#also the tramp stamp is not permanent or fixed

[hollowsentinel]

Fuck it.

Hebert has a Handgun: everywhere Taylor looks, she sees guns and munitions. Sometimes they are in incredibly inconvenient places. At least one time she finds a gun, it is in her backpack. At school. Where Madison can see if her gaze falls just so.

But that's not important.

What's important is how unimportant Taylor is in spite of this. The guns are a side note in her life. She is so very small in the end. She is just a speck of dust is the great cosmos of the universe. The night sky is beautiful beyond the words she loves with her mother.

Brockton Bay is bright. Boston is brighter still even in the distance. The stars? The galaxy? The universe as seen from a rooftop? It shines clearly in spite of all the reasons that would obscure it.

Clearly, Taylor is parahuman. Or she is under the effect of a parahuman power. Her vision remains sharp with or without her glasses. (She can wear sunglasses at night with no issues at all.) But what sort of cape just sees clearly? Try as she might, sharp vision is nothing so special as to challenge any of the problems in Brockton Bay.

But that is no reason not to try.

A gun on school grounds cannot stop her. It is nothing a tattoo cannot fix. It may be a pain to explain the tramp stamp, but at least it is not grounds for immediate expulsion and criminal record. Or getting gunned down by cops.

[razmahdaz-art]

A Second Chance For More. Chapter 8

More super Shimada Bros, and Casual Hanzo is here! Woo! My Boy! Also a genuinely touching moment that felt great to write. This ain’t over, obviously. Next chapter may be the last? Possibly? Stay tuned to find out. :3

    Hanzo did exactly as Angela instructed. Strict bed rest for the following few days, using a wheelchair to get around the base and not stressing his leg muscles to much. And just as she said, he was walking before he knew it. She had given him a temporary pair of legs to use until Torbjorn was back to make him permanent sets of casual and battle prosthetics. It was a bit of an adjustment, since the ones he were using for the mean time were significantly lighter than the ones he had. But soon enough, he was back to walking, running, and even exercising with his new legs. It was a good feeling, a literal and figurative weight, being lifted off his body.

    But this wasn’t the only change he had gone through. As soon as he was able to walk and get around by himself again, he was in and out of town in the following days, finishing those ‘errands’ he said he would be getting done.

    First thing he did was get a haircut. After all, he hadn’t gotten a proper one in maybe a year, and he was sick of his same old long hair that was completely terrible to maintain. He went to a small shop to get it done and was oblivious to what he exactly wanted. He could go short again, like when he was working for his father’s business, or he could simply get a trim and dye the greys. It took him a while until he finally decided to go with something new. He wasn’t one for quick or brash decisions, but considering that he was changing a few things, might as well try something new. After he sat in the chair for what seemed like hours, feeling an electric razor brush against his scalp and his hair being pulled in multiple directions so every angle could be taken care of, his chair was turned back towards the mirror and he barely recognized himself. A clean and well cut undercut, all greys in his hair disappeared. The remaining hair was laid flat against the one side of his head and as soon as he left the salon, he pulled the still long hair back into a small, tight bun, an unruly strand of his bangs remaining free to hang in his face.

    Second, was some new clothes. This was easy for him, since he wasn’t going to change his regular style too much. He really just needed clothes to help get him through the harsher winter than he was used to. Hanamura never got large amounts of snow, and if was to visit Genji in Nepal, he thought it may be a great idea to get warmer clothes than the ones he had. And new shoes, since the ones he wore over his old legs were a size or two larger than his new ones. He just grabbed what he needed, snow boots and some regular tennis shoes were really all he needed right now, and warmer jackets, jeans that could hold layers under them, and some undershirts.

    The last thing was a bit of a quick decision. He was about to leave and return to the base until he saw small tattoo and piercing shop. At first, he didn’t think twice about, just thinking ‘maybe later’, but then the thought of ‘What would Genji say?’ crept its way into his head. He already had a small hole in his ear from when he was young and dumb, caused by stolen alcohol and his brothers promise to pay for the earring and piercing itself. What would be wrong with one more? Temptation won, and he walked in the shop.

    “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!” Genji shouted, watching his brother walk off the air lift in a completely new outfit, a silver barbell in the bridge of his nose, and his hair practically gone. Hanzo fixed the duffle bag on his back as his brother gripped his shoulders with as much force as a snake biting into its prey. Hanzo himself just seemed to chuckle at his brothers reaction. “WHAT...JUST...WHY?” He seemed to ask, not fully believing that his was his older, stuck up, does math for fun, brother.

    “I’ve changed a lot this year. I just thought it was time for something new,” Hanzo said, his hands gripping his brother’s arms in a similar way. Genji still seemed surprised and shocked at what he was seeing, but a shit eating grin crept across his face. He let go of his older sibling and he started escorting him towards a room that was close to his. “Alright, Mr. Mid-life-crisis. Anything else i should know about? Did you get a tramp stamp or buy a car?” Genji asked a bit sarcastically. Hanzo simply just rolled his eyes, before stopping in their tracks. The other looked somewhat confused when he started to roll up one of his pants legs. And in place of the harsh, cold, bulky metal that made up his lower leg was a thinner, leaner and cleaner model. Genji covered his mouth in surprise, before realizing something. He was about to shout again, but didn’t knowing there were others around.

    “You little bitch! That’s why you didn’t text me a few days ago!” He muttered, making Hanzo laugh again. He pulled his pants leg down again before standing straight with a smirk on his face, standing to meet his brothers gaze. “Perhaps,” He said smugly. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve stayed behind,” Genji said, seemingly a bit disappointed by the fact that his brother had kept these quite major changes from him. Hanzo put his hand on his younger brothers shoulder, and gave the most caring smile he could. “Because. I wished to surprise you,” He said in a kind tone. It perked Genji up, a smile returning to his scarred face. His hand moved to his brothers, resting metal on flesh.

    “Is that some way of telling me you didn’t get me a Christmas present?” He joked, earning a laugh from his older sibling. He retracted his hand and stuck it into his jacket’s pocket, smirking a bit before he spoke. “Again. Perhaps,” Hanzo stated calmly as they continued walking the hall to where Hanzo would be staying, sharing light hearted conversations the way there. They had finally reached the small guest room, Genji opening the door and letting his brother see the surroundings. It was an adequately sized room, but was almost completely barren besides the bed, a small closet, a bedside table and some incense that were ready to burned upon it. “There are extra blankets in the closet, since it gets to be 40 below outside,” Genji informed, leaning in the doorway. “I’ll leave you to your business. I’ll be with Zenyatta in the main meditation temple if you need to find me. If not, I'll be back in a few hours,” He said, patting his brother on the shoulder. Hanzo nodded and began to place his things on the floor and wherever he felt like they could be without being in the way or looking like a mess. Genji was just about to leave, before turning back to speak a final time.

    “Thank you for coming Anija. It means more than you’d think,” He said. Hanzo just looked up at his brother with a warm smile. “I’m happy to be here. After all, it’s the first family Christmas in over a decade,” he replied just before his brother left. He thought he saw Genji’s eyes turn a bit red, as if he was tearing up.

    The night came and it came quickly. Hanzo had settled himself into the room quite quickly, putting his bow under the bed (one could always be prepared) and the duffle bag with his clothes in it inside the closet. He doubted he’d be around long enough for it to be better to actually hang his clothes. He did have time to go see Genji once he was done, but decided that he just wanted to stay in his room for a while, exploring his new surroundings. While he was putting his bow under the bed, he found a small box of dusty books that seemly haven't been touched in months. He rummaged through a few of them, some texts and teachings from the monks that he now shared space with, some were old legends and stories that seemed to come up from India. He only found one book that he could read, a very old tale taking place in the 1920’s America about rich lovers and their quarrels. It wasn’t quite what Hanzo would normally read, but since it was his only option, he sat on his bed with his legs crossed and started to read. It wasn’t great, but for how old it was, it wasn’t terrible.

He was already half way through the book when his brother walked in, without knocking. ‘Some things never change,’ Hanzo thought, watching his brother come in. He was wearing clothes, a thick and oversized sweatshirt and jeans. His hands were behind his back and he walked towards his brother smiling. “What’d ya find?” He asked, peering over a bit to see the semi tattered book in his brothers lap. Hanzo held up the cover to show his brother. “Found it under the bed. It was the only thing i could read, so, might as well,” He said, folding the corner of a page to mark his place before he closed the book and put it on the nightstand. “It isn’t great. Decent at best,” he commented, stretching his back a bit. It wasn’t until now he realized he was hunched over almost the entire time he was reading. Genji sat on the edge of the bed, his hands remaining out of site. “Glad to see you weren’t bored,” He said with a smile.

“So...Even if you didn’t get me a present, i did manage to nab you one,” Genji said. His hands finally came out from behind him revealing a small package that didn’t seem to be wrapped as well as it could. “You don’t have to open it now, but if you wish you may.” Hanzo took the gift and held it in his hands. Of course, he had gotten his brother something, but he hadn’t expected anything in return. It was two days till Christmas was actually upon them, but he was very tempted to open the gift. Hanzo set the present aside and got up to go to the closet before digging around in his duffle bag. He was a tad relieved when he saw his wrapping wasn’t completely wrinkled or tattered. He brought it over to his bed and handed it to his brother who seemed a bit suspicious of what he was handed. He ran his hand over the neat and clean wrapping, attempting to guess what the neat box could hold.

“What did you get me?” He asked, looking at Hanzo with a curious gaze. “A gift,” Hanzo answered with a smirk. “Did you expect me to tell you?” He asked with a small chuckle, picking up his own present. “Worth a shot,” Genji replied with a huff. They sat there for a few moments, looking at their respective gifts, debating whether or not to wait. Silence filled the air and they looked at each other as if both agreeing to not wait until Christmas day to open the gifts.

Hanzo carefully started to peel the wrapping away while his brother was practically shredding his. It didn’t take long to see what they had received. He held in his hand a brand new, darker coloured and shiny new sake bottle, made of stainless steel. With it came a bottle of very expensive sake that Hanzo hadn’t drunken in years. An old favorite that he used to exclusively drink in his younger days. As far as he knew, you could only get this in a few stores in Japan, meaning Genji had either hid this from him for who knows how long, or made a stop to Japan on his way to Nepal. He smiled as he turned the bottle over and over in his hand, seeing a small engraving in the bottom. Words in traditional Japanese spelling.

‘To the best older brother one could ask for.’ Hanzo smiled at the lettering, his thumb running over the small grooves that made up the text. He looked up to thank his brother, but was met with a face of shock and tear filled eyes.

Genji had been staring at his gift for quite a few moments. In his hands was a black, minimalistic frame that held a long forgotten picture. Standing side by side, in training gear and in the old Shimada Castle garden was a young and quite happy looking pair of siblings. Genji’s thumb ran over the face of the shorter person in the picture. The other’s arm was wrapped around his shoulder and the pair were just smiling for the photo, unaware of the coming years. Genji looked up at his brother, who just gave him the same warm smile as the young man in the picture. Before Hanzo could even speak or thank his brother for his gift, Genji had both arms around him, bringing him into a more than tight hug. He was taken off guard quickly, but he soon returned the hug.

“How...How did you…,” Genji stuttered, his voice wavering. “As it turns out, our old home isn’t as well protected as it once was. A few missions ago, when we went back to Hanamura, i snuck into some storage areas and found it. I assumed you would have wanted it,” He answered, his hand running across his younger brothers back in an attempt to soothe him. He himself was feeling a bit teary when he saw how much it meant to his brother. “It was the last picture we were in together. I couldn’t just leave it,” He added.

They stayed still for a minute or so, and Genji backed away. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, before returning to look at the picture. “God...Compared to your gift, mine is terrible,” He said, the pair chuckling a small bit. But Hanzo picked up the bottle and turned it over in his hand once more. “No, It is wonderful. Thank you, Genji. It means a lot,” He said, finally giving thanks for his gift. Genji took a deep breath and set the frame in his lap, still a bit shaky. “And thank you. I’d never imagine that i’d see this ever again,” he said gratefully. Hanzo picked up the bottle of sake and thought for a moment before holding it up and beginning to open it.

“Would you like some?” He offered as he finally got the glass bottle open. Genji smiled a bit and nodded. “That’d be nice right about now,” He said, crumpling up the wrapping paper and tossed it to the side so it was out of sight.

They drank for a small while, barely talking as they did. They eventually moved towards the window sill, sitting in the large opening together, like they had done when they were kids. They passed the sake bottle back and forth (after Hanzo had filled up his new bottle and stashed it for later) while they looked up at the clear, starry night sky. Genji would occasionally check and tap at his phone, but it was very infrequent. He smiled a bit as he his phone screen illuminated his face. “You really should’ve given Jesse your number,” He said bluntly. Hanzo’s head almost panicked a bit when his brother said it, but he kept his cool when he went to respond. “Why?” He simply asked. “He keeps texting me and asking about you, like how you’re doing and junk,” He answered, putting his phone in his sweatshirt pocket. He was passed the bottle and he took a small sip, thinking about cutting himself off for the night.

Hanzo just let out a hum, not really sure what to say or if he should say anything. It was endearing to know Jesse was inquiring about him, and it made him wonder about the other. “I’m glad that you two have figured things out. Makes me happy to see my best friend and brother get along,” Genji said, bringing Hanzo back from his own thoughts. He smiled a bit, happy that they had made amends. “You’re not the only one,” Hanzo replied taking the bottle back and closing it. He set it to the side and continued to look out towards the mountainous scenery and dark sky dotted with distant stars. Genji did the same, his leg dangling from the sill and almost touching the small roofing just a few feet below them. It was quiet, serine, and Hanzo felt like finally, just maybe, he’d redeemed himself after months of trying to mend things.

And maybe with it, he’d gotten a little bit more.

[izzy-b-hands]

More Dethklok fic since ppl are reblogging prompt lists in good but ridiculous amounts lately and now I just can’t stop w/the fic 

Plot of this one is kind of random--just the boys fucking around and needing Charles to bail them out from something kinda dumb (and in turn hoping he’ll come party with them.) This is first draft (as are most of the fics I post on here, since they’re just kinda spur of the moment things) so hopefully it all flows okay!

“Do me a favor and don’t be mad, okay,” Pickles voice slurred through the speaker of Charles’s dethphone. 

“I can’t really promise that, Pickles. But I’m sure you didn’t do anything that bad,” he replied, not actually believing that for one second. He could hear the other boys in the background, all of them probably drunk beyond any safe limit. As long as the police didn’t have to get involved, Charles decided he would keep his good mood.

“Okay...okay...so...” Pickles mumbled. 

Charles could practically smell the alcohol through the speaker. “I’m working, Pickles. What is it?” 

“What? The fu--but it’s like three in the mornin’ you should be partyin’, or screwin’ sluts or whatever,” Pickles yelled, loud enough that the speaker crackled sharply. 

“I’m having a good time where I am Pickles, but thank you for the concern,” Charles said. He was, honestly. Maybe a research paper on trends in metal music wasn’t Dethklok’s idea of fun, but he was pleased with how much he’d written already. He’d have to publish under a pseudonym, of course, but several music journals had already been in contact with him. 

“Naw, naw, Charlie. You gotta come out, and then you can help us with the uh...well,” Pickles muttered.

“Help you with what?” Charles said, fully suspicious now. 

“Just a lil problem, is all. Look, I bet you even still got your tie on and everything. You do, don’t you?” Pickles asked. 

“I--” Charles looked down. He did still have his tie on, but Pickles didn’t need to know that. 

“You do! I knew it! C’mon, come out and have fun. Fer like an hour, just an hour, an help us with the thing,” Pickles said. 

He was stuck. It was time for one of the breaks he’d mandated for himself. And even if he had woken up with the worst hangover of his life the last time he’d gone out with the boys...it had been fun. An unusual kind of fun for him, but fun. The cursor on his screen flashed. 

“Okay. An hour, and I fix whatever mess there is,” Charles said. “But you buy my drinks.” 

He thought that would piss Pickles off enough to lose the invite. Instead, Pickles broke out into laughter. 

“I’ll buy you fucking coke and speed if you want. But Toki’s the one...well, y’know what? You’ll see when you get here,” Pickles said. 

The phone went silent for a moment, then buzzed with a text from Pickles--the address to the club they were at, somewhere seedy but with great drink specials according to its reviews online. It took barely any time at all to get there, thanks to a Klokateer and a helicopter.

That was a very good thing, he realized as soon as he walked into the club. The boys were drunk--very drunk. But what he had thought were the sounds of partying were actually the sounds of very bad attempts at comforting. 

Toki sat in the center of the booth they were at, Nathan and Pickles at his side, a panicked look on his face. 

“Hey, you still got an ear though. And if you don’t put a piercing in it, then the scar’ll be fucking brutal,” Nathan was saying as Charles approached. 

“Yeah, and besides, Charles is, he’s gonna help fix it,” Pickles slurred, awkwardly patting Toki’s back. 

“What exactly did we try to do here?” Charles asked with a sigh. Maybe this wouldn’t be as much fun as he’d been hoping. He’d even taken off his tie before he’d left. 

“We was goings to pierce my ears,” Toki murmured, lifting his head slowly. 

Charles could now see a needle--much too big to be used for a piercing--stuck in one of his ears. Toki was still sniffling, but the worst of it looked like it was over--the blood around the needle had dried. He’d have to make it worse again, of course, to pull the needle out. 

“We’ve talked about doing things like this while we’re drunk,” Charles scolded. 

“You tells us not to do thems. And I tolds them that, but they wouldn’t listen. Looks, they got blood all over my glass,” Skwisgaar said sourly, holding up a half-full cocktail glass with something pink in it. Blood covered one edge of the glass, and lingered in the leftover drink. 

Charles ignored Skwisgaar for the moment. One mini-emergency at a time. 

“Now, I’m not even going to ask where you found the needle,” Charles said. 

“On the ground,” Toki supplied. “Just layings there.” 

Charles made a mental note to have the medical team run the usual battery of tests on Toki when they got home. Hell, to be safe, run the whole band’s bloodwork again. Who knew what else they’d gotten into since they’d been out.

“Ah. Well, we can’t leave it in there, so,” Charles sighed, then ripped the needle out of Toki’s ear as quickly as he could. 

There were screams all around at that. 

“What the fuck, you just fucking--god, there’s blood everywhere again,” Nathan shouted. “Fucking brutal.” 

“Yeah, what if you ripped his fucking ear off?” Pickles asked, gingerly reaching out to pull aside Toki’s hair and inspect the damage. 

“Maybe his guitars playing would be betters; maybe he’d hear how bads he plays,” Skwisgaar muttered. “Ha, no it wouldn’ts.” 

Charles didn’t waste time sighing his frustration out. He grabbed Skwisgaar’s leftover blood-covered cocktail and downed it. 

That shut them up. 

“We are going home,” he said definitively. 

“But you said--” Pickles whined.

“We can still drink at home,” Charles added. 

Nothing from the boys, except Toki’s sniffling. 

“I’m not going to carry you all out to the helicopter,” he said.

“Fine, fine. Get up, c’mon,” Pickles muttered, pulling Toki to his feet. “Hey, you gotta figure out Murderface though. Like, he’s probably not dead. Probably. But I ain’t helpin’ to carry his fat ass outside.” 

Sure enough, Murderface was passed out behind the booth, covered in vomit and blood and other stains Charles wasn’t interested in distinguishing. 

“Here. You will probably be needings this,” Skwisgaar said as he handed over a half-full bottle of vodka. “I don’t envies you; he’s been pretty fucked up all night.”

For a moment, Charles contemplated downing the whole bottle and dragging Murderface out by his hair. That could be fun (for him at least, not Murderface.) Then he got a better idea. 

He poured the bottle out over Murderface’s face and the numerous new scratches and scrapes on it, and watched the magic. He didn’t even have to drag him out--Murderface screamed, straggled to his feet, and dashed for the door like the club was on fire. 

“I’m sorry, this wasn’t, this was supposed to be...I need more booze,” Pickles said as Charles climbed into the helicopter.

“That sounds like a very good idea,” Charles admitted as he buckled in. 

Pickles looked shocked. “You still...you’re gonna party with us. Even though--” 

“Even though you stabbed Toki in the ear and left Murderface to die in a club? Yes,” he replied, having to shout as the helicopter rose and its engines screamed.

“Well, Nathan said he knew how to do the piercing, with ice from one of our drinks and that needle, and Murderface...I don’t know how he got there and I mean, he’s in here now,” Pickles said, as Murderface screamed in what sounded like a combination of confusion, fear, and pain. 

“Yes, yes he is,” Charles agreed as he strapped a parachute to Murderface just before he stumbled out of the open helicopter. Pickles peered with him out of the side as Murderface fell, then slowed with a press of the remote in Charles’s hand to open the parachute. 

“Those are new,” Pickles remarked. “That’s fucking cool--where are we though like--” 

“I’ll send someone to get him; he needs time to sleep that off anyway,” Charles said. 

“Okay, I guess you can sleep off angel dust and booze, sure. He still might die though,” Pickles mused. 

“...I will also send a medical team,” Charles added, wondering exactly how fucked up Murderface was down on the ground. He was an asshole at times, but he was still the bassist and he couldn’t play if he was permanently fucked up. 

“Just don’t send all the medical staff, cause we’re gonna need ‘em for us,” Pickles crowed, and the party atmosphere returned as the other boys cheered (even as a bit of Toki’s earlobe fell away from the rest of his ear to the floor.)

“And maybes we tries pierce your ears!” Toki cried. 

Charles prayed his face wasn’t flashing red as he thought of the more...creative piercings he had hidden for years--not just from the boys, but from anyone who might see him without his suit who might not be expecting to see anything like that on him. 

“Naw, let’s...god Toki, your ear is really fucked up. Just drinking for now,” Pickles said. 

Five hours and many bottles (too many bottles) later, Charles woke up. The floor of Mordhaus was cold, and his back hurt. Badly. 

“Hey, don’t roll over. Yer gonna fuck up the art from last night,” Pickles slurred, slumped on the couch nearby. When on earth they’d gotten inside, Charles couldn’t remember.

“The art?” he asked. 

“Yeah. We got some matchin’ tattoos,” Pickles said with a grin, pulling up his shirt to show a sore (but thankfully clean) tattoo--a circle made up of their signatures, with a skull in the middle. 

Charles struggled to his feet, and stumbled to the nearest full-length mirror (thank God Murderface and Skwisgaar had been vain enough to want them put up in every room, or he’d have no way to see the possible mistake now permanently affixed to his body.) 

“Did...did someone clean this for me?” he asked as he examined the frankly beautiful tattoo. The lines were clean and sharp, and the red ink looked nice on him. That it was exactly where a tramp stamp should go was...maybe not exactly where he’d have wanted it if he’d been sober, but there wasn’t much to do about it now. 

“Yeah, I did. Knew you’d get pissy if it got infected. Yer still gonna need help cleaning it though, since its so far down and all...and when’d you get your nipples pierced?” Pickles asked. 

Charles blushed as he realized his shirt was hanging open. “Well...could we save that for the next emergency slash party you guys create?” 

Pickles nodded and stood, crossing the room in a hungover stagger to stand beside him. “Sure. Probably gonna need to get you drunk to hear that story anyway. I dragged everybody else to bed, so I’m gonna go pass out. You’re going to bed too, right?” 

Charles thought about the work he needed to start for the day, and was about to respond when Pickles laughed and flicked at one of the rings hanging delicately from his nipple. 

“Feckin’ nipple rings. Never woulda thought--and yer gonna tell me now you gotta go work on spreadsheets or some shit, right? Look, I’m not...I’m not the person to look to for advice. But you just partied like a rock star for most of the night, so why not sleep like a rock star for the rest of the day?” Pickles offered. 

Before Charles could respond, Pickles had grabbed him and pushed him towards the hall to his room. He didn’t need anymore convincing than that. 

It had once again been an utter fiasco, but Pickles had been right--it was nice to, perhaps only every once and awhile for Charles, get fucked up and party at three in the morning.