#anyone can shoot a gun but watching a man punch someone is only entertaining for so long before you have to spice it up with the impossible

[neonacidtrip]

I’m developing a new chart system

[randomshyperson]

hey I love your writings so so much. May I request an AU where Wanda and reader are undercover on a mission and have to pretend they are dating for some reason? 👉👈 I just love those cheesy cliches so much hahaha but only if you like the idea really. Have a beautifull day! ❤️

Hello Sweetie, how are you? I hope well. So you said “AU” and i kind interpreted it as secret agents then, other then Avengers super hero. I hope you like this, is heavily inspired by Hitman videogames.

Wanda Maximoff x Reader -  Undercover Feelings.

Words:  2.907k (short one) // Read on AO3 too.

Warnings: None ;)

You are in Italy. Right now in a very compromising position.

You can see the sea many meters below you as you are sneaking along the edge of a mountain. And then your communicator is ringing, and you let out a sigh, trying not to fall over as you press the device to your ear.

- Yes? - You sneer, dragging yourself along the wall.

- Where the hell are you? - asked Wanda sounding annoyed. - Our target is here.

- I'm a little busy here, honey. - You grumble, stopping your pacing only to wipe the wetness from your hands, not wanting to slip. 

- Hurry up. - She asks, and from her low tone you imagine that she is trying to hide that she is talking to you. - I'm in the main square.

And then she hangs up and lets out an impatient sigh. Your job sucks sometimes. 

You and Wanda were assigned to recover important information from a mafia figurehead, who was to spend his vacation on an island in Italy. The problem was being able to infiltrate the place. You had the bright idea to install a hacking device in the security system of the house, the problem was that it was fusing the rock of the mountain where the house was located. Wanda would not approve of you hanging twenty feet out to sea, but it was your job after all. 

Fortunately, you were able to install the device into the Mansion's system. And now you would be able to find the place where the information was stored. After checking if your watch was receiving the correct signals from the device, you made your way back up the mountain as quickly as possible, not wanting to leave Wanda alone.

The island of Sapienza was small, so it didn't take long for you to locate Wanda sitting in the square, a summer dress leaving her legs exposed. You tried not to stare too hard. It was not an opportune moment to deal with your buried feelings.

Assuming a friendly pose, and straightening the summer shirt you were wearing, you walked over to her with a smile, also noticing the man sitting next to her, who was apparently your target, Johann Schmidt.

- Hello. - You greeted cheerfully. Wanda smiled and stood up.

- Honey, there you are! - she said excitedly, hurrying to stand beside you as she held your hand. When she kissed your cheek, she whispered "Play along". And you ignored the beating of your heart to force a smile as you looked at Johann. - I have just met Dr. Schmidt.

The man looks at you curiously, rising to his feet. You offer your hand to him.

- It is a pleasure to have you in Sapienza. - He says with a smile as he shakes your hand.

You nod in agreement.

- I must return to my duties now, Mrs. Maximoff, but I appreciate the conversation we had. - He then says, you think you are imagining that Wanda's grip on your hand has increased. - It was very enlightening.

As he leaves, Wanda lets out a loud sigh of relief. She lets go of your hand and turns to you.

- Where have you been?" she asks through gritted teeth, and you look at her quizzically.

- "Honey"? - You quip ironically, wanting to know more about the disguise. Wanda rolls her eyes, but you notice the redness in her cheeks. - I had to find a way to find out where the data was. - You tell her, sitting down at the table she was at. Wanda sits down next to you. And then you hold out your arm to her, looking around. You notice the guards watching at various points in the square, and you look at her tenderly. - Pretend that you are stroking my hand.

Wanda frowns, but obeys. You enjoy the feeling of your fingers together, but say nothing. Then you hold out your other hand, activating the clock to let her see the information you have acquired.

She reads it for a moment, then looks at you.

- The data is in the downstairs room, so we will need to infiltrate the mansion.

You nod slightly, careful to appear entertained on a romantic date, as you notice the security guards in the square. And then you really are looking at Wanda, her bright green eyes, and you feel a chill in your stomach.

- What exactly is our cover? - You ask with a smile, and Wanda blushes, averting her eyes and stopping stroking your hand momentarily, surprised by the question.

- I told Schmidt that we were engaged - she says, and you smirk. - Stop that face, that's the first thing I thought of!

- Why not sisters? Or friends? - You playfully tease, and Wanda lets out a grumble.

- Damn it, shut up. - She says but she is also smiling. - This is a romantic city, okay? It makes sense.

- Yes, yes. - You joke, and Wanda pinches your skin lightly making you laugh. 

You straighten your posture slightly, your free hand that was on the table moving across the iron, until it reaches Wanda's arm, gently moving up her skin with a caress. You brought your hand up to her face, taking a strand of hair from her eyes to put behind her ear.

- How do we get into the house? - You whisper to her, looking at her intensely as you play with strands of her hair. To anyone watching from afar, you would seem very much in love.

- That's why our disguise is good. - She comments with a smile. - There is a ball at the Mansion tomorrow night. Limited access to the upper floors of course, but I'm sure we can work around that.

You smile at her, thinking about the strategy. And then the restaurant waiter approaches the table, and you move away.

You eat lunch in comfortable silence after that, and as you get up and walk toward the small apartment you have been given for the mission, Wanda entwines her hand in yours, and you want to ignore that it is just for cover.

//-//

Wanda leaves the apartment in the evening, shortly after you have finished going over the plan. And she comes back only two hours later, with a mischievous smile and bags in her hands, and you look at her curiously while sitting on your bed.

- What's that? - you ask, and she just hums, putting the bags on the bed.

- Something you're going to hate. - She comments with a smile. And then she is pulling a long dress out of one of the bags. - This is your outfit.

- No. 

- Yes.

You let out an unhappy sigh.  And you stand up when Wanda waves for you to come closer. She holds the dress in front of your body, biting a smile across her lip in excitement.

- Why can't I wear pants? - You grumble as Wanda lowers the dress onto the bed.

- It's a gala party, darling. - she says. - You'd draw too much attention being a girl in a suit.

- That's not fair. - You retort.

- You know how these Nazis are, and their gender rules. - She says, and you shrug. And then Wanda smiles, turning to the other bag, and you throw yourself back on your bed.

 - Don't be so grumpy, at least you'll be able to carry a gun.

You look at her with confusion, and she giggles. She walks over to the dresser, and pulls out two holsters. She tosses one into your lap. - Wear it on your leg, below the thigh. They don't search this area. 

You nod in agreement, leaving the holster on the bedside table. And then you lie back on the bed, while Wanda puts your clothes away. It didn't take long for you to fall asleep after that.

//-//

You were staring. And honestly, it wasn't your fault. Wanda looked absolutely stunning in her party dress. And you felt your brain short-circuit when she left the room wearing it. You cleared your throat, and tried not to embarrass yourself so much when you said she looked beautiful. And Wanda just smiled and entwined your arms together.

Now you stand at the entrance of the mansion, mentally calculating and analyzing the number of security guards and all the exits, trying not to let yourself be too affected by the girl next to you.

You pass smoothly through the search, the security guards looking very uncomfortable from the stern look you gave them when they touched Wanda, and in less than two minutes you are released.

And then Wanda kept her hand in yours all night, casually whispering the position of the guards in your ear. 

Two or three songs later, and some polite conversation, you were sneaking downstairs, Wanda's hand in yours.

You sneaked through the kitchen, ducking and hiding through the furniture to avoid being seen. The clock on your wrist guided you along the way. 

When you finally reached the small security room, you beckoned with your finger for Wanda to be quiet. You looked around in the hallways, and bent down to hack at the door. You barely opened the handle and Wanda hurriedly pushed you inside. 

You were about to ask her what was wrong, but she covered your mouth with her hand. And then you heard footsteps outside.

When the hall was silent again, you tried not to be so affected by the proximity and stepped back when Wanda took her hand away from your mouth, a smug smile on her face. 

You hurried to retrieve the necessary data, and hurried out of the room when you were finished.

And then there was a guard coming around the corner, and you were quick to draw your gun and knock him out with a blow to the forehead as soon as he saw you.

- No shooting, only if it is indispensable. - You tell Wanda. 

You turn down another hallway, and bump into someone. The man blinks in confusion, but when he notices the gun in your hand, he quickly takes an aggressive stance, and blocks your blow. And then you are fighting, and he disarms you. But you are able to overcome him with a strike to his waist, and then you punch him in the face. As he staggers, you slam his head against the wall, and he passes out. And then you grab Wanda's hand to hurry before these men are found.

You are almost to the salon when you are pushed again, but this time it is soft hands against your waist.

- Don't freak out. - Wanda whispers before closing the distance between your lips. You melt in her arms, sighing with surprise and excitement. And you kiss her back, moving your hands up to her neck.

And then someone is clearing their throat, and Wanda breaks the kiss. You're not reasoning correctly.

- Sorry ladies, this area is restricted. - Informs one of the guards. Wanda lets out a giggle, apologizing, as she pulls you in the direction the guard is pointing to. 

Before you can say anything, Schmidt is approaching you at the party.

- Maximoff and her fiancée. - He greets you two with a smile. - How nice that you girls were able to join the party.

- It's our pleasure, Johann. - Wanda says politely.

- There is a collection of private wines in my living room. - Said Johann with something you thought was an attempt at a charming smile. - Why don't you join me for something more selective?

You wanted to punch him in the mouth, but Wanda smiled, squeezed your hand, and nodded positively.

And then you two were walking upstairs, at least five security guards behind you. You exchanged a look with Wanda, worried about where this was going. And then you arrived.

Johann motioned for you two to sit on the sofa, while he sat in the armchair in the middle of the room. Fortunately only two security guards entered the room, and you eyed them, each on an opposite side, while the others waited outside.

- Tell me, do I look like a foolish man? - He started as soon as you sat down. You felt your heart race but didn't show it. 

- Johann...

Wanda's words were interrupted by a big punch from Johann on the table next to the armchair. 

- You come to my house to rob me. - he says angrily. - And you lie to me.

You swallow dryly, trying to think of exactly how you were going to get out of this one. Wanda seems to have decided to continue her cover to the last, and you choose to follow her lead.

- We don't know what you are talking about. - She denies it in a whiny voice. 

Jonhann laughs, and then he pulls a gun from inside his jacket. Your body tenses immediately, but he doesn't point it at you, but places it on the table next to him.

- The CIA must think I am an idiot. - He comments, shaking his head slightly. - That I wouldn't notice any strangers on my island.

- We don't...

Wanda falls silent when Johann raises his finger with a deadly expression on his face. But then he smiles mischievously.

- You told me you two are engaged, right? - He mocks and Wanda nods slightly. Then he looks directly at you. - Touch her then.

You choke in surprise, frowning. 

At your lack of response, he straightens his posture, reaching for the gun.

You lock your jaw, but Wanda touches your hand, looking at you with an intense gaze. And it takes a second for you to remember the gun she carries on her thigh. 

You nod slightly at Johann, who lets out a high-pitched laugh, putting the gun back on the table.

- Is it okay if I sit on her lap? - Wanda asks him, pretending to be afraid. 

- Whatever gets you there honey! - he comments with a mischievous laugh. 

You clench your jaw, ignoring the growing anger in your stomach. Then Wanda touches your shoulder, looking at you tenderly. She sits on your lap, her legs stretched out on the sofa. In another situation this would be amazing, but now, you feel your body tense up and you are trying to control your anger at the disgusting look you are getting from Schmidt.

He lets out a grunt of excitement as your hands begin to move up Wanda's ankles, and you make sure not to expose her skin by keeping your hands under her dress. When you reach for the pistol strapped to her thigh, Wanda sinks her face into your neck. And Schmidt is quite impressed and doesn't react fast enough when you pull the gun out of the dress, and shoot at him.

And then you shoot the security guards, and you barely have time to figure out if you really hit them, when Wanda is already getting up and pulling you out of the room onto the balcony. You should have about five minutes head start before the security guards outside realize that it wasn't you two who were executed, so you look around for a way out.

- I don't think you can climb in this dress, can you? - Wanda comments, making you laugh. Then you notice the speedboat parked below the balcony. You run back into the living room, rummaging through drawers. You let out a happy exclamation when you find the key.

- After you, darling. - You tell her as you look down at the balcony. It wasn't a high drop.

Wanda jumps first, and you throw the key to her. And as you are getting ready to jump next, the security guards enter the room. You give them a mischievous wave before you jump, and then Wanda takes off, and you leave Italy behind.

//-//

It has been a good few minutes since you left the mansion, and you have already warned Natasha of your location. The jet should arrive any moment now, and then you and Wanda will go on different missions.

- You wanna tell me something. - She remarks playfully as she steers the speedboat. You stretch your legs out on the bench in front of you, still seated.

- I don't know what you are talking about. - You deny it in the same tone.

- It's about the kiss, isn't it? 

- You're the one who's bringing it up. - You retort with amusement. Wanda laughs too.

- It doesn't have to be weird, you know. - She comments, and you look at the ocean around you.

And with your lack of response, Wanda puts the speedboat on autopilot, and turns to you.

- Don't stare at me, Wanda. - You ask with a smile as you feel her gaze on you, probably deciding what to say. She laughs, and ducks her head. Then you straighten your posture, and Wanda sits down on the bench in front of you. You look at her tenderly for a few seconds, and she looks back. - You know I'm in love with you, don't you?

Wanda bites back a smile, looking away with a reddened face. You ignore the uneven beating of her heart.

- And you know I'm in love with you. - She replies after a moment with a playful smile.

- And what are we going to do about it, darling? - You reply with a slight challenge in your voice, watching the sparkle in Wanda's eyes change.

The next time you kiss her, you are only interrupted by the arrival of the CIA plane. But you don't care, because you are sure that the next time you disguise yourself as a couple, it won't be just a disguise.

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter One

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2101

Chapter Warning: Bad Language Words, tiny bit of angst

A/N: I started this on AO3 awhile ago. Now that I have a blog dedicated primarily to just Marvel/Bucky, I thought I’d add it here, too. Enjoy!

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.  

Bucky heard his phone buzz as he was tugging a butter-soft tee over his head. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand next to his bed as he worked his arms into their respective holes.

9:36

Steve was long in bed already, so the text most likely wasn’t from him. Sam was on a me me kick-- No, what did he call them? Memes!-- of a disgruntled cat which he swore reminded him of the super soldier. He wouldn’t be surprised if it were him. Or possibly Nat. She picked up the new issue of Guns & Ammo the other day and was sending him pictures of a Mossberg MC1sc 9mm she was drooling over.

Smoothing the body of the shirt over his torso, Bucky ambled over to his bed. He snatched up the phone from the navy blue comforter and flipped it over. To his amazement, the text wasn’t from Sam or Nat. Or even Steve.

(917) 460-5480 work thing boring af. kinda tied one on. might be late meeting you tomorrow

He blinked several times at the message, uncertain how to respond. It was a wrong number, right? Bucky hadn’t made plans with anyone for tomorrow that he could remember. Plus, everyone he knew had the same work thing. And it was rarely boring.

Definitely a wrong number.

He set the phone down near the clock, choosing to ignore the text. Hopefully, whoever this person was, figured out quickly they were texting the wrong number and moved on.

Bucky pulled back the covers before climbing into bed. His body melted into the mattress, muscles relaxing for the first time since breakfast. Training had been non-stop all day today. It felt good to just be, for once.

He grabbed the book he was reading off the nightstand and opened it to the spot he left off. He cleared his mind, as best he could, and concentrated on the words on the page.

A few pages in, his phone vibrated alive again. Another text message.

(917) 460-5480 sis dont be mad youd be drinking too if you had to sit thru one of these business dinners

Bucky sighed. He had hoped his radio silence would have clued this person into their mistake. Wishful thinking. Before he could punch out a reply, another text came through.

(917) 460-5480 timmons is droning on about this new client. kill me now

He quickly typed out a reply:

(917) 308-3117 I think you sent this to me by mistake.

Bucky watched the text indicator pulse as this unknown person worked out their response.

(917) 460-5480 haha very funny sis

Bucky huffed at this person’s disbelief, thumbs working on typing out his next message.

(917) 308-3117 I’m not trying to be funny. I can’t be someone’s sister when I’m a man.

He set the phone down on the nightstand again, hoping this person finally took a hint. He opened his book back up to the current page, taking a deep breath.

The room’s silence was broken again by the loud thrumming of his phone skittering across the surface of the black wood veneer.

(917) 460-5480 how does kevin feel about this so close to the wedding???

(917)460-5480 will you still need a wedding dress or will you just get a tux???

(917) 460-5480 am i still your maid of honor???

Bucky chuckled at this girl (no, young woman) asking the essential questions.

(917) 308-3117 Your sister did not get a sex change. Yes, she will still need a wedding dress. Yes, you are still her maid of honor. Like I said before, wrong number.

An almost immediate reply came through.

(917) 460-5480 prove it

Bucky grew slightly irritated at the insinuation. Why couldn’t she take his word for it? He exhaled loudly through his nose.

(917) 308-3117 How?

A few moments passed before the device juddered in the palm of his large hand.

(917) 460-5480 selfie

Bucky blanched at the request. He could feel the color drain from his face, only to immediately heat with a blush. A selfie? That is the last thing he wanted to do.

Although he’d been exonerated for his crimes as The Winter Soldier, he still knew about the dislike people felt about him as a person, in general. They couldn’t get past the brainwashing or other persona. God knows he still struggled with it.

He couldn’t go broadcasting his face through texts to a stranger. What if she was one of those who didn’t understand he had no say in what he did or what happened to him under Hydra’s control?

What if he ignored the solicitation? He could do that. Maybe even turn off his phone.

She did seem the type to be very persistent until she got what she wanted.

True to form, another text rang through.

(917) 460-5480 i will keep texting until i see your manly face

One corner of his lips quirked higher. Yup, persistent.

He navigated to the camera app on his phone and switched it to selfie mode. He stared at the damp locks falling to his shoulders. His beard would require a trim soon, but it wasn’t scraggly. Luckily, he’d had the hindsight to shave his neckbeard in the shower earlier.

Was he considering this? Some girl says jump, and he asks how high?

He combed metal fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath.

(917) 460-5480 im waiting

Bucky growled at the text, running a hand over his face. “Okay, okay. Give me a second,” he said to his phone. He held it up to head height, half an arm’s length away.

Click!

He previewed the picture, assuring himself it didn’t reveal too much. It was, somehow, off-center, containing a bearded chin and half a smirked mouth, one nostril, and a half-lidded eye.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Bucky pulled the messaging app back up and then sent off the picture. He tossed the phone aside, not wanting to watch the taunting blinking dots as he waited for a reply.

The picture was barely recognizable, but someone like Steve or Nat could tell it was him. It would be okay. No one would know.

His phone vibrated violently near him on the bed. Bucky cautiously plucked the device up, debating whether he wanted to read her reply. What if it said, “Holy shit! You’re The Winter Soldier!”? The hope of this woman thinking he was just some regular guy knotted up his stomach. He didn’t know why he cared so much about whether this stranger thought he was The Soldier or not. He had no control over who believed the lies perpetrated as truth through the media. He could only wish for the best.

He blew out the breath he was holding in and eyed the phone’s screen.

(917) 460-5480 is it fair to say men shouldnt be allowed to have long eyelashes??

Bucky laughed and immediately thought of poor Steve.

(917) 308-3117 You should see my buddy’s. The girls swoon and complain at the same time.

He quickly added to the message thread:

(917) 308-3117 Am I correct to assume you believe I’m a man and not your sister?

The response was swift.

(917) 460-5480 oh shit ur not my sister

(917) 460-5480 this isnt 9173083447?

Bucky laughed again, the tension in his chest slowly unfurling.

(917) 308-3117 Unfortunately for you-- no.

(917) 460-5480 ugh im such an idiot sorry for the shit i said

(917) 308-3117 Don’t worry about it. I had a good laugh at your expense.

(917) 460-5480 oh god now i feel like a bigger ass

Bucky suddenly felt like backpedaling. He hadn’t meant for her to feel bad about her mistake. It was cute in a roundabout way.

(917) 308-3117 Please don’t be embarrassed. It was the highlight of my night.

(917) 460-5480 me forcing u to prove ur a man was the best part of ur night??

Bucky thought for a moment. Was it the best part? The training sessions had become monotonous lately, even with the new agents. The team hadn’t been on any missions in a few weeks, so it was pretty accurate to say he was bored around the compound.

(917) 308-3117 I suppose it was. Work’s been a little slow, and there’s only so much training you can do before it becomes tedious.

(917) 460-5480 training? r u in the military? ooh, r u an athlete??

A laugh bubbled up from his chest. It was comical to see her try to guess his profession. His selfie hadn’t announced who he was to her after all.

(917) 308-3117 Something like that.

(917) 460-5480 so mysterious! r u some assassin who needs to keep his identity secret? is that y ur selfie only showed a quarter of ur face??

He paled at the implication. Maybe she did know and was yanking his chain. How did he block numbers again?

Another text came through from the mystery woman:

(917) 460-5480 not that i mind u have a luscious mouth

Bucky guffawed at the comment as flames rose beneath the skin of his cheeks. He hadn’t remembered blushing this much in such a short amount of time in decades.

(917) 308-3117 How much have you had to drink tonight, doll?

(917) 460-5480 doll?? what r u my grandpa??

He chuckled again. God, he was old enough and then some.

(917) 460-5480 enough to not want to shoot my brains out but not enough to know this dinner isnt a party

(917) 308-3117 Maybe you should get back to your dinner? I don’t want to get you into trouble.

He regretted the text the second he pressed send. Was he trying to get rid of her? No. Or was he looking out for her? This person he knew nothing about. She was more entertaining than the recurring nightmare he’d been having for the last week, that's for sure. He'd cling to this unknown to avoid slipping into that black abyss.

(917) 460-5480 aww does the military-trained assassin athlete mchottie not want to talk with me anymore?? 🙁

(917) 308-3117 No!! I’m honestly concerned you’ll be reprimanded if you pay more attention to your phone than Timmons.

The last thing Bucky needed was to feel more guilt, especially if it was at the expense of someone’s livelihood. His shoulders were already heavy enough.

(917) 460-5480 thats sweet but dont worry ur pretty little head over me timmons wouldnt last a day w/o me

(917) 460-5480 timmons may be the boss but i run that office

He simpered at her swagger. He could only imagine what kind of office she worked in because, again, a total stranger. Did he want to get to know her more, or was this a one and done thing? Would she wake up tomorrow and want to continue the conversation or blow him off for the drunken mistake her first text had been?

Bucky stared at his phone for several more minutes, pondering precisely what he was doing and what his expectations of the night were. It’s not like he was going to meet her in person, right? Was he that delusional? He was an Avenger now. He didn’t get a social life. Not that he had one before but still.

He was startled from his reverie as the phone shook in his hand.

(917) 460-5480 did i scare you away??

(917) 308-3117 No. Just thinking about tomorrow.

(917) 460-5480 shit a military-trained assassin athlete mchottie must have a lot to prepare for mentally ill let u get ur rest

He smiled at the gesture. If only she knew.

(917) 308-3117 Send me a text when you get home. I want to make sure you arrived okay.

(917) 460-5480 such a gentleman! i don’t want to wake u if ur asleep tho

(917) 308-3117 I doubt I’ll be sleeping, but it’ll help ease my mind.

(917) 460-5480 alright ill shoot a text ttfn

(917) 308-3117 ttfn?

(917) 460-5480 ta ta for now god u r a grandpa

(917) 308-3117 Yeah, yeah

Bucky’s mouth split into yet, another grin as he set his phone down once again on the nightstand. He picked up his discarded book and found his place on the page. After a few minutes of re-reading the same paragraph over and over, he slipped the bookmark into the gutter of the book. His mind was too preoccupied with the thought of some random girl in the city at a boring work dinner. He realized he hadn’t stopped smiling since they temporarily said goodbye.

Maybe there was a good chance this conversation would carry into tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWO

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Don’t Let Go ~ Alfie Solomons

I’m in love with one man and one man alone. Mum and dad love Alfie too, but they still can’t take him away from me ;;;

How did she end up like this, she wondered? They were family...Even though her last name was not legally “Shelby”, she was still a part of the family since she was born. The parents were best friends, and when her parents died, Polly took her in. And then, they grew up together - Same home, same beds, same food, same clothes...Same everything.

And then, war came, and while true, she was younger than even John - Not by much, only about 3 years - But that didn’t seem to bother either of the Shelby siblings, and she was especially close with Arthur and Ada, mostly because they were the ones with the warmest hearts, and could understand her gentle one as well..

However, Tommy was the smartest of the family, and Polly taught her enough about Gypsy street-smarts, so the three of them together somehow became the true heads of the family, the true backbone that kept everyone straight and together.

When war came, she was barely 16, and yet, she joined them, dressing as a man and pretending to be a volunteer physician, healing and running around the battlefield, only to end up helping them dig up tunnels and plant explosions...

And taking a bullet for Tommy.

And nearly dying.

But at least, by the time they returned home, 4 years later, she was called an honorary Shelby and Polly officially adopted her.

She wasn’t Y/N L/N anymore, she was Y/N Shelby, and she was damn proud of that.

She helped with fixing races, rode around with her gorgeous black mare, going to the Garrison with her brothers to make sure they don’t end up drunk, in a ditch, she helped the strategy against the Lee family, got beaten up by Sabini, beat him up right back, got in that whorehouse of a Russian noble family, let the Duchess touch her while in her underwear, got beaten up by the priest, had to blow up a train with good people and many more...

But nothing was bringing her down, because she was a Shelby, and she was strong - Mentally, Physically, Emotionally - And she wanted to make sure the family was together, or at least trying to hang on, somehow.

She was the perfect woman - Never drank, never smoked, never cursed, never did drugs, never did drugs, never dated anyone... 

But when one day, Thomas took her on a meeting at Alfie’s place... Boy of boy, was that entertaining.

She always appreciated Thomas’s ambition, cunning and intelligence...But Alfie?  Alfie was something else. Something much above him, no much smarter, so much better at scheming...And at everything, really. And she was attracted by him like moths to the light.

Back and forth talks, interesting insights on life, learning words in foreign languages that she didn’t know, but he did, and likewise, teaching her foreign stuff, talking to him about books and many other things...

And it was weird, but it almost seemed like she didn’t want to leave that place any time soon, but Thomas needed her for business, so what could she do, really?

And she agreed...And agreed...And agreed...

Until one day, when all things went completely upside down and...Sure, she did her job, and she was supposed to return to Alfie’s to have a chat with him and Tommy... And she did...

As soon as she stepped inside the “Bakery”, she saw Ollie, whose eyes widened in shock seeing her in that state.

“Miss Shelby, what happened?! Let me call the physician-...I’ll go inform Alfie-...” Ollie stumbled over his words, only to have her grab his sleeve and pull him back. “Don’t tell them I’m here. With the way I look, better make it a surprise. Tommy’s here, right?” she asked, slamming the doors open, walking inside, the clicks of her small heeled boots resounding all over the place. “B-But Miss Shelby, we have to treat you - “ Y/N simply shot him a glare, before continuing in a straight line.  “Ain’t a Shelby anymore.” she muttered, and soon, she reached the middle of the wide business room, as Alfie was sitting at his desk and Tommy was pacing.  “Y/N...Finally, you’ve arrived. What happened to you?!” Thomas asked, rushing to her side, only for her to push him away. “You lied to me, Thomas. You lied to me. You promised I wouldn’t get hurt. That you were gonna make sure they wouldn’t touch me. That I was gonna come back perfectly unharmed, not even a strand of hair touched. Only business talks. How do you think that went?” the girl looked down, her hands deep in her bloodied, yet incredibly fancy and silhouette-fitting high-waisted pants.  “What exactly happened with the Sabini meeting, Y/N? And why are you covered in blood?!” he asked, frowning. “It’s fine, not ALL of it is MY blood, thanks for worrying, THOMAS!” but as she rasped out his name, she started coughing up some blood, and as her side started burning in pain, she lifted her already disheveled shirt, applying pressure with her hand where she got shot to keep herself from bleeding out. “Well...This one is.” she used her sleeve to wipe her face, completely non-chalant. “Y/N...Tell me what happened...Please...” Thomas’s voice went lower, almost as a soothing whisper, but it was quickly obliterated by Y/N’s exaggerated, yet pained laugh. “I got beaten up, raped and shot by Sabini and his men. That’s what happened, Thomas. No business talk, just abuse. You promised nothing will happen to me...But, oh, damn, remember that you told Lizzie the same too, and she, that fucker raped her at the Derby too, when you were too busy fucking around with two other women? Oh, wait...Is it because I’m a woman? Because, the way I see it, all women that you have in your life get abused somehow...By you. Grace died because of you. Ada left the city because of you. May got hurt because of you. Esme hates you...There’s also the Duchess, but she very much outsmarted you, so she’s safe and...Still a noble woman. And don’t even get me started on Polly...Poor woman...Having to endure living in the same world as you. For the amount of time you spend fucking women, one would think you’d be more considerate of them.” her beautiful eyes were sharp and hateful, throwing daggers at the man in front of her as she continued to pace around, her tongue speaking the poison that very much tainted her heart over the past many years of her life. “...Y/N. I know you’re in pain, and that I’ve hurt you. I know. You are right, I agree. I’m aware. But it wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t have known, and-” as he continued, the girl calmly approached him, and as soon as she was right in front of him, she back-slapped him, thanking her classy mind for wearing lots of rings that day. As she laughed at the way the wounds showed up on one side of his face, she followed by slapping him on the other side, much harder than before. “Shut the fuck up, Thomas Shelby. Don’t speak to me. Don’t get close to me. I am not a Shelby anymore, so you can fuck off...Do you see who you’re doing business with, Alfie? A guy who can’t even protect his family! He got all of us arrested and almost hanged, made Ada go away, made Polly go insane, had Arthur beaten up, me as well, and guess what, Michael got shot and JOHN GOT KILLED! BECAUSE OF YOU, THOMAS! Grace died because of YOU! And your child got kidnapped and almost died BECAUSE! OF! YOU!” with each sentence, she punched him, hit him, kicked him, smashed him head with her knee, then on the wall, then ended by stomping her boot on his stomach...And walked away, as calmly as if never happened. “And...This is not my blood.”  “Well, lass, gotta say, yeah, you ain’t as much of an angel as I thought, eh. Or, maybe now more than ever, you’re the angel I thought you were.” Alfie watched from behind the desk, completely relaxed, analysing the show in front of him, and yet, his brain was running a thousand miles per second, thinking of millions of things. “D’you have a free spot here, Alfie? No guns and death and all that. Maybe...Someone to patch up your boys. I don’t know. Hell, I’ll even accept being your secretary or...Flower girl. Cook. Tea girl. I can walk Cyril...I don’t know, anything you want, just get me the hell out of this Shelby hell.” she turned around to look at him, using her other sleeve to clean her face, using the water from her tears. “Heard that, Thomas Shelby? Your sister’s deserted you, and for a good reason, eh. You can leave now, there’s other times to do business, right.” Alfie spoke, getting up and stepping towards her. “This isn’t over, Y/N. We’ll talk again. You’re a valuable part of the family, and you’re coming back, sooner than later.” Thomas went get get out of the building, only for the girl to quickly take out the gun from her jacket and cock it, pointing it at the man. “Fuck off and go to hell, Thomas.” she pulled the trigger... “Stop it, lass, don’t do it! You’re gonna regret it!” Alfie sprung out, holding one of his arms around her body, while his other hand went to her gun, making her shoot a wall instead of a living being, letting the man get out of there, still alive, somehow. “Damn it, Alfie! Why’d you do that! It’s 2 for 0, damn it! I’m fed up with taking bullets to save that guy, while all he does is sit comfortably behind his desk, damn it! I’m not a fucking rag doll that can be tossed in the trash!” she cried, trying to struggle out of his grasp, but the wounds were hurting her too much, so her strength gave out faster and she stood limp in his arms, trembling softly. “S’okay now, lass, yeah. I’ll bring ya to Cyril and we can...Uh...Drink that tea you like, right. Forget that guy, let’s get ya treated, right. Get that bullet out of ya. And sure, y’can be my physician, I know you were a great one in war, yeah.” the Jew gently took out the gun from her hand, throwing it to the ground for Ollie to take later, an he picked her up with much, bringing her to the medic’s room. “I need vodka, cigarettes, and if I’m brave enough some Tokyo...Snow...Whatever you call it.” she groaned as soon as she was place on the bed, as the gangster frowned in confusion at her. “I thought you didn’t do vices.” he sat on the opposite bed, watching her intently. “Woaw, I lied to you and everyone else in the world. I do drink and I do smoke and I did date before...Just...Not when people were seeing me. People think you’re an angel, they will hopefully leave you the hell alone. Difficult being a woman these days, as you can see. Everybody’s treating you like a piece of garbage. And bring me that vodka, I need to have the room spinning before I take out the bullet...And vodka’s the best disinfectant. The hospital stuff is washed up and diluted a lot of times.” she gave him a sarcastic half-smile, taking the cigarette he just lit up and puffed on it. “Only whiskey and rum, if you want, yeah. You don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not around here, lass. Just do what you want, nobody’s gonna say a thing, right, and if they do, you know how to use a gun, so shoot their brains, eh, show them all who’s in charge.” he got up, bringing her what she requested, watching attentively as she let her head back, poofing smoke into the air. “Thanks, Alfie. Come back in an hour. I don’t need witnesses of my misery. You know better than everyone, Captain Solomons, that taking out a bullet gets messy.” she pointed the cigarette at him, smirking miserably at him, knowing very well that she wasn’t mentally ready for the procedure. “Well, lass, if you’re very sure, you don’t need help, right, then I’ll be waiting outside.” the Jew patted her head, leaving the room, letting behind only a graveyard silence, that for some reason, creeped the girl out big time. “...Let’s fuck shit up, then...” she muttered to herself, letting the ashes of the cigarette fall pitifully on the bed, as she took a deep breath and violently slammed her hand over the medical tools.

She’s always been a very careful and precise person, and whenever she did this on someone else, she would have people keep the victim down, so she could rummage through their bodies with relative ease, especially after they got shit faced drunk...And maybe with some anaesthesis... But this is the worst. Just like back then, during the war...

Letting a few tears of anticipation fall down her face, she cut a bit deeper into her body, to allow her fingers, previously washed with alcohol, she whimpered and squealed as she searched around for the bullet - It was no easy feat for, but it had to be done, no matter the searing pain -.

It felt like time stopped completely before the extraction of the stupid lead thing, she held it in her hand, watching its taunting gleam glaring back into her eyes, then watched with horror that stupid bottle of whiskey, and with her last strength, she snatched it and putting her pillow over her face to keep the shrieking from leaving the room, and gritting her teeth, she let the alcohol pour out from the bottle, wailing loudly, and yet, hoping nobody would hear her.

She was still sobbing in the pillow, the fire-like pain, electrifying the surging, diffuse pain throughout her whole torso, and she laid there, throwing away that pillow as soon as the door was opened again, and adjusting her head, she noticed Solomons walking in the room, a basket dangling from his arms.

“What’cha got there?” she asked in a weak, whisper-like voice, still trying to recover. “Goodies. Freshly baked cookies. At least something that smells nice in this pigstry, eh.” Alfie’s joking way of speaking seemed to take away her mind, but she smiled apologetically, lifting her hands briefly. “Sorry, too much blood on my hands. Literally and metaphorically speaking.” she explained, only to have Alfie take out one of the cookies and feeding her. “...This...Is the best thing I’ve eaten in my life. Did you make them? Because if you did, you’re like...A Cookie God. Have more?” she asked, managing, with a lot of difficulty, pain and his help, to get in a sitting position. “Well, I’ve never been called a God, right, but it ain’t that bad, yeah. Here you go, one more. I’ll ask a maid to draw a bath for you, yeah, I doubt you wanna stay all bloody the whole day, eh.” he helped her eat another cookie, and weirdly enough, despite all the blood on her face, her small smile was oddly charming. “...Y’know...If you ever want to retire from this gangster bullshit...You could settle down and...Just bake for a living...No, rather, a hobby. I’m sure you have enough money for a life time, so might as well just rest and take it easy. Move away from here...Maybe another country...Or another city, at least...And just...Y’know...Be happy. You could do that...And be rid of stupid Italians and Americans and all these jerks.” Y/N spoke, more or less not directly to him, but in a way, she was projecting her own hopes and dreams. “Margate.” Alfie muttered, sitting down in front of her. “Margate?” she furrowed her brows in confusion, leaning forward a bit. “Aye. By the seaside. The sand is really soft, they say, and the waves are nice, yeah. Very calm town.” he continued, which made her gasp softly in realisation. “You...You DID think about retirement! It means you’re really kinda fed up with this...This mess. I like where this is going.” she smiled softly at him, nodding in agreement. “I think you’re making the right choice, if it makes for anything.” “Y’know, lass, you’re not wrong. We do need a vacation, yeah, and a very long one at that, right. Now, how ‘bout we talk about what you need, right, for this medical thing.  You’re a sensible woman, yeah, so, I trust you more with the details and organising.” he pointed, and thus, they started chatting idly about the medical issues, and even more, about life in general - Books, the pictures, concerts, travelling and things...Leisure things, just simple things that she never had the privilege to talk about, and she had no idea she wanted, nor needed.

Many weeks passed and things were unusually calm for her, and for the first time in her life, she felt...Happy. She enjoyed being around Alfie, working with him without being involved in all the killing, and she absolutely loved baking things together, and he was so charismatic and charming, always giving witty remarks that amused her and made her laugh...

It was the perfect life she always dreamt of having, and he even asked if she wanted to go to a jazz pub with him, and...She got to dress up, and do her make up and do her hair, wear pretty, expensive jewellery, and a damn fine dress to show off her gorgeous silhouette, and high heels to match...And she walked next to him, her arm hooked to his, as they enjoyed the beautiful jazz music and each other’s presence.

It was a blissful dream, and she swore that if anyone dared wake her up, she was gonna kill them, and it won’t be quick, nor painless.

“Y’know, Alfie...You’re the best man I’ve ever met in my life. And that says a lot, considering how many men I had the misfortune of meeting...Including my family.” she raised her champagne glass slightly to clink with his. “Maybe you haven’t met the right men, dear, yeah, y’know, and men in Birmingham are fucking shit anyway. Camden’s better, yeah.” the man chuckled mirthfully, leaning back on his chair. “You...Mentioned Margate once. How are things going on with that?” Y/N asked, smiling at him softly. “Well, lass, y’know, yeah, things are...Things are fine. But, uh...You see...The doctor said I’m sick. They aren’t really sure yet what’s wrong with me, alright, but they said the results should be given pretty soon, yeah.” he admitted after a few seconds of consideration, which made the girl gasp in shock, moving her chair to look at him better taking his hands in hers and leaning forward. “What did they say about it? Did they take blood sampled? Wanna do blood work? Or...Biochemistry tests? Or something more complex?” Y/N bit her lip, looking concerned like never before. “Don’t worry, lass, even if I die, yeah, I’ll still make sure you get paid for your hard work, alright?” the man tried to brush it off, but the indignant look on her face made him chuckle. “I’m gonna kill you if you imply something like that again. I don’t need your money, I just want you to be healthy and alright, got it? Now come on, tell me, what do they suspect. Also, where is your doctor’s clinic, and when will your results arrive.” she pressed on, waiting for an answer. “Come on, don’t be so serious, yeah, enjoy the show, it’s not every night we get to have fun, right?” Alfie, again, tried to play it off as nothing important, but the look on her face made him sigh and nod, giving in. “They think’s cancer, right. I got a tumour, they’re checking if it’s...Uh...Cancer or not. right. Doctor’s around here in Camden, results come out sometime in a week or two, that enough?” he rolled his eyes, and yet, he was grateful for her worrying. “...I guess. If I knew, I would have done the lab work myself, but, you know...If anything, I can do the procedure myself... Or maybe I should hold your hand and make sure you’re not scared. They have to do general anaesthesia, cut you open and all that...It won’t be fun.” she looked down a bit, before smiling encouragingly at him. “Y/N. I’m a big boy now, right, I’ll be fine, no need to worry about me, yeah, you just...You be okay, and relax, and-...And before long, we’ll go to Margate together.”  he continued, trying to calm her down, without realising at first of the commitment, until he noticed the excited gleam in her eyes. “Alfie...? Are you...Are you sure...? Margate is the place you want to go to...Why would you...Me...?” she muttered, almost unsure of how to react. “Let’s go home, eh. I want to make you some nice tea, yeah, and some cookies. I have to tell ya something, and I’d rather it not be out.” 

Alfie squeezed her hands, helping her get up, and the walk home was filled with anticipation and a comfortable silence that wanted to rip out the answers out of his throat.

He let her dress in more comfortable clothes, and so he did, then went down to prepare some nice and warm tea, with the biscuits he baked that day, and went to her room.

“Do you like me, Alfie?” she asked in a shushed voice, not daring to raise her head to look at him. “What’s not to like, lass? You’re smart and witty, and for some reason, you find me funny, and look at ya, you’re gorgeous, right. So if I say, yeah, I want you to come to Margate with me, I mean it. You just have to agree, aye. Get away from this and rest. God knows we need this.” he had a sweet smile on his face - A smile that quickly faltered when he saw stray tears falling down her face, and he started worrying. “Why...In the world...Would someone as amazing as you...Like me? Alfie, you’re...You’re amazing, and me, I’m...I’m the worst. I can’t let go of the past, and I’ve got like...This...This devil inside me...This Shelby devil that keeps whispering in my ear, saying that I’ll never be happy, and that I’ll...I’ll kill again, and I’ll be dragged back to that slum and...And all that happiness will just shatter and...And I don’t deserve you.” she looked down, hoping her long her would hide her face, but next thing she knows, she got brought into a tight embrace, and he stroked her hair, his chin on top of her head, waiting for her to calm down, and yet, he could feel her trembling softly. “Don’t say things like that, yeah, that’s not true. You’re with me, not with them anymore, right, so, then, you’re going back. I won’t let them take you back, if you don’t want to, aye. No need to cry, right, I’ll protect you from anyone who dares try to take you away, eh, even if it’s Tommy Shelby himself, so no need to cry, yeah, Y/N?” he spoke, only to feel her cling even tighter to the back of his shirt. “I...I’ve...I’ve never felt like this before, Alfie. You make me feel so warm...And safe...And happy...I’ve been hold before, but all I felt was repulsion and fright...I was panicked and I wanted to run away...But this...This never happened. And I think I love you, Alfie. Don’t let go of me, please.” her voice was barely audible, but Alfie could feel the raw emotions, so he laid down with her on the bed, holding her dearly. “It will be fine, Y/N, okay. None of these worries will come to you again when in Margate. You and I will be happy, away from here, yeah, so, know that I love you, and let’s wait just a bit more, so we can get rid of this Changretta mess, and we’re leaving, eh.” 

And it was true - From that night on, they slept in the same room, holding each other dearly, reassured that the next day, things will still be as good as the previous night. One morning, however, Alfie woke up without her in his arms, and he panicked, thinking the worst - Poor Ollie thought he was going to get killed - But it was all fine, as she returned with the biggest grin on her face, jumping in Alfie’s arms, not allowing him the chance to say a word, only shocking him. And she held his hands and dragged him to his room, getting him to sit on the bed, and at first, she wanted to make tea, but then she shook her head and brought a bottle of the best whiskey, poured it in the glasses and had him drink.

“Damn it, lassie, don’t fucking scare me like that, yeah, like, at least tell me in advance if you’re gonna leave, okay, I thought those fuckers got ya for good. What the hell was the urgency?” he asked, drinking the glass in one go before looking at her. “I...Well...Haha, sorry ‘bout that, I’m just...I’m sure super happy. So, as you know, today the doctors had to mail you the test results, so, you know, I seem to have been a bit too eager to find out, so I since there were no trains, I walked all the way to your doctor, told him this and that, then got the first train back, and here I am. Oh, and, obviously, I’m super happy ‘cause like, I couldn’t keep myself - Sorry ‘bout that, by the way - So I ripped the envelope and looked at the results. And, uh, yeah, so, I’m happy ‘cause - Look ! - No cancer! You’re completely, 100% cancer free! And, like, the tumor completely benign, no invasiveness, no metastasis, so this is completely curable by surgical removal, and it won’t affect your life span, nor will it, in any way, alter your health. Et, voila, here we are! Go on, drink, cheer, be happy, I know I am!” she laughed gleefully, watching the shocked spark in Alfie’s eyes as he took out his glasses to read over the annoyingly complicated medical stuff, but he was a smart guy, and he understood everything there is to it. “You’re the best, shiksa. You say things are gonna turn out bad, but here, look, they aren’t, and hey won’t right, ‘cause clearly, there’s something up there, alright, that’s looking out for us, and it ain’t only me making sure you’re fine. I’m happy, Y/N, and in less than a month, aye, we’re fucking away from here. Just the two of us...And Ollie as a butler, if ya want. And we can get as many dogs as you want. We can do whatever we want, really.” he hugged her tightly, cupping her face and kissing her tenderly.

It all went sweet and soft at first, and it got hotter and hotter, with much more passion than before, and one thing led to another, and their first night of overflowing love gave hope for a better future, one that will ensure their happiness and that won’t involve them in this stupid gangster war anymore.

Just him, her and Cyril, maybe Ollie too, at the side...What better life to have than this?

But just one week before they had to leave, as they were still preparing for their grand exit, Y/N was walking towards the clinic room to check on the few patients she had left, only to notice the glint of guns, and she did a turn around, looking for Alfie, and yet, Ollie stopped her in her tracks as soon as she saw her, rushing to hide her from the people who were, apparently, having a meeting with Alfie.

“Ollie, it’s an emergency. Life or death, I promise. I NEED to speak to him. Who is he having a meeting with?” she asked, holding her clipboard close to her chest, looking left and right carefully. “With the Sabinis. Now, come on, Y/N, whatever it is, can wait. I’m sure you can wait a bit with Cyril. Please.” Ollie pleaded with her, but she only started writing rapidly on her clipboard, letting the first two pages filled with obvious, typewriter-written pages about standard medical procedures. “I’m sorry, Ollie, but this is bigger than even Sabini. Come with me and NEVER leave Alfie alone with those sharks, got it?” she gave him a sharp look before rushing to the usual place Alfie had business meetings, and as she completely ignored the villains, she slammed the clipboard on his desk, giving him a look. “Very important medical business thing, I need your signature after you read through these.” as he was so much taller than her, she only needed to bend a bit to talk into his ear, carefully flipping the first two pages, only to reveal big, messy writing.

ENEMIES WITH GUNS IN THE MEDICAL WARD POINTED TO THE BOYS DON’T TRUST THEM

Alfie gave her a look, knowing shit went bad, he nodded slightly, getting a pen and, as his signature, he wrote “TELL OLLIE”, and ushered her to leave.  And so she did, and Ollie went to alert the other guys so they could ambush the enemies in the medical ward, all while cursing herself and preparing guns, hidden in her long trench coat, then returned to stay by Alfie’s side, her hands placed on his shoulders reassuringly.

“Mr. Solomons, I see the little song bird likes flying around to every powerful gangster family. Wonder if she’ll go to the Changrettas when she’s done with you.” the Sabini leader smirked at her, and Alfie could feel her nails digging into his flesh, and not even the good way this time. “Listen, listen, Mr. Sabini,eh. You come here, begging me for fucking favours, right, and then, you dare fucking speak ill of my partner, yeah? So, where is the fucking time where you, like, do something to make me want to do that fucking favour of yours, if the only fucking thing you make me want to do is to fucking grant you the favour of putting you out of this miserable fucking life, right?” there was no clearer indicator that Alfie was angry than when he cursed like his beard was on fire, and true, YN found it very weird, considering how sweet and gentle he’s always been with her, but she could feel the protective aura he gave off, and she never felt safer than now. “Aye, aye, Alfie, don’t overreact, please, it was just a merely innocent joke! Lighten up, let’s discuss business. We teamed up with Luca Changretta, we can give you money and exposure. We can sell your rum and weapons all over Europe, especially France and Italy, and that means, in the long run, a ton of money. I’m sure you’ll agree with me, won’t you?” Sabini spoke, and from the corner of her eye, she could see one of the men taking out a gun from the back of his pants. “Mr. Sabini, I will have to ask you, as Mr. Solomons’s secretary, not to take out any weapons, otherwise our men will shoot all of you, with no discrimination.” Y/N threatened in a low voice, taking her hands from Alfie’s shoulders, and crossed her arms to her chest, ready to draw her weapons at any second. “It’s alright, Y/N, right, I don’t think Mr. Sabini is fucking stupid enough to dare a shoot out in my own fucking warehouse, eh.” Alfie warned the Italian gangster, snapping his fingers for Ollie to come by. “Vaffanculo...Che stronza! No, fine, fine, we’re all calm, all good, right? We can have a business deal and leave this place happy, both parts, right?” Sabini spoke, using his hands to gesture everyone to calm down. “Stick that deal up your ass.” Alfie cursed Sabini in perfect Italian, making Sabini straighten up, almost as if he got sobered by a hammer to his head, and without a second to wait, some of the lackeys drew their guns.

But they were too late, for Y/N already had both guns out and killed most of them, starting with Sabini himself, and Ollie’s boys helped up just enough to have the Red Sea at their feet.

Once all the enemies were laying dead on the cold, wet ground, Y/N sighed, throwing the guns to the ground, sighing and staring at the carnage with the eyes of a dead fish.

Alfie nodded to himself, pissed off at the mess that just had to happen, a week before they were going to sail to a better place, without either of them having to bloody their hands anymore, just like now.

“Well, Ollie’s got them all, so we’re good now. The sooner we finish the preparations, the better. Let’s hope Changretta the Bitch gets blown up...I should go check on Cyril, I’m sure he got scared by the gunshots.” Y/N sighed, patting him on the shoulder before turning on her heels to leave, and yet, Alfie motioned to Ollie to clear the mess, and then followed her back to their room, watching her cuddle with the beautiful dog. “Are you alright, Y/N?” Alfie asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching to stroke her hair, only for Cyril to reach to get his head pet instead. “Aw, Cyril...You’re the cutest baby ever. And...I will be, Alfie. I will be. Soon...Once we leave, I will be. Until then, I’m happy spending my time with you and Cyril. It relaxes me...And it makes me happy. WE are happy.” she reached out her hand, holding his, intertwining their fingers together and leading him to lay on his side, with the dog between them, like they were a family. “Well, darling, it’s just a few days longer, and we’re out of here, right. And we’ll be a family, like you want, and by the shore, there’re no more gunshots, right, so, we can learn how to swim, and we can mess with this slobbery bastard, and I can teach you how to bake other things. I heard the waves and the salty air help you sleep better. Ain’t that just fucking perfect, eh?” Alfie gave her a sweet smile, and laid there, with her, relaxing. “Sounds amazing, Alfie. I can’t wait for Margate, then. Just you, and me, and Cyril...And maybe Ollie too, y’know, that guy makes the best tea, ain’t gonna lie.” she giggled, squeezing his hand lovingly. “Aye, it’s gonna be great. And, we can travel wherever you want, whenever you want. Any country, any city, any date. You pick, we go. Sounds good?” Alfie asked, smiling tenderly at her excitement, happy that she wasn’t stuck on the previous blood bath. “Yeah, it sounds perfect. As long as we’re together, everything is better.”

[nebraska-is-a-myth]

Who lives and who dies - Part 11

Angst, nothing but angst here, sorry folks but no soft hugs today. Slight trigger warning for self sacrificing thoughts and lots of mentions of death so make sure you take care of yourself when reading. Slight title changes to the previous chapter might be made because this chapter, the previous chapter, and the next chapter are going to be sort of a 3 parter. Also all relationships in this are strictly platonic unless I specify otherwise. Comments and asks are always welcome :)

Masterlist 

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“Four, Five, Six.”

Dream doesn't want this. He can't kill Tommy, he can't. Despite the young boy's protests, Tommy’s only a child, he’s got his whole life ahead of him. He’s supposed to grow up and go to college and have a good fucking life away from all of this violence and chaos. He’s supposed to have a family and a home and find somewhere where he feels like he belongs, because god knows Dream wants those things. He wants to have a life that isn't threatened by someone elses greed or power hungry revenge plots. He wants to have a home for him and his cat where he can watch movies and grow plants and not have to worry about being shot in his sleep. He wants friends that care more about his well being than what bank they're going to rob next. He wants to go back to before any of this ever happened, when sapnap was kinder and didn’t carry a gun with him every time he left the apartment, when George and him would sit up on the roof until 3am stargazing and talking about George's dream to become a streamer. But now he feels like those people he knew are gone, replaced with violent and destructive tyrants that he can't even recognise.

Dream wants to turn around and give Tommy the biggest hug, he wants to comfort his friend brother and just let Sapnap and George rip him to shreds with their bullets and words. He wants to choose Tommy, he wants to punch George in the face and scream at him for hurting someone he considered family.

But wasn't George his family at some point?

It feels like a lifetime ago, but he knows that they are supposed to be close, closer than they have been in months. The stress and pressure forced a divide between all three of them, with dream on one side and George and sapnap on the other. They haven't had a proper conversation that didn't end in a fight in weeks, let alone actually be nice to one another. Dream can barely remember the last time any of them said they loved one another.

No, that's a lie.

Dream remembers the night perfectly, he thinks about it every time he storms off from another one of his and Georges fights. All three of them were together, sat in a comfortable silence with bellies full of fast food and blankets draped lazily over themselves. Dream is sat in the middle of the other two boys after a super intense pillow fight that Dream had been forced to put a stop to. Sapnap has his feet in Dreams lap, his head is rolled back and every now and again little snores escape from his mouth. George jokes about how much of a child Sapnap is and it makes Dream chuckle. They sit in silence for a while, just letting the movie George chose entertain them for a while. George's head sets itself on Dreams shoulder and Dream shuffles so he can lean into George more. 

“I’m tired.”

Dream laughs and tugs the blanket he and George are sharing further up their body's.

“Go to sleep then stupid.”

George minorly attacks Dream for the comment, but it’s a very lazy attempt.

“Don't wanna.”

“Go to sleep George.”

“Fiiiiiiiiine, goodnight Dream, Love you”

“Love you two moron, g’night.”

George moves slightly so he can get more comfortable before raising his voice slightly.

“Love you sapnap.”

Sapnap gives a small snore in response and the two boys fall into a hushed fit of laughter.

But as Dream looks at his best friend ( Can he even call him that anymore ) he doesn't even know who he’s looking at anymore. Sure maybe Sapnap was always a bit unhinged, a bit too trigger happy, but when everything's said and done, when everyone goes home and tries to pretend that life is normal for a short while, Sapnap takes off the mask ( Quite literally ) and Dream can see that he’s still the same Sapnap underneath it all. But as he looks at George, he can only see his own reflection in the tainted glass of his goggles. Maybe this is God mocking him for what his friend has become. Maybe this is his fault, his fault he dragged George into his own twisted fantasies. Who was he to catapult an innocent person into this life, George had barely even learnt how to shoot a gun on their first heist. He wishes he had just let George stick to hacking, there was no need to bring him into the limelight. He could have stopped this. He could have stopped George from becoming this monster. He could have

Fuck

Dream considers what would happen if he just let Tommy kill him. Sure he would be dead, but other than that was there really a downside? It sounds so morbid when he thinks about it, in any other circumstance maybe he would be worried about his self sacrificing behavior, but maybe this was just what he had to do. If Tommy shot him and he died, then yeah Tommy would be devastated, he would be sad for a while but at least he would be safe. The boy would finally have a home, somewhere he could be safe. He thinks he trusts Wilbur enough to take care of Tommy, he’s done okay so far in Dreams books anyway. Who knows, maybe one day Techno would return and put a stop to all of this nonsense, he would scoop Tommy up and take him away from all this, away from this wretched place. 

But he knows that’s just a fantasy. He doubts George would just willingly give the l’manburgians the eastside, if he thought George would have been that kind then Dream would have stepped down a long time ago.

Fuck why is this so hard

He should let Tommy kill him. It’s the easiest option, he can't kill Tommy, he doesn't want to. Nothing will be fixed if the kid is dead. So why is he hesitating? Maybe it’s because he knows that no matter what he does, Tommy will be hurt. If Dream dies George will take over and make everybody's lives a living hell, Tommy will most likely be killed anyway and all of his friends will either follow down the same path or be run out of their homes with a target on all of their heads. Maybe, if he...

Shit

Maybe if he did kill Tommy, he could make it up to the kid some way. He could make sure his friends are taken care of, make sure George doesn't go anywhere near them, give them independence. He could make sure Tubbo grows up to be smart and make something of himself, if he wanted to go to college then Dream could fund it, make sure he went to the best school, or whichever one Tubbo liked best. He could help Wilbur with his music career, Tommy said he had always wanted to become a musician, so maybe he could rent out one of those fancy recording studios people like The Beatles had. He could help Fundy when he gets into trouble coding and help Eret set up an lgbt youth center or something like that. He could bring Tommy flowers every other day, and then every weekend if he really couldn't make it. Maybe he could get a bouquet of some of those wildflowers he said were pretty when they went out adventuring that one time. 

What the hell is he talking about

This is insane

He needs to focus

Come on dream, focus

“Seven, eight, nine.”

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It’s almost sunset and Tommy is barely thirteen. He hasn't had a warm meal in weeks, not that anybody else knows that, but the glowing light on his face makes him feel full. It’s nice being away from the city like this, just looking out across fields of wildflowers and long grass that makes his nose itch. Nobody knows he’s out here, but then again is there really anyone out there to care? Maybe he’s just destined to be alone, to roam through places like this and drift off into the wilderness never to be seen again. If every moment was like this one then maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if it were then at least he wouldn't be so pale. 

He sits there for a while, just letting the light blanket his body. It's...calming. Tommy misses this. What he misses exactly he’s not sure of, but the feeling of being embraced makes him nostalgic, and it hits him with a wave of overwhelming sadness. The saying ‘Tommyinnit doesn't cry’ is rarely actually the truth. He misses being around people, actual people that don't want to try and mug him or steal his spot in the alley with the least rats. Sure maybe he speaks to Technoblade every now and again, but it's not like the anarchist actually cares about him. Tommy only speaks to Techno when he wants something from him, like if he needs the blond to squeeze into small spaces or spray paint some symbols on a corporate building. Tommy always gets a cut of whatever profits they make that day and then he gets to sleep in a warm bed at the shitty motel for a day or two. It’s fine though, like he said, maybe he’s just destined to be alone. He basks in the light for a little while longer, until suddenly theirs a voice behind him

“It’s late.”

Shit, shit, shit.

Tommy quickly wipes away his tears and hunches over on himself.

“Uh yeah um, I guess I lost track of time.”

“Do you even know what time it is?”

“Uh yeah it's like seven ish.”

“Nine.”

Nine! Shit, all the god spots by the fast food place are bound to be taken by now.

“Shouldn't you be getting home.”

Home, what even is home anymore. The alleyway sure doesn't feel like home. But what else has he got. Phil probably hates him by now, he took that home for granted. None of the other foster families before that had even come close to becoming a home, and he can barely remember what life with his parents was like. So what is home?

“Tommy.”

“Oh uh, yeah sorry Technoblade. I’ll just be going now.”

Tommy gets up to leave but Techno grabs his arm firmly and holds him in place.

“About today.”

He's going to get shouted at, he can feel it. It was his fault they almost got caught, he just couldn't shoot that man. He’d never been in the action directly before, only ever doing menial tasks from the sidelines. But today Techno wanted help in the field and who was he to say no to the blade. It was his fault, he couldn't kill someone and now Techno is going to abandon him and he’s going to starve to death in the shittiest fucking alleyway know to man.

“It's okay if you're not ready.”

“What?”

“It's okay if you're not ready to kill people yet.”

“I- It is?”

“It’s okay to not want to kill people Tommy, but sometimes you don't always have that choice. When the moment comes, and it will come one day, you have to decide in that moment who lives and who dies, you or them."

"W-what if I don't want to die."

"Then make sure the other person does."

Tommy waits for a while, and lets a breath escape from his lips. Maybe there's still time to find a good spot for tonight, if he leave now he can-

“Now come on, I’m making pasta.”

Technoblade turns to leave and Tommy just stands in place, his mouth agape and eyes wide.

“Hurry up child before I change my mind.”

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Tommy gets a warm meal and comfy bed that night, and the night after that, and the night after that, and every night leading up to his sixteenth birthday before there's no one left to cook him pasta or pay rent. Before he meets the next criminal willing to give him a home and keep him safe, before he finds friends and a family and a home. Then someone else cooks him pasta and keeps him company, until he starts a war and gets people killed and all of a sudden Tommy realises that the moment Technoblade had warned him of was coming to a head. 

He has to decide in this moment who lives and who dies, him or dream

And he has to do it now.

“Ten paces, Fire!”

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s notes: It's 2 am and I've been furiously typing this away while chugging some coffee, so please excuse the errors if you find some. It's already February 14 where I am, so Happy Valentine's Day, have some filth.

VII

desire, I'm hungry / I hope you feed me / how do you want me, how do you want me?

Yamane had all the opportunities to examine her nebulous, twisted feelings for the tattooed militant; she just never took them. She avoided confronting the feeling. Now, a Heart game of all things is forcing her to face the ugly truth.

Or perhaps, she should have expected it from a Heart game. She experienced firsthand how terrible they can be, after all.

Yamane never really told anyone about what she felt about Last Boss. There are rumors circulating in the Beach about trysts between them because of her little visits after games, but neither gave away any substantial hints. The only way for anyone to know about Yamane’s feelings was if they heard her moan his name in one of the nights that she spent pleasuring herself.

It’s also suspicious that their fellow players are either couples or people who have feelings for each other. Whoever designed these games knew the players intimately.

They’re all being watched.

And now, these people wanted to watch how they would act in a scenario that involves possibly hurting the person they desired the most.

Yamane locks eyes with Last Boss, and she can't read him at all. His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t fight against the restraints. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for her to make a move, or just waiting for her time to run out.

“Two minutes remaining.”

At the warning, Yamane stops pondering about the nature of the game, and starts panicking.

She had considered taking the gun and shooting him somewhere that won’t kill him, but she doesn’t really know how to use firearms properly. Shooting him in the arm would run the risk of shooting him in the chest, and shooting him in the leg would doom him in future games. Either way, he might end up dead.

Yamane said she would kill to survive, but can she kill him? She’d be lying to herself if she said that she didn’t get attached. This newfound hesitation is precisely the reason why she used to play the games alone.

“Of all people to get attached to,” she thinks. “Why you?”

Desperate, Yamane pulls at her hair and screams, despair overtaking her.

Finally, Last Boss says something.

“Yamaneko.”

Yamane turns to him, her eyes wet with tears and her eyeliner running down her cheeks.

“Whether it’s you or me, when all is done, we’ll simply return to the soil. I’m thankful for this world. You should be too.”

Wiping the tears that blurs her vision, Yamane regards him for a moment. Last Boss continues to surprise her with every interaction; she never expected such wisdom from him. Perhaps this outlook is what made him a powerful player in the Beach.

Last Boss will live his life in the borderland to the fullest, literally carving his path away, until his time runs out.

But Yamane wants to be a part of that, and it’s too early for it to end now.

“No. Wait. I can figure this out,” she sniffles, fingers tangling through her hair.

He doesn’t say anything else to her.

Yamane strains herself to think. In her last Heart game, the rules were written in such a way to make players believe that they will have to spill blood by killing someone, when medical implements around them would suggest that players only needed to spill a portion of their blood. She looks to the X-cross for clues, but fails to find any hints.

Her eyes flick to the gun in front of her, and she grabs it. There must be something about the gun she can figure out. She runs her thumb against the arrow engraved on the side, and her mind wanders back to the time she and Mai went to an archery range. The instructor scolded her for pulling the bow when it’s not loaded.

At the memory, everything in Yamane’s head clicks into place.

Yamane aims the gun upwards, and unloads all of the bullets to the ceiling.

The sobbing girls look at her in surprise, then Yamane points the gun to Last Boss. Unsure if her plan would work, Yamane spills everything that’s in her heart.

“Last Boss, I’ve only known you for a little while, and truth be told, I was terrified of you when you and Niragi came to my apartment. I expected the two of you to rape or kill me on that day, but you two brought me someplace where I can thrive. There is nothing expected of me here except for playing the games. I am free to be who I am without repercussions from society.”

The tattooed militant’s eyes flick towards her, interest piqued.

“One minute remaining.”

“There’s nothing waiting for me in the real world. My family and friends all turned their backs on me. As fucked up as it sounds, when I’m in the Beach, when I’m with you, I feel like I finally belong somewhere. In this new world, I felt accepted for the first time. My new life has only just begun. So please, I don’t want this to be the end for either of us. I don’t want my time with you to run out yet.”

Now, Last Boss is giving her his full attention.

“Thirty seconds remaining.”

“I’ve come to appreciate you. I- I prefer your presence to Niragi’s too. When you entertained my request to instruct me on how to kill someone painlessly, you didn’t think twice before sharing what you knew. You were tracing the vulnerable points of my body, and your touch felt too damn good. When you came behind me to guide me, I wanted more of your touch. You’re in my head when I- I...”

Yamane begins to stutter.

“Ten seconds remaining.”

She’s saying too much.

“What I want to say is I want you! So please, accept my feelings!”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Yamane pulls the trigger, and waits for the end.

Just in case a laser comes firing at her skull if the plan didn’t work, at least she’d die with no unfinished business.

But the laser never came.

“Game Clear. Congratulations!”

The restraints on the X-cross release, and Rina runs over to catch Hiro’s body before it hits the ground, sobbing and hiccupping the entire time. Last Boss lands on his feet, and he rubs his wrists as he looks at Yamane’s disbelieving expression. The girl that Daisuke was kissing in the backseat barges towards Yamane and slapped her hard enough for her to tumble backwards.

“Why?! Why couldn’t you have told Daisuke the solution? Now he’s dead!”

Yamane, still in shock, could only laugh at the girl’s face, still surprised that her plan worked. The girl raises her hand again, but long, thin fingers grab her arm. Last Boss tears her away from his fellow militant, and drives his sword through her heart.

Rina screams, still holding on to Hiro’s dead body, and the girl’s body slumps to the ground.

Panting, Yamane looks to Last Boss, who sheaths his sword, then to the girl he just killed. She felt nothing. Legs shaking, she tries to walk, but her knees fail her. To her surprise, Last Boss grabs her, not letting her fall.

“Let’s get out of here,” Yamane whispers, and they turn around to leave.

But before they can walk out of the room, Rina calls out to them.

“Wait,” she cries, voice trembling. “How- how did you figure out the solution?”

Yamane looks at her, heart heavy as she watches her cradle the dead boy, then looks away. “I figured that the game is made specially for people who either have sexual or romantic tension, or are already together. Whoever came up with this game wanted to see the dilemma of whether one would shoot the other to survive, or sacrifice themselves for the person they desired. The rules didn’t say anything about firing the gun while it’s loaded, though. Heart games tend to have loopholes you can abuse, if you think hard enough,” she explains, unable to look at the grieving girl as she did.

Rina sniffles. “All this time, I could’ve avoided killing Hiro? Oh, God, what have I done? I killed him...”

“Heart games have a way of doing that to you, kid. I was lucky enough to play with someone who knew how to handle them a while back. I’m sorry.”

When Rina didn’t respond and buried her face in Hiro’s neck to grieve, Yamane turned to Last Boss once again. “Let’s leave her to grieve. We need to get back.”

Her fellow militant nodded, and wordlessly followed her out. The circular white table with a Nine of Hearts card is waiting for them outside, and Yamane tucks it away in her jacket. She was more than ready to leave this place, but one hand pulls at her forearm, spinning her around, and another grabs her other arm, pinning her against the wall.

The tattooed militant is looking at her with intensity that punched the air out of her lungs, just like the first time she made eye contact with him during their first game together.

“All those things you said, are they true?” he asks her. He gives her a pleading look, one that is searching her for answers.

Yamane nods. “I wouldn’t be alive if I was lying.”

Pausing, her eyes flick towards Last Boss’ lips, and she gulps. “Please, just kiss me already,” she whispers, looking him in the eye.

Trembling lips that are too soft for a man so rough claimed hers, and Yamane’s eyes fluttered shut, sinking into the kiss.

Soon, the kiss became more desperate. Yamane slips her tongue in his mouth, and he lets out an involuntary groan, hips bucking into her as they shared the sloppy kiss. She rakes her fingers down his back, through the fabric of his hoodie, and it only spurred him on.

He tears away for air, and looks at her with wide, hungry eyes, like a tiger’s. Yamane only needed one look at his flushed face to know that this was his first one, and he wanted more. She didn’t dare to say anything that will embarrass him, though.

“Takatora,” he mumbles, still pressed against her.

“Huh?”

“My name is Takatora. Use it when it’s just the two of us,” he says to her, voice low. Yamane nods, and she kisses him again. Under her bikini top, her nipples are starting to pebble, and the fire in her loins is almost unbearable.

As they break the kiss, Yamane breathlessly sighs his name. “Takatora. Heh. How befitting. I always thought you looked like a tiger.”

His shaking hands clamp over the globes of her behind, and he grinds against her, his movements inexperienced but still arousing, nonetheless.

Then, Yamane hears movement from the room where the game took place.

“Let’s continue this at the Beach,” she whispers, and she grabs Takatora by the hand, leading him outside the hotel. He gets in the passenger’s seat, while Yamane drives. On the way back, his hand is on her pale thigh the entire time, squeezing and kneading like a damn cat. The wildcat’s heart is racing, driving like a madwoman so they can get to her bed sooner.

Upon arrival, they converge with their fellow militants at the entrance. The survivors of the games go to the Hatter’s meeting room and turn in their cards one by one. All this time, people were staring at the two of them. Yamane realizes too late that her lipstick has stained Last Boss’ mouth. Fortunately, no one said anything about it.

Until Niragi arrived, that is.

“What the hell is that on you?” he asks, coming in for a closer inspection. Yamane leans over to look at Niragi, her eyeliner running down her face and her lipstick smeared.

Niragi puts two and two together and gives them a wicked grin. “So you made a move after all,” he says to Last Boss, and slaps his back.

As Niragi strolls away, Yamane gives Last Boss a questioning look.

“I told him to stay away from you,” he droned, and Yamane’s eyebrows perk up in surprise.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted you to myself,” the taller militant replies, turning to look at her.

Before Yamane could say anything else, it was their turn to surrender their card. Yamane holds up the Nine of Hearts, and the collector’s eyes widen, while his buddy comes running to the Hatter.

Soon, Hatter joins the fray, and when he sees the value of the card Yamane and Last Boss had on them, he breaks out into a grin, taking it from Yamane’s little fingers and holding it up. “A Nine of Hearts!” he exclaims, walking around the room. As onlookers are whispering amongst themselves, Aguni steps closer to see what the excitement was about.

Hatter turns to the militia’s chief, and breaks out into a laugh. “Aguni, I didn’t expect your people to bring me a high-value Heart card, of all things.”

The Beach’s number one then turns to the two militants, a mad glint in his eye. “You two, thank you, thank you! I’ll move your ranks higher as my show of gratitude.”

One of the executives stepped closer, a woman with straight bangs and long hair. “My my, one of these days you two will have to tell me how you cleared such a game,” she comments, eyeing the card with a wide grin. It’s Mira Kano, resident number seven. Heart specialist.

“Yamane, isn’t it? First you cleared a Five of Hearts with your fellow militants without casualties to the Beach, and now you survived a Nine with him. I’m surprised that someone from the militant sect has the makings of a Heart specialist. I won’t forget this,” she croons.

The interaction left Yamane stunned. Her? A Heart specialist. No. If anything, she’s a Spade player. “Sunohara was there to calm everyone down in the Five, and I just got lucky with the Nine.”

As the excitement dies down, Niragi walks over to the pair once more. “So, what did you two do to win the game?”

“I had to confess to whom I found the most desirable and then shoot ‘em,” Yamane replies. Last Boss is looking at his fellow militant with a neutral expression, not bothering to wipe off the lipstick stain off of his face. “Turns out, shooting while the gun isn’t loaded is an option. Two players died because one of them chickened out, and the other shot her crush.”

“So, you’ve got a crush on Last Boss?” Niragi is doing everything he could to make Yamane uncomfortable, and she knows it.

“Actually, yes, I fucking do,” Yamane replies, looking at Niragi with confidence. “I asked him to kiss me after the game,” she hisses. “Oh, and I thought of him while you fucked me,” she adds partially to bruise his inflated ego, and partially because it’s true. “Do you have a problem with that?”

At Yamane’s admission, Niragi laughs at her face. “I fucking knew it. I was tired of you anyway. Have fun with him, Yamaneko.”

Blood boiling as he walked away, Yamane had considered going after him, but Takatora placed a hand on her good shoulder and pulled her closer to him. “That’s just how Niragi is. Let him go. Let’s continue where we left off,” he whispers.

With a cheeky smirk on her lips, Yamane shows her agreement by holding his hand and leading him out the door. They get in the elevator, and as soon as the doors are closed, their hands are all over each other’s bodies.

Small hand trailing down his torso, Yamane palms at his cock, earning her a nip on her lower lip, and he kisses her in a frenzy as she pumps him through his pants. “Suck my tits,” Yamane hisses. His lean arms held her close to him, shaky fingers clawing at her back and undoing the string of her bikini top. Takatora pushes her against the wall, hands grabbing her breasts, and he latches on one of her nipples, tongue eagerly lapping the hardened bud.

Yamane moans, and the elevator door opens, revealing two girls with surprised looks on their faces. The surprise turns into horror when they see the tattoos on Last Boss’ arms, and Yamane’s messy double buns, realizing who they just ran into.

“Are you two just going to stand there, or are you going to move?” Yamane questions them, not even bothering to ask Last Boss to stop. Not a single shred of shame is left in her body.

The girls jump out of the way, and Takatora wraps her legs around him, carrying her off.

“Which door?” he pants against her chest.

“Third one to the left!”

The door swings open, and Takatora kicks it shut as they enter the room. They crash into Yamane’s bed, both panting.

Spindly fingers pull at her bikini top, and Yamane sheds her jacket, tossing it aside. She moans his name as he fondled and sucked at her breasts again, back arching against the mattress. Takatora pauses to kiss her, and she takes this opportunity to flip him over, grinding against him. He looks at her with wide eyes, freezing at the loss of control.

“Relax,” she croons. “First time?”

He makes a small, reluctant nod. “Are you nervous?” she asks again.

He shakes his head. “I take you’re excited then?”

Takatora nods. Relieved, Yamane chuckles. “Then there’s no need for me to hold back.”

Takatora corrupted her by bringing her to the Beach. Now it’s her turn to corrupt him.

After watching the rise and fall of his chest, Yamane leans in and plants a gentle kiss on his eyelid as she pulls his tank top up, then presses her lips to the tattoos on his cheek. She presses another peck on one of his moles, trailing kisses down to his neck, and she hears him growl. Yamane smiles against his skin, lips tracing down his chest and abdomen. Deft fingers unbuckle his belt, and Yamane takes out his cock from its confines.

She swirls her tongue around the tip and Takatora groans, bracing himself against the mattress. After running her tongue from the base all the way to the tip, Yamane encloses her mouth around him, and his hands fly to her hair, both of them grasping her buns.

“Yamaneko,” he hisses, thrusting into her mouth.

Filthy noises fill the room as Yamane continues to suck him, enthusiastic with every bob of her head. The growls and groans he gave her spurred her on, relishing in the way she makes him feel. She ends it with a wet pop, and proceeds to stroke him with her hand while her tongue fondles his balls.

Takatora sounds feral now, grasping and pulling at Yamane’s hair, her buns coming undone. Yamane takes him in her mouth again, and she goes as far as her gag reflex would allow her. Niragi’s cock was thicker, but Takatora’s was longer, and she tried not to choke as she took him all in. She can feel that he’s close.

Hips bucking, it didn’t take long for him to come, and Yamane takes it all in, each spurt painting her tongue white. She sticks her tongue out to show him his load, and swallows every drop. Watching her, he gulps, Adam’s Apple bobbing.

The wildcat had expected the night to end there, content with making her partner come, but the tiger had other plans.

Takatora flips them over, now on top of her once more, and pulls away her skirt and panties. “I’ve read on the internet that women like it when men return the favor,” he mumbles, and dives right between her legs. Yamane gasps, palming at his head through his hoodie. “You’ve read good sources then,” she pants. His tongue made broad, sloppy strokes at her labia, and she squirms at his ministrations, legs in the air.

“There,” she moans, instructing him where to go. “Right at that nub- use a little less pressure- fuck, yes,” she hisses, throwing her head back at the feeling. “You’re a fast learner…”

Her tiger lover pauses, looking at her. “You too, Yamaneko.”

Then, he dives right back in, his saliva and her juices staining the sheets. Yamane encourages him in every step of the way, teaching him how to please her. As Takatora eats her out, he grinds his hips against the mattress, already hard again. Yamane notices it, and smiles.

“Tora,” she pants, and he smirks against her cunt upon hearing the affectionate nickname. “Do you want to fuck me?”

He nods enthusiastically, mouth still against her cunt.

“Fuck me then. Take me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. The tiger kneels, and with no hesitation, he plunges his cock in her dripping cunt.

Yamane screams, pleasure shooting up her spine. Takatora took her brutally, sharp hip bones slamming against the soft flesh of her thighs, leaving red marks as he went. One hand bracing the bed frame, Yamane’s other one reaches down between her legs, finger rubbing her clit furiously as he fucks her. Meanwhile, his hands palmed and squeezed at her breasts, and his growls and groans echoed in the room.

It didn’t take long for her to reach her limit.

“Tora, I’m going to come,” she cries, and he responded by grasping her hips and fucking her like the animal he is. A sharp cry escaped Yamane’s lips as she came, her walls milking his cock, white spots blinding her. Her fingers leave her clit, thoroughly sated, but Takatora isn’t done yet.

Her lover doesn’t stop pumping into her, and it’s becoming unbearable.

“Tora, oh God, it’s too much” she pants, palming at his chest, but he pays her no heed. He flips her over, pushes her head against the mattress, and clamps a hand around her mouth as he penetrated her again. His tongue drags against Yamane’s neck, and his lips planted rough kisses on the fragile skin. She screams against his palm as his wild, uncoordinated thrusts force another orgasm out of her.

“Fuck, is this really his first time?” the wildcat thinks to herself as she comes down from another high. She didn’t expect the night to go this well. From the ache between her legs, it’s almost going too well.

Thankfully, Takatora finally reached his limit as Yamane’s walls milked him again. Spilling his seed deep inside his wildcat’s womb, he bites her shoulder as he comes, hard enough for it to bruise the morning after.

Sweating, panting, he collapses on top of her.

“Mine,” he growls, scooping her into his arms. “Say that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

[omegangrins]

A Rant on the End of Tremors 7: Shrieker Island

As the main man said,

Throwing caution to the wind because this blew up elsewhere.

If you can do it with Justice League, fuck it, let's do it for every shitty movie we've got.

While we're at it, can we change the ending of the 7th Tremors movie so *MAJOR FUCKING SPOILERS* Burt Gummer doesn't die or at least bring Jamie Kennedy back, or Marvel style recast Jon Heder, so he dies saving his son instead of a random-ass person who could have easily saved themselves. Or cut the forced montage of Burt clips at the end so his death is at least ambiguous. Seriously beyond pissed about that one. THAT is no way for him to go.

I would also like to point out that the next Tremors *HAS* to be titled Tremors 8: Ouroboros and bring everyone back for Burt's funeral . Otherwise, what's the fucking point?

I have feelings about it, people. *FEELINGS!!!*

One of my favourite childhood memories is picking out Tremors 2 from the local gas station's movie rentals and forcing my parents to watch it. I was probably 5-6 at the time.

Let's say that it's been a lifelong love affair ever since. It took me another 10 years before I even watched the 1st. Probably why I hold good sequels in such high regard.

I didn't even know about the 1st until it played as a trailer in front of 2 and never thought to watch until years later. That's a testament to its filmmaking if I ever knew one.

So seriously, that's how they chose to kill off one of the most well known and prolific characters in a movie/TV series known around the globe? With an unnecessaryily needed death and a montage of clips from all the other movies that are obviously better than this one.

And I'm saying that as someone who defends Chibnall/13th Doctor...

...and I'm fucking fuming because THIS is how you *actually* destroy something people love and hold dear to their hearts. It's like the ending of Game of Thrones. His shitty ass death has made it a loooooot harder to rewatch. And they are one of my favourite series!!! Not flawless but fun. But I will defend every other movie and all the episodes except this. Honestly I'll still defend 7/8ths of this one as well.

Like I said, it's easily fixed too. Fucking vice versa swap out Jon Heder for Jamie Kennedy, who the movies have been building up for the last two, and have Burt save his son in front of his old flame. Boom, you won't even need the montage of clips cause you can just have Travis and his mom reminisce about Burt instead. Show not tell. I don't even care he died by Graboid (although in all honesty, I've allways wanted El Blanco to take him down or Burt kills himself from the PTSD. It would have AT LEAST MADE SENSE. Hell, the best would be a heart attack to callback Val's "Yeah, Burt, the way you worry, you're gonna have a heart attack before you get a chance to survive World War Three.". But none of us ever get the best death.). And it's not even about Burt sacrificing himself to save a nobody. Cause that could work too. BUT YOU NEED TO BUILD THAT SHIT UP. Not just fucking drop it like it's hot.

Like I said too, the first 7/8ths ain't bad but it's an entirely different story than a swansong for a hero.

It's all about some billionaire scientist/cowboy hunter dude who likes to get his jollies off hunting the biggest and the baddest who ends up inviting people to this island so they can hunt down Super-Graboids he designed for shits and giggles. But then some Shrieker-fy....

And the pretentious douches come and die one by beautiful one while Burt tries to save them anyway and it's all spectacularly dumb fun until it comes crashing down in the final 10 minutes. Fuck, they should just cut the last 10 minutes. Then it's a perfect little Tremors ditty.

#RELEASETHE7THTREMORSWITH10MINUTESFROMTHEENDCUT

This isn't even about Jon Heder either. He's just doing his job. Hell, do what /u/VoiceofRonHoward pointed out.

"It is clear that Jon's character was just pasted in over Jamie's, the artifacts of the father-son relationship are all over it. They should have gone full Marvel and just replaced Jamie with Jon and acted like nothing happened."

CAUSE FUCK YES!! The only time a story sucks is when they don't commit. Commitment makes all the difference. Now, I'm pissed double-pissed they didn't do that instead since Heder and Kennedy are similar in terms of white-boy-ness.

Even Michael Gross agrees:

"Yes, yes. Now I can't presume to speak for Jamie [Kennedy]. My understanding was they asked him and he said no. And so that's why they went with somebody else. So I had nothing to do with that decision. I just heard the stories. I missed him for that reason. You begin a relationship with the character, and you want to continue it....

...As you build a relationship with this son, we had two, it would've been nice to have three, but that was the hand I was dealt."

One of my favourite bits of Tremors lore comes from the 5th too so it's not like I hate sequel changes out of hand:

"This is a warrior dance. Our ancestors hunting the lnkanyamba and the Impundulu.

"What's that?

"Impundulu. It's what you call the Ass Blaster.

"Ass Blaster.

"Yes.

"Yes.

"Hey, you know, you make Ass Blaster sound good.

Primitive cultures fighting Graboids, Shriekers and Assblasters. I just love that thought.

Hilariously, my meta opening to the 8th movie would be a flashback to 10,000 years ago and a Neanderthal-like Burt Gummer teaching others how to drive Graboids off cliffs like they did with mammoths.

Thank you for giving me the space to rant. Cause fuuuuuuhhhhhhhhuuccck!!!

Here's Michael Gross' own words from his AMA that prove the people making Shrieker Island didn't know their shit.

"The Tremors series is one very close to my heart and I want you to know how appreciated your continued effort is for your core fan base.

My only question would be were there ever any studio decisions made for Burt that you refused to comply with? Or was everybody pretty much always on the same page on what to do with the character?

Thanks again for your dedication.

- Josh"

"Thanks for the kind words, Josh. As regards the first four films, with Wilson and Maddock as the writers, we were very much on the same page. 5,6, and 7 were a bit different, because there was a 13-year hiatus between 4 and 5, and we had to refresh our memories while "reinventing" the franchise for a new audience. I will give you one example: in an early draft of Shrieker Island, a new writer wrote a draft where Burt threatened to shoot one of the bad dudes, and I had to tell him—this is true—"Burt never intentionally points his gun at another human being."

And his own thoughts on Burt's "death" and how to bring it all back together again.

Universal and the director [came] to me with this idea, and they said, 'This could be emotionally very powerful, if we have to say goodbye to this man after 30 years. And I hemmed and hawed, and I thought about it a little bit. And I said, 'You're absolutely right about the emotional gut punch this can be.' And I said, 'You're going to hurt a lot of people's feelings.' And I said, 'But I thought this franchise was over after four. So I could certainly live with it being over after seven.'

"What we negotiated -- well, it wasn't really a negotiation, we all agreed on this -- is that we kind of left the door open. >!Because although Burt is gone, we never see a corpse. We never see his remains. Everybody assumes he's gone. Is he buried somewhere? Is he unconscious somewhere? We never see Burt dead. We see Burt gone. We see Burt not returning. What does that mean? Has he been knocked out? Does he have amnesia somewhere? Does he wander off? Is he in a kind of coma? So yes, the way it ends is pretty profound."

"As regards to the end of Tremors 7, let me just say that while people ASSUME Burt is gone, we never see his remains, do we? Just sayin.'

"The only reason he has become the main character is that everyone else in the original cast moved on to other things. I NEVER thought of him as the central figure, but it just worked out that Michael Gross, like Burt Gummer, was a "survivor." :0) "

"No one would like to see it more than I!!! One of my greatest regrets is that so many other cast members fell away over time. Reba was on to other things, Kevin said no to a second, Fred said no to a third. I would LOVE one last go with all of them, but it is not up to me. :0( "

"There are no guarantees, but for those who wonder aloud if this is the final film, I will say what I have said before: SALES drive sequels, Show biz is 5% show and 95% business, so if this latest addition to the Tremors franchise, sells well, [Universal] will follow the money, and Universal Pictures Home Entertainment may will be back for more."

/u/ActorMichaelGross, the bell has been rung and the song sung. Get the producers on this ASAP!!

I was also the first person to discover the symbolic foreshadowing of Stumpy's end with Earl's sleeping bag in the original movie.

Let's just say, I really *really* love these movies. So if anyone knows anyone, hook me up to the producers of this series and I'll Justin Lin in the Fast and Furious out of this shit.

Since I don't think it's good to critique without proposing either, I say we can make up for this fuck up with the next movie. We'll call it Tremors 8: Ouroboros. After the snake which eats its own tail.

We find out Burt faked his death to get the Proudfoot Corporation to let down their guard and when everyone from the previous series comes back for Burt's fake funeral they give him ever loving shit for being such a paranoid whack-job that he would fake his death to fool a government agency. Why would he do this? He found an old photo of Hiram Gummer with a Graboid warning on the back and asks himself why this valley, why these things, why allways me? And we find out, it's not Burt. It's that lifestyles of extremes will end up in places of extremes. Burt and the Graboids are survivors of different species. Sure the Proudfoot Corporation IS using Mixmaster to combine Graboids, Shriekers, and Ass-Blasters into one super creature for the military but it pales in comparison to Burt looking at his life and wondering in shame how many ancient giants like himself he has killed. And with that, he actually dies, and we keep the ball rolling with the rest of the characters trying to stop what they allways thought was just another one of Burt's crazy conspiracies.

That's why it's Ouroboros. Everything comes back around. We could end/start the movie with Grady, Earl, and Jodi opening a Monster World in Perfection Valley a la Desert Jack's Graboid Adventure. I don't know. I'm fucking trying harder than the people they paid to do this already.

It ain't perfect but I'm building on sand here so changes are gonna get made.

Like if the makers of Tremors notice this,

Then DM me because fucking A you guys need some help.

[mochikeiji]

Don't Own Me. [Tanaka/Kiyoko]

Pairing: Tanaka Ryuunosuke x Kiyoko Shimizu

Warnings: Mafia AU! Fem!Dom (yas queen) teeny weeny abuse, married.

a/n: I love Kiyoko's fem power ＼(;´□｀)/ I can only imagine what she'd be like a Mafia and is married with Tanaka— whom we all know is very very protective of her.

GIF is not mine!

Parenthesis is the song lyrics! You Don't Own Me by SAYGRACE

(You don't own me

I'm not just one of your many toys

You don't own me

Don't say I can't go with other boys)

"How many times have I told you to stay out of this meeting, Shimizu."

Tanaka can feel his insides boil as he stood from the dark office Kiyoko owns. Running the mafia group, and organizing meet ups was harder than it looks. The stack of papers on her desk that were once neatly placed, now scattered on the floor when Tanaka took his rage out from them.

"I am only doing my job, Tanaka. And I was summoned by Sugawara, I had my orders. It can't be help."

"And have other men with weapons on the same room as you, and can possibly shoot you at any time?"

He barks, a vain popping from his forehead. The more words Kiyoko was saying, the more he finds himself get angry.

"Tanaka, I am not a maiden in need. I know what their next moves would be, and I know for sure, this argument we are having will not get us anywhere."

Taking a sip from her wine glass, her own dark eyes meeting his possessive, and dangerous ones.

"And it's, Kiyoko san to you, Tanaka."

(And don't tell me what to do

Don't tell me what to say

And please, when I go out with you

Don't put me on display)

Going out with the big ones was always Kiyoko's way of fun. But after meeting Tanaka, he was the fifth party along with them.

Daichi was good at fitting in with the crowd. He was the one mostly in charge of following the targets until they lead them to a less crowded place for a, "intervention".

Sugawara would be hidden in the shadows at night, eliminating people that seemed like threats, as Asahi would be the deadliest, having to have a wickedly innocent smile, fooling many.

And there was Kiyoko, since having experience, she often lures men in with the art of seduction. Strong woman, she didn't need the other three or Tanaka to deal with the mess she's caused. She can easily cut off one's throat, and get away with it without having any suspicion placed on her.

And Tanaka? He wasn't on board of the idea of her seducing men. Bigger men.

"As if in goddamn hell will I allow this."

Sugawara sighs in frustration through his earpiece. This was getting no where again.

"Tanaka, stop."

Kiyoko places a hand on her fuming husband's shoulder, only to be pushed away.

"You better fucking not do this, Shimizu. I'm warning you."

They were inside a warehouse. Sugawara was on guard outside with Asahi. Tanaka being persistent, followed his wife inside. Which led to another lovers quarrel.

"It's my job, Tanaka. And your concern will not be entertained."

She clicks her gun— not even bothering to look behind her, she shoots a man out before he even had the chance.

With his mouth open, Tanaka flinches when he feels the hot tip of the gun underneath his chin. Kiyoko glaring menacingly at her husband.

"And I will not be put in display by my own husband."

(You don't own me

Don't try to change me in any way

You don't own me

Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay)

When you're part of a Mafia, don't expect you'll have a normal, loving relationship. Expect that it'll be fill with the smell of blood, and sex mixed together. A sadist, and a masochists coming out from your bodies, and the art of mastering a murderous look.

"Shimizu, when I married you, I swore that I would protect you with my entire being."

The two couple sat across eachother. Kiyoko on her own personal chair from her office, and Tanaka inform of her.

"And I can't fucking stand it when you go out there recklessly trying to get yourself killed."

Kiyoko would be lying if she said she was getting tired of having someone worry about her. She loves Tanaka. She really does, but this part she was starting to hate.

"Can't you just stay here in your office, and do whatever it is in here. Where it's safe."

Her chair screeching on the floor making Tanaka cringe. Her glass of wine shattering beside her foot as she walks around the table, pushing Tanaka by the chair down.

"You may be my husband."

She traces her fingers down on his chin, his forehead visible with a layer of sweat, the dominating aura of his wife making him submit.

"But I will never be tied down in this room, and I will never change from who I am today."

She quickly pulls back the chair with Tanaka up, the air suddenly punching his chest as he pants, watching Kiyoko open the door before walking out.

"You may be my husband, but I will never be owned by you or anyone."

(I don't tell you what to say

I don't tell you what to do

So just let me be myself

That's all I ask of you)

Kiyoko finds herself being pushed on bed by her husband almost forcefully. Her face was unfazed as Tanaka's glowed in frustration.

"That was a dirty stunt you did out there."

After having another meeting with an opposing gang. Kiyoko was at front row seat during the scene.

As always, men were pigs.

So she had her arms placed on the table, her chest on display as she worked her own seductive matters to get into the other side of the gang.

Everyone was lucky Nishinoya held Tanaka back from shooting the boss of the group from shamelessly staring at her breast like a piece of meat she was.

In the end, Kiyoko manages to hold off her own— when the boss was nearing to her face for a caress, she instantly takes him down on the table, the boys behind her pointing guns as hers pointed on the head.

"Lower your weapons, and I won't shoot him."

Long story short, everyone was freed to go when they gave the sack of cash they promised before.

Now here they were again.

"Did you have any idea what he might've done to you? What I might've done to him? I would've fucking shot him until my bullets run out. Why would would even do that?!"

His voice boomed in their room. Kiyoko was used to him being rowdy, and always having a loud voice, this wasn't bothering her at all. Only his personality.

"It was my job, Tan—"

"A job to be what!? Some kind of whore?!"

Offended, and hurt, she kneed his stomach hard, causing him to fumble in hid position, allowing her to be the one pushing him down on bed, a knee on his chest as she looks down.

"You don't see me do something when you're doing your part. You don't hear me mock you for doing your part, and you certainly don't see me use force force on you."

Each sentence was laced in venom. Kiyoko hated it when she was being called out for something she isn't. She hates how being a woman would always mean she has to have limits and not prove what she was capable of.

She was starting to hate how men like her husband could act this way.

"I never asked you anything, Tanaka."

Cupping cheek with a warm hand, sighing out the built up irritation to avoid getting angry.

"So please, as your wife. Just let me be, as I let you be free."

(I'm young and I love to be young

I'm free and I love to be free

To live my life the way I want

To say and do whatever I please)

Many of the men in their group wonder if their marriage was still stable. If they're relationship was still healthy since almost every after meeting, mission— they'd hear Tanaka's yelling, and some stuff being thrown on the ground. Or sometimes, him being thrown on the ground.

If you ever came across them, you'd would say, "Does Kiyoko really love Tanaka?", "Do you think Tanaka still loves her?"

You could count their marriage as partially abusive. Partially because they don't hurt each other on purpose. And because Tanaka has huge respect for Kiyoko, he will never lay a hand on her the wrong way.

"Kiyoko san, what are we?"

Kiyoko hums as she places her book down in her lap. Tanaka just staring out the window blinds deeply.

"I know we're married, but, do you really love me? Despite everything I do to you."

She stands up, and walks over him. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind.

"I think I should be asking you that, Tanaka."

Placing her chin down on his head, lightly massaging his tensed shoulders, giving him a moment of relaxation.

"I should be saying that because I never really listen to you."

"But you're right about you and owning your life. And I shouldn't be meddling in it."

"Doesn't mean that I don't love you then."

She twists his head to her aide using her fingers, giving him a hot, short kiss— smiling through it before pulling away and looking him seriously in the eyes.

"I love you, Ryuu. But that doesn't mean that you'll ever own me."

[aliensmoothie]

Borderlands: The Broken Mask

pt. 1

word count: 2509

summary: the inciting action

Fiona approached the run-down building. It was just a small shack out in the desert, in a canyon between two orange rock cliff-faces. It was also where she assumed the person who reached out to her was. As she awkwardly stood and debated whether or not she should just enter or knock or something, she heard footsteps approaching and turned around.

"Sasha?"

and there, walking towards her, was her younger sister (and partner in crime), Sasha. Her sister gave her a smile and said, "Good to see you too, Fi."

"What are you doing out here?" Fiona asked, crossing her arms at her sister, trying to contain her smile. It's been a while.

"Well, someone reached out to me. some job?"

"Huh, that's weird…" Fiona trailed off, looking at the shack, "I'm here for a job too."

"huh, yeah, weird coincidence." Sasha conceded.

"Holy shit-" a voice from behind the girls said

"Vaughn???" said the both of them, turning to face the unintimidating bandit lord.

"Sasha, Fiona!" Vaughn said, opening his arms to his friends "Bring it in!"

Sasha and Fiona looked at each other, then back to Vaughn (still holding his arms out). 

As the three friends hugged, Vaughn said "It's been a grip guys, where have you been?"

"Well, it hasn't been that long, right?" Fiona asked. Sasha shook her head.

Vaughn broke from the hug and smiled up at his friends "Yeah, only around a month or something. Still, I've missed you two! I'm not that caught up in bandit lord...ing."

"I've just been taking odd jobs, really, nothing interesting." Sasha shrugged.

"Yeah, same here," Fiona said "but it's good to know that your 'bandit-lording' is still going well"

"Oh like you have a better word for it," Vaughn quipped, "but yeah! The Children of Helios are still together… Albeit in smaller numbers than ever- but still together!"

"So what are you doing here?" Sasha asked, bringing the elephant in the room into focus.

"Oh, I got contact from some guy out here. Said he had a job, and honestly I just needed a break from the stress of bandit life."

"Huh, guess it's almost like old times." Fiona said, evoking a sad smile from her friends. 

It's been about a month since the three saw each other, and maybe that wasn't completely an accident. Every time they get together, even after five years, it's hard not to think about their missing team member. 

When Rhys disappeared, they all searched like crazy, but after a year of it, they had no choice but to assume he was gone. It was the most likely thing at that point. He may have gotten through some crazy shit, but at the end of the day, Rhys was a middle management coder at Hyperion. It's not like he was particularly well-suited for Pandora.

"So, is our employer home or what?" Fiona said, breaking the silence and turning towards the rundown shack.

"I mean, we can probably just go in," Vaughn started, "but maybe we should knock firs-"

Before Vaughn could finish his sentence, someone jumped down from the cliff-face behind the shack, onto the roof. As the figure landed, they saw that it was infamous assassin and vault hunter, Zer0. And as Fiona, Sasha, and Vaughn stood in awe for a moment, they flashed a smiley-face emoticon on their helmet's display.

"Zer0? Did you get a job here too?" Fiona questioned.

Zer0 jumps down from the roof, remaining silent. Fiona had heard it'd been a while since they've said much of anything, really.

Fiona didn't know why she had really expected an answer, but decided to take their silence as a yes, given the circumstances. "Cool, cool…"

Fiona, Sasha, and Vaughn all look at eachother for a moment in puzzlement. Who was this employer, and why did they choose this fucking wild grab bag of a team.

As they turned back to Zer0 to ask them if they knew anything, they saw that they were already attempting to answer the question, and entering the shack.

The three entered after them, and were faced with who they assumed to be their employer. They wore a cyan hoodie, a brown bomber jacket, and (this being their most notable feature) a pink biker's helmet, decorated with a few stickers, and a cyan 'X' spray painted on their left eye, and a cyan 'O' on their right. Behind them, there is a sizable splattering of blood on the wall, just starting to coagulate.

"Well, you're all here." the person said, in a voice distorted and crackled through their helmet, "I'd offer you something to drink but we should probably just leave."

The four paused for a moment, recovering from the slight whiplash of this stranger's lack of niceties.

"Are you uh- Are you our employer?" Vaughn stammered.

"Well, 'employer' isn't really right. But I am the person who contacted you four, yes." the stranger answered.

"Hold on, you're paying us, right?" Fiona asked, one foot practically out the door already.

"No, but my... employers probably will. I can only assume that's what they want with you." the stranger said, walking towards the door, "Now, if you have more questions- and want them answered- you should start walking."

As the stranger left, the four paused once again. Whoever this was, they didn't wait for goddamn anyone. But either they had no other choice, or really just nothing better to do, because all four began to follow them out of the shack.

After walking in silence for a moment, Sasha said, "So… Who exactly are you?"

"My name is Janus," they said.

"Are you going to tell us where we're going, Janus?"

"To my 'employers'" 

"And where are they?"

"Not that far. There's a base near here that we can contact them from." Janus answered calmly, "And in case you were wondering, we don't have to walk all the way there. We should have a ride closeby-"

Just as they finished their sentence, the group spotted what ride Janus was talking about. An only slightly busted bandit technical, parked at the beginning of the canyon. The only issue being, a bandit was indeed in the technical, and as the group approached he began to draw his gun.

"Cool it, Aleks," Janus began "It's me."

And, as soon as the bandit- Aleks- registered Janus, he took a far more friendly disposition. He hopped out of technical, and walked over to Janus to give them a hearty clap on the back, to which they seemed almost completely unfazed (but a little irritated) by.

"Janey! It's good to see ya man! what ya doin out here!" 

"A job."

"Oh really? without any cameras on ya-" the bandit began to say, laughing, but was cut off when he noticed the rest of the group.

"Hold on, did Tyreen send you out to get those four?" the Bandit said softly.

"Yes."

the bandit started inching back to the technical "Shit… uh. let me just uh. make a call on my Echo real quick?"

Janus stared for a moment "We need your car."

Aleks turned back to Janus "whuh- uh, no, dude. the other dudes are still fuckin about, and they told me to watch the te---"

Janus raised their pistol, and without hesitation, shot Aleks clean through the skull. They holstered their gun, and hopped into the technical, with the blood splatter still on it.

Janus looked expectantly at the group, and they reluctantly hopped into the back of the bandit technical.

After driving for a while in awkward silence, Vaughn spoke up, "Was that one of yours?"

"huh?" Janus asked

"The guy you shot, Aleks. Does- did he work with you?"

"Yeah."

"Your uh… employers probably aren't going to be really happy about you shooting him, right?"

"No, I actually think they might be somewhat happy with me."

The group paused in confusion for a moment, until Fiona asked "who exactly are your 'employers'?"

"Tyreen and Troy Calypso of the COV- The Children Of the Vault." Janus answered.

"What do you do there?" 

"I do the same thing as most everyone else. We... entertain, I guess."

The conversation ended there. The pause left before "entertain" was far too unsettling, and nobody wanted to ask them what exactly they meant. 

The technical slowed down as they approached an abandoned Hyperion base. Well, abandoned by Hyperion that is, because in terms of bandits and the like, it was pretty well stocked. 

"This is it. We'll head inside, and we can call The Twins from there." Janus said, hopping out of the technical.

The group walked towards the entrance, which had an uncomfortable amount (read: any) standing near it. None of them seemed to acknowledge the group entering, luckily. It doesn't seem like it would get too violent with Janus with them, but it definitely wouldn't be pleasant.

The continued in through the base, which looked to be in fairly good condition, but heavily… "decorated" by the bandits now occupying it. As they went further in, there seemed to be less bandits mulling about, and they finally entered a room that was completely empty of people. 

It seemed to be some sort of gathering area, covered almost wall to wall in screens of varying sizes, and a large holographic communicator in the middle, to which Janus walked towards.

They punched something into the small keyboard panel on the side, and looked up, waiting for the call to start.

" -oy shut the fuck up i have a call coming in- oh hey, Janey! How's my number one superfan?" Said (who the group could only assume was) Tyreen.

"I got the people you were looking for."

"Always straight to the point Jan, I'll give you that." Tyreen said, turning her attention towards the rest of the group "Wow… You really got all of them! How did you manage that?"

After a moment of Janus not responding, Tyreen glared, but shrugged it off, "Anyways, I have a proposition of sorts for you four."

"What kind of proposition?" Vaughn asked.

"Well, I'm sure Janey over there has told you what we're all about, right?" Tyreen quizzed.

"Uh… They said you. 'Entertain'? Or something?" Sasha said, almost unsure that that was the right answer.

"Exactly!" Tyreen exclaimed, "And we do it with a skillset that suits pandora- and you four- quite well."

"... And what exactly is that?" Fiona asked.

"Bloodshed, gore, murder- we're the bloodiest goddamn streamers on the ECHOnet!"

At that, most of the group took pause. It makes sense that they'd want Zer0, but the rest of them aren't particularly competent murderers.

Tyreen seemed to read their confusion, as she began to explain, "You all had involvement in the opening of the Vault of The Traveller. That's a preeeetty big deal, it was a vault that was known to be wicked elusive, until you and a few others cracked it. We got ahold of most of those 'others' too, but they weren't uhh… too sympathetic to our cause, or whatever."

After a moment of hesitation from the group, Fiona spoke up, "Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but it's a no from me."

"Same here." Sasha said.

"Yeah, I think I'm good." Vaughn agreed, as the group cast glances back at Zer0. If anyone, they'd be the one to say y-

"No." Zer0 said, to everyone's surprise. And seemingly to Tyreen's dissapointment

"Well, I was honestly hoping we'd get one of you on board, at least." Tyreen sighed, "But hey, that's why we got Janus in on it, this time."

"What do you mean?" Fion asked.

"To make sure you guys don't walk out of here." And with that, the door to the room slammed shut, and Tyreen pressed something on her ECHO device, activating all the screens, showing footage of the same room they were all in.

"Hey brothers and sisters! God Queen Tyreen here, and today we got a showdown between Janus, and our four special guests! I'll be commentating over the stream, but I'll hang up and Jan, and leave the rest to them." She said, and the hologram shut down, leaving just the five in the room.

But Janus didn't have their weapons drawn.

In fact, they seemed like they weren't even thinking of fighting the four of them, despite Zer0 already having their sword drawn.

"I hacked the cameras in this room before I left. We don't have long until someone realizes the footage is looping and comes in here." Janus said, turning towards the back wall of the room, "There's a secret door somewhere around here, help me find it."

"Wait, you aren't going to try and kill us?" Sasha asked.

"No. You four would absolutely kill me. I may be the longest surviving person here, but I don't fight Vault Hunters." Janus answered. "Now help me find the door."

The four looked all along the walls, trying to see if there was something behind one of the screens, which were all looping the footage of the five of them standing there.

After a moment of searching, Janus hit a button on one of the screens, and a small panel of the wall opened up, revealing the outside of the building.

As the rest of the group made their way out of the door, the main door to the room opened up, with quite a few bandits on the other side.

"Shit- I got them, just run!" Janus yelled, shoving the rest out of the door, and closing it behind them.

Just a moment passed, and the door opened again, revealing the room, now painted with exploded bandits, and Janus, who seemed just fine as they started to run away from the building.

The group followed them, and they ran through the desert, hearing a crowd of bandits beginning to follow after them.

"Where are we going to go!?" Vaughn yelled.

"I don't know- somewhere away from here!" Janus yelled back.

"You didn't have a plan!?" Fiona snapped.

"I did have a plan!" Janus defended, "But the cameras were the extent of it!"

"Look, there's no way we're outrunning them! can't we just fight them!?" Sasha yelled.

Fiona glanced over her shoulder, "No way, they outnumber us!"

"Alright, fuck this-" Janus said, and then pulled out a gun, "Just try to fire a few shots while you're running!"

The group did so without protest, as it was really the best option, though the only one who landed any actual shots was Zer0.

"If we can find a fast travel station- we should be able to throw them off!" Vaughn yelled, "Get back to the Children of Helios or something!"

"Good idea! I know one nearby!" Janus agreed.

As they kept running, they approached the entrance of what looked like an abandoned desert town, which had a quick travel station right there.

Vaughn was the first to get to it, and he hurriedly started interfacing with it.

"Speed it up, Vaughn!" Fiona hissed, still out of breath.

 "I'm doing my best! I don't use these things alo-"

[phantomphangphucker]

A King For Tonight’s Fentertainment - Chap. 3: The Fright To Defend His Might

Summary:  Danny's just done with all of this shit, seeing as Knights, apparently, don't understand secrets

Quite a few people glare, mostly looking pissed off at the agent. That is until the shot gets batted away by a sword as the Fright Knight lands his steed, Nightmare. Agent G falls to the ground as Nightmare bucks and neighs loudly, Fright Knight bellowing, “YOU DARE TO LAY ARMS AGAINST HIS MAJESTY WHILE GIVEN REFUGE WITHIN HIS LANDS. YOUR KIND HARDLY HAVE PLACE AMONGST HIS DEATHLY SUBJECTS AND ARE BEHOLDEN TO EVEN LESS RIGHTS TO REST WITHIN HIS CLOSER DOMINION. I COMMAND YOU, IN NAME OF THE HIGH GHOST KING, TO REMAIN ROOTED AS YOU ARE, UNTIL SUCH A TIME THAT HIS GRACIOUSNESS RETURNS YOU TO YOUR KEEP”.

Nearly everyone gapes at the large ghosts sudden appearance and booming voice. Those who actually took in what he said are confused and only grow more confused as Danny smiles loosely and straight-up punches the ghost in the arm like he’s some old friend.

“Pfft, ones like them don’t have keeps, you stupid old school knight. Would it kill ya to say “home” or “house” or even just “town”?”, Danny pats imaginary dust off his pants before putting a hand on his hip, pointing at the Fright Knight, “and ‘beholden’? are you even using that right? I mean I guess, sorta. Whatever. Anyway, don’t stab him. Traumatising the bastard ain’t gonna do much. Their nightmare fuel faces and nightmare inducingly incapable ghost hunting abilities will not improve by giving them literal nightmares. I think all this already counts as a frightfully bad time anyway. Add in fearsome in shining armour...wait”, Danny snorts and falls on his ass laughing, “oh my Ancients! You literally just played my knight in shining armour! My prince on his steed! Oh man, that is frighteningly cliche!”.

Danny has a feeling the Fright Knight’s face looks equal parts disgusted and judgemental, with twinklings of amusement, “I do not serve you like that, my highness”. That only serves to make Danny lay on his back laughing, while everyone else watches on utterly slack-jawed, “and here I thought I was granted your servitude to its fullest extent”. The Fright Knight lowers his sword and turns sideways to glance at Danny, “my liege, I’m beginning to be of the mind that you ought grant your kin access to your mind”.

Danny springs up from the ground and makes a show of mock offence, hands on his hips, “ouch, now that was a low blow Frightmare. Very ghostly, I approve”.  While the Fright Knight grumbles about how his highness never calls anyone by their actual names, Agent L goes to shoot at him but gets kicked in the face by Nightmare. Which seems to be enough to shake the crowd out of their stupor.

Maddie goes up and yanks on Danny’s sleeve, trying to pull him away from the ghosts, “young man what are you doing? That is a ghost”. Maddie puts herself between Danny and the Fright Knight, glaring at the Fright Knight, “and how dare you address my son, ghost!”.

Danny groans, at this point he might as well just say fuck it. Sighing, “yeah fuck it”. Danny forms a ghost portal behind himself, the shock of it opening up is enough for Maddie to loosen her grip; easily allowing for Danny to slip inside it. Popping out a second portal right behind the two GIW agents. Danny punches the bent over agent L in the face, smirking devilishly all the while, “heeeeeere’s Danny!”, before twisting to punch agent G in the face; knocking both fully to the ground, again. Danny flips to land in front of them and bends down, perching on his toes, to look down at the two groaning men, “now see, the point of that was to point out that Amity’s getting its ghostly lair of an ass back to the Human Realm via one motherfucking big portal. Like Ancients, this fucker’s gonna be massive. Oh, and getting to punch you white suit scum”.

“The only scum is ectoentities!”.

“Daniel James Fenton!”.

“What the fuck Danny...”.

“Oh my god, Fenturd has ghost powers!”.

“That’s likely the only option, your excellency”.

Danny chuckles as he straightens up, “indeed, this excellencies idea is most excellent”, then rolling his eyes at everyone else, “it’s just manipulation of the Ghost Zones free-floating ectoplasm, don’t get your knickers in a knot. Anyone with my positio-”. Danny gets cut off by Red, wearing her visor again, shouting and pointing aggressively at the air above his head, “GHOST KING!!!”.

Danny sighs as Red comes stomping over to him, though chuckles as she blatantly intentionally steps on one of the downed agents. Danny rubs his neck, “uh yeah, Mr. Unliving Knightmare over here has pointed that out, like, five times”.

“Six, now seven, my Lord”.

The two agents struggle to get up and scoot away from Danny, while Red comes to stand in his face a bit, “WHAT THE HELL! HOW COULD YOU BE A GHOST KING! YOU'RE NOT EVEN DEAD!”. Danny has to bite his tongue to keep from muttering about being halfway there; the chances of Red overhearing him are too great.

Dash crosses his arms and sneers, “Fentoad couldn’t be a king anyway, he’s too scrawny and pathetic”, earning glares from most of the crowd, no one else even willing to entertain the idea that someone who walks up to guns without a care, was pathetic.

The Fright Knight goes to speak but Danny raises a hand to quiet him, “you don’t need to speak, or more likely bellow, for me. Especially at some Highschool bully who’s bark and bite is closer to puppies than to a Rottweiler”, turning to Dash while Red sputters about him commanding a ghost. Danny sticks out his tongue and pulls down one lower eyelid, “you’ve got too small a brain to lead half a pencil stick, lack the courage to take charge of my dad’s fudge supplies, and have the political capabilities of a squirrel that’s been half-drowned in knock-off cheese whiz”, smirking, “you’re hardly the judge of kings. And you’ve hardly got the place to judge one”.

Danny easily hears someone mutter about how Dash is the most dangerous kid at school, not a freaking Chihuahua. Now Danny’s firmly captured everyone’s attention, based on the disbelieving stares he's getting. Though Danny’s pretty sure the Fright Knight is over the moon over Danny’s little verbal display; a full blood red All Hallows’ eve moon but still.

The Fright Knight nods strongly as he pats Nightmare’s flaming mane, “indeed, I agree with his highnesses judge of character”, the Fright Knight turns to Red, “and you, skilled huntress. Of course, I follow my lieges desires, such is the place of any Dread Knight; and infallibly that of the High Dread Knight. Further, I said The High Ghost King, and while his grand eminence may take preference to referring to himself as simply The Ghost King; “High” is part of the title. To show rank beyond all others, the King of Kings”.

Danny sighs, “add there you go, laying it on thick”, Danny walks back over and leans against the Fright Night, who’s crossed his arms and stands stiff. Danny speaks to Red calmly, “regardless, Mr. Walking suit of armour and a creepy level of insight into everyone’s darkest fears, is right. “a” and “the” have two very different meanings”, glancing up at the Fright Knight, “and “High” is just embellishment. Fucking fanciful, unnecessary, extravagant, arguably pretentious; yada yada”.

Maddie shakes herself off and storms up, yanking Danny away from the Fright Knight yet again, “Daniel! What are you doing! You don’t even have on protective gear and-”.

Danny’s loud groan cuts her off and he can tell the Fright Knight is restraining an exasperated sigh, “mom, holy guacamole, dear gods, sweet Ancients. I’m fine, this is fine, everybody here is fine...well except those two idiot agents”, glaring at the agents, who’ve got their guns out again and stand on shaky legs, “who are about thirteen seconds away from me just straight up jacking their guns. And they will certainly not be getting them back without Jack Fenton’s face on them”. Both men cringe and instantly drop their guns, while Danny turns back to Maddie. Sighing at her, “I’m doing something to deal with the twats who caused this bullshit. And-”.

Danny gets cut off by Mr. Lancer, who’s more interested in the art of words than teenage and family bickering, “you keep mentioning ‘Ancients’, you've said it plenty over the years. Where’d that come from? And king, Daniel? I would expect a king to be far more bold and with vaster knowledge...though you’ve shown to be more bold than previously thought”.

The Fright Knight can’t restrain a scoff, one part annoyed, one part amused, and one part impressed, at how little these humans understood his king; which was largely due to his majesty’s skilful secretiveness. Danny smiles fondly, “dear Ancients, sweet Ancients, oh my Ancients, Ancient blessed, etcetera. They’re Ghost Zone terms, similar to ‘oh my god’ and ‘dear god’”. The Fright Knight nods, “quite so. I, however, am not one for such colloquialisms myself. Though many also make such terms of his most high royalties title and name. For, after all, Realms blessed be those under The High Ghost Kings joyous resplendency”.

“Oh come on! Who did Fentoast pay to pull this crap?!?”, Dash cries out and gestures at Danny.

The Fright Knight speaks at Danny, “I’m starting to see where and how you acquired your eccentric naming of everyone by names not of their own”. Danny coughs and gapes, “okay, that is a genuine insult, I’m nothing like that bleach brain fried twat. I’d get more outta eating sporks and footballs than talking to that”.

Dash doesn’t even get a chance to snap back as Red beats him to it, “first off, ew. Second, there’s no way you’re any kind of ghost royalty. I mean Danny, you’re well, you. You’re Danny. Danny Fenton. Ghost hunter protege”.

Maddie nods, grabbing Danny’s shoulder, “yeah sweetie, Fenton’s hunt ghosts. Not lead, that makes no sense”.

“Oh for the love of- goddamnit”, Danny shakes his head, slightly annoyed, “Hunt? No. Fight? Sure. Insult? Definitely. Lead? Yes. Guide? Yup. Aid? Okay. You get the point, maybe”. Danny tilts his head up at the sky, muttering to himself, “how is any of this solving our green goo sky...”.

Maddie puts her hands on her hips, “you being friendly, none the less aiding, a ghost is more of an issue. We’re protected by the shield so it-”. Danny butts in, “my shield”. Maddie nods, “yes sweetie, which while thanks, it is hard to get. But if it takes longer to get home, to Earth, because we’re sorting out this, then so be it”.

Danny chuckles, science and family did always come before safety with his parents. But there was no problem to be sorted out, and she was still too anti-ghost to really accepted this. However, Danny flicks his gaze between his mom and the Fright Knight, muttering, “though if she’s tolerating my second in command, I guess that’s something”.

Maddie and Red both blink at him, Maddie opening her mouth to speak while glaring at the Fright Knight but gets cut off by agent L. “Ok that’s enough of this crap. You’re either playing some strange joke, kid. Or you’re a damn ghost that looks human”.

Danny facepalms, “oh for fucks sake, Ancients give me strength, Realms power cometh, Zone grant deathly lease. Neither”, Danny smirks and digs into his pocket. Pulling out an 'I can’t believe it’s not a ghost' meme sticker and slaps it on his forehead, “you literally said I can’t be a ghost. Literally impossible. Ghosts need to be in the Ghost Zone. I live in Amity, in the Human Realm. Ghosties can’t do that. And also, fuck y’all”. Danny does a dramatic finger snap, allowing his cape, ring, and crown to blink into visibility.

Unsurprisingly the only human who doesn’t jump is Star, who’s wearing the visor. Star blinks, “why’d everyone jump or whatever?”.

Danny chuckles, “take off the visor”.

“Oh”.

[buckysforeverprincess]

What Do You Want From Me? Ch 21

Lance Tucker X Reader

Words: 3369

Warning: Language

A/N: This is the final chapter. There is a short epilogue, but that’s it. Thanks for reading my Lance fic, and I hope you all enjoyed it!

“Did you hear what I said?” You were standing next to him at the kitchen island, trying to go over his schedule for the day. The man's face was distractedly in his phone.  

“Huh, yeah-sorry! Meeting with my agent at eleven, his office. Then I need to swing by that baby store and pick up the stroller that just arrived. After that I need to go grab the last few items on the Christmas list, and...be to the gym by five for the Christmas party for the kids and families. Did I miss anything?” Lance grins at you, but it slowly fades as the look he's getting in return makes him realize he did in fact miss something very important.  

“I said they've scheduled me for tomorrow.”

Lance looks at you surprised, he obviously doesn't know what to say.

“You ok?” You ask.

Lance still hasn't come out of his shock. “Uh-huh. But-um, when did you find this out?” Lance knows you went to the doctors yesterday and thought he would have been told shortly thereafter.

“Doc told me yesterday, and before you get upset, I was going to tell you, but you got tied up in that photo shoot and I was in bed before you got home.”  

Lance nods and accepts that answer, but it still doesn't make him happy. “You could have text me...I would have answered.” Lance now has his arms wrapped around you.

“Oh, no! You're a total fucking diva when you're at a shoot. I was not setting myself up for the brunt of that shit show!” You laugh, and he smiles. He leans in for a quick kiss, and you gladly welcome it now that you officially could.  

“So, here's what I propose. Today's December twenty first. Let me cancel my meeting, and we go do the other things together. Let's spend this last day together before we welcome our children tomorrow.” Lance still has his arms around you, and you melt even further into his touch.

“That sounds like an excellent idea.” You place a quick kiss to his lips and waddle your way into the bathroom getting ready for the day out with Lance.

“Everything ok, baby?”

The two of you had been out for a while and were now having a much needed lunch at your favorite deli. You had been having contractions all morning, but really weren't worried about it. Dr. Tucker said Braxton Hicks was common being this far along, and you were scheduled for delivery tomorrow anyway. All you had to do was make it through the day and be at the hospital at eight am. Nothing to worry about.

“Yeah, just having contractions,” you told him nonchalantly, “I'm good, just hungry and tired.”

Lance scrunched his face, contemplating your answer, but let it go. “Alright. We'll see how you do after you eat. If you're still feeling tired, we're heading home.”

You nod and take a bite of your turkey club. The flavors do not disappoint, and you let out a lewd moan as you swallow it down.  

“Careful, baby,” Lance chuckles, “Those noises are reserved for me in the bedroom. Don't want to make anyone jealous!” He smiles, but you don't. The sandwich suddenly not agreeing with your stomach, and you feel like you could vomit. “You ok?” Lance is a little worried about the look on your face, and he should be. Something just doesn't feel right to you. You may need to go in tonight instead of tomorrow if you keep feeling like this. The pressure in your stomach is too much to handle, and the pain in your back is getting intense.

“Lance...I think-I need to go...to the hospital...now.”

He gets it. Lance jumps up and moves over to your side to help you up. Lance, who under normal circumstances would clean up after himself, but not now he needs to get you to the hospital and lucky for you, his Cadillac is parked right out front.  

Getting you to the hospital is easier said than done. The streets are littered with last minute shoppers and cars everywhere. Lance is loudly cussing, and you start to count how many times he could say ‘fuck’ on the way to your destination. You lost count when the contractions became more intense and shorter, signaling to you that this was active labor and not Braxton Hicks. It looks like Team Tucker was ready to make their debut today.  

You know Lance got you to the hospital. You also know you were taken to labor and delivery. What you don't recall is getting on the gown and onto the bed that would serve as the place you would bring these twins into the world. However, you do know when Lance finally made his way up and into the room, strutting in like he owned the damn place.

“Fucking finally! Where the fuck’ve you been?”

Lance looks at you with a sense of shock and awe. “What the fuck, Y/N! I had to park the car. By the time I was done they’d already brought you up here. Chill out, I got here as fast as I could!” Lance was standing with his hands on his hips, defending himself to you.

“How many phone numbers did ya’ get along the way?” You had no idea where any of this was coming from, but the words were already flowing out like hot lava from a volcano.

“None! See, I'm in love with this crazy woman, who is in labor and even though she's having contractions, she's still using this moment to yell at me for my past issues!” He lets out a sigh, hoping you drop the subject.  

There wasn't time to say anything else before another contraction hit and you were trying to breathe through the pain. You really wanted it to stop but you knew this was a natural part of labor and in the end, everything would be worth it.  

Lance looked at the monitors and back at you with a look of confusion. “Where's her doctor? Are you guys giving her anything for the pain?” He questioned the nurse who was busy preparing the room.

“Anesthesia is on their way, and so is her physician. I expect them both here soon.” The nurse answered as calmly as possible, most likely having dealt with panicked new parents regularly.

Lucky for you, anesthesia came before your doctor, and once that epidural kicked in, you were in an entirely different world. So what if you couldn't feel the bottom half of your body. It greatly reduced the pain, and the irritation of your boyfriend at your side. Lance was becoming increasingly antsy and your contractions were speeding up. You just wanted him to stop being him until these babies made their appearance. After that, you'd take his assholery in spades.

“Sorry I'm late!” You recognized the voice of your very attractive doctor coming into the room and announcing his presence.

“What the fuck?!” Lance stands up, looking directly at the man who's just walked in.

“I could say the same thing!” The two look like they’re about to have a pissing contest right there in the delivery room.

“What are you doing here Drew?” Lance has immediately gone into defensive mode. You're sure his asshole side is about to make an appearance.

“I know you're lacking some very important brain cells, but I thought it'd be obvious given my profession that I'm about to deliver a couple of babies!”

Yep, pissing match has commenced. Dr. Drew successfully throws out the first punch.

“Typical Drew. Always need to have your hands in someone's vagina! Clearly some things never change. This one's off limits, so back the fuck off!” Lance’s arms are now on his chest, dominance strongly asserted.

“I think you got the wrong guy...last time I checked, you're the one who can't keep his dick in his pants. I'm surprised that thing hasn't fallen off yet!”

Ouch burn! Second point goes to the hot as fuck doctor. He obviously came to the gun fight with a fucking AR-15, decimating Lance Tucker.

Lance looks like he's about to go bat shit crazy on the doctor, and all you can do is lay there and watch, fighting through each new contraction as they come closer and closer. Even the nurse is highly entertained by the drama unfolding in the room and shows no signs of interrupting the ongoing cock fight between them. Eventually something has to give, but you're not sure who's going to be the one to stop it.

“Ya know, I'm tired of the self-righteous act you got going on here! Admit it...The only reason you went into this field was because you couldn't get a pussy to save your life. That's the only way you'll ever get your face in one!” Lance yells at the man, and boy, that does not look like the right thing to say.

Dr. Drew gives him a smirk and looks over in your direction. Oh, shit! He looks like the devil and is about to sin twice on Sunday. Something tells you he's about give it to Lance Tucker really good, and fuck all if you're in any position to stop it!

“Is that your girl, Tucker?” The Doctor asks him with all the fuckery and swag he can muster, “Because I just want you to know…I've been all up in her vagina, nice and deep like; showing it no mercy, touching it...like man starved!”

Your mouth dropped open wide, contractions long since forgotten. Dr. Drew just annihilated Lance Tucker, and after doing so, just stood there smiling like a cat that caught the canary.  

Lance looked like he was going to full on punch the man in the face, and you’re pretty sure that's what the balled up fist was going to do, but right as the catastrophic event was about to take place, you were hit with an epic contraction and let out a moan so monstrous, the devil himself would weep at your feet.  

The noise was enough to bring both men out of whatever the hell had been going on between them and shift their focus back on you. You'd been having contractions the entire time these two were at it, so you were almost relieved to not have to hear the two of them duke it out anymore.  

“You want...to tell me... what...the fuck...is going on Tucker?!” You pant out, the pain becoming too much for you to handle.

“Baby,”

“Ms. Y/L/N…” they both say at the exact same time, and you just look at them slightly confused.

“She was talking to me, asshole!” Lance bites back at the doctor, rolling his eyes at him before looking in your direction.  

“Honey….” Lance starts out trying to be as calm as he possibly can through gritted teeth. “This…,” he points to the man standing next to him, “is my older brother, Drew. Drew and his twin brother Dillon are the bane of my existence, and part of the reason I have nothing to do with my family.”

Dr. Tucker scoffs at the younger Tucker, “You're such a drama queen, Lance. You just hate the fact that we don't kiss your rosy red ass! Maybe if you weren't such a bitch all the time and didn't spend your entire life moving from one vagina to the next, you'd actually see we just want what's best for you!” The doctor looks pissed off, having yet again gone off on his brother.

Lance looks as though he has a rebuttal coming, but you seriously have had enough. These two have been arguing nonstop, clearly forgetting why they're here in the first place. Everyone, including the nurse has ignored you on the bed in labor, contractions becoming worse and your cervix fully dilated.  

“Fucking stop!” You were able to yell out before another contraction started. “Whatever the fuck your problem is with each other can be put in a tiny little balloon and shoved so far up both of your asses, a full body cavity search wouldn't find it!” You bellowed from the depths of hell inside you. “Seriously, fuck you both! I'm laying here on a bed with my vagina exposed, which both of you have seen; thanks Dr. Drew for letting me know my children's uncle has been ‘all up in my vagina’…not a fucking picture I need to live with, but you and your brother are good at reminding people just how fucked up their life choices are! Now if the two of you can put your monster cock ass egos to the side for the duration of this labor, I’d like to get out the spawns of Satan that have taken up residence in my body…now!” You we're looking at the men with a new level of intensity, hoping to get on with the matter at hand.

“Yep!”  

“Sorry!” Both men said at the same time, and now it was back to business at hand.

The fight between brothers forgotten and everything prepared and ready to go, you were finally able to push out the babies inside you. Lance was by your side, holding your hand giving you words of encouragement and praise as you pushed out first your daughter, followed by your son, looking identical to the man standing next to you.

“Oh my god!” Lance excitedly exclaimed when his brother placed his son on your belly, “Even through all the gunk, he looks like me!”

You only smiled and looked down at the precious babies you had carried inside of you.

“Just what the world needs, another fucking Tucker!” His brother says sarcastically still between your legs, his job far from over. “However, they're both perfect...and I'm honestly a pretty proud doctor right now. I got to deliver my niece and nephew. Best life moment ever!”  

You look up at Lance giving him a threatening stare, and he rolls his eyes at you. “Uh-Drew?”

The Doctor looks up from his position, “Yeah?” The man looks suspiciously at his younger brother.

“Thanks...and I'm sorry. You-uh, there's no one else I would've wanted to do this.”

“You’re welcome, little brother.”

“So, do we have names?”

Oh yeah! There's a nurse in here and she's taking your daughter to get cleaned up.

“Yes…” You looked up at Lance, who had no idea you had chosen anything for them yet. “London Noelle and Landon Joseph.”

Lance nods in acceptance of the names of his twins. “You giving all our kids names beginning with the letter ‘L’?” He joked.

“Oh, you think this is happening again?” You challenge him. “There is absolutely no way you get in my vagina again, unless there's a ring on my finger and a change in my last name!” Lance gave you a smile and Dr. Tucker gave a laugh.

“Sounds like you better wife her, Lance. Someone needs to keep your ass in check!”

That was so true, he needed someone that wouldn’t put up with his antics. You were probably the only one that would ever be able to handle this man.

“I plan on it, but first…” Lance pulls out his phone and hands it over to his brother who has finished his job in your lady parts, “can you get a picture?”

Drew smiles and takes the phone from his younger brother, “Just so you know, I'm sending it to mom and Dillon.” Lance doesn't put up a fight, just shrugs his shoulders at the older Tucker.  

The nurse had brought London back over all wrapped up and cleaned off, and the both of you decided Landon looked decent enough for a picture. Lance got in close to you and was holding his son while you held your daughter. Drew got a couple of pictures of the four of you and was happy when Lance asked the nurse if she'd mind getting a couple with Drew in them as well. Lance decided those ones would be the ones sent to his family. The pictures of the four of you would be kept private.  

Once everyone was cleaned up, you and the children were taken to another room to rest. Dr. Tucker had said his goodbyes but told you he'd be back to check on you before discharge. It didn't escape your notice how Lance had gone into the hall with his brother and came back some time later, a happy smile across his face.

“He likes you. Matter of fact…,” Lance pulls out his phone, “looks like my mom and Dillon are excited about the additions to the family. They'd like to come see you in the morning, but only if you're feeling up to it.”

You scoff at your boyfriend, “Lance Tucker! You suddenly have a change in heart? Are you welcoming your family back into your life? Are you officially a changed man?” There was sarcasm in your voice with a hint of teasing.

“Yeah, guess the right woman and two amazing children will do that to you,” he bent down and placed a gentle kiss on each of the sleeping twins heads.

“Good, cause I ain't got time for your ego or bull shit. We do this right or not at all, understood?” You question him, and he gives you a nod. “I'm not waiting for you to have an epiphany moment. I've waited too damn long as it is. I want a proposal and a ring, and an actual wedding, real soon! This is a package deal Lance, and it better-”  

You stopped the second Lance pulled out the ring box. “Oh, this was all I had to do to get you to stop talking. All these years and this is all it takes. Guess I should have done this sooner!” You knew he was joking, but oh my god...Lance Tucker was officially taking himself off the market!

He opens the box and there before you, is the most beautiful gold ring you'd ever seen, diamonds sparkling like the night sky.

“Just-yes-now!” He didn't even have to ask, and you couldn’t even form a sentence. Lance hurriedly placed the ring on your finger and leans in for a tender kiss.  

“Merry early Christmas, and happy birthday to our beautiful babies!” Lance wraps you up in a hug, careful not to squish the twins.

“Merry Christmas, Lance. This is the most perfect gift I could have ever asked for. Thank you.” You melted into his embrace.

Lance takes his son from your arms and sits down on the bed with you. “Thank you, Y/N. None of this would have been possible if you hadn't walked into my life. I'll never be able to show you just how much you mean to me. I love you and them, so fucking much and this is only the beginning of our story. There's so much more to come.” You know he sounds ridiculously corny, but you'll take it nonetheless.

Sitting on the bed, you could feel sleep approaching fast, but you could help but look back in your life. Three years ago, you answered a job ad, having no idea you'd be working for Lance Tucker. So much has happened in those years, and many times you had wanted to walk away from his fuckery in hopes of finding something less stressful. But sitting here now, you knew everything you endured was well worth it.  

You finally had the man you had been in love with for years, and the two of you had created the most beautifully, perfect babies. This time there would be a wedding, and you'd celebrate this new beginning with Lance’s mother and brothers, inviting them to all share in your happiness.  

This new chapter in your life was filled with so much hope and promise, and even though there were going to be a few kinks in the road ahead, it would all be worth it.

“I love you, Lance.” You let out, right before you closed your eyes and went to sleep, exhausted from delivering your twins.

It only took three years, but you think you finally figured it out. The only thing Lance had ever really wanted from you…was you, all along.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

OKAY. Buckle up. I got the word file open. For the fantasy space opera. I’ll promise I’ll paste 90% of what makes me go ‘what the yeeted ham?’. I don’t even remember if I ever posted those.

*

“You know, old man, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, if they got a ship with seventy-sixth in its name, they not a crew with a gleaming track record, yeah?”

*

They could even get on a liner flight and be done with this shit trip in two days, not in fucking two weeks. On a ship that doesn’t look like there’s much keeping it together, and is obviously the seventy-sixth of its name.

*

Like ‘it just happened one day’ he blew up a Deadlock shipyard, shot up and grenaded whole regiment of grunts, meleed to death their three psykers, and then dragged him screaming and kicking in the cuffs in his one old man army fashion.

*

“So, uh, you bringing ordnance abroad?” This is gold, Jesse thinks, when Jack rolls his eyes, and points to the rifle at his back, a fucking bitchass piece of a gun that’s almost as long as danu is high.

“Duh? No, that’s my flute, you fucking moron,” he spats out. “But I use it as a blunt weapon.”

*

“You might have been onto something with the seventy sixth in the name,” Jack sighs, feeling the coming headache, as the lift surges upwards.

“Told you so, old man.”

Danu shows him the most universal pangalactic gesture.

*

It’s only two days into the flight that Jack lights his cigarette on entertainment deck just as another ship emerges outside the hull of Murderous Rupert the Seventy-Sixth. His eyes go wide, because he knows that ship and knows they are royally fucked sideways.

*

“There will be serious shit going down very soon, we better get out of the way, and I mean it. Or they will just vaporize us.”

“That bad?”

“Capital warship bad.”

*

Jack hopes that the merry band that flies the Murderous Rupert the Seventy Sixth knows what’s best for them, and just rolls over on their back and starts whimpering for mercy.

*

“No. Absolutely bad idea. Don’t even try, if it’s not his armor, it will be his boyfriend, if neither of them, karma itself will get you.”

“You being stupid or what? He’s unarmed.” The bane of his life whines.

*

“Can’t find a ship that likes me enough not to try to murder me after a flight.”

“That was only once, Jack, and you took Heart on Tara. Lived to tell the tale. And you are not even interfaced, to boot.”

“Well, I died anyway.”

“Yeah, well, I died twice. “

*

Right. Sure as hell. That had to be a joke, because old man wouldn’t spend a day in the military. He spent his days shooting at the military. And gangs. And Talon. And people that might have slightly displeased him. And inanimate objects. Well, Jesse concludes, the old man shoots at everything and anything, if the fancy hits him. Okay, maybe he was in the military once.

*

“Worse, he has karma. Trip him and the next thing you know you walk face first into closing doors. Doesn’t work only on one guy he’s fucking on and off.”

“Oh, for fucks sake, leave Carol out of this.”

“So the off is the state right now.” Jack laughs at the same time as Jesse asks.

“You’re fucking a guy who’s name is Carol?”

*

When they make it to their cabin, Jack groans at the girl clutching sheets to her breast.

“Fuck, Jesse, does it always have to be my bed?”

“Someone has to be having sex in it sometimes. You’re either too old, or celibate,” Jesse snaps at him, while smiling apologetically at the woman. “Jerking off don’t count as sex.”

*

“We just got him on Knight training and they got their little fucking poisoned claws in him.”

“Man, you got problems.” Jesse sums it up.

“I’m upfront with my problems.”

“Any chance they go by the name of Carol, eh?”

*

“Well, if he lets you on one of those ops, you know he doesn’t want to see your fucking face no more.”

“I figure, but he won’t even talk to me now.”

“Jesse, first lesson,” Jack raises the bottle to him, and Jesse sips his own drink. “Alpha Zero has two fucking commanders, and they are not even on speaking terms right now.”

“That seems like a very inefficient way of running the crew. Reckon, there were those Los Muertos once that blew themselves up before we even got there, yeah? Not on speaking terms either.” Jesse grins. They were just casing the joint when it literally went up in flames, and old man literally cackled when he got a wind of what was going on there, sat down, popped a beer and watched the infighting, pausing only to shoot some poor bastard himself. “Don’t know about the fucking, though.”

*

“We had to drop them on a dead planet to let them sort their fucking lover’s quarrel. Was a bad move because apparently that was a fucking foreplay, and hey, we still have everything on the record.” Old man only groans and takes another swig. “But, hey, you both got one upped, Shimadas flattened two outposts and brought down a cruiser during their familial disputes.”

*

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jesse stops them. “You said ‘lover’s quarrel’, you mean he,” points at Jack, who raises his eyes to heavens, “had someone, anyone? I thought he was kinda asexual always.”

“They had their own callsign, it was ‘those two motherfuckers’. There were times you were afraid to open even a frigging cupboard.”

“All perfidious lies.” Jack answers, but there is a weak, wistful smile tugging at his lips that makes Jesse feel slightly bad as old man drinks again. The commander suddenly seems rather willing to drop the subject too.

*

“You punched a god?”

“Eh, it just happened one day.”

“Does everything ‘just happens one day’ to you, old man?”

*

The only thing he manages to notice before there is a fist in his face is an eyepatch.

“Sorry, kid, I thought you were someone else,” the woman says as she steps over him, and goddamn, it seems like it is a new trend forming, people stepping over him.

“Wait, I can e…” Another meaty thud and as he glances over from his (un)comfortable place on the floor, old man hits the wall and then slides down, blood dripping already from a broken lip. She does have a nasty right hook, Jesse concedes.

*

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Ana comes behind them like a fucking shadow and throws her arms over their shoulders. Jesse almost jumps out of his skin, and that certainly ain’t the fear of her right hook speaking, no sir. She ain’t anything to be afraid of, she just packs a mean punch. That’s what Jesse tells himself. Okay, fuck it, the woman kind of terrifies him.

*

Jesse laughs, because to imagine the old man fucking is bizarre in itself, and then, hate-fucking, it implies a show of emotion other than mild annoyance, disappointment or acknowledgement.

“I really love how everyone wants to discuss my sex life,” Jack does sound irritated, but a brief incline of his head says it all to Jesse.

“The fact that you have got none, old man?”

*

“Wait until you see all of her tricks. She’s an active with focus on defense and support, but the things she can do, fucking beautiful.” Ana scoffs. “I wasn’t talking about your daughter, incidentally, so fuck off.”

“Oh, so you don’t think my daughter is beautiful?”

*

“Wowza, old man, when you were younger, you certainly were a catch. I banged chicks with uglier mugs than yours there,” Jesse points at the picture and what comes out of his mouth is so bizarre Jack can’t help, but laugh, strained yet truthful. He’s just tired now, the tension leaving his shoulders. There will be time for other goodbyes.

“I’m… intimately aware of the fact, Jesse, since more than once it took place in my bed.”

“You jealous, that’s all.” The pest pulls himself a chair and sits down, pointing again. “That him?”

*

“Like, hell, it doesn’t,” he gives the little push old man needs to sleep again. He is past being overwhelmed and now it all seems pretty natural. Or neutral. But the big question is… “Like, fuck, what do I do with being second to the imperial throne?”

*

“God damn it, seriously, I don’t want to think about spacetime fuckery that’s involved with them both. The worst thing is they still fuck around with themselves, and I really, really, really would like to avoid fucking Raven playing Death in infirmary to scare the shit out of Gerver again. Then the Shimadas happen, and the older one just falls down to his knees immediately and starts praying. The younger joins in, and the shit is awkward for all present, I think even Raven got uncomfortable, and that fucker is like nothing sticks to me ever usually, because he goes like ‘I was just kidding’, and poofs away.”

*

“You know what he’s talking about?” Jesse looks completely lost at Jack.

“Pretty much. Welcome to the most wretched hive of scum and villainy that just happens to be the strongest arm of Federation’s military. Every day here is straight from holovid novellas your ex-girlfriends watch, Days of our Lives, Alpha Zero edition.”

[mariogman25]

The Great Lakes Marvel Universe Part 1: The Stupendous Spider-Man

Here’s a sort of pitch idea for an alternate universe of the regular marvel universe. It’s been an idea in my head that basically started, inspired by Spider-Verse, “What if I were Spider-Man?”, and it kinda spiraled out from there. The other questions I asked myself were “How can we ground the heroes even further than now?” and “Oh right Great Lakes Avengers are a thing, I wonder if I can sort of flip the script with this?” And so I’ll just kind of pitch ideas out into the ether to see if people are interested.

From “The Middle of Nowhere” Wisconsin, a college-goer is off on science field trip with his class near Milwaukee, let’s call him... Jacob. He isn’t terribly interested due to the whole reason he’s on this trip is he had to take this class to get access to the stuff he really wants to do. He’s not much into deep sciences, he just wants to entertain people, make people happy. 

As he quietly listens to some tunes on the headphones around his neck, we cut to a small Brown Recluse Spider, somehow having found a new home in a small cardboard box in a pile of cardboard boxes that haven’t been touched in a while at this building. Jacob is called over by a nearby scientist, his arms holding a tray of closed chemicals, and asks him to help him by moving these boxes, tired of them being in the way for so long. Jacob, kind as he is, obliges the scientist. Grabbing the base of the cardboard boxes he hefts them up. Inside the small box on top, we see the spider freaking the hell out as it runs the hell out of its box on down onto whatever it’s disturbing it’s home. Jacob doesn’t notice it immediately, the dust making him squint his eyes real tight, he turns to the scientist, looking to where to put them. Suddenly he feels a massive pain in his arm as he drops the boxes. 

And suddenly it’s as if everything is in slow motion. The boxes strike the tray of chemicals, they fly into the air. Jacob looks to his arm, seeing a spider biting him there. As he’s about to scream about it, he sees the glass tubes of chemicals flying towards him as he tries to get out of the way, holding his arm up to defend himself, a glass of something shatters against him in the same arm the spider bit him... and he lets out a horrific shriek. The overwhelming pain in his arm, he sees his arm flesh melting, he falls to the floor. As he writhes and screams bloody murder, he sees the sweatshirt burning away on his forearm, the spider is melting too. Something shifts and it suddenly feels as though his whole body is burning, sitting on some giant that’s also screaming, as you sink further into his flesh... wait, that’s himself... He’s looking at himself from the point of view of the spider. They both continue to scream as Jacob eventually blacks out, getting carted out of building as fast as possible to the hospital.

We cut to a week later, we see Jacob in his room, sitting on his bed at night. He lives with his own parents still, it being the cheapest option and they’re good people. He seems to be mourning the damage to his sweatshirt. It was his favorite sweatshirt... He eventually looks to the scar damage on his arm. It’s rather horrific to look at, but something has been bothering him about it. In the middle of his inner forearm is a perfectly non-scarred area in the shape of a spider. He just sort of assumes it’s a fluke, like the spider that bit him saved that skin from burning, and those visions from it’s perspective and seeing it melt into his flesh were just... pain hallucinations or something... he doesn’t really want to think about that day, the pain in his arm spikes suddenly, as he goes to take his pain meds and head to sleep.

Over the course of many weeks, we see him develop... odd tendencies. He likes hanging out in small corners, his own mind keeps making him think of “Nesting” somewhere, and the idea of eating crickets is suddenly more appetizing to him now then ever before. It all comes to a head, when in the middle of the night, in a tired stupor in a cold sweat, he walks over to his closet, stands in the corner of it, and as if out of instinct, places his hand against the wall and sprays web out of his forearm... right from where the spider scar is... and that snaps him out of his cold stupor and the adrenaline hits him. He jumps backwards... far... unexpectedly far... and high too, considering he sees himself suddenly two feet higher than before and not coming down. He then sees himself sticking to the opposite corner of his closet... on the ceiling. He lets out a yelp and scrambles down from the ceiling and out of his closet, his heart pounding. His father walks in, eyes wide from hearing his son scream... “What the hell was that?!” he exclaimed “Uhuhuh... spider...” Jacob responded hesitantly  “...did the spider bite you...?” his father asked “...nnnooooo?” Jacob responded again, unsure how to say “OK. Be safe, alright?”  “Ok dad. Thanks.”  “Yeah.” His father headed out of the room as Jacob turned around and stared wide eyed at the spider-scar on his arm. ‘What the hell was that?!’

And so we go further into through a montage of what’s going on in Jacob’s life. He experiments with what he can do. The webbing seems to only com from that one arm, but he’s got a few different kinds if he concentrates on it. Stuff like a line, netting, and what he likes to call “armor webbing” were it spreads out along himself, giving him a sort of armor or nest of netting. Unfortunately creating this webbing makes him really hungry, mostly for proteins, and overuse starts draining him of muscle mass. So he tries to be more careful when shooting this stuff or he’ll starve himself really quickly. 

Jacob was never the most... active person. Not exactly ‘in shape’, but he was decently strong. But... something’s at least changed now. He can lift things easily that he struggled with before, he’s gotten faster, as are his reaction times. He can also sort of... tell all what’s around him. Like a sort of echolocation that he doesn’t need to scream for. He also checked recently but he was sure his canine teeth weren’t also that long before... and for some reason those teeth taste really bitter for some reason... ‘I’ll get used to it I guess...’

Eventually he gets back to everyday life, having kept that old sweatshirt for sentimental reasons. He has to wear a sort of arm sock as not to disturb anyone looking at him or disturb himself until the scar eventually fades... hopefully. Jacob has always been a fan of super heroes, going to see all their movies, and while not really reading their comics, at least knew he had something special. He sometimes has avid talks to himself in his head, figuring “OH MY GOD I’M A REAL SUPER HERO!” “Oh god what should I do with this power... I don’t want anyone close to me to die because of this...” and talks of that nature. He definitely kept the whole webbing thing a secret while thinking all this over.

Then his chance came one day. As he was cashiering at the store he worked at, a man pulled a gun on him and shot in the air. He complied for the demands of course, until the man was being led to the safe in the back. Almost as if acting on instinct again, Jacob jumped from the register to the man, punching right in the back of the head, laying him flat on the ground. This eventually earned him both congratulations and also condemnation, saying he was fucking nuts for trying to stop that guy, but good job on knocking him out.

At home Jacob was thinking it over. He was really good at the whole crime fighting thing. He didn’t exactly want to do the whole “power corrupts” thing as he was just too naturally good/paranoid to consider going to commit actual crimes with his power. He started with his costume. He bought a brand new green sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of sunglasses, and went to work Having watched a few movies with an actual costume making sequence, he pulled a few ideas, eventually sewing a pair of mirrored aviators into the “mask” of the costume, along with adding a zipper to the front of the hood to allow for him to take off the costume easily.

He modified a pair of jeans to allow for flexibility, adding sweatpants material to the knees and other parts to allow him to actually move around very acrobatically. He also figured he’d need a pair of gloves so fingerprints won’t be seen, so he went to his dads workshop and grabbed a good pair of cut resistant gloves. One it was all put together in an ensemble, he looked himself in the mirror at home while he was alone. It needed one last thing to really make it all thematic. He bought some black spray paint, made a decent stencil, and got to decorating his costume. He climbed to the top of his home and stood dramatically on the top.

(Art by: https://twitter.com/Thwipthw1p )

“Alright... I can do this... I can do this...”

And so the training montage begins. He gets to figuring out his limits, and how to use his webs. Due to the lack of tall buildings for where he lives, he learns how to swing and travel through the trees of his home.

And so we begin to watch this blossoming super hero come into his own. Let us watch where he finally proves to himself that he’s got what it takes.

It’s a bank robbery in progress in town. The robbers have everyone on the ground and are in the process of emptying the vault. The police have not arrived yet, and some people are crying on the ground. The robbers, 4 of them in total, hear someone shout “OH SHIT” down the hall, near the bathrooms. Thinking they missed someone, they send one guy down there to stop the guy from calling the cops... minutes pass, and the man hasn’t emerged from the bathroom. They start worrying, and they send another guy, gun at the ready, and when he opens the door he screams “WHAT THE FUCK!?”. He sees his friend tied up in a gross webbing cocoon of some sort, on the wall across from the bathroom door. The man tries freeing his friend before he feels a striking pain on the back of his head and he’s out like a light. The last two robbers look at eachother worried when suddenly from around a corner they aren’t looking down, one of the robbers is pulled away by something they can’t see, right out of a horror movie, both of them screaming as one is out of sight. As the last one runs to the man that ran away, suddenly a gunshot rings out and his knee gives out as he screams once again, in pain this time. He sees only a flash of green before a brown boot strikes him in the nose and he’s out like a light as well.

The cops find the robbers all in various states of pain. One man tied up in a sort of cocoon, eyes covered, crying thinking he was going to be eaten by a giant spider. One was stuck to the first man, face slammed into the webbing with a massive bruise on his head from one punch. Another man was stick to the ceiling tied up and hanging there knocked out, and the final man as knocked out cold on the floor, a broken nose and a bullet wound through the leg, that same leg also being bandaged up with webs and stuck to the floor. There was no bullet left at the scene.

Later that day, Jacob ate a really large sandwich to replenish all he lost from the webbing.

We jump further into the future of Jacob’s life. He’s been given an official job by the police department so that he may no longer work at that store he was at before, but he made sure to space out his acceptance of the police job and the quitting of his store job as not to arouse suspicion. They let him wear his costume to keep anonymity when fighting crimes, and he’s learned some useful skills.

In place of the webswinging the other Spider-People have, this Spider-Man can surf on cars and essentially “water-ski” behind speeding cars like an expert. He does eventually figure out a way to stop that from wearing the hell out of his shoes (metal plates for the bottoms of shoes). Though he’s still not wholly confident in his abilities, this spider-man also carries a revolver, for surprises.

(I wonder what villains I’d use in this universe...)

[imaginetonyandbucky]

After coming home from a mission, Bucky is informed that his husband Tony has died...but it's actually some kind of clerical error. All the winteriron h/c! xoxo

Bucky takes a quick glance back behind him and catches the gaze oftwo SHIELD agents.

The agents turn away quickly, continuing their walk, but theirshoulders are tense as they stride the opposite direction as Bucky.

Bucky frowns. It’s the first pair that Bucky has caught givinghim a double-take, but not the first he’s suspected. Some he’d recognized asupper level agents.

...So he’s behind on SHIELD gossip, SHIELD gossip that hassomething to do with him.

He’s only just returned from a mission, two days behind schedule,but he doubts Natasha would be this out of the loop. Especially if she’sconnected to the gossip, like Bucky must be. Maybe she took pity on him sincehis mission had been in the Alaskan mountains - because of course Hydra likedto lurk in cold, out-of-reach places - and texted him the details.

Bucky had already wanted to delay his mission debriefing so hecould finally have a hot shower, and now he’s definitely going to. Bucky takesa right at the next corner to head toward the locker room - to information andcomfort - rather than an agent that will ask Bucky to recount his every thoughtas soon as he left SHIELD.

His thoughts usually ends up following something like: Tony,Tony, shoot enemy agent, punch enemy agent, Tony, aim, fire, aim, fire,download hard drive, Tony, shoot, run, Tony, Tony, Tony, and sometimesBucky recounts his exact thoughts about Tony because it’s entertaining to watchthe agent struggle to retain their composure -  and also give Coulson aheadache when reviewing the paperwork.

Though Coulson’s comment about a sex position Bucky had beenfantasizing about trying had actually turned out to be useful.

(More after the break!)

Bucky doesn’t feel up to messing with SHIELD agents, not yet, butNatasha’s intel and a hot shower would probably improve his mood.

His phone is in his locker, and Bucky powers it back on as heunbuckles his tac gear. Message notifications light up the screen - from Sam(probably insults), from Clint (probably memes), from Tony (probably pictures).

Bucky thumbs open the messages from Natasha, and while her textsare definitely entertaining, they aren’t the type of intel that would haveSHIELD agents giving Bucky double-takes in the hallway. He’s confused, but atleast the pictures from Tony make him smile.

The latest photo is of DUM-E with his dunce cap in the corner ofthe workshop, clinging to his fire extinguisher with a blender of something,most likely non-edible, tipped over at his feet. Bucky can’t wait to hear thestory behind that one.

Then his phone beeps with a voicemail notification.

The door to the locker room opens, and an agent steps in.

“Agent Barnes, you’re needed in Conference Room A34 immediately.”

The voicemail is from Steve, and Bucky’s heart races as he startsit. He lowers the volume to keep it quiet, so quiet only his enhanced hearingwill catch it.

“Hey Buck,” Steve’s voice says. “Call me when you get this. Rightaway, okay?”

Bucky’s stomach drops, followed by a wave of coldness through hisbody.

“...Agent Barnes?”

Bucky takes a controlled breath. He is the Winter Soldier, theex-Fist of Hydra. He will handle whatever situation this is. Even if Steve’stone of voice is sending Bucky’s stomach on a plunge. Steve had beencommanding, terse - and that didn’t mean good news.

He doesn’t acknowledge the agent. Bucky buckles back up histactical vest and grabs the extra handgun he keeps in his locker. Then Buckystrides from the room, the agent walking double-speed to keep up.

Bucky opens his last line of communication and thumbs open hisemail. It hampers his image a bit, but it does mean that anyone in his path hasto dodge out of the way, as Bucky isn’t even looking to make sure that his pathis clear.

Hundreds of unread emails flood his screen - memos and protocolupdates and overdue paperwork notices - but one catches his eye. One in allcaps, bolded, and time-stamped yesterday.

Yesterday, which is the same timestamp as on Steve’s voicemailmessage. Yesterday, which is after his texts. Tony’s text had been three daysago, and Natasha’s two.

URGENT: ACTION REQUESTED, SENSITIVE INFORMATION.

Bucky opens the email and stops cold.

“Agent Barnes?” the agent tailing him pants, pulling up short nextto him.

Bucky isn’t listening. Bucky isn’t breathing.

Bucky can’t even read a sentence, his eyes taking in only snatchesof phrases. Sorry for your loss. Our sincerest condolences. Down in the theline of duty. Mission of sensitive nature. Delay on death certificate. Sign andreturn acknowledgement of gag order. Global security concerns.

Decease of partner.

Bucky’s mind freezes, halts on that thought and can’t move pastit. He’s stuck, looping through that phrase again and again. Decease ofpartner. Decease of partner. Decease of partner.

Decease of… Tony.

Tony, deceased.

Tony… dead.

“Agent Barnes?” the agent prompts again, as everyone else swervesaround them. They are the fixed point in the middle of a busy hallway,receiving looks of curiosity and judgement and on a few agents - agents whomust know - grimaces. Grimaces of sympathy? Maybe. Bucky isn’t sure hecan recognize the emotion and wouldn’t want it even if he did. He doesn’t wantsympathy. He doesn’t want pity, or platitudes, or flowers or whatever else goesalong with… funerals.

Oh God. Tony is dead.

Bucky disappears, leaving the agent in the wake. He races for theconference room, for that all-important ‘debriefing’ in which someone issupposed to be breaking the news to him. Someone who got preempted by an email,a damn email, and there better be some mistake because Tony isnot dead.

Tony is not dead.

Bucky hears voices in the conference room before he reaches it,thanks to the serum.

“You need to take a seat before I pull you from this mission.”

Fury.

“Don’t try that bluff with me, Director. You won’t like how itends.”

Steve.

“I don’t bluff. This is not a mission we go in guns blazing, so Ineed you to sit down and take a breath.”

“I don’t carry guns,” Steve argues, in full on stubborn bastardmode.

“But you know someone who does, and he follows you.”

Bucky bursts into the conference room.

Coulson, the only one currently sitting, swears when he seesBucky’s face. Fury is also there, trench coat whipping behind him as he turnsto Bucky, scowl in place.

“Who told you?” Fury demands.

But Bucky only has eyes for Steve.

“Is it true?”

Steve’s eyes are wide and pained. He looks… sympathetic.Apparently Bucky can identify sympathy on someone’s face.

Steve steps toward Bucky, reaching out. “Buck…”

“Who?” Bucky barks. “How?”

Steve grimaces. “It’s always Hydra.”

Bucky takes a shaky, gasping breath, and then he flees. He hearsSteve shout his name behind him, hears Steve’s footsteps trying to follow him.But Bucky lets his flight instincts take over and Steve didn’t have those,Steve had always been fight.

Bucky loses Steve’s in thirty seconds, and goes off of any SHIELDsurveillance in forty-five.

Bucky has nowhere to run to, he just runs. After he hijacks one ofSHIELD’s helicopters, he simply flies. He disables the tracking sensors andthen just goes in a direction, flying blind.

Tony is gone. He won’t be waiting at home. He won’t smile whenBucky walks through the door. He won’t reach out for a hug, or offer a joke, ortilt his head up for a kiss. Bucky won’t fall asleep next to him, won’t wake upnext to him, won’t… won’t get another minute with Tony ever again.

Bucky won’t be able to sit in the workshop and watch Tony yank thefuture into the present, one experiment at a time. Bucky won’t sit next to Tonyat movie night, teasing Tony about why he hasn’t invented whatever sci-ficontraption is on screen. Bucky won’t walk into the living room only to findthat Tony had shoved all the furniture aside so that Tony could ask him todance - swing band, the polka, disco - anything and everything. Bucky won’twrap his arm around the Iron Man armor and fly with Tony, buzzing the streetsand skimming the skylights and soaring the sky.

Bucky crashes the helicopter, not caring to pay enough attentionto land properly.

He climbs out of the wreckage, already healing, and sinks to hisknees.

Tony is gone.

Four years. They’d had four years together, married for two. Thering finger on Bucky’s left arm had a plate of gold, with Tony wearing hismatching ring around his neck. It hadn’t been enough, not nearly long enough.It never would’ve been, but… four years? After everything they’d been through,only four years of happiness? (Or 3.6 years, really because there had been thatmassive fight right after their first year anniversary)

How many days, how many months, how many years is Bucky supposedto face now, without Tony? Bucky gasps for breath. His tears don’t come, notyet, but soon enough a pinhole will open up in his current wall of numbness,and then he won’t be able to stop.

A streak of light catches his attention, and Bucky leaps to hisfeet when he hears the sound of repulsors.

Rage, a crushing wave of it, overtakes him as he grabs the smallhandgun at his back - the one he’d taken from his locker and is stocked full ofammunition.

It was the Iron Man armor that pulled to stop above Bucky andslowly descended, cautious and wary in a way that Tony never was. SHIELD hadalready put someone else in the suit, in Tony’s suit.

“Bucky… hey,” the suit greets as the armor comes to a halt on theground.

Bucky raised his gun and aimed for the faceplate, right betweenthe eyes.

“Whoa, okay, are we reallygoing to do this?” the person in the armor greets.

Gag order. Global security.Tony Stark’s life and death is a political storm, but for Bucky every bit of itis personal. SHIELD hiding and waiting until they could spin Tony’s death in amanner that benefited them, putting someone else in the suit to do so andsending them after Bucky… Bucky fires.

The bullet hits its mark, ricocheting off the helmet.

“Can we talk about this?” the suit asks, hands held up insurrender. “I mean, if you want a sparring partner we can do that, but if youget hit by a ricochet I’m going to be upset...”

“Get out,” Bucky orders. He fires again, the bullet pingingagainst the suit. “Get out of the suit!”

Bucky aims for the reactor, but he can’t pull the trigger. Even ifit’s not Tony on the other end… Bucky can’t shoot the reactor, not knowing whatit means, what it stands for.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming out, but if you shoot me I will never letit go. Just warning you. I’ll bring it  up during every argument, andit’ll be super annoying, and you’ll be annoyed, but I will keep bringing upthat you shot me if you pull that trigger. So think twice, okay?”

The helmet retracts. The suit opens.

Tony Stark steps out, his eyebrows drawn in concern, his handsraised in surrender.

“Hi,” Tony says, wary. “Come here often?”

“...Tony?” Bucky whispers. He realizes he’s still holding his gun,aiming for Tony’s face, and Bucky lowers his arm.

“No bullet? Awesome, we’re doing great, really great. Let’s keeprolling with that, yeah?”

“Tony,” Bucky croaks out. Something that was going to be ahalf-laugh gets stuck in his throat, then it rips out like a sob. “Tony.”

Bucky struggles to breathe. His body trembles. His body flashes hotand cold and then hot again. Blood and violence he can take, he’s dealt fordecades in that, but this - Tony yanked from him but now back again -has Bucky falling to his knees.

Tony leaps forward, hand outstretched, but he’s not quick enoughto stop Bucky from crashing to the ground. “Baby, you’re scaring me,” Tonyadmits, his eyes wide with concern.

But Tony is now within arm’s reach, and Bucky lets his gun fallfrom numb fingers so that he can reach out and crush Tony to him. He buries hisface in Tony’s shirt, takes in the scent of Tony and workshop and home. He’dalmost lost this. He’d thought he had lost this.

“I’m sorry. I tried to be there. I wanted to, but I didn’t make itand I should’ve. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” Tony says as he cards hisfingers through Bucky’s hair. “We’ll get Zola. We will.”

Bucky leaps to his feet, gun back in hand. “What?” he barks as hecases the horizon. “Zola? He’s alive?” Bucky tips back over into fear,cold and rigid, as he tries to quiet the tremors in his fingertips as heclutches his handgun.

Tony stars at Bucky, brow furrowed. “Didn’t Steve tell you?...Isn’t that why we’re here?” Tony asks, gesturing to the grassy field and theremains of the helicopter.

“They told me you were dead!” Bucky argues. “Was that all a trickfor, for him?”

Bucky’s mind races. Zola. Zola. Bucky remembers him all toowell. Bucky remembers the look in Zola’s eyes after he had first strapped Buckydown onto a table. Zola had been curious, clinical - he hadn’t seen a humanwhen he looked down at Bucky, he’d only seen his next experiment. And thenthere were the memories after the fall, with that second experimentation, thefinishing of the first. The arm, the words, the serum… Bucky wishes he forgetagain, at least that part.

Steve had promised Zola was gone, Zola’s mind erased with thedestruction of those hard drives.

“No! What kind of stupid, idiotic… They told you I was dead?” Tonyyelps. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits, heaving for breath. “Steve said itwas Hydra and then I… left.”

Tony wraps his arms around Bucky, but Bucky can’t take his eyesoff the landscape. What if he’d put Tony in danger, running away from SHIELD,drawing them both out, and Zola is around the bend waiting to make his move?What if Zola is already infiltrating SHIELD, the Tower, as they speak?

“Oh God, honey,” Tony breathes, hugging Bucky tight. “I’m fine.Nothing happened. Fury must have been on something, because seriously what thehell? And Steve just, what, went along with it?”

Bucky swallows and locks the metal joints of his fingers before hewraps the arm around Tony’s waist, so Tony can’t feel the micro-movements thatgive away Bucky’s nerves. “We should… we should get back to the Tower. Moredefensible. Safe,” Bucky mumbles. He can’t get Tony killed. He can’t let Zolaget a finger on Tony.

“Yes, but first there’s a certain Star Spangled Asshole to dealwith,” Tony says as he unwraps one arm from Bucky to grab his phone from hispocket. “Then I’ll move onto Fury. And Coulson. And SHIELD entirely, the bunchof assholes.”

“Tony! Tell me you found him -”

With his enhanced hearing, Bucky doesn’t even have to strain tohear the worry in Steve’s tone.

“Yeah, I found him,” Tony interrupts. “Now shut up and explainyourself, Rogers. Where the hell do you guys get off on telling Bucky that I’mdead?!”

“What?” Steve shouts in reply.

Bucky blinks back tears, the ones that had been building sinceBucky had opened that damn email, as the story untangles and straightens out.Steve had assumed - as had Fury and Coulson - that Bucky’s devastation had beenbecause someone had already spilled the beans that they’d found evidence thatZola still lurked in Hydra’s systems. Bucky’s questions hadn’t specified, andSteve’s answers hadn’t clarified.

That email, that damn email, had been nothing but a mistake. Ittook Coulson to realize that the email should have gone to j.bornes@shield.gov instead of j.barnes@shield.gov. Someone had died, someone on a classified mission, but it hadn’tbeen Tony.

Bucky feels guilt at his relief because now he knows how thatsomeone will feel finding out their partner is dead.

But it’s not Tony.

It’s not Tony, and it’s not that Bucky didn’t know for almosttwenty-four hours. It’s not that Bucky didn’t know because he had been on amission, finishing up stuff for SHIELD, ignorant, while they kept fromhim that his partner was dead. It’s not that Bucky is nothing but a tool, anasset, to be used until his mission is complete.

It’s not Tony who is dead, and Bucky will always be grateful forthat.

“Let’s go home,” Tony suggests, voice soft. He’s kept one hand onBucky the entire time as if Bucky is the one who is going to disappear.

“Please,” Bucky breathes out.

He clings to the Iron Man armor the entire way home, and then toTony the rest of the night.

“I’m here,” Tony promises. It’s as much of a promise as he canmake, futurist as he is. With Zola back in the world, even Bucky isn’t going tomake any promises about always being there for Tony. “I’m still here.”

[darkarfs]

Street Hunter

A film so mired in obscurity it doesn't even have a Wikipedia page. One of several films I own that never even got a bootleg DVD release, and you can probably only watch it if you find a Portuguese subtitled version on Dailymotion, or own the VHS and requisite VCR. Before we dive into this film, I should mention that the only reason I own this movie in the first place is that, around 2010-2011 (a simpler time, really) I became stone-cold obsessed with the career of one Reb Brown. Reb, for the MST3K set, played David Ryder in the South African railing-kill-fest that was Space Mutiny. You know, that guy. Tall, beefy, had all the acting range of an airhorn, looked kind of like a retired football player? He's actually had a storied, odd career, one that traverses a lot of genres and a lot of roles. Mostly, he did Italian knock-offs of movies like Terminator, Predator, Rambo, that sort of thing. A lot, and I mean a LOT of war movies, mostly ones taking place during Vietnam. But then he was also in things like Uncommon Valor with Gene Hackman, the Howling 2: Stirba Werewolf Bitch with Christopher Lee and Sybil Danning, and was actually the first ever Captain America, even before that really goofy one with Matt Salinger in 1990. And for some reason, I was more than entertained by watching him do what he does, and what he tends to do more often than not is...well, yell and fire machine guns into the jungle. He does that...a LOT. And he's in this film! But first, if I may reflect for just a moment. As soon as I put this into the VCR, it gave me the sneak previews of other movies made by the same distributor. I'm not a nostalgia sucker, I don't agree with things being better in the old days. But I genuinely, truly miss these. The previews on DVDs are always for the big blockbuster releases, but the ones on VHS? Who fucking KNEW what you were getting! The previews on B-movie VHS tapes are often how I found the next movie I was gonna watch! Turns out, tho, that the first preview was for the aforementioned 1990 Captain America with Matt Salinger. The 2nd was for a movie I really wanna check out now, though, and it's a ream of unconnected nonsense called the House of Usher, with Oliver Reed! This was before bad movies became that self-aware kind of bad. As a friend of mine once said; anyone can knowingly shit their pants, that's not funny. A person *not realizing* they shit their pants...that's comedy. The hero's name is Logan Blade, a name up there with Snake Plissken and John Matrix for "most action-hero name of all time." Not played by Reb (he's actually the weird, semi-warped villain in this piece), but instead by the late Steve James, who usually ended up playing the hero's sidekick in a lot of movies like this one. And you'd probably recognize ol' Frank Vincent, aka the White-Haired Guy with the Black Eyebrows in Every Movie About the Mafia. The movie starts with a bunch of heavily-armed garbage men raiding a gravesite to steal a mountain of cocaine from a guy’s casket. And they’re led by...John Leguizamo?? Yeahp. That’s him.

The guys kick over a tombstone that is 100% made of styrofoam...(one guy’s foot is all it takes, and I wish I could gif it, because it bounces)

and then are suddenly flanked by a bunch of Italian mobsters. Turns out Leguizamo’s gang are Colombian drug lords, and they’re here to steal the mob’s cocaine from this grave. The Italians have them surrounded, until Luigi’s group is flanked by 7 more dudes, led by...

Ah! There’s my dude. He immediately shouts and he and the goons shoot them all dead. THEN Logan Blade shows up, and I gotta admit, he looks like a seriously legit, badass dude.

You know, you’re kind of destined to become a renegade cop or bounty hunter with a name like Logan Blade. You don’t run into many wedding photographers with that name. He takes out all of Luigi’s goons and takes him in alive, and then maybe the weirdest, most sincerely funny thing about this film to me.

An 80s action movie where the police chief and the renegade bounty hunter...get along great! Like, uncharacteristically well! “Dammit, Blade! The mayor’s been all over my ass about those 6 bodies you left in the cemetery! You’re making my WHOLE department look great! You keep this up, and I’ll promote your ass to lieutenant so fast it’ll make your head spin!” Then we meet Blade’s friend, an avuncular grey-haired guy who may as well say “I’ve reunited with with my wife after 3 years and the guys at the precinct are throwing me a giant retirement party tomorrow” for how quickly and seamlessly he telegraphs the fact that he’s next to die. He calls Blade “paranoid” and insists that he “worries too much.” Gets shot in the next scene, and frees Leguizamo’s character (named Angel, should have mentioned that.) Reb cautions Angel that he should “always follow orders.” Y’see, Reb his basically a mercenary who stone-facedly pines for the days of the greatest generals, your Alexander the Great, your Genghis Khan, your Napoleon. He even tells Angel that “you should be as Philotas was to me, Alexander the Great.” (Alexander the Great had Philotas falsely accused of an assassination attempt and then had him beat to death with fucking rocks. Your references won’t get past me, movie!) Then we get to maybe my favorite scene in the entire movie. The Diablo gang send a crew of 3 guys to assassinate Blade’s girlfriend, which will either make him surrender in terror, or drive him into an insane murder fury.  Now, I have real issues with this in films, when someone kills the girl to get to the guy. Happens in all the big action films where the good guy is muscling in on the rival gangs or the mob or whoever. She’s being held by one guy, and defiantly spits in his friends’ face. My face fell the first time. “Oh, no.” I thought.

He goes to slash her face with a switchblade...

...she ducks, and he accidentally slits the other guy’s throat. She then takes out the one guy with a candle holder, and the third...well, thank God she was using a cast-iron pan to cook...something...when they show up. She throws the hot food in his face and then bashes his head in with the pan. ...my man Reb has not trained these men well.  But it turns out, a cop was on the mafia’s take! (This guy was in one scene, eating a donut, not a single line. You’d never have guessed a man you’d assumed an extra would be working for Don Hermano!)

So they take his girlfriend, and then Blade gives chase...

...in what looks like a 1979 Ford Econoline. Not exactly great for catching bad guys.

...unless he had a fucking HYPERDRIVE installed. What?! Yeah, okay, I’m on board! Blade closes in on the corrupt cop and Reb, who are...where else? A warehouse on the outside of town. Blade brings his dog, a nameless Doberman (he never calls it anything but “boy”) to help the fact that he’s outnumbered. Reb then tells one of the bad guys to “shoot that mutt!” I again braced myself to be disappointed and sad. The bad guy fires three shots and misses with all three as the dog runs away. He turns to Reb. “Sorry, jefe,” he says.

Reb immediately shoots him in the head. Got a genuine laugh out of me. A thing used by the villain 3 times in Sudden Death as a punchline just made me sad. Here, actual laugh. Dunno how these things work, but I imagine it’s a matter of tone. There’s some weird, “what we saw in ‘Nam” undercurrent through the whole movie. It’s what hardened Blade and made him a bounty hunter, but also what made Reb the general-worshipping lunatic merc he ends up being. It’s not but touched on, but I guess it’s as good a theme as any for a hero and a villain in one of these movies. The problem I have with this now...is that the movie ends really anticlimactically. Blade disposes of the goombas and the diablos in basically one fell swoop, and then challenges Reb to a one-on-one fight. He handily whoops Reb’s ass (a little disappointing, seeing how all he does is talk a great big heaping game about how the generals inspired his military tactics and how he fights) and then...leaves. No, really. Blade wins the fight and then leaves Reb behind. Reb goes to find him, but it turns out Blade has, for no reason, a block of C-4. Dunn where he got it. Reb trips over it, and it literally makes a squib-like “PUFF!”

and he falls through what amounts to a perfect square hole he was standing on. Blade essentially set up a trap door for him, and then Reb just stepped on it.  Blade punches Angel, restrains him, and then...the movie just kind of ends.

A movie with a lot of promise, but with an ending I couldn’t help but find flat. But they used by boy Reb real well, and that’s got to account for something. 

[ckcker]

Preparations For a Body That Will Accept Anything

At the 3-story leather bar, I was took with the passing memory of the woman at the suburban street art fair who sold prints of her digital collages which mostly layered closeups of leaves with washed out details of a shiny face or medium shot of a nude body, turned away.  “These are all digital collages made with my original images” she explained.  A lily pad leaf with holes and computerized discoloration was placed over the muscled ass and lower back of a blonde man with his profile clipped in atmospheric glow filters.  I completed the perimeter of her booth, which stood out from the woodworking/practical crafts and cityscape photos on wraparound canvas that dominate these kinds of events. In her space, a nymph-like quality and color palette you might associate with the lives of nymphs predominated, communicating the highest rigor of a paganistic fashion shoot.  She turned to a woman approaching her booth and said “these are all digital collages made with my original images.”  

The 3-story leather bar had its own approach to nature.  Importantly, it was named after an animal, and the animal most critical to the identity of the United States.  Conventional urinals were replaced with a long trough, bringing to mind rustic farm life and the day to day experience of domesticated animals.  High on the priority list of the men filling the space was the task of infinite looking around.  Evaluating a face and body in a swarm of people and occasionally speaking to the face and body evaluated.  This was prime nature: silent looking, but not silent in fact as usually a mouth accentuated the other direction of an eye.  A man approached me leading with his lit phone, “has anyone ever told you you look like him?,” the image of a famous and often arrested young actor on his screen.  “Yes, a few times.”  Being spoken to is obviously less interesting than silent looking in a place like this.  Humans enjoy staring at animals, at vistas, at trees, I won’t accept they abuse with curiosity alone, ahahaha, nature’s voyeur, “I’m gay” I thought, as an older man attempted to place his hand in my pee stream before it reached the piss trough.  Our eyes didn’t meet before I said “no” in the tone of disciplining a pet and jerked my cock away.  I did not want his hand in my pee stream and did not even give myself a chance to think about it.

When I was able to observe it, I observed that my neighbor Rob went out a lot.  I usually preferred to stay in and experienced going out by not moving and then by watching people move for me.  Some part-memorized quote on the longevity of the action movie guided this habit of mine, that action movies remain popular because they convince a viewer’s mind that they themselves are catapulting their bodies then holding a gun sideways, punching a face that deserves it until its new form is noticeable, screaming at an approaching animal villain or rock.  The action movie takes our bodies back to a primeval routine of violent exercise and the bodies react by pretending we did something crucial. My experience of watching men reveal both their well-exercised and freely ignored bodies through a sexual broadcast was equivalent to being in the same room as a TV showing the poorly received 9th season of a popular police drama watched by a cousin I hadn’t seen in 6 years, its audio annihilating the interesting chirps of two sparrows outside the window, that I turn and look at directly only once before I decide it’s time to leave the room.  But in some cases such broadcasts were enough surreptitious movement for my body to feel a moment free from the control of my memory and mind. I noticed Rob coming back at various times: 2:33, 1:02, 1:35, 4:21, always in the AM, 1:56, 3:22, 3:06, 5:10, 2:09.  The men coughed, rotated, considered viewers “weak little faggots who need my cock,” 3:46, 12:47, some laid on their sides for several hours, shirtless but not totally sexual in their presentation, some kinda hesitation in their eyes as if testing the world to see if the world thought them attractive.  I felt shanked by what I interpreted as hints of stapled longing in their faces, all of my senses indicated that I was living in the Koyaanisqatsi of porn.  Keeping secrets in the era of social media is an aggressive method of remaining unshared. Yet the spills from certain years stay sticky and even sometimes find a way to tower over me.  Until they are presented to other people, the gore associated with those lost frenzies remains uncleared, yes, freedom fries mist in freezers past like Chrysippus' ass, who made him laugh to death, mhmm.  

Since there had to be an afterimage to the disappearance of an old life, it had to be this: relaxed by the hands off finesse of fate, I lazily controlled myself to decide there wasn’t any other choice but fate.  Always available to the world was my face, to just hide it with a mask or veil would only bring more charged glances or wild guesses.  To be conceived of as sexy was blood-curdling.  I looked up the plastic surgeon with the lowest cumulative online rating, it was Gabe Jenkins and I called the office.  After hearing a high octave off-phone grunt, a voice said

“Dr Jenkins office?”

“Hi do you” I experienced a brisk intake, “Do you do all kinds of” here I laughed like I was trying to encourage someone I thought of as insecure after they made a difficult-to-react-to joke during a conversation “plastic surgery?”

“Yes we offer a number of options,” they responded without interest.

My lack of response gave the woman some go ahead to list the procedures, “breast enhancement, fillers, nose reconstruction, face lift, buttocks enhancement, some men like the calf implants, pec implants, jaw reshaping.  What are you looking for exactly?”

“I have some — a few ideas.  I” I looked at a long strand of black hair that hung from the stationary ceiling fan and was not mine “want to…look like — is it possible to make my face look older? I specifically would like forehead lines and crow’s feet.  And if there is a way to get my neck to sag lower than it is now that would be great. I am 27, I would like to look at least 78 if possible, hello?”

The voice had interest in it, “please don’t call here again if you are going to waste our time.”

“I am being very serious.  I would like plastic surgery to look older,” and there was silence.  

I considered what I could say to make it real. “Please, I would like the procedures done as soon as possible, there is a big gala I will be attending in Singapore next month” but I fear-laughed and the woman exited.  

I had no thoughts to live for, and then suddenly in a breakthrough moment I discovered that, after many many months, I had a thought: I should slowly begin to get plastic surgery to look older.  Now I needed money to make this happen.  Because then my disappearance would appear more accurate.  With the jowls of a 92 yr old man I would feel liberated.  But that wasn’t enough — I wanted more than anything to reproduce the appearance of a man well over 100.  In fact my thought revealed to me that I was a futurist because I would only settle for looking as old as someone whose life expectancy extended to at least 173.  I wanted to be old in a way no one had yet even imagined.  This would involve a lot of planning, sketching, file-saving and interviewing, and would likely be the type of initiative that lasts an entire life, and I would start with forehead lines.  An ease-in for the body and for the eyes of those that recognized me, and achievable with a budget eyebrow pencil for now.  Keeping costs down was a second thought that entered exactly behind the first thought that appeared after many months.  The eyebrow pencil could also be used for crow’s feet, frown lines, liver spots; but the application of frail sag on my neck, the indistinct recognition of the world suggested by the droop of eyes, the tint play of bald spots under white hair that is shiny and limp, the lowered vocal octave and general bodily slackening were all protruding costs. If I could not formulate, participate in or witness a revolution then I would elect to suffer a much more minor revolution that you might try to call a celebrolution.  As, though the actions and voices that built up the center of what we celebrate as a ‘political climate’ had shifted in an obvious external pivot towards a ‘something totally else,’ it still stood despite the panic that the country needed to focus on the opinions and physical movements of celebrities, and actually not ‘despite’ but ‘because of.’  And plastic surgery was often used by celebrities to command and maintain the public’s focus by recreating a version of themselves they believed responsible for their entry point into wealth and unhinged visibility. Since I was not known for anything and in fact could even be summarized as a loser or more accurately lost, and that I could barely string a sentence together and sometimes ate peanut butter sandwiches and then looked at my hands to discover I had actually eaten an entire pen — this meant my use of plastic surgery could be a revolution in my opportunities. That is, the opportunities that trickle down from achieving grotesque notoriety.  A celebrolution to solve a chunky lil personal puzzle.  

I knew the lines in my palms very well, and so I looked forward to the inevitable submission of lines all over my face because I wanted to know those lines just as well.  I wanted to know them as well as I knew the tone of no worries found in the whoosh sound effect that separates two segments of an entertainment news TV show.  It became a sound I carried with me everywhere, I’ve looked at birds fly past me and heard the sound, communicating that something is leaving.  It gave me a short leak of light, in a moment, and then I could not wait to see what came next.  It was a sound I would need as a score for the before/after of my first forehead-aging and chest droop surgery.  I can definitely say that I’ve had a bird fly past me before.  I simply wanted more free time to formulate a plan for my future appearances, it filled my thoughts all day long. Monetarily I was forsaken, choked out and in need of unbound frondescence.  I never stopped thinking I had some level of luck, I had two lamps, but then there was the job which was just about all I could handle, and, full-time-as-part-time to its core, it tossed me about, took time away from my obsessions, and so I repressed and regularly said ‘yes’ to survive.  At work there was Rachel, who had been entranced by Tom Hiddleston and who first introduced the word ‘clopening’ to me, and Gifford, whose name I could not disassociate from Gabrielle Giffords, and Steven, whose quick rescuing reaction to an elderly customer’s near dive over an uninhibited bag of packing peanuts resulted in the customer’s maximum level of comfort and safety, considering the stakes.  That lack of hesitation in making a decision, and in making the right decision, the most helpful and societally selfless decision, caused me to immediately respect Steven.  So when he found the time to comment on something to me, I tried very hard to engage.  As he explained to me during a lunch break, “The USA does not exist. The White House does not exist. They are using holograms to deceive everyone. God destroyed Earth by fire. And these demon parasites knew it and fled and hid from God and God’s army. Well, they lost. God rules and is in control. Stop watching media. They are lying to everyone. The media all sold their soul to Illuminati demons and are no more. There is nothing more than demons and clones using holograms to run deception. Better wake up. The Heavenly Bodies are right above your head.”  And then he would laugh like he didn’t care if it was true.