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ironmandeficiency · 4 years ago

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tf boys + dnd headcanons (bc i clearly have nothing better to do)

pairings: benny miller / reader (romantic) but platonic w the rest of the tf boys

word count: i’m typing this in the post itself good luck fuckers

summary: i got nothing y’all. just know that benny & will have a little extra info idk why

a/n: i’m semi-new to dnd but i’m armed w the player’s handbook and google so i will do my best

benny: i think dnd was a guilty pleasure for him during high school. yeah he was seen as a Hot Popular Guy™️ and played football and baseball, but there is and always has been a nerd living in that heart of gold. had one (1) set of dice he used for every campaign and even kept them with him when deployed. he joined a campaign for the first time in years after coming back from The Mission That Shall Not Be Named™️. creating new characters & a homebrew or two became a way for him to cope with everything that happened there and heal.

details abt (one of) benny’s character(s):

half-orc barbarian-bard multiclass, affectionately known as a bardbarian

college of lore + berserker pathways

himbo af and benny laughs a lot when he gets to act out said himboness

character has a tendency to start bar fights if his talent is questioned, and usually it’s beating them with his fists and/or lute. there’s an npc that owns an instrument shop the half-orc frequents that gives him a glare every time but will always repair or replace said lute

uses vicious mockery against the BBG (big bad guy) every time they face a new one and the guys have never laughed so hard at benny’s random insults

focuses more on utility spells bc it’s just that easy for him to beat the hell out of someone with fists and weapons. becomes a jack of all trades kind of guy (similar to irl) and enjoys the “oh shit he can do that?” questions when he pulls off an intricate

when you offhandedly mention dnd night with your friends while planning for a date, benny’s eyes go wide. “you play dnd?! why didn’t you tell me earlier, lovebug? i love dnd!” precious baby boy will gush abt his first campaign back in high school and find his first set of dice to show you. he’s excited bc dnd is now another thing you can do together as a couple. will ask if you two can make characters with interlocking backstories 🥺

will: he didn’t play in high school but knew some guys in basic training that played who explained the basics to him and his first thought was “oh benny would love this” bc he knows his brother that well benny never had the heart to tell will that he had been playing dnd for years before will told him abt it so will takes credit for introducing benny to dnd. didn’t join a campaign but a character was built & he was gifted a set of dice from that group’s dm in case he ever wanted to start. ends up taking this character with him when he joins one of your campaigns and enjoys it a lot more than he thought he would

details abt will’s character:

goliath male, abt 7’8” and 300ish lbs bc he a big chonk

ranger-fighter multiclass — “warrior who used martial prowess and nature magic to combat threats on the edge of civilization” & “master of martial combat, skilled with a variety of weapons and armor” (pg. 45, dnd player’s handbook)

you can’t tell me that william miller wouldn’t enjoy the FUCK out of this combo without your pants catching fire

favored terrain: mountain, forest at level 6, and arctic at level 10

fighting style: two-weapon fighting

archetype: beast master. prefers a wolf, hawk, or mule companion but isn’t too picky

less of an emphasis on strength (goliath characters already get +1 to strength & rangers need more dexterity and wisdom anyways); instead, put his higher stat rolls into dex, wisdom, and constitution

you mention dnd early in getting to know will partly to just make conversation (and to snuff out whether he was the kind of guy to look down on the game as a whole). he tells you abt benny and a few of his army friends that played, and that he didn’t consider himself a player bc he hadn’t used his character yet. you called bullshit and, after getting him to play once, discovered that will would make a fabulous dm. his memory? impeccable. session plans? infallible, no matter what the party can improvise. is somehow always able to steer the party in the direction he needs them to go without being forceful. no one has ever heard a “you can certainly try” sound so encouraging yet foreboding at the same time.

frankie: poor man is absolutely clueless. he joins in on the dnd fun bc he saw how excited benny was and figured that it would be better than sitting at home by himself watching western reruns. ends up being inspired by said westerns (namely “the rifleman”) when creating his character and is crossing his fingers the entire time hoping that no one calls him on the similarities. despite the emphasis placed on charisma, he’s drawn to the paladin class bc of their self-chosen holy quest and the desire to vanquish evil (trauma 🥺). is learning how spells work as he goes and is frequently apologizing for holding up the session bc of this.

details abt frankie’s character:

half-elf paladin male

neutral good alignment

worships helm, god of protection (forgotten realms)

strength & charisma highest stats

protection fighting style

takes the oath of vengeance — “a solemn commitment to punish those who have committed a grevious sin” (phb, pg. 87). the character’s own purity is inferior to serving the justice they believe is required. to me, this just SCREAMS frankie

with the guidance of helm, his character became the sole caretaker to a child whose village was slaughtered by his character’s sworn enemy. strives to defeat said sworn enemy both in the name of his adopted son’s lost family & simply bc helm was like “dude you gotta stop this guy” shortly before frankie’s character found the child

has a bunch of healing & defense spells instead of combat spells bc why would he need combat spells if he can just fuck someone up with a weapon of choice?

santiago: like frankie, santi was absolutely clueless. but unlike frankie, he did a fuck ton of research during the days leading to the first night of the campaign. he he showed up after actually having done research with a well-rounded character with fitting stats and an intriguing backstory. does what a lot of men can’t and won’t by giving the party a female that is a genuine badass and respected for her badassery instead of being talked down to simply bc she’s a female. enjoys putting feline tendencies into his rp and the guys make cat jokes a lot.

details abt santiago’s character:

female tabaxi monk, way of the open hand

chaotic neutral alignment

was raised in the monastery and became a teacher in the ways for a short time. left the monastery after her curiosity revealed corruption within the ranks & was only allowed to leave freely under the condition of not telling anyone what she found

she was called back to teach when a sickness took down a lot of the elders and despite the reluctance, when she learned her mentor was sick, she went back. taught until his death and is in search of a medicine to save the monastery

her curiosity is fueled by her passion to learn everything she can. sometimes this gets her into some shenanigans but nothing too bad

triple frontier taglist: @pedropasscals @max--phillips @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @obirain @themarcusmoreno @catsnkooks @battletales @darthadeline @jedi-mando @book-of-anarchy @andysficrecs @purelypascal @whovianwar @lv7867 @kaermorons @princess76179 @greeneyedblondie44

#triple frontier imagine #triple frontier hc #triple frontier #frankie morales #will miller #william ironhead miller #benny miller #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #francisco catfish morales #dungeons and dragons #jay plays dnd #dnd

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cake-writes · 5 years ago

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Forever Yours

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: SAPPY AS HELL, Fluff, Angst, War References

Summary: Two lovebirds exchange letters during the War.

Written to this song on repeat. Enjoy!

June 16, 1943

Hey sweetheart,

It’s been 19 hours since I kissed you goodbye, but I’ll never forget the dress you wore to the docks. You took my breath away! Nearly tempted me to do something I shouldn’t have... at least not without permission, and we can’t have that, can we?

I’ve just gotta see you in a white dress again, sugar. Mark my words, as soon as I come home, I’m gonna have a long talk with your parents. Gotta ask ‘em properly. I just wish I could have done it before I left. You would have said no, though, wouldn’t you? Until I’m yours for good, not government issue. My girl’s just too smart to get tied down without thinking it through! That’s one reason out of a thousand why I love you.

I know how upset you were that you couldn’t send me off with a smile, but I’m a little happy that those tears were for me. I’m the luckiest man in the world to be able to say that you’re mine.

Miss you already.

Bucky

June 17, 1943

To my best girl,

There’s not much to do on this godforsaken ship other than write to you, so that’s what I’m gonna do. 41 hours since I saw you last and I’ve been sick as a dog. Isn’t the Army supposed to make me stronger? But here I am, barely able to keep anything down. Guess I haven’t gotten my sea legs yet.

The tablets they give us for seasickness don’t help much either, not to mention they taste awful. No one can keep ‘em down, not even Mann and he’s got a stomach of steel. Sorry doll, that’s Archie Mann. One of my bunk mates. He’s a private with B Company, says he’s originally from Mississippi but his folks moved to Brooklyn a couple years back. Small world.

The fellas all say I’m wallowing in my own misery, and you know, maybe they’re right. Wish you were here taking care of me. Then I’d be right as rain.

Forever yours, Bucky

June 18, 1943

Hey gorgeous,

67 hours now. That’s almost three days away from you.

It’s been impossible to sleep. I feel like a canned sardine – got 5000 other men on this ship with me and limited real estate. Our bunks are stacked 4 high, but at least I’ve got a bottom one thanks to my sergeant chevrons. Makes it easier to sneak up on deck at night and write to you, which is what I’m doing right now.

I might be breaking regulations, but I won’t tell if you don’t! You can keep a secret, right, doll?

It’s a full moon tonight. Nothing but ocean around for miles and miles. I think you’d love it out here. It’s peaceful – actually makes me forget for a minute that there’s a war going on. Then I remember where I am and where I’m heading.

Starting to get a little drowsy, now. Maybe it’s the sea breeze. I’m gonna try real hard to dream of you.

See you in a few minutes, I hope.

Bucky

June 20, 1943

To the girl of my dreams,

It’s been nearly five days, and I can still smell your perfume on the handkerchief you gave me. Hope it lasts. I’m not ready to give you up yet.

You said you stitched that pretty pink flower on there just for me, so I’ve kept it hidden in my pocket for safekeeping. Embroidery is hard work, isn’t it? Becca’s always been terrible at it, but Ma’s stitching is the fastest you’ll ever see.

When you get these letters, would you mind checking in on them for me? Becca and the girls are gonna be fine, but I’m worried about Ma. Hope she’s doing okay. Her only son going off to war… I know it’s gotta be hard for her, but she’s too proud to let it show. Maybe she’ll open up to you.

Don’t know what I’d do without you.

Love you always, Bucky

June 20, 1943

Sweetheart,

Well, your handkerchief didn’t stay secret for long. Only for another two hours after I wrote that last letter! Can you believe it?

The boys have seen your picture, now, too – you can thank Henderson for that. I’ve given him orders to do fifty push-ups every hour for a whole day as a punishment for going through my rucksack, but I can’t say I blame him. There’s nothing better to do. “Hurry up and wait” should be the Army’s motto.

Oh yeah. Henderson is one of my corporals. Johnny Henderson from Manhattan. He’s a rifleman. Rich family, but he wasn’t drafted.

Just seeing your face is like a breath of fresh air, though, and not just to me. Everyone’s compliments were respectful, and I’m gonna make sure they stay that way. Boy, were they all jealous! None of them have girls waiting at home like me. Called me a lucky bastard more than once, and I’ve gotta agree.

Marino said that the pink flower you stitched is a gladyolis gladiolus? That word still doesn’t look right… Correct me if I’m wrong, yeah? No dictionary. Marino’s a florist’s son. Private Joey Marino, my squad’s medic. Italian. Good guy.

Anyway, he said it means ‘faithfulness’ and ‘remembrance’. I don’t think that’s a coincidence, is it, doll?

Yeah, I’m a lucky bastard, alright.

Unabashedly yours, Bucky

June 21, 1943

Hey beautiful,

It’s only been six days since I got a kiss from you, but it feels like it’s been six years. We’re not supposed to hit shore for another week, and after that, who knows how long I’ll be there? Or if I’ll even make it back?

No, we’ve gotta stay positive, right? That’s what you’d say. I don’t know how I’m gonna make it home to you otherwise. Some of the men here have already been over once, and the stories… well, that’s not something you need to hear. I’m sure you’re already doing enough worrying as it is for the both of us. Don’t wanna add fuel to the fire.

Sorry for the smudges by the way. Someone thought it would be a great idea to smoke while writing a letter to his favorite girl, and then he dropped ashes everywhere. Guess who? Hint: it’s me. I know, I know. It’s a nasty habit, but hear me out. It’s really helped settle my stomach, and Lucky Strikes are a dime a dozen.

Wonder how long that’ll last where we’re headed. Or how long I’ll last.

I’m sorry. It’s hard to be positive, but I’m trying. I just miss you so damn much, and I love you more than anything. You know that, don’t you?

Bucky

June 22, 1943

To my gorgeous girl,

Dreamt about you again last night. I woke up before we got to the good part! Normally I’d be a little heartbroken, but waking up to a bunch of men laughing at me wasn’t too pleasant. I said your name in my sleep, and, well, I didn’t just say it if you know what I mean.

Why am I even writing this? I don’t know. Hope you have a good laugh at my expense anyway. You deserve to laugh. You deserve to be happy.

At least my poker skills aren’t too shabby. I won a couple packs of smokes last night. Don’t worry, I’ll brush my teeth extra good before I kiss you again... and before we do other things. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darlin’. I’ll take good care of you when I get back.

Still thinking about you in that dress.

Bucky

P.S. Just a week away from your good graces, and look what’s happened! You’re gonna have to make a good Christian out of me when I get back.

June 24, 1943

Dear sweetheart,

It’s been nine days, I think. I’m not really sure anymore. We’ve hit some rough seas lately, which has made it pretty hard to write anything without my pen making a mess of the page. Lots of storms! I guess we’re getting closer to England. It rains a lot there, or so I’ve heard.

Rumor has it we’ll dock in just a couple more days. Then I’ll finally get to send these letters off. I hope they get to you quickly, but that’s more self-serving than anything because I can’t wait to hear from you, doll. Wonder how long it takes for mail to travel overseas?

Looks like my seasickness is finally cured! Not sure if it’s the cigarettes or because I’ve just gotten used to it. Been keeping a bucket by my bedside since I got on board, but I haven’t needed it at all the last couple days even with the stormy weather. Haven’t needed it since I started smoking, actually. Correlation or causation? What do you think?

Love you always, Bucky

June 25, 1943

To my one and only,

Never mind, I spoke too soon. Seasick again. More rain.

Do you remember when we got caught in the rain last summer? I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. You can hear the rain even from inside the ship, and it sounds pretty similar to where we hid to wait it out. That little cabin in the woods with the tin rooftop – I really loved it there, you know? But what I loved more was spending that little bit of extra time with you. Even if we were soaking wet.

We’ll be in England in just a couple of hours, according to my master sergeant. I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to write you again, but I’ll do it whenever I can. I just hope my letters make it there in one piece.

I love you so, so much. Don’t forget that. No matter what happens. Okay?

I know it’s not fair for me to ask, but if I don’t make it through, could you please look after Ma? At least for a little while? I’ve asked her to look after you, too.

Gotta go now. I love you.

Forever yours, Bucky

Part Two

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 6 years ago

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Something to Remember

Took a few days to write this, it’s long cause I’m a sucker for detail!

Summary: Arthur Morgan was a video game character who you enjoyed playing, up until that same character appeared in your house one day without any explanation. Two weeks later, he’s still learning things about the modern world.

Pairings: Arthur Morgan x Modern!Reader

Warnings: SMUT. Very light angst, unrealistic expectations of the male refractory period

A soft whisper of your name rouses you from your comfortable sleep. You groan and open your eyes, first glancing at the digital clock on your nightstand. It was 6:30 am.

Annoyance washed over you. You hated being woken up early, especially on your day off.

Your room was washed in the faint glow of the morning light as it was just starting to peek over the horizon.

You hear your name again, this time a little louder. You glance toward the source of the noise, noticing your door stood ajar with a face peeking out at you.

Arthur Morgan.

“Arthur?” You sat up, your voice plagued with a yawn. “What’s wrong?”

He opened the door more, hovering within the doorway. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to disturb ya.”

You observed him silently. It’d been two weeks since this man had somehow appeared into your life, and you mean that in a literal sense. One night you were sitting at your TV, running a mission on your game, and somehow something had changed. You remember waking up to an odd sound elsewhere in your small house, and you hurriedly ran out of your bedroom thinking your cat had gotten into something. Nope. Instead you saw the cowboy, dressed as how he appeared in your game, complete with the custom-made weapons that adorned his hips and back. He was just as wide-eyed and confused as you were.

So far, the last two weeks had been interesting. You weren’t sure as to how a character from one of your PlayStation games had come to life, although there had been no indication or intention of him being returned to said game. Trying to calm the riled up outlaw was one thing, when jumping a hundred and twenty years into the future and being surrounded by unfamiliar technology wasn’t something that was covered in any class you took at school. You couldn’t explain to him that he was a character from a video game. You couldn’t even explain whatever strange force brought him to life, to your house out of all places.

He was still adjusting, that’s for sure. You remember how he reacted to your phone ringing, nearly jumping out of his own skin like a damn cat. He was already on edge, and you had to calm him down before anything else would further set him off. Somehow you’d managed to do so, although keeping a wary eye on the pistols that sat in their holsters.

You’d somehow convinced him to stay here at your house, knowing that he’d more than likely run into trouble or BECOME the trouble had he ventured out into town. Despite this he couldn’t help but to touch literally everything in your possession. It was like watching a toddler, and it felt like it too. Intrigued by the TV, your Bluetooth stereo, and even your stove – electric – his blue eyes widened in awe as the surface lit up before him and instantly getting off heat. The microwave fascinated him too, same with the fridge- he could not keep his hands to himself the first day.

At some point you had to run out and buy him some actual modern clothing, although sticking close to his style just to keep him comfortable, you can thank the local Tractor Supply for the abundance of flannels and worker jeans. He watched in absolute fascination when you placed his original clothing into the wash, mumbling about how much better it was than river water.

Things started to ease after that day. You decided to take him out to town after a long conversation as to why it would be a bad idea to walk around in public with his multiple firearms. He didn’t like it but heeded your wishes regardless.

During the car ride, he was surprisingly quiet. He mentioned it was no different than taking a carriage somewhere, aside from the very obvious modern technology and the lack of horses. He loved the stereo, although confused by your choice of music. Fast paced and loud, it took him a while to understand the lyrics.

The first bite of a fast food burger blew his mind, and he promptly wolfed the rest of it down, along with the fries, exclaiming that was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

The local bar caught his sights and he immediately made a beeline toward it, and you hadn’t noticed for a moment. You finally realized he was not trailing behind and you see him disappear behind the door. You quickly find him gawking at the bartender, completely baffled by the fact that a shot of whiskey cost four dollars.

Despite everything else, it began to feel normal coming home to him. After painstakingly making sure he wouldn’t accidentally blow your house off the face of the earth somehow, you would leave for work. The worry that plagued your mind would ease as you walked in the door to find him on the couch, drawing contently in his journal while your kitten napped next to him. It was definitely a sight to see.

Somehow he’d learned how to use your kitchen, and the past week the smell of delicious food would grace your nose as you walked across the threshold. You knew he could cook; how many times have you had him roast oregano or thyme spiced venison in the game? But man, you didn’t know he could cook. He’d lay a plate in front of you, even though you mention that it wasn’t necessary. He only shook his head and said it was the least he could do for giving him a place to stay.

Every night it felt as if you were dreaming, and that you’d wake up the next morning without a trace of him. Every morning you’d feel happier when you saw him already up, bustling about and wondering what to do that day in particular.

“Mind if I come in?” He asked, noting your silence.

Snapping out of your trance, you nodded. He smiled and stepped in completely. He stood there silently, almost awkwardly, his broad frame only just visible in the dim dawn light. “Need something?” You asked, your curiosity beginning to pique.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting away for a moment. “I, uh, just wanted to say thank you for everything. Can’t be easy puttin’ up with my dumb ass.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “You’re anything but dumb, Arthur,” you responded. “Besides, I would be in the same way had I been sent over a century in the future.”

He made a small noise between a chuckle and a sigh. It’d fallen silent again, and you observed his stance. Something seemed off.

“Are you okay?” You asked. He didn’t answer, and you scooted from underneath your blanket toward the edge of your bed. Patting the space next to you, you added, “Come tell me.”

Arthur let out another sigh and took your offer, albeit hesitantly, taking the spot next to you. He was wearing one of the outfits you bought for him, a dark blue flannel and lighter blue jeans. His hands were adorned with the fingerless rifleman gloves. The top of the shirt was unbuttoned, allowing a little bit of chest hair to poke out. His hair, cut into the fade style that you loved, shone a dull gold within the growing sunlight behind you.

You were too busy caught in his appearance that you almost didn’t realize he began speaking again.

“I miss my family,” he murmured, his gaze fallen to his hands. “I reckon they’re all dead now. Hell, they definitely are,” he glanced up at you. “Dutch, Hosea, Charles, Lenny… I even miss Uncle complaining about his Lumbago.”

You frowned as your heart sank. You knew this simply wasn’t true; they never existed in the real world. Technically they were alive, if you were to boot up your console and show him yourself. However your PlayStation currently sat in your closet, determined for him not to accidentally discover the video game, if it even worked without its main protagonist.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I’m sure they were great.”

“I grew up with them, ya know,” Arthur continued. “Dutch n’ Hosea took me in when I was still a kid. Taught me everything I know.” A small, sad smile played at the edge of his lips.

Your heart sank further into your stomach. Whatever force brought Arthur to you, you briefly wished there was a way for him to see the Van der Linde gang once again. You then banished the thought, contemplating on how difficult it would be if you could fit another twenty-odd people in your living room.

“Well, if you can’t get back to your time, then you have all the time to make new friends.” Your feeble attempt to cheer him up didn’t seem to work as he let out a huff of disbelief.

“I ain’t a good man, Y/N. Don’t think nobody wants to be friends with someone like me.” There was a dark tone to his voice. Self pity.

The poor man had no self esteem. You knew this from how many times you’ve heard him disregard any kind comments towards him. He was always surrounded by the gang. You remember the distinct few times where a woman would hail him down in camp and have a personal discussion on what plagued his mind. He was such a complex, well-written character that despite his demons, he was surrounded by people that cared about him. Now, he was alone. You reached out and wrapped your arms around his torso for a brief hug. It was the first time you were this close to him, and he tensed from your touch. As you drew back, he looked at you with slight confusion.

“The hell was that for?” He asked, his voice shook with a humorless chuckle.

“You sounded like you needed a hug.” You simply said. “Sorry, did it bother you?”

He shook his head. “Not at all, just…surprised you’d do that. I ain’t worth it.”

More of the self-pity. You groaned at that. “Mr. Morgan,” you started, shoving your hands to your hips. “I don’t want to hear none of that now! You’re the coolest man I’ve ever come across. So stop this self-hating bullshit, its unhealthy!”

He blinked, surprised by your sudden outburst. It seemed like it took him a moment to understand what you were saying. His brow furrowed slightly as his gaze shifted downward once again. “You care that much, huh?”

“Course I do,” you responded proudly. “You show up in my living room from some sort of time warp and have been camping out on my couch for the past two weeks. How else am I gonna make sure you’re living and breathing?”

He let out another laugh, a lighter tone that made you smile. “I ‘spose that’s fair. Don’t find much hospitality back where I’m from unless ya pay for it. Can’t really imagine where I’d be if I hadn’t ended up here. You’ve helped me a lot.”

Your heart fluttered slightly against your rib cage as your face flushed from the compliment. Your smile grew as you placed your hand on his shoulder. “I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. You definitely have made my life more exciting since you’ve arrived.”

“Excitin’?” He repeated.

You nodded. “Who else can say they have a 19th century outlaw chilling at your house?”

“Chillin’,” he snorted. “I still ain’t used to the way you speak sometimes.”

Now you had to laugh. “You’ll get used to it, cowboy. Besides, you’ll have a place to stay until the day you get back to your time. You can count on that.”

He smiled now. A small, warm smile on his full lips. “Thanks Y/N. You know, even though I miss the gang, you make this place feel…like home.”

Oh, darn that Arthur. You felt the heat surge to your cheeks again. “Well, Mr. Morgan. I’m glad I can do so.” You said softly, your eyes never leaving him. His pretty blue eyes were bright as they met your gaze. His smile never left his face. You observed every feature, from his hard jawline to the stubble that graced it. The weathered look to his cheeks highlighted the hard years of his past.

Good lord, why were you falling for a video game character?

Truth be told, you thought Arthur was good looking before, the graphics did wonders on his character model. But now he sat before you, as real as day. He was even more gorgeous now. It was silly to think about, but damn if the Universe didn’t give you an opportunity.

It’d been a while since you’ve been with someone, anyone, in the romantic sense. You’d broken up with your last significant other almost a year ago. You were too busy to consider entering another relationship, yet your mind began to wonder…

You leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. It was quick, and you pulled away before he could react. Your heart hammered as you looked for his response, his eyes wide and the shock plain on his face.

“Uh…”

Shit, maybe that wasn’t the right move.

“Y/N…”

“Sorry!” You spluttered. “I-I don’t know what I was thinking,” you placed your face in the palm of your hand, the embarrassment hitting you like a brick wall. “Please forget that happened…”

You waited for him to say something, to tell you off for the attempt, or even just getting up and leaving. The silence ticked on, blood rushing through your veins as your heart hammered wildly in your chest. You wondered what was taking him so long, when you felt the brush of fingers on your cheek.

Surprised, you looked up at him. His face was soft, not angry in any way. You blinked in surprise, and his hand moved from your cheek to your chin. He guided you closer until his lips met yours. The relief that washed over you was quickly replaced as you kissed him back. His lips were soft against yours, his hand still held you there as his other moved to rest gingerly on the small of your back.

You leaned closer, feeling the heat radiate from his body. Your arms wrapped around his neck, resting against his broad shoulders. It’d been so long since you felt the affection of another, so much that your craving overtook all other thought. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a little voice screamed at you for even thinking of such a thing. Yet the rest of you did not care. Carefully, you shifted your position to climb into his lap, straddling him between your thighs.

He stiffened again, and you parted the kiss to look at him. “Is this okay?” You asked quietly.

He stared back at you, his eyes dark. It seemed as if it took him a moment to consider, and then he nodded. His hands took their place on your hips.

Smiling, you kissed him again, pressing yourself harder against his mouth. He complied and kissed you back with equal force. Your lips parted as his hot breath mixed with yours. One hand left your hip and made its way to your hair, tangling his fingers within it. The gentle tug sent your thoughts into a spiral of madness, the carnal urge beginning to rise within you.

Do you dare?

Your own hand slid down his body, slowly, marveling the planes and peaks of his muscles. He didn’t seem to mind as he gave a soft groan from your touch. Your fingers hovered over a button, and you slowly undid it, testing the waters. With no negative reaction you worked down his shirt, one by one, until the fabric fell completely open as he shrugged it off the rest of the way. Although you couldn’t see it, you remembered how he looked. You ran your palms along his chest and abdomen, allowing your nails to lightly scratch his skin. He twitched from the sensation, and you could feel his breathing slightly quicken.

A hardness made itself known against your inner thigh. You knew what it meant, and wasted no time in beginning the exploration below his belt. As you started to undo his jeans, only then did he pull back from you.

Your eyes bore into his. Your face was burning from the intensity, your own breathing was erratic as your heart hammered. Did you go too fast?

“Darlin’…” he began, a sadness reflecting on his face. “Are you sure? I don’t think you want to be with someone as ugly as me.”

You bit back a sigh as that self hatred reared its ugly head again. You inwardly cursed whoever kicked his self-esteem in the balls so you could return the favor. Instead, you placed your hand tenderly on his cheek. “I’m sure, Arthur. Plus, you’re the opposite of ugly.”

The look on his face told you that he didn’t exactly believe you, yet he didn’t argue. Without an indication of wanting to stop, you decided to go further. Your other hand pressed against the warm hard line in his jeans briefly, eliciting a groan from him. You unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, allowing what his underneath to be partially freed. It stood stark beneath the thin cotton of his boxers. Working around the fabric, you were able to free it completely from its confinement.

His size was impressive, you had to admit that. Bigger than average yet not frighteningly long, with quite the girth on him. He was uncut as well, remembering that circumcision was uncommon during that time period. The veins that spidered along his length stood prominent through his skin. Wrapping your fingers lightly at the base, you pumped your hand slowly.

A moan escaped his lips as he closed his eyes. As you worked your touch along his length, you could feel your own heat making its presence. As much as you wanted to pin him down and ride him, you staunched your desire for now. Placing pressure on his chest, he fell back onto the bed as he gave you a curious look. Scooting up to be eye level with him, you gave him a sultry smile and slowly inched down. Your eyes scoured his body as you leaned down to place kisses along his torso. Every blemish and scar was brushed by your lips. You took your time, listening to his shallow breathing. You wanted to make sure he knew you loved his body.

Placing one last kiss below his navel, you shifted to kneel in between his legs.

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, the bewilderment strong in his voice as you leaned toward his manhood.

Of course, the poor man probably never had a blowjob in his life. You wondered if he was even familiar with the act. Either way, it was time to change that. “Making you feel good.” You whisper, leaning forward to place a kiss on the head before taking it within your mouth, languidly working your tongue. Keeping eye contact, watching his face flush as you earned another moan. You took your time, working further and further down his length, swirling your tongue against his hot skin. He melted from underneath you, his murmurs of pleasure was like a sweet melody in your ears. It’d only gotten better when you began to bob your head.

Immediately, his hand found the back of your head. The slight pressure prompted you to go faster, allowing him to reach to the back of your throat. His hips quivered as if fighting the urge to buck further into your mouth. He groaned your name along with explicit sinful utterances, all which could drive you wild.

You continued, keeping a steady pace. A moment or two passed when he made a small noise when his hand suddenly moved. You glanced up at him again when he exclaimed your name. “I’m about to-!”

You deep throated him once more, which seemed to do the trick as he was cut off mid-sentence with a guttural groan. He bucked up once as you felt the heat spill into your mouth. You held yourself still as he emptied himself completely. As his muscles relaxed from underneath you, you slid yourself up and off, popping your lips as you swallowed his load. You didn’t mind that he was quick to finish, but you felt proud for your ability to pleasure him in such a way.

Catching his breath did not stop him from gawking at you, completely dumbfounded. You smiled at him, unable to help the giggle that escapes just by seeing his reaction alone.

“Christ, woman,” he breathlessly grunted. “You’re definitely somethin’.”

“I take pride in my work.” You laughed.

He rubbed his face and sat up, a smile stretching on his lips. “Mind if I, uh, return the favor then?”

Now it was your turn to blush, yet the pulsation that originated from your core eagerly awaiting allowed you to nod. “Have you done that before?” You asked.

Shaking his head, he responded, “Never in my lifetime. So…I’ll probably need a little guidance.”

How cute was he? Before you could reply, he grabbed you by your hips and pulled you toward him. The action made you fall back on the bed, letting out a short laugh as you did so. He took the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down along with your panties, exposing your hairless mound to him. You watched as he lowered his mouth to you, his eyes never leaving yours. His tongue slid down your slit, you welcomed the hot wetness with a shudder.

His mouth was fully against you, his scruff tickling you in a pleasant way, and he took no time in finding your bud. The movement was slow at first, careful strokes from him as he learned your body. You murmured to him, guiding as he followed effortlessly. He triggered a certain spot that released a loud moan from you. And this man has never eaten a pussy before? Upon your reaction, he repeated it, expertly using the tip of his tongue to make you squirm. He certainly was a quick learner.

He continued to please you, still with some breathless guidance from you. It felt like a dream, floating in your own bliss. He was slow and steady for you, knowingly observing how your body reacted. You moaned his name quietly, your hand finding its way to his head, running your fingers through his soft hair.

His hands roved your sides, pushing up your tank top and admiring your curves and smooth skin. His calloused fingers, as rough as they were, felt good against you. “Finger me.” You moaned.

He did so, without a pause in his current action he slowly inserted one in, exploring your inner walls. The sensation felt even greater, fighting hard to keep yourself from grinding into his face. He inserted another, soon finding that special spot that nearly sent you over the edge. You couldn’t help but to buck your hips up, feeling him startle from your movement. He soon realized what it meant and fervently brushed his fingers against the spot again.

You uttered his name again, louder this time, feeling your peak coming quick. Keeping yourself still to prevent from bucking again, you gripped onto Arthur’s hair. “Fuck…” you gasped, just seconds from the edge now. One last combination of his tongue and fingers and you lost yourself immediately, coming undone in his grip and leaving you in such ecstasy. Panting slightly, you let go of his hair and peered down at him.

His eyes met yours, and even you could see the pride within him. Prideful that he just did that to you.

“You can eat some pussy, ya know that Arthur?” You murmured, your breathing still shallow.

He chuckled at that. “Is that what you call it? Either way, I’m glad I am.”

You giggled and sat up, grabbing his hands to pull him closer to you. “You’re a fast learner, Mr. Morgan. I can’t wait to see what comes next.”

His face reddened slightly, casting his eyes downward in slight embarrassment although the smile never left his face. “It’s been a while, Y/N. Hope I don’t disappoint ya.”

“Then let me take over.” You purred, kissing him again. You could taste yourself on his lips as you overtook him again, allowing him to lay back on the bed. Pulling down his jeans and boxers completely, you straddled him once more. He was hard once again, and you briefly wondered how long he’d last now. You hovered yourself over him, just barely letting your folds slide across the head of his dick. You teased him and he shuddered between your legs, his fingers trailing up and down your thighs. The look in his eyes pleaded and told you the patience he had was beginning to wear thin.

You lowered yourself onto him. Almost painstakingly slow, you held the urge to thrust down and start riding him wild. His hands took their place once again on your hips as he stretched your inner walls in the most pleasant way. You buried him completely within you, watching his face contort in bliss as he let out a low groan.

You made the first move, rolling your hips carefully against his. The movement was slow and steady, the feeling absolutely amazing. He squeezed your flesh, his nails slightly spurring you. Your moans were continuous, tilting your head back as you continued to ride him. He groaned your name in between sinful whispers, his grip on you tightening. You felt his torso quiver below you before he thrust upward, earning a loud gasp.

“Fuck, Y/N. You feel amazing.” He rasped, bucking up into you again.

You didn’t respond, too caught up in your own ecstasy. You began to ride him a little harder, letting him deeper within you. His hands moved from your hips, trailing underneath your tank top, pushing the fabric up completely to expose yourself to him. He took a hold of your breasts. You shuddered as he massaged them slowly, soon beginning to tweak your nipples between his fingers.

“A-Arthur…” You whined, the stimulation almost too much for you. You kept your rhythm, even when he occasionally thrusted into you-letting out a gratuitous moan from you-lost in the complete pleasure that radiated from your core.

He continued to murmur, uttering your name every once in a while. His calloused hands explored every part of your body, moving from your breasts to your sides and to your midline. His slid his hand down to your bud, his thumb beginning to massage it. You shuddered at his touch, biting your lip as it only added to the amazing sensation. You reached down and grabbed his wrist, and he peered up at you with confusion.

“I don’t want to, not yet.” You sighed to him. He nodded once, placing his hand back on your waist. You wanted to prolong this, make it sweet for the both of you.

His hands moved to the small of your back, and before you could react, he pulled you down into a sweet kiss. You responded immediately, moaning into his mouth as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and took control, thrusting easy and deep within you. It wasn’t long until he rolled you over into your back, taking place on top. He parted the kiss to place his hands on either side of you. You gazed into his baby blue eyes as he smiled. He whispered into your ear, asking if that was okay. You nodded silently, and elicited a whimper as he drove deep within you. He was getting more confident with himself.

He continued to thrust deep, keeping it slow and steady like you were. He wanted to prolong it as well. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your nails scratching his strong back. He winced slightly and threw himself forward even rougher than before. A gasp left your lips as your legs wrapped around his waist, his hips flush with yours, burying him to his root.

He groaned out, cursing in your ear before nipping it slightly. He buried his lips to your neck next, kissing and nibbling along the front and collarbone. Your skin erupted into goosebumps wherever he trailed his mouth, and you knew you were going to have marks later, not that you minded. You were leaving marks of your own as your nails endlessly scoured his back, your whines none too quiet.

He had his face buried in the crook of your neck when he uttered, “I ain’t gonna last much longer, Y/N.” his breath hitched as he spoke into your skin. He reached in between you two to play with your nub again, this time you welcomed it, wanting nothing more than the sweet release yourself. His breathing became shallower as his thrusts quickened, although still reaching far within you. His fingers danced little circles on your clit.

Digging your nails hard into his muscles, it didn’t take too long for you to hit the height of your peak, calling out his name was you came undone underneath him. He didn’t cease his thrusting although removing his hand to wrap his arms tightly around you-using the leverage to quicken his pace. You had to refrain from yelping out loud, biting onto your lip as he relentlessly pounded into you. He grunted utterly filthy words to you, causing you to blush immensely. You couldn’t respond, out of breath yourself with no chance to recover from your own orgasm.

It wasn’t much too longer when he thrust into you one last time, holding you tight against his body, releasing a long groan as he finally emptied himself into you. It was quiet for a moment, nothing but the sounds of your combined breathing filled the air. His tense muscles relaxed as he gently released his hold on you. Your gazes met, his face flushed and his eyes glazed over. His lips parted as he took short breaths, yet it didn’t stop him from closing the space between you to give you a loving kiss. You held him to you, your arms still around his neck. It was only a short moment before he pulled back slowly.

As he pulled out of you, a slight shudder took your body as his cum dripped from you. He blinked in realization, and a look of guilt shot across his face.

“Oh, Jesus- I’m sorry, Y/N. I should have pulled out.” He sighed, sitting up straight and ducking his head low in shame.

Oh, what a sweet, sad man. Of course he wouldn’t know the miracles of modern world contraceptives yet. “Arthur,” you started. “It’s okay, I’m protected.”

He gave you a look of confusion.

“A lot of things have changed in the sexual world,” you explained. “And I’ll explain better when I’m not tired.” You emphasized your latter statement with a yawn. The sun was higher in the sky now, illuminating your room in the bright morning glow. Yet you definitely could use a nap, and patted the bed space next to you.

The confusion was replaced by curiosity, although he didn’t ask any further questions. A smile slowly appeared on his face as he took the spot next to you. At first he didn’t do anything, until his arms slowly slinked around you.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked quietly.

“Arthur, we just fucked,” you reminded him as you giggled softly. “I think you don’t have to ask to cuddle me.”

He chuckled, not hesitating to pull you closer, feeling his solid chest against your back. He felt comfortable and warm, and the fatigue washing over you. “Guess there’s much more I gotta get used to.” He drawled, his own voice heavy. He placed a small kiss on the back of your neck, and his touch was the last thing you felt as you drifted off to sleep.

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x reader smut #Red Dead Redemption 2 #RDR2 #RDR 2

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ead13 · 5 years ago

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Christmas Gifts from Kieran

-When he realizes Christmas is coming, he panics because he can’t even leave camp to shop, and all he has is a bit of money from the Six Point Cabin venture. He at least convinces Charles to be his escort for some shopping.

-He won’t get something for everyone, just the people that have made an effort not to make his life miserable.

-Karen likes her crazy hats, so he buys something simple. He’ll come up with some feathers to decorate it on his own and save money.

-Tilly’s been working hard on her embroidery. He buys several brightly-colored lengths of thread for her to use. They seem to match her personality.

-Mr. Pearson is always making sure he’s had enough to eat, and it is probably because of him that Kieran has actually gained some weight in the last few months. He finds a bottle of his favorite Navy Rum and doesn’t even care how much it costs. He deserves it.

-Jack is tricky only because everyone gets him things. The boy honestly has everything he could want. Kieran knows how much he looks up to Arthur, and seeing as Jack has been learning how to write alongside him (Kieran), he decides on a journal where the boy can doodle and scribble just like Uncle Arthur. He just hopes no one else thought to get him one as well.

-Lenny would probably like anything, he is so positive. For some reason, Kieran is convinced he should have some rifleman’s gloves to protect his hands, because he hopes someday those hands won’t still be holding a rifle. He also hopes Lenny doesn’t ask.

-Hosea is perfectly happy with his practical herbal teas, but surely something different would be nice? Something he can’t just pick from the hillside? It takes a bit of discussion with the store clerk before he can decide on a tea that sounds like the right blend of exotic and still-tastes-decent.

-He is flat-out stumped by Charles. He actually asks him what he would like, because Charles is always helping him out and he wants to show his gratitude. Of course Charles tells him he doesn’t want anything. Well, Kieran will make sure Taima gets extra special attention, and a resupply of arrows will magically show up in his quiver.

-The problem with Arthur is that the sheer magnitude of what he has done for Kieran is beyond what he can repay as a gift. No item is enough. Though it sounds crazy, Kieran actually convinces Charles to head back into the Grizzlies to look for one of the white Arabians he saw up there. He’s going to tame the most regal of horses for the man that saved him.

-Speaking of nothing good enough... Mary-Beth. Now that they’re going steady, he’s GOT to find something good. To his surprise, hers is the first gift he finds: a gold locket someone dropped in the camp funds box. He checks with Hosea to see how much it is worth before buying it right out of the box. A girl that pretty should have a fine piece of jewelry, even if he ends up draining his savings. He knows she’s contemplated her lack of fine clothes.

-In a spirit of goodwill, and seeing as he has a few dollars left to his name, a big parcel of peppermint sticks for the entire camp to enjoy.

-Also apples for ALL the horses. Duh.

-He doesn’t expect anyone except maybe Mary-Beth will give him anything, but he is wrong; Arthur has tracked down Branwen where he ran off up north, and returned him to his owner. This is the best Christmas ever :)

So, shameless plug, I have a one-shot floating around on AO3 if you want to read a full piece about Christmas Eve... I may have gotten teary writing that thing.

#kieran duffy #rdr2 #headcanon

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sanxeko-blog · 5 years ago

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Presently, there I was, stuck to my PC including during the time wherein I was to acquire probably the best magnum opus at any point made. One which matches the incredible canvases and models from any semblance of Michelangelo, Rembrandt and even Picasso - might I venture to state! In my rifleman like style, I paused and stood by just in the event that somebody set out to outbid me. Ten minutes.....five minutes.....now 1 moment and 10seconds remaining. It was down to time to take care of business now and I opened up my second program window. The first was set in offer mode simply incase I expected to expand my offer, while the other was revived at regular intervals with the goal that I can follow everything down continuously. At long last, 1 moment and after 11 seconds, I inhale a murmur of alleviation and started doing my "upbeat" move.

For what reason would i say i was so glad, you inquire? Did I win the National Lottery? Did I become Donald Trump's new disciple? No, however it positions a nearby second to the entirety of the above...I won my first pair of Retro Jordan XI (That's eleven to the unenlightened). These are maybe the most famous Jordan's, and even shoes so far as that is concerned, that have ever been created. My opportunity at long last arrived as it had been a long time since I previously observed them in my neighborhood Footlocker and passed up my opportunity to get them. Presently I needed to hold up about fourteen days more. Gracious, the Suspense!

After fourteen day...

Tuesday 10:00 am, much the same as precision the mailman (Mail Carrier to be PC) shows up. A couple of moments later I hear the entryway pummel which must mean on thing - They're here! So I hurry to the entryway, get the bundle and continue to my room. Shutting the entryway behind me, much the same as a kid on Christmas Day, I quickly continue to tear open the bundle. Amidst the entirety of this an idea enters my head - Where were they dispatched from? I pause for a minute to take a gander at the transportation mark and notice that it originated from California and not structure Shanghai or Hong Kong. No issues up until now. I keep on opening the bundle and there it was (sign the holy messengers singing)....The dark and dark Jordan outline. I at long last get the crate unwrapped and look at the item name. It peruses "Retro Jordan 11". Presently I notice something here which I'll find a good pace (Point #1). I opened the top and the retro card was sitting right on the tissue wrapped shoes. I take it out so I can take a gander at the other Retro Jordan's and think back. It's now that I notice something different that lost me again which I'll likewise find a workable pace (Points 4&5).

Presently before I evacuated the tissue I lit up a stogie, as any man would while acquainting another appearance with the family. Furthermore, there they were, fresh out of the box new, my new Retro XI's operating at a profit/Varsity Red-White colorway. I evacuated one of the shoes and analyzed it all over and I should state, these were the genuine article! I at that point hauled the other shoe out and notice that something is wrong....the "23" on the back of the left shoe is abnormal. I likewise saw that the material on which the "23" is printed is standing out (Point 6). I disregarded it and chose to give them a shot as the last test. Learn to expect the unexpected. They were excessively little. I quickly took them off and took a gander at the item tag inside. It read "Made in China, 020608 LNR3. That was the last bit of trouble that will be tolerated that caused me to go from complete rapture to absolute frustration.

youtube

All the signs were there and I had gone to the acknowledgment that I was tricked. I was hoodwinked. I was taken in. Whichever way you put it, I was presently possessing fresh out of the plastic new Retro Jordan XI FAKES!! Things being what they are, what do I do? Do I place them back up for sale and recover my cash? No chance, that would make me similarly as exploitative as the person who offered them to me. My subsequent stage was to contact the purchaser, yet before I was to do that, I expected to look at the shoes in detail and make a rundown. Here they are:

1. The mark on the container had covering lines and the text style was not right.

2. The base of the case said "Made in China" and "Fabrique aux Etats Unis". Which is it, made in China or made in the USA?

3. The Jordan Silhouette was a lot darker than expected.

4. The Retro Card had Jordan's shirt in Teal shading and not Navy.

5. The shoe pictures on the Retro Card were foggy and swoon

6. The "23" on the back of one of the shoes was abnormal and the froth material that it is on stands out instead of being flush with the cowhide.

7. The carbon plate on the base of the shoe was in truth genuine however the example and shading was off.

8. The creation date was recorded as 020608 rather than 010911. Nike never made this shoe in 2002.

The focuses recorded above apply to the Retro Jordan XI's. Notwithstanding, you should utilize these focuses as rules when buying other Retro Jordan's from the net or a neighborhood swap meet seller. Different focuses to be considered include:

1. All shoes are made in constrained inventory. There is positively no chance that you can get 1000 sets of credible Retro Jordan 1's in all sizes.

2. When buying on the web, take a gander at the photos that the merchant is utilizing and contrast them and the photos of different shoes that they sell. Is the foundation the equivalent? Are there peculiar numbers on a couple of the photos? Do they have the Neon Green XI's available? Provided that this is true, don't consider purchasing. On the off chance that you need increasingly evidence never be hesitant to request that the dealer furnish you with more pictures.

3. On the off chance that the site likewise sells custom Air Force 1's, Louis Vuitton Handbags and Timberland Boots consistently make it a point to peruse their "Approach" which will obviously express that the shoes are fakes/variations. Even better don't peruse the approach, simply proceed onward.

One final thing to recall is the all inclusive principle that applies to any and everything that you buy - Buyer Beware! Help yourself out and do your exploration first before you end up as I did. Goodness, and in case you're pondering about my Fakes, I have since reached the purchaser and the closeout site. He is "never again an enlisted client"

Sheldon Smith is an energetic shoe gatherer and online retailer of elite footwear and molds through his store.

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changingourdestiny · 5 years ago

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Forsaken Part 3: Jett Black Ashes

Summary:

Rae and Adam attempt to strike down all the Barons at once, but end up failing and have to resort to killing them one by one. However, words from the mysterious mercenary, Jett, has thrown off Rae slightly. Who is this mysterious figure? Why are they so against Uldren being killed? ...and how do they know Cayde?

Previous Part: Here

Next Part: Here

Rae panted heavily as the Scorn before her crumpled to its knees, defeated. Her attention was drawn to Fikrul the Fanatic, who was watching from behind a barrier. Rae had hoped she and Adam could’ve taken out the Barons in one go by attacking the stronghold, but they had all now scattered before they could even lay a hit on any of them. Rae glared at the Fanatic with anger and frustration as he spoke to the two Guardians, “I do not fear the dead. I CONTROL death. And YOU… more use to me alive. Go. Pursue your vengeance. I claim your Fallen victims for my Scorn army.” The Fanatic transmatted away as Ghost piped up, “The stronghold is secure… but the Barons escaped. This was our best shot at ending this. And now they've scattered. What are we going to do now?” Rae clenched her fist before slamming it into the wall, “Damn it!!” ——————————————————————— Petra saw Adam and Stormbringer enter the Spider’s lair, “How’d it go?” “Well-” Adam was cut off by Ghost’s voice from outside the entrance. “Rae! Slow down! Ah! Don’t just ditch-!” Adam, Petra and Spider watched as a Sparrow went cartwheeling past the lair’s entrance, a loud bang shortly following. “Oh…not good then.” Petra spoke up. Spider chuckled, “I’m surprised she got that thing past the barrier. That’s impressive!” Rae walked into the lair, “I, uh…I might have lost my temper.” Ghost popped up beside her, “Understatement of the year!” The Spider laughed, “Oh, you really showed them, didn't you? Piece of advice, eh? Know your enemy before you… deal with them.” “Something tells me you know more than us.” Rae raised an eyebrow, “Any tips?” The Spider held up a series of cards, tossing them at Rae’s feet one-by-one. Each had a picture of the Barons. “Reksis Vahn - the Hangman. A silent sadist. Used to dock the arms of Dregs with his bare hands. Kaniks - the Mad Bomber. Emphasis on "mad." Demolitions expert with an irritating way about him. The Trickster - Araskes. A liar and a schemer. Friendly advice: trust nothing she touches. Hiraks - The Mindbender. Has a rep for manipulation. Has a morbid obsession with the Hive. Yaviks, a.k.a. the Rider. The leader of a bombastic gang of Pike-riding heathens. They sow chaos everywhere they ride. The Rifleman - Pirrha. The only Fallen alive who could make the shot that mortalized…Cayde-6. Elykris - the Machinist. The scourge of Solis Descent. This one sits atop a trove of tech and heavy armaments stolen from me! The Fanatic himself - Fikrul. The leader of the Barons and the first of the Scorn. His dark magic has no place on my Shore. No place! Last and most certainly least… Uldren Sov. Traitor to his people and the man who pulled the trigger. He may be in the wind, but his Barons are ripe for the picking. Divide. Conquer. Isolate Uldren. He'll wind up at your feet. And all you have to do…is pull the trigger.” “You make it sound easy.” Adam spoke up. “It is…” Spider replied, “…if you know how to do it right.” “So even the Red War’s hero has limits?” Everyone spun around to the lair’s entrance – the Fallen guards holding their weapons at the ready – as the cloaked figure turned the corner into the Spider’s lair, “Kinda funny. You slayed the Black Garden’s Heart, took down the Red Legion, killed multiple Hive gods…and yet a few undead Eliksni pose a problem to you?” Rae glared at the masked figure as the Spider chuckled, “Causing trouble as usual, Jett.” “Jett?” Adam asked. “The Shadow of the Shore. Our partnership is…complicated. Usually if there’s trouble in my Shore, they’re not far behind. Of course the moment new blood appears here stirring things up, you want part of it.” Jett chuckled, “Heh. Don’t go inflating their egos. I just wanna make sure these motes know their place. Though I’ll give ‘em this: I’ve never seen someone fail so spectacularly at hunting down a few Scorn.” “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?” Rae growled. “You’re the one with the grudge.” Jett shrugged, “Wouldn’t wanna take away you’re chance at a killin’ spree. Besides, the Barons pay good when they need stuff done.” Rae went for her gun, but was interrupted by Jett, “Oh relax, will ya? I never said I was on their side. I’ll help anyone if the price is right and it’s in my interests.” “And yet, you seem to hold Uldren in high regard.” Rae removed her hand from her gun’s holster. “I’ve my reasons. Reasons that are none of your business. Like I said, go on your killing spree. But if you insist on killing Uldren…you’ll have to go through me first. Got it?” “I don’t die easy.” “Neither do I.” Jett turned to leave, “If you need me, Spider, you know where to find me.” “Nobody knows where to find you.” Spider replied. “Exactly.” Everyone watched as Jett left the lair. However, they stopped and glanced to the right, “Huh…someone was cranky…” before turning left and walking away. “Well, aren’t they a joy?” Adam rolled his eyes. “Anyway…” Petra began, “Back to business. Cayde's killers are still out there, but the hunt is not over. You take down the Barons. Thin the herd. As for Uldren… Did you see that Awoken spire when you landed here?” “Oh yeah…” Rae spoke up, “What was that?” “It's called the Watchtower. I shouldn't be telling you this, but… my people's greatest secrets lie beyond that spire. There's no other reason Uldren would come to the Tangled Shore. Sooner or later, he WILL go to the Watchtower. We must stop him BEFORE that happens.” “Alright. You can count on us, P.” Adam nodded. “I know I can. Good hunting.” ——————————————————————— It was difficult, but time seems to fly when you’re out for vengeance. The Barons quickly fell to Rae and Adam, some more difficult than others. Soon all that remained were Fikrul the Fanatic…and Prince Uldren. Rae, however, was slightly unnerved. She would catch glimpses of Jett watching her and Adam from afar and their words would echo in her head. ‘If you insist on killing Uldren…you’ll have to go through me first.’ There was something eerily familiar about the mysterious mercenary. But Rae couldn’t put her finger on it. Either way, she didn’t let it distract her. Right now, her focus remained on striking down the Fanatic and Uldren. After slaying the Machinist, Rae and Adam received a message from Petra saying that she knew where Uldren was headed and quickly returned to the Spider’s lair to regroup. “Petra, we’re here!” Rae and Adam ran up to Petra inside the lair as Rae spoke, “What’s up?” “Well…first I need to explain a few things.” Petra began, “After the war, everyone in the Reef mourned our Queen and our prince. Except me. I didn't believe they had died. I couldn't. But then...Uldren returned. He told me he could hear the Queen's voice in his head. That's when I knew he was changed. I could have prevented all of this. But instead, I hid him away in the Prison of Elders. And now…Cayde was almost lost forever. The Reef is in ruins. And I've confirmed that Uldren is on his way to the Watchtower. It's now or never.” “So that royal runt Uldren wants into the Watchtower.” Spider, who was eavesdropping in on the conversation – which wasn’t hard since he was only a few feet away – spoke up, “I always wondered what secrets and treasures the Awoken stashed in that ersatz spire. But my friendship with Queen Mara, while she lived, stayed my hand. Well, that and a locked door. Thus I am honour-bound to send a selection of my finest to help you find that ever-elusive closure. I must say... I cannot wait to see how this ends.” “We better get prepped up.” Adam spoke up before turning to Rae, “You ready?” “I…I’m ready…” Rae began, “It's just...that Jett person…do you think they’ll stick to their word?” “If Jett wants to take us on, let them.” Adam replied, placing a hand on Rae’s shoulder, “But whatever Uldren’s up to, we need to stop it. We can’t let this Jett get in the way.” Rae took a deep breath, “Okay. Let’s do it!” ——————————————————————— Rae and Adam approached the entrance to the Watchtower, guns at the ready. “You made it.” Rae spun around to see Jett slowly approach them from behind, slowly clapping their hands. “I’m impressed. You took ‘em all down. I guess you really did earn your little title.” “You here to kill us then?” Rae asked, gripping her gun tightly. “Nah. Not yet anyway. I’m just here to enjoy the show.” Jett shrugged, “Can’t say the same for him though.” Rae and Adam jumped as a voice echoed around them, “You enjoyed killing them?” Fikrul appeared at the Watchtower entrance, staff in hand, “You enjoyed putting them in dirt — where you belong? Did it make you feel good?” The Fanatic fired bolts of electricity at the two Guardians while summoning Scorn. “Scatter! He can’t get both of us at once!” Rae called out as the two ran in different directions, dodging the Fanatics attacks and getting shots of their own in. Jett watched silently from a distance as the two Guardians struggled to take down the Baron. “Kaniks. Reksis Vahn. Yaviks. Pirrha. Araskes. Hiraks. Elykris. Tell me that killing my friends made you feel good. TELL ME.” Rae and Adam felt themselves being lifted into the air by Fikrul’s staff as he dragged them towards the Watchtower, “I will pay any price�� to be there when you die…” As they were dropped to the ground, Adam quickly put up a shield to protect himself and Rae as they dodged out of the way of Fikrul’s attacks. “You brought this on yourself!!” Rae yelled out, her voice cracking in anger and fear, “You chose to follow Uldren. You chose to lead the Scorn! You. Killed. Cayde!!!” Fikrul was about to fire another shot of lightning at Rae but was stopped by a blast of fire hitting him in the head. Fikrul glared towards the source of the attack. Jett. “You…did…what?” Jett growled through gritted teeth, “You better hope for your sake that’s a joke. Did you really kill Cayde-6?” “What’s it to you?” Fikrul spat in response. Jett clenched their fists, “I was a fool…I never once considered the reason why they’d kill him…but now I know whose side I should’ve been on this whole time.” Suddenly, Jett was engulfed in a burst of flames, “This time…YOU’RE GONNA STAY DEAD!!!” Jett lunged at Fikrul and grabbed onto his face, letting their flames scorch him, “LOOK AWAY!! THIS’LL GET UGLY!!!” Rae and Adam did as Jett told them, although confused by Jett’s sudden change of heart. They could hear the roaring of flames, the pained yells of Fikrul, and the angered screams of Jett. And then silence. Rae and Adam turned around to see what happened. Jett stood in front of Fikrul’s smouldering body. The Fanatic was dead. Jett panted heavily, shoulders slumped, as their mask and bandanna fell to the ground, broken and scorched by the flames. Adam noticed that within the bandanna was a voice modulator. Rae stared at the exhausted mercenary, “Who…who are you?” Jett stood up straight and slowly turned around and lowered their hood. Rae gasped at what she saw. A light-blue-skinned face with a scar on the chin and familiar pale markings on the face. Long, red and gold hair that was dishevelled and looked like it hadn’t been brushed in forever, part of it covering the right eye. Tear-filled eyes that once held a fiery glow, now had bags underneath them, as if they hadn’t seen sleep in years. A tired, weak, no-longer distorted voice spoke out, “I’m sorry…” There was no denying it. Rae knew all too well who Jett really was.

“Blaze…?” To Be Continued...

#changing our destiny #destiny 2 #destiny forsaken #rae drakyx #adam bergfalk #scorn #destiny scorn #fikrul #destiny fikrul #the fanatic #destiny the fanatic #Petra Venj #destiny petra #the spider #destiny spider #jett #???

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howlingwind · 5 years ago

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THEODORA 'THEO” LUTESSA MERCER who strongly resembles HAILEE STEINFELD, has been spotted in Pandæmonium. The CISFEMALE is a TWENTY FOUR year old TAGALOG DEMIGODDESS (DAUGHTER OF MAYARI), and has been in Pandæmonium for TWO YEARS. I hear they’re RESOLUTE & MERCIFUL and IMPULSIVE & STUBBORN. If you’re lucky you may catch them working at CLUB 390 as a BOUNCER.

born the daughter of a mortal and the goddess mayari, theo was raised solely by her father. her childhood was… complicated. they were constantly traveling, rarely in on city, state, or even country for more than a few weeks. theo still doesn’t know what her father did professionally, but with the way they always had money to travel with but never had money to spend, she’s sure it wasn’t legal.

one night when theo was about seventeen, she and her father were in crete, greece and they were attacked in their hotel room at night, by exceptionally powerful people — people that rivaled her own physical strength. after surviving the initial ambush, they quickly gathered their belongings and fled through the city, but they only managed to get away and hide for a few hours. during that time, her father finally explained to her what she was, and why she had the abilities that she did. she was a demigod. and they were most likely attacked in greece because her mother was a goddess, but she wasn’t of the greek pantheon. he told theo her mother’s name, mayari, and before she could even ask for any explanations, they heard their pursuers nearby and closing in on them. her father handed her a vial of what seemed like blood, told her a woman’s name, wanted her to seek her out to perform a “confirmation spell” and if there were hits, to track them down and find her brother. theo was so confused about everything, but most of all she was confused on why her father was telling her all of this now. before she had the chance to ask, she was told to run, and her father revealed himself as a distraction to their pursuers. that was the last time she ever saw her father, and she doesn’t know if he’s alive or dead.

theo did what she was told, traveled to delphi and found the witch her father told her about. she performed the spell, and with little to nothing to go off of, she tracked down every last relative on the map she was given. some of them she introduced herself to, some of them she felt she was better off not knowing, some of them really made theo question the integrity of her heritage, but none of them could have been her brother. well, not unless her dad conceived a kid while he was twelve, which she was fairly sure he hadn’t. none of them that is, until half a decade later. the. very. last. one. she traveled down to the small town a little outside of new york not really knowing what to expect — about her final relative, or about a the place that just oozed this vibe she couldn’t explain. it felt almost like a home, but it felt cold too. some of the people she saw there looked at her like they were thinking she’d make a nice lunch. it wasn’t until she spent a few days there and learned a little more about the town that she realized they probably were. she wasn’t sure what to expect when she finally caught the trail of the man she was looking for, but when theo finally saw him, she didn’t have much doubt. he seemed like a bit of an ass, sure, but the guy was practically a spitting image of their father. there was no mistaking it. tj williams was her brother.

for a couple weeks, theo did probably the creepiest thing she could have done. she followed him around, just observing and learning. like a stalker. but with good intentions. she was just a little nervous. really, she didn’t even know whether she should introduce herself or not. from what she could tell the guy was a real asshole, and technically her father never told her to go form a bond or anything, but she knew that’s what he’d really meant. so theo just kind of… inserted herself into tj’s life the best way she could think of. by the next week, she’d already made headway in befriending some of her brother’s… associates? friends? she wasn’t sure yet, but she’d worked herself in, and eventually, she’d fully integrated herself into the group of warriors. honestly, beyond even just knowing her brother — who she still hadn’t told about their connection — she felt like she’d finally found somewhere she belonged. a group of people she felt a bond with more than any of the relatives she’d found along the way. now she’s just worried that one day the secret will get out, and the life she’s built here will come tumbling down.

the goddess mayari was once known as the ruler of many things to the tagalog people. the goddess of combat, the goddess of war, revolution, the hunt; the goddess of strength and beauty; the goddess of the moon and the night. those domains of power manifest themselves in theodore mercer in many ways:

theo rarely sleeps. she’s awake all hours of the night, and only really needs rest the night after a difficult fight or other very strenuous activities. without strenuous activity, theo can easily go about five days with only a few hours rest.

has innate skill when it comes to hunting and fighting, and coupled with extensive training, she’s become an expert bowman, rifleman, and melee combatant that can easily rival the most experienced hunters due to her other abilities. she’s also an expert tracker, and once went “camping” for three months, relying on her ability to track, hunt, and gather to survive.

theo can see clearly at night. even in a pitch black room, she would have the visibility of a normal human under dim light.

additionally, she has the common abilities and weaknesses displayed in most demigods.

quiet, but not shy. reserved, but not afraid of conflict. theo is more comfortable when watching and listening, observing rather than being the center of attention. when she has something to say however, she says it, and when she has a strong opinion she makes it known. she’s also very stubborn, so when she makes up her mind about something, she doesn’t back down easily.

will show mercy when possible. she has no interest in needless killing, so despite being quite adept at it, she doesn’t often take lives. only when it’s required of her.

theo might come off as intimidating, but she’s really kind of a teddy bear once you’re in her good graces. she’s really protective over the people she cares about and will bend over backwards to make them happy.

will happily throw down a beer or two or ten or fifty with her friends or comrades. she’s not above getting completely shitfaced and having a good time. hell, getting her wasted is the best way to make her open up a bit.

loves stargazing. she feels her connection to the night sky, though she’s not sure she even believes any of the stories about her mother. goddess of the moon, ruler of the entire night? she just can’t buy it completely. especially not when she knows other demigods who were born from gods and goddesses from other mythologies. she doesn’t understand how it can all be real and all fit together when almost all of it contradicts everything else.

never had a formal education, her father taught her on occasion, but he was often busy. that’s not to say she’s not intelligent, however. while theo might not know advanced calculus or physics, it’s only because she was never taught. she’s an adept problem solver, quick learner, good at critical thinking, and well-spoken enough to keep it from being glaringly obvious she didn’t go to school.

she’s a really good artist. she only treats it as a hobby or a way to pass the time (especially since she doesn’t sleep much), and will do everything she can to downplay her talent and any compliments she receives, but she’s really good. she started out just sketching little things that caught her eye, but then eventually she graduated all the way up to painting the night sky. sometimes she’ll sit outside all night long with her easel and paints, and from one side of the canvas to the other, she’ll paint a gradient-like mural from whenever she starts to the sunrise, showing different things that happen throughout the night. for example, a cat that crosses her path, or a fight that breaks out on the street, or the one random car that happens to drive by at three in the morning. it’s her favorite thing to do artistically and she’s probably done about four or five so far, each from different locations.

#► theodora lutessa mercer #pandemonium: intro #// long ass intro my goddd lmao #// tag drop:::#inspo → theo #mirror → theo #starter → theo

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laurentmaree · 5 years ago

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Surreal Army Stories Number 4 The Chaplain and Flaming Tassels

Prelude:

This vignettes are my memories as a veteran of The Border War, a low intensity conflict in Namibia and Angola in the late 70's and early 80's. For more on this take a look at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_African_Border_War

There is a well-known psychological process that describes the normal human reaction to being confronted with an unpleasant truth. It is called cognitive dissonance, often confused with guilt but completely different. A person being exposed to an unpleasant or uncomfortable truth may react is several manners:

Violent

“Your farther is a crook!”

The teller gets hit.

Rational

“Your girlfriend is ugly!’

“She gives great blow-jobs”

And so forth.

Rifleman Darius was a good badminton player. Matter of fact he was a runner up the South African Junior Badminton Tournament the previous year. What was not well and not so well understood in those days was one of his other attributes, Darius had Asperger’s Syndrome. Supremely intelligent with more than just touch of psychopathic behaviour. No wonder he is today the owner of a Multi-billion Rand Company that he founded and has built up. So the South African Army and Infantry School in particular ended up with the care of this individual who could not be more ill-suited to the military environment. Had the Army known what they were letting themselves in for they would have sent him home.

Now for us old fashioned Afrikaner Dutch Reformed boys the whole matter of the Dutch Reformed Church and the Army was complex. In hindsight, I believe, the cardinal error that the Dutch Reformed Church made at that stage was to interject themselves as part of the authority structure. In the Army the church had even more influence than at school level. The Kapelaan had a uniform and rank and the close ear of the commander whereas at school the Dominee was an occasional visitor. We troepies were well aware of level of the influence through the heralds of “Die Engel”, our mole in the HQ. (See Story Number 1)

This was not the role what we expected of the church and to an extent mass cognitive dissonance kicked it. We expected a sympathetic, loving and accommodating church. There was still, however, little occasionally flickering red warning light on our moral dashboards. The type of flicker that could either indicate a true problem or could just be the result of a maybe faulty wiring of the moral judgement sensor in question. Thus it was that the Dutch Reformed Church turned their own perception amongst the troops to a Herzbergian Hygenic Factor. It could only be neutral or negative.

At Infantry School at this stage there was a young Dutch Reformed Chaplain. He was not the head honcho chaplain. Besides his ecclesiastic duties he also took it upon himself to be the patron of the badminton team as he was a relatively good player. I shall in a later story described the role and importance of sport in the army but suffice to say this patronage increased his influence even beyond that of a junior kapelaan. This set him on a collision course with his star player, Darius.

Now Darius was beat up often at school. There were reasons for this. He was highly manipulative and would seduce anyone’s girlfriend and more importantly he struggled to form real friendship bonds, something that was terribly important to him. So national service was heaven sent. Here he was forced into close environment with others of his age. This was a reputational clean slate. Here were new potential friends that he so desired and he worked hard to restrain his personality defects as to establish new bonds.

During the Junior Leader’s course there was a week march called Vasbyt. Vasbyt was intended to fully break the recruit after the basics phase and to establish the camaraderie that soldiers required. Vasbyt is the one thing that burned a neural pathway into the mind anyone who had completed it and excluded from the social dynamic in the platoon anyone who have not done it. This is where the Chaplain made the error of his life. He used his influence to have Darius helicoptered out so that he could play in some seemingly important badminton game.

To Darius this was the ultimate humiliation. He would never again be able look his platoon mates in the eyes. He has lost the fragile relationships he had so carefully built over the preceding three months. He was hurt and angry. Darius wanted revenge and switched on other more insidious aspects of his personality.

Unable to handle the situation Darius dropped out of JL’s and became a driver at Infantry School. This allowed him to be the best badminton player ever and to stay close to the Chaplain. He and the Chaplain became doubles mates and were a formidable force in the South Western Districts team. All this while Darius is waiting for his chance for revenge. He feigned a genuine friendship with the Chaplain. He even took the poor guy with a weekend to his parents in Cape Town.

During his second year of National Service the complete South Western Districts Badminton Team were from the army base. Darius and the Chaplain as well as two very pliable rowers. So it was that this group left for the National Provincial Championships in Durban. As the complete team was from the army accommodation was supplied by Natal Command. Troops staying in their rooms and the Chaplain in the Senior Officers.

On the last night after ending well in the national rankings the South Western Districts badminton team went for a small drink to celebrate. Now it was Darius’s opportunity. The chaplain’s guard was down, the other team members were co-complicit and situation that he has been working towards for more than a year was ripe. Drinks flowed and before long this group ended up in a strip joint somewhere Point Road in Durban. At this venue the dancer had nipple caps with tassels and part of the show was that she would sit on an audience member’s lap, the chaplain in this case, who would light the spirits soaked tassels after which with a gyrating motion of the hips of the target the flams would do beautiful circles in the air.

This was enough to make the Pope come in his pants.

The story gets slightly hazy from this point onwards but at some stage Darius and Chaplain arrived back at Natal Command. Darius took the Chaplain to a bed to sleep off his drunkenness. He made sure it was the wrong bed in the troop’s quarters and he went to sleep in the senior officer’s quarters. The next morning Darius was caught out and promptly retorted that he was forced to sleep there because the Dominee passed out on his bed.

Prelude:

Violent

“Your farther is a crook!”

The teller gets hit.

Rational

“Your girlfriend is ugly!’

“She gives great blow-jobs”

And so forth.

This was enough to make the Pope come in his pants.

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genesisarclite · 6 years ago

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Since you were so kind to accept my challenge, I am now requesting you to take on Mr Tall, Dark, Handsome & Augmented himself! Since your analysis of Aria's personality made me love her even more to the point I am right now sewing myself a 'Aria's my waifu' t-shirt, I believe you will hit this one out of the park, too. And as always, reading anything written by you is a pleasure. P.S. I hope I don't sound like a creepy stalker. I am NOT standing in front of your window... ohhh, oops.

Mmm, yes, Adam Jensen. I really do love his character, for many reasons, and I would say his appearance, no matter how gorgeous he is, is actually ranked relatively far down. Looks fade, but the heart does not. So, here we go!

The traits I found within Adam are compassion, will, loyalty, thoughtful, humble, mild Martyr Complex, emotional, self-repressed, and shortsighted. The lattermost trait isn’t present as much after HR, as he seems to have calmed down a lot and bottles up his emotions far too much. He kind of rages through the entire game. Adam is a very emotional person, but because he doesn’t wear it on his sleeve, a lot of people think he’s stoic. He’s not, he just bottles it all up and lets it out sometimes. Case in point, meeting Megan again, confronting Taggart, a milder example in finding Eliza again, the death of Miller (my goodness, he just looked so distraught, it still hurts), the death of the woman at the start of MD, and so on.

As a result, he’s very self-repressed. He hides away in his apartment all the time, he doesn’t let people get close, he seems afraid of having friends (or a lover) anymore, he shields himself behind those glasses, he doesn’t trust easily (which can be good), and his demeanor can be extremely off-putting, probably on purpose. Considering how highly he’s spoken of in both Sarif Industries and the DPD, it’s highly unlikely he’s always been repressed. I do believe he’s always been a quiet person, but not as detached as he is now.

He puts others before himself to the possible detriment of himself. He could end up in a “no-win scenario” one day, where sacrificing himself would bring the worst outcome. I don’t count the “Stanek vs. Versalife” choice as sadistic enough for what I mean. I do see it as a bit of a flaw - you obviously put others before yourself, but Adam might be willing to destroy himself out of a Martyr or Savior Complex. He was probably suicidal before - who’s to say he wouldn’t be now?

(I mean, he’d broken up with Megan in 2024, and still obviously loved her almost six years later. LET IT GO, Adam)

But about his more positive traits, he’s very, very compassionate. Is he a proponent of the “tough love” approach? Yes. Yes he is. But look at how he acts with Irenka, Melina, Aria (”Don’t give up, Aria. Semper fi.” anyone?), Delara after her sob story, Miller when he’s dying, the Hyron drones (just stands there and sadly touches her, because he do literally nothing else), Eliza (in MD), Megan (ffs Adam stop it)… actually, Adam just has a soft spot for people in distress, and women. Probably because of his mother, but still. But he’s inherently a very kind and loving person, which you can never tell just by looking at him. Refusing to shoot a young teen? Taking care of his mother? Taking care of Michelle Walthers (and then using her name for his alias in TF29)? Comforting Edward Brod in Golem City, and to a slightly lesser extent, Irenka Bauer in the same?

And I would arguably place him in the Gentle Giant category, too. He’s big and tough, fast and hard-hitting, but he also seems like the kind of guy you can sleep on the shoulder of (like Delara) and he wouldn’t even be bothered.

He also has a very strong will, bordering on sheer stubbornness. Whether it’s the NSN thing (which was entirely his idea, and to which Alex more or less said “wtf” to), or Rifleman Bank Station, or six months of recovery after being nearly killed and heavily augmented, or getting through GARM, or whatnot, he’s kind of terrifying in how determined he is. It’s certainly best to keep him on your good side.

Loyal? Yes, definitely. Once he’s your friend, or teammate, or whatnot, you pretty much have him for life (unless you stab him in the back). He didn’t make SWAT commander because he was a douchebag, after all, and everyone at SI didn’t worry about him because he was distant before the attack. Mac doesn’t warm up to him by MD’s end because he showed himself to untrustworthy.

Thoughtful? Yes. He’s constantly thinking, though sometimes he forgets to think before talking, but he always has a lot to say. He’s snarky and talks like the blue collar boy he is (moreso in HR than MD, but that could easily be attributed to what he’s been through and a return to his more introverted roots), but he always has something to say that’s appropriate to the situation. Or he comes up with some creative way to BS his way through. Still, his thoughtful responses are usually the most interesting, and offer a lot of insight. “Captain of the Debate Team” indeed.

Humble… yes. Every time someone offers him praise, he deflects or downplays it. The first example that comes to mind is when Delara remarks that he is so good at gaining people’s trust (”Fade to Black”), and he says “yeah, well, point is…” He is just not used to compliments and probably never learned how to accept them graciously, not helped by a post-augmentation body he’s only in MD really getting used to. He probably still feels a bit vile, since he can hardly say he’s loved or accepted the way he is, so he might not ever be able to be sure how genuine any of them are.

Throw that all together, and you get Adam Jensen, who is this wonderfully complicated character, both superhero and normal guy, who can both take on a small army alone and sit in front of the telly with a bowl of Froot Loops, and both are completely believable. I love it.

#adam jensen #deus ex #meta #asks #wow this got long

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perfectirishgifts · 4 years ago

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Here Are The 12 Best New Movies That Hit Netflix This Past Week

New Post has been published on https://perfectirishgifts.com/here-are-the-12-best-new-movies-that-hit-netflix-this-past-week/

Here Are The 12 Best New Movies That Hit Netflix This Past Week

50 First Dates

On Tuesday, dozens of new films hit Netflix NFLX . There are so many great ones to choose from…so where do you start?

Hopefully, this list can help. Here are ten great new movie options to consider on Netflix. And at the end of the article, you can find every new movie that will be added to Netflix throughout December.

50 First Dates (2004)

Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore have proven to be a great on-screen couple. First came The Wedding Singer, and 2014 gave us Blended. But their best effort may have been 50 First Dates, a film in which Sandler’s character falls in love with a woman who has amnesia and can never remember what happened the day before.

A Thin Line Between Love and Hate (1996)

It seems that much of Martin Lawrence’s work didn’t age well for many people. But I would encourage anyone to go back and give his early work a chance, as movies like A Thin Line Between Love and Hate (which Lawrence wrote and directed) are dark and romantic in a way that might surprise you. The film focuses on Lawrence’s character, Darnell, who is targeted by an obsessive ex-lover.

Chef (2014)

Jon Favreau has of course directed some of the biggest movies of the past decade, including Iron Man and The Lion King. But in 2014, he made and starred in a little-seen movie called Chef that delighted audiences. The film follows a chef who quits his position at a prestigious restaurant and decides to launch his own food truck.

Effie Gray (2014)

Dakota Fanning has never been as prominent of an actress as she was during her early days. But she actually still continues to churn out great performances, including her portrayal as Effie Gray. This biographical film, written by Emma Thompson, follows Gray as she marries distinguished writer John Rusin. But Effie soon starts to feel ill as her husband stifles her at home.

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)

Ah, a classic! To this day, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial might be my favorite Steven Spielberg movie. This is a great pick for anyone who hasn’t seen the 1980s classic sci-fi family movie (or is just looking to rediscover its beauty). The movie centers on an alien that crash-lands on Earth and then befriends a young boy. The boy must then try to help the alien make its way home.

The Jurassic Park Trilogy (1993, 1997, 2001)

I’m sure many of us have seen Jurassic Park. But what about the second and third movie? I recently watched all three myself, and I believe it’s a worthy triple-feature experience. The movies take place in a world where we’ve been able to recreate dinosaurs using prehistoric DNA.

Kung Fu Panda 2 (2011)

At the time of release, Kung Fu Panda was a welcome departure from the same-old-same-old we had come to expect from animated movies. And the DreamWorks classic kept that energy up for the sequel as well. Kung Fu Panda 2 follows Po as he battles a new villain that threatens the Valley of Peace.

Monster House (2006)

The 2000s were rich with underrated and under-seen animated movies. And that includes Monster House, which was dark and scary in a way that most animated movies these days won’t touch. The film centers on three kids who believe one of the homes in their neighborhood is haunted.

Quigley Down Under (1990)

When I was a kid, I was essentially forced to watch lots of westerns because of my dad. At the time, the genre annoyed me…but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve gained a soft spot for westerns. And that includes the great Quigley Down Under, in which an American rifleman travels to Australia for a job. After his employer turns on him and leaves him to die in the outback, the man plots his revenge.

Runaway Bride (1999)

As opposed to the westerns my dad constantly watched, I actually have fond memories of Runaway Bride when it came out in 1999. This classic romance follows a woman named Maggie, who is deemed the “Runaway Bride” after leaving three different men at the altar. A journalist plans to write about her fourth trip down the aisle, but then unexpectedly falls in love with her.

Every New Movie Added to Netflix in December

Available December 1

3 Days to Kill

50 First Dates

A Thin Line Between Love and Hate

Angela’s Christmas Wish

Angels and Demons

Chef

The Da Vinci Code

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial

Effie Gray

The Happytime Murders

The Holiday Movies That Made Us

Jurassic Park

Jurassic Park III

Kung Fu Panda 2

Little Nicky

The Lost World: Jurassic Park

Monster House

Peppermint

Quigley Down Under

Runaway Bride

Tyler Perry’s Madea’s Big Happy Family

Why Did I Get Married?

Available December 2

Alien Worlds

Fierce

Available December 3

Break

Chico Bon Bon and the Very Berry Holiday

Just Another Christmas

Available December 4

Bhaag Beanie Bhaag

Bombay Rose

Captain Underpants Mega Blissmas

Christmas Crossfire

Leyla Everlasting

MANK

Available December 5

Detention

Mighty Express: A Mighty Christmas

Available December 7

Ava

Manhunt: Deadly Games

Available December 8

Bobbleheads the Movie

AmarElo – É Tudo Pra Ontem

Lovestruck in the City

Spirit Riding Free: Ride Along Adventure

Super Monsters: Santa’s Super Monster Helpers

Triple 9

Available December 9

Ashley Garcia: Genius in Love: Christmas

The Big Show Show: Christmas

Rose Island

The Surgeon’s Cut

Available December 10

Alice in Borderland

Available December 11

A Trash Truck Christmas

Canvas

Giving Voice

The Mess You Leave Behind

The Prom

Available December 14

A California Christmas

Tiny Pretty Things

Available December 15

The Grizzlies

The Professor and the Madman

Available December 16

Anitta: Made in Honorio

BREAK IT ALL: The History of Rock in Latin America

How to Ruin Christmas: The Wedding

Nocturnal Animals

The Ripper

Run On

Vir Das: Outside In – The Lockdown Special

Available December 17

Braven

Available December 18

Guest House

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

Sweet Home

Available December 21

The Con is On

Available December 22

After We Collided

Rhyme Time Town Singalongs

Shaun the Sheep: The Farmer’s Llamas

Available December 23

The Midnight Sky

Your Name Engraved Herein

Available December 25

Bridgerton

Available December 26

Asphalt Burning

DNA

The Magic School Bus Rides Again in the Zone

Available December 28

Cops and Robbers

Rango

Available December 30

Best Leftovers Ever!

Equinox

From Hollywood & Entertainment in Perfectirishgifts

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bisexualtimothylawrence · 7 years ago

Text

Ok, so. I said in the tags of my last reblog that I had an example of how toxic and pervasive diet culture and fatphobia is in the US. Here goes.

This is LONG so. Under the cut. Mind the trigger warnings for discussions of weight, calorie counting, caloric restriction, fat shaming, food shaming, abusive behaviours, misogyny, and the military. If I missed anything, I apologise, and please let me know so I can tag it.

A note in case this is distributed beyond my followers: I’m a transgender male. The experiences I talk about below are about military training for women, as trans people could not (and cannot) serve as their true gender in the US. Do not refer to me using she/her pronouns or terms such as “woman”, “female”, or “girl”. The use of the words “women” and “men” below should be understood to refer to assigned gender at birth, and not the actual genders of anyone involved.

I used to be enlisted in the Marines. You know, the branch of the US military that prides itself on being the toughest, most combat ready branch - every Marine a rifleman and all that jazz. (Spare me your opinions on the military; that’s not the point of this post.)

Now, one of the things they really go hard on is that every Marine receives the same basic training, and I can say from personal experience it is difficult, physically demanding training. You are up at 0500 and not going to bed until 2200. Most days on Parris Island start with PT - usually some mixture of running and body weight exercises - continue on to walking fucking everywhere, have several nice sessions of practising synchronised walking, and include martial arts training. In addition, you will more likely than not receive incentive training - a polite way of saying you’ll be doing pushups or side-straddle hops until your drill instructor is tired. And you’ll be expected to work on physical fitness during your free time - oh, they don’t flat out tell you what to do, as it is free time… but it’s highly encouraged. Highly. Encouraged.

So. You would think. That because of how demanding all this is. That men and women would eat the same.

Wrong.

I know this because I was part of the 4th Recruit Training Battalion - the only training battalion for women Marines. Which meant I got to see the difference in chow, as during rifle training, women recruits eat from one of the male battalions’ dining halls - it’s by the rifle range. I think it was 2nd Bn’s, but it’s been a decade and I don’t recall exactly, nor do I want to look it up as this post is emotionally taxing to make as it is.

The 4th Bn chow hall had caloric contents posted for everything. The 2nd Bn chow hall only had it for the diet food.

The 4th Bn chow hall, you were served one slice of toast or half a bagel. 2nd Bn served two slices of toast or the whole bagel.

4th Bn you could have margarine OR peanut butter. 2nd Bn could have both butter and peanut butter.

The box lunches provided from the 4th Bn hall had: one meat and cheese sandwich, one apple, one orange, one hard-boiled egg, one granola bar, catsup, mustard, and miracle whip.

The box lunches provided from the 2nd Bn had: one meat and cheese sandwich, an apple OR an orange, two hard-boiled eggs, one granola bar, a bag of chips, and some form of dessert. Plus the condiments.

(Vegetarian lunches got a peanut butter sandwich, but I don’t recall what replaced the egg. I digress.)

We were made to hand the chips and dessert over to the drill instructors, and some of them would take the granola bar too - dunno why, because it was also part of the women’s box lunch. I guess because we were getting an extra egg - I’m getting to why that’s my guess in a moment.

Official policy, of course, is that we were allowed to eat anything provided. As the drill instructors angrily pointed out one day in the 2nd Bn chow hall. I don’t know who had the balls to complain about the fact we were yelled at when we ate the entire bagel served to us, or that we were supposed to ask for the diet option… but the next few meals were supervised by the officers.

See, the big thing the drill instructors harped on was that we weren’t here to be fat. Women Marines are not fat, never fat, fat is disgusting, eating chips is disgusting, cookies are disgusting… you get the idea. (Thus why we had to turn in the granola bar from the male box lunch - it was basically a cookie, and we had an extra egg so we didn’t really need the granola bar, now did we? Fuck the vegetarians I guess, as they had to hand over theirs as well because otherwise they’d be getting ‘special treatment’.)

So, whilst they’d figured out that male recruits needed a fuckload of calories to complete training… they hadn’t figured that out for the women.

It seemed like once you were labelled a “diet recruit”, that label stayed with you no matter what. But “double ration” recruits? Unless you came in with MEPS saying you needed extra food - rare, as this generally required a weight waiver - you could be pulled off double rats as soon as you hit minimum weight. Only to be put back on at next week’s weigh-in when you dropped below minimum. And you lost double rats if you were moved to a different platoon, until weigh-ins there.

Maybe those things happened to the men, too. I don’t know. But male recruits still got more food overall.

Because we also weren’t allowed double rats at the rifle range because “the men’s chow has more calories.”

My weight was in a constant state of fluctuation because I couldn’t eat enough to maintain minimum weight for someone two inches shorter than me on regular rations. So I’d drop below minimum by a Lot. Get put on double rats. Gain weight. Hit minimum just in time for weekly weigh-in. And since Women Marines aren’t fat, I’d get dropped back to regular rations. You would think at some point someone would have noticed the pattern, but no.

Remember how I said caloric contents were posted? I decided to calculate how much I was eating. I figured out that on regular rations I was hitting 2800-3000 calories a day, on days I got everything I was allowed to… which was most days. Unless they were serving turkey curry. (Gd that stuff was a unique brand of awful.) Which means on doubles? I was eating 6000 calories. At the rifle range, I was lucky if I hit 2200 calories, as we had to - ahem - sorry, I meant were strongly encouraged to eat like male diet recruits.

Diet recruits were at ~1800 a day, iirc. I honestly don’t know how they survived; I remember one woman who was obviously becoming thinner, but the scale showed no difference. A sensible person would have realised she was (somehow) gaining muscle.

She got extra incentive training and closer supervision at meals because clearly she was sneaking food because she couldn’t stop being a fatty.

Oh, and the above caloric intake doesn’t accurately represent the average recruit’s intake. Nominally you have 20 minutes to eat, from the time you sit down. In reality, the drill instructors count starting when the first recruit in the platoon sits down - if you’re lucky. If you aren’t, time starts when the first recruit enters the chow hall. Either way, unless you’re one of the first people in, you’re fucked. And generally they had the diet recruits go first so they could be more supervised… and double rats went last.

(See, I got very good at eating quickly. Too good, actually. Apologies to anyone who was ever in a platoon with me, because I was typically near the end of the line no matter what, and I was typically one of the first recruits up and out the door. Mainly because once ONE person finished, they started yelling about the rest of us being slow and taking our good ol’ time. It was less stressful for me to finish up - clean tray always because they also yelled about wasted food - and head outside to recite knowledge. Unfortunately, it meant everyone else got yelled at because, “[Blue] is done and [he] sat down after all of you!” ::wince:: )

A common impression was that most women just couldn’t hack it because they were too weak… stress fractures were a common reason women got dropped back in training. The other most common reason was not meeting PT standards. Most women I met in the separation platoon were either too sick or injured to complete training… or suicidal.

I personally wonder how much of those problems would have been fixed with adequate nutrition. How many women suffered injuries they shouldn’t have because they were malnourished? How many women crumbled under stress because they were malnourished? Lack of nutrition weakens the body and causes and exacerbates symptoms of mental illness.

This post is hard to write because - again, spare me the opinions on the US military complex, I know it’s bad - I spent so much of my life wanting to be a Marine. I wanted to die for the longest time after being discharged. I spent six fucking months on Parris Island. And how many of the problems I had could have been solved by just being allowed to fucking eat?! How. Fucking. Many.

The hardest weeks were the ones where I was frantically stuffing as much food as I was allowed in my mouth, knowing it wasn’t enough, and knowing I’d be in trouble if I tried to get more. The rifle range was where I fractured my sacrum and had my first mental breakdown - ‘coincidentally’, that was when we were all forced to eat like diet recruits.

It. Really makes me wonder. Really fucking makes me wonder. If we, as a nation, could get past the fucking preoccupation with “fat=bad”, how much better off everyone would be. Because I could have completed recruit training if I’d just been allowed to eat. And I don’t know if my life would be better…

but I do know that it is really fucked up that even the United States fucking Marine Corps is so fucking worried about women getting fat that they’d sooner starve recruits than risk a woman being more than exactly the minimum weight for her height. That what is supposed to be one of the best fighting forces in the world cares more about what women look like than anything else.

So, yeah. Fuck anyone who says it’s about health and physical fitness. Because even in the military it’s all about the idea of fat bodies being aesthetically displeasing, regardless of what they can do or how healthy they actually are, to the point of literally starving people just to make sure they don’t get fat.

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ash818 · 7 years ago

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happy birthday, terry mcginnis! (Can we pleaseeeeeeee get a terry Drabble, I miss him terribly)

“You’re on the next flight back to Starling,” said Mr. Wayne, sounding even more gravelly than usual by phone.

At baggage claim in Gotham International, Terry yanked his suitcase from the carousel one-handed and adjusted the phone against his ear. “You couldn’t have decided this before I got on the plane home?” Every minute in the air, he had resented being called back to work while Mrs. Queen was missing. Turning right back around was exactly what he wanted, but he could not let this pass without a grumble.

“We didn’t have the information we have now,” Mr. Wayne replied, even and businesslike. “Your flight boards in forty minutes. Before you go, there are some things you should understand.”

Terry had known Mrs. Queen for years, eaten at her dining room table, and laughed at her stories about the old man as she had known him twenty years prior. She had welcomed Terry into her house with cheerful equanimity, even moments after discovering him and Jon attempting to beat each other up in her backyard. “Boys! Dinner,” was all she yelled to stop them.

When they sat down in the dining room not long after, she had turned to Terry and said brightly, “So, you’re Jonny’s big brother. I don’t know exactly how fraternities work, but I think that makes you my Phi Psi son-in-law.”

“We’re not married, Mom,” Queen had groused.

“Son-in-bylaws,” she had revised experimentally. “Pledge stepson. Whatever.” Then she had smiled at him, warm and easy. “It means you don’t need permission to root around in the fridge.”

If there were new leads on her disappearance, Terry was champing at the bit to run them down. Not only was this a vote of confidence in him from Mr. Wayne - an away mission after only ten weeks in the cowl - but it was personal. “Do we know where she is, or at least who has her?”

“We do,” Mr. Wayne said, and stopped there. God forbid he should elaborate in a forthright manner.

“Then I need my gear,” Terry pointed out irritably, “so I really hope you’re waiting up there at departures with a bag for me to - ”

“You aren’t going in uniform,” Mr. Wayne said with finality. “Starling has her own vigilante, and you’re going to look after his family while he retrieves his wife.”

“No one’s seen the Arrow or the Canary or any of them for fifteen years! And I’m more help in the field than I am babysitting.”

“The decision has been made. Oliver was grateful to know you would be watching over his daughter and niece.”

It was at this point that Terry began to suspect he had parsed a sentence wrong somewhere along the line. A possessive pronoun had been misplaced. Perhaps there was a dangling modifier. “Wait. Back up.” It sounded a lot like Mr. Wayne was implying that Oliver Queen was the Arrow. “What’s going on, exactly?”

Mr. Wayne cleared his throat. “Oliver Queen was the Arrow.”

“Oh,” Terry said, as if that made sense. Then he waited patiently for the Tetris tile to slot in somewhere among his thoughts. It didn’t, quite. “He was the…” Don’t say it out loud in a crowded baggage claim. “Right, got it,” he muttered, which was something of a fib.

“It will make more sense the longer you think about it,” Mr. Wayne says dryly. “Neither of the children know, and you will not be the one to tell them. You’ll have to go back through security. Better get a move on.”

More instructions would follow as needed. That much, at least, Terry was used to. Mr. Wayne kept his cards close to the vest and played them only with the most judicious timing.

Terry had about five hours in the air to think about it.

When he first met Mr. Queen halfway through sophomore year, he recognized something of Mr. Wayne in him. The total self-assurance was easily explained as the product of a privileged upbringing. The alert watchfulness might have been a remnant of five years marooned; maybe instincts like that, once woken, never went completely dormant again. As for the uneasy suspicion that Mr. Queen could back up his death glare with actual death - that had never been confirmed.

Until now.

His quick reflexes were not Terry’s imagination. His bad knee was not a sports injury. The panic room on his first floor was not paranoia.

It was simple, once you knew the foundational secret, to guess at the structure of the rest. Spartan was a trained marksman with probable military experience, and there was John Diggle standing conveniently nearby. The team had tech support capable of repurposing the Pentagon’s favorite toys, and there was Felicity Smoak Queen humming innocently in the general vicinity.

“It was a disappointment, parting ways with him,” the old man once said of the Arrow. “He was one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever known.”

This, coming from someone who had traveled the world specifically to meet remarkable people and rip off their juju. That one comment had made a hell of an impression on Terry.

Oliver Queen was the Arrow. Oh, man, Jon was going to have a fit.

The sense of giddy revelation did not last. Terry touched down in Starling to news that shots had been fired on the Queen home. One injured. No word on who or how badly.

He had the whole cab ride to imagine that injury had been Jon - or worse, Abby. Terry had seen a handful of gunshot wounds up close over the past few months, and he had far too many fresh and oozing mental images at his disposal. Who would shoot at Queen and his baby sister? It was like stomping on a litter of golden retrievers.

The old man should have let Terry take the suit, damn it. There were some faces in this town that needed bouncing off a concrete floor.

At Starling General, it was not terribly difficult to find the Queen-Diggle encampment. All Terry had to do was follow the trail of Panoptic bodyguards back to the waiting room where Roy Harper stood watch. He was pacing from the doorway of a recovery room, past Jon sprawled out asleep across two chairs, over to the windows and back. That was two family members accounted for, then.

Harper turned smartly at the sound of footsteps, and Terry realized with a jolt that he was looking at another of the old guard. This was Harper the private security professional, who personally taught hand-to-hand to Panoptic employees and who, in his late forties, could still turn a backflip off a diving board. This man had been Arsenal, once upon a time.

“Terry,” he said, walking over purposefully, and there may have been a new flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I didn’t know you were still in town.”

“I’m - well, Mr. Wayne sent me back. What happened? Who’s hurt? The news reports were pretty vague.”

Harper filled in the details - Lyla Diggle gutshot on the floor of the panic room, both the Queen siblings covered in blood, Elaine shaking next to her mother - with remarkable equanimity. He also took care to provide Panoptic’s best guesses about the lone rifleman likely responsible and their threat assessment going forward. Yes, he knew who he was talking to.

“How are they now?”

“The girls are asleep in Lyla’s room,” Harper said, gesturing at the half-open door. “As for him…” He nodded at the pile of sleeping Jon in the corner. “Could you hang out here for a few hours? Just keep him company. I’ve got to take care of something.”

“Of course. Whatever you guys need.”

“Thanks.” And on his way to the door, the actual real life Arsenal clapped Terry firmly on the shoulder.

As soon as he was gone, Terry followed the route he had taken. Doors, windows, recovery room. He passed Queen and went to look in on the patient and the girls. Lyla Diggle lay pale and still in the near bed, a heart monitor beeping reassuringly. In the bed closer to the window, a mane of black curls stood out against the white pillow, and a blonde head lay next to it. Both Elaine and Abby had fallen asleep on top of the thin blanket, still in their jeans and socks.

Terry paced back to the windows. Visited the nurses’ station. Checked his emails. Glanced at Jon again.

He had every intention of letting the guy sleep. He’d had a hard day. People shot at him.

Five minutes later, Terry retrieved a bag of Cheetos from a nearby vending machine, pulled it open on his way across the waiting room, and leaned over and poked Queen in the ribs.

Jon was an agreeable sleeper, easy to wake and easy to drift right off again. You could say he was too agreeable. On road trips when half a pledge class squeezed into one hotel room, it was rock-paper-scissors to see who got stuck sharing with Queen. He was accustomed to having a huge bed to himself, and it showed. All attempts to shove him back on his side of the bed resulted in sleepy compliance followed by him starfishing out again or rolling over on your arm or doing some other jackass thing.

Since the morning Molaison woke up with an arm across his throat, Queen had been banished to the floor. “You’re my bro, and I love you, but the AC doesn’t crank high enough for your shit.”

He had taken it with good grace. Even brutally hungover, Queen woke up easy and pleasant.

This time, when Terry poked him, he sat up with a snarl.

Well, crap. “Queen.” The best thing was to do something normal, like this was a routine Sunday after a night at Fat Harry’s. Terry shoved the bag of Cheetos in his face. “You hungry?”

“What are you doing here?” Queen said, accusatory. “You’re supposed to be in Gotham.”

“I’m your big brother. Why do you think?” Terry did not say, because the kid was grumpy enough already without making a production of this. Instead he shook the Cheetos as if it were a bag of treats in front of a goldendoodle’s nose. “Hey, look, food.”

Jon extracted exactly one Cheeto from the bag, the weirdo. “How did you even know?”

The truth was unduly complicated, and a perfectly convenient explanation was hanging in the corner. Terry gestured up at the news coverage on the muted TV, where the Queen family’s business had become everyone’s business.

Jon’s lip curled faintly with resentment. “Oh.”

Serious question time: “How are you, man?”

A knee-jerk “I’m fine” was almost the answer, but to Terry’s surprise he caught himself and actually thought about it first. “We fight people for fun all the time,” he said in a slow, measured tone. “We’ve gotten in some real scrapes too. You remember those bikers on spring break?”

The ones who hadn’t thought pool sharking was cute. Yes, they were memorable.

With his brow furrowed like that, Jon looked a lot like his dad. “But I didn’t know what it felt like to have someone honestly trying to kill me.”

The first time a bullet slammed into the Batman’s body armor and flattened Terry to the concrete, it had been rage and not terror that washed through his whole body. Some asshole had shot him. He was going to twist the fucker’s head off like a bottle cap.

“Remember that it isn’t personal,” Mr. Wayne had told him afterwards. “It’s not that they want Terry McGinnis dead in particular. They’re shooting at the uniform, at the obstacle in their way. You have to keep your head.”

“Dude shot me,” Terry had grumbled. “It felt pretty personal.”

Most people went their whole lives never knowing what it felt like to have someone look right at them and genuinely want them dead. Jon wasn’t going to be among them.

Terry sighed. “I’m sorry you found out.”

After that, neither was in much of a mood to talk. Terry kept up the occasional circuit of the doors and windows, and Queen worked his way through the bag of Cheetos. Eighty percent of managing life-or-death situations, in Terry’s few months of experience, was turning out to be waiting. You had to wait strategically, in the right place with the right equipment. But you definitely had to fucking wait.

Past midnight, something finally happened. Mr. Queen and Mr. Diggle came striding out of the elevators, and Terry was on his feet before he knew how he had gotten there.

He was acutely aware that he was no longer looking at Jon’s dad and Jon’s godfather. They were on the clock, and everything about the way they held themselves and the way they moved reflected that.

Terry reached out to shake the Arrow’s hand. “Mr. Queen.”

The recognition was clearly mutual. “Terry.” Mr. Wayne must have broken with tradition and done some explaining.

“Um,” Jon said awkwardly. “The hell are you doing?”

Shaking Spartan’s hand, that’s what. Terry had been occasionally hanging out with these guys for years and never given them their due.

“Bruce sent you?” Mr. Diggle said.

He had indeed, and Terry took more than a little pride in that. “The old man thought you could use a hand.”

“He’s not wrong. Panoptic’s compromised, and we need all the help we can get.”

“What can I do?”

“Our safe house is no longer secure,” Mr. Queen said. “Roy is making other arrangements now. If you could back him up for the duration, we’d appreciate it.”

A few hours ago, Terry had been bitching at the prospect of babysitting. Looking these two men in the face, he would gladly handle their dry cleaning if they told him it was vital mission support. “Of course. When do we leave?”

“Dad. Dig.” Jon shouldered into the circle the three of them had unconsciously formed. “You said soon. Is it soon yet?”

Terry felt bad for him - really, he did. It sucked, being locked out of the loop when your family was at stake. But he also had to bite the inside of his cheek at what a kindergartener Queen could sound like sometimes.

Mr. Diggle stepped right out of the line of fire. “I’ll go wake the girls.”

Mr. Queen watched him go for a moment, eyes lingering on the room where his daughter slept, and then he took a deep breath and turned to Jon. “We believe the organization that’s holding Mom is threatening our whole family to force her to comply with their demands. It’s not safe to rely on Panoptic’s resources right now, so Elaine and Abby only go with people we trust.”

“Um.” After a couple of startled blinks, Queen managed to say: “Oh?”

“An hour after the shooting, an extremely classified government agency suffered an attack on their secure system. Whoever did it clearly knew their way around the firewalls your mother designed.”

Jon’s head tipped slightly sideways, like a dog that’s heard a new noise. “Can you start again from ‘the organization that’s holding Mom’?”

He just needed a moment to process, and he’d catch up. Terry decided to keep the information moving. “They wanted her to hack her own work?”

Mr. Queen nodded. “Which meant putting her in front of a computer with an Internet connection.”

All unknowing, they put the Arrow’s hacker - whom the old man once described as “more frightening than an IRS auditor and a CIA analyst put together” - in front of a computer. With an Internet connection. “And they thought that was going to go well for them? That is adorable.”

“She got them in, and she did actually retrieve some files. Heavily-encrypted, extremely important-looking files. Requisitions for office supplies.”

Secret identities were the fucking best. “Adorable!”

“She also took the opportunity to pass us a message.”

“Polybius code?”

Next to Terry, Jon looked startled and slightly betrayed. “Dude, who even are you?”

Terry tried for a reassuring smile, because Team Arrow was obviously planning to explain themselves in a minute. But they were interrupted by two Diggles and a small Queen emerging from the recovery room. A pink, quilted overnight bag hung from Mr. Diggle’s shoulder. Time to relocate, then.

Abby went straight for her father - “You’re sending us away?” - and ouch, straight for the guilt trip.

“It’s only for a day or two,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Terry’s going to take you both someplace safe with Uncle Roy. Even I won’t know where it is.”

She glanced at her brother, who was still very clearly confused and very clearly pissed off about it. With big, pleading eyes, she said, “Why isn’t Jonny coming with us?”

What? Jon wasn’t coming?

“I need his help with something,” Mr. Queen said soothingly. “It’s important, honey. I wouldn’t ask either of you to do this if it wasn’t.”

He was taking Jon into the field. That was a bullshit decision if ever Terry had heard one. They had the actual Batman standing right next to them, but instead they were going to take a sophomore with zero combat experience. He could handle himself in a tournament, sure, but this wasn’t a game. For fuck’s sake, this was the guy who spent Christmas break with broken ribs because he couldn’t resist a dare. He was going to get himself killed.

The only person who looked more surprised than Terry was Jon himself. He was staring at his dad like he had just started speaking Tagalog.

“Roy is waiting for you downstairs,” Mr. Diggle said quietly to Terry, even as Mr. Queen bent down to console Abby. “East exit, over by the information desk. You know where?”

“It’s where I came in.”

Elaine sidled in close. “I don’t like leaving Mom.”

“She’ll have Panoptic looking after her,” Mr. Diggle said. “And she’d want you safe and away. I want you safe and away.”

Terry stepped back politely to let the family say their goodbyes. Mr. Queen and Mr. Diggle made a minimum of fuss, and the only hug that lingered was Abby hanging onto her brother’s neck.

All right. If this was the plan, Terry could roll with it.

“Thank you,” Mr. Diggle said quietly as he passed the pink quilted bag to Terry. “And take care.”

“Yeah, you too.” Terry hefted the bag onto his shoulder. It was surprisingly heavy. “You ready?” he asked Abby.

Finally, she let go of Jon’s neck, and she put on a brave face. “Let’s go.”

Terry led the Arrow and Spartan’s daughters away, and he felt their eyes on him all the way to the elevator.

#legacy verse #terry mcginnis #offscreen in legacy verse #Anonymous

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