—“ he looks down the meager space between their bodies, tongue poking at his cheek. Tanaka shudders; all repulsion, no arousal. “Ah, poor. Guess it’s debt then, mate.” 

“I’m not your mate,” Tanaka hisses. Some of that steadfastness seeps back in. The arm at his neck presses a bit harder, the tip of the dagger stings his chest. Both make his mouth part, sigh dropping out. “What’s the favor, so you can slink the fuck outta here like the gross little snake you are?” 

Benji sucks his teeth and pouts. He respects Tanaka for the bravery of an insult, even if he’s terrified. “Ouch.”

No response. He sighs.

“Fine. I need your eyes.” 

Lets that sit there, dramatic and ominous, for so long a moment that Tanaka’s face twists a bit. Debating if he’s serious. 

Benji laughs and shakes his head. “Relax! Wasn’t done, fuckin’ hell. The people around here — mental the lot of you, I swear.” Tilted chin, eyes bright beneath lids. “You need help, private. Psychological.”

“Eyes on what.”

Benji’s smirk is particularly chilling, all the mischief and tease ebbed out of his regard. His dark eyes gone cold and eerily flat.

“The sergeant.” 

* 

Fortunately, Tanaka is good at what he does. And, unfortunately, the sergeant keeps a tight, rigid schedule. One that is easy for the private to track, since Benji’s not got the time for that.

He watches for a week. He hasn’t spent much time thinking about the sergeant, because he’s boring. His manipulation the tactless, timeless sort. Digs deep, the hurt he inflicts, but still so… surface level besides. It’s easy an easy way to hurt — anybody could do it. And so, so many men with power do. Not even the brains to get creative about it.

It’s more fun when it’s creative. Even better when people are willing. When they choose to skate the soles of their feet across coals or lie pin-cushioned on a bed of needles or offer their throat to the knife. 

Anyway, he watches. The habits, the rituals, the — numerous, numerous bed warmers. Corporal Wolffe is among them, and the prickle of distaste he’s got at that isn’t anything like jealousy. It’s anger. 

Because the thing is, people have got a light behind the eyes. All living creatures. Sometimes it’s fun to watch that fade away. Sometimes it’s not. Like how it’s always sad, a fucking tragedy, to see a big cat taken down by some poacher. Pissers who hide behind weapons when really they’d lose to one swipe of a paw. Or gnash of teeth.

Wolffe’s got teeth. Benji has seen them. Wants to watch them get used proper. Drip with the blood of a poacher. Because —

When Tillman’s done with his playthings, the light flickers out more and more. What he doesn’t seem to grasp, but what Benji has cradled so possessively in his own hands, is how blinding and incredible that light can become, instead of weak. A feral, awfully focused beam when people are really, truly alive. 

Benji is real good at getting somebody exposed, slipping his fingers into them, and finding the dial controlling that beam. Turning it up. Focusing them. Such a concentrated sort of light that it makes people shiver apart, sometimes. But there’s sweetness in that sort of end. 

There’s nothing sweet or focused or right about the listless looks of the people that Tillman burns through. And that’s what he does — burns through them like wicks. Doesn’t even let the flame crawl high. Eats it up for himself. Selfish. 

And he still looks so fucking empty, doesn’t he? Not even the audacity to be fucking heinous, with that stolen power. He’s dull. Boring.

Unaware.

Such a trained soldier, and yet he doesn’t even notice Benji slip behind him. Creep around the corner, the hall darkened by time-lights flicking off. End of the night.

Benji waits in the doorway for him to gather things from his office. Papers, a knife into his pocket, his ill-fitting jacket. 

Snake in the tall grass, Benji thinks. Tanaka more correct that he knew. 

When Tillman turns to leave, he freezes.

Benji blocks his path. Not nearly filling the frame. He’s smaller, but wider. Tillman can’t get around him. Looks…hesitant. Like maybe he knows not to try. 

“The fuck’s wrong with you, Palanivel? You insane? Get out of my way.”

Benji stands still. Benji smiles. Big, wide eyes. Pretty eyes. Blinks them, just once, and glances them down over Tillman’s body and back up. Slow, purposeful drag. Spark of light in the darkness of the office.

“Sorry, sir,” Benji purrs and moves smoothly to the side, arms still clasped behind his back.

He wonders if beady blue eyes kept looking away because Benji wasn’t.

I can see your muscle underneath that thin, leathery skin, Sergeant. You’re starting to wrinkle. That means it’s thin — might tear like paper. I’m going to fold you up like an airplane. Toss you in a fucking fan.

Benji strides away, still smiling. On the walk back to his own quarters, he thinks of bears and flayed faces and someone trying desperately to hold it all together. 

He doesn’t wank incredibly often. Got an array of bodies to choose from, if he wants to get base. But that night, he flashes his teeth and pants and drops his head back on his shoulders, chin to the ceiling. He imagines the light in Tillman’s eyes flicked out. Imagines watching Wolffe’s pale, bloodied knuckles tighten around that tan neck.