#but they mostly just stay in an extra pocket of her vest

[do-not-pursue-the-beast]

yes. I agree with both of these

okay you know what the idea is driving me crazy so:

we need more Crows with glasses. Wylan, with a pair of wired glasses, Matthias’s look like old man reading glasses (btw if you have these, you’re underrated they can look really cool), Nina with a pair of like red 1950’s cat eye glasses (also underrated), Jesper’s frames would be just really colorful, Inej with a pair of dark purple, small, metal frames, and I have no ideas for Kaz.

[12timetraveler]

The Curious Bath Girl

For @dweebpheles who won the third prize. They requested Vandermatthews HCs. This is an idea I've had bouncing around in my head for a while.

You can also read this on my ao3

~ Okay this is maybe a little bit wild, but hear me out.

~ When Hosea and Dutch first met, Hosea was pretending to be a bath girl.

~ Now hold on it's not what you think.

~ Dutch had just rode into town, pulling to a stop at the local saloon

~ he grabbed a drink and a bite to eat before renting one of the rooms for a night.

~ the saloon was mostly empty, aside from a few barflies.

~ but in the corner of the room sat a man who looked rather out of place amongst the sloppy drunks.

~the man was thin and lanky. His hair was the lightest shade of blonde Dutch had seen.

~ the man wore a crisp clean vest and a well fitting shirt.

~ he certainly wasn't a business tycoon.

~ but Dutch did catch a glimpse of a shiny pocket watch tucked into his vest.

~ as he ate Dutch eyed the man, admiring his good looks while subtly planning out how to rob him.

~ when he returned his empty plate, the saloon owner asked if he'd also like a bath.

~ why not splurge? Dutch had a little extra cash.

~ The bath was warm, the room smelled clean, Dutch fel his whole body relax.

~ right on cue there was a rap at the door, signaling a bath girl ready to offer her services.

~ but instead of a sweet feminine voice calling through the door, a warm tenor met Dutch's ears.

~ "need any help in there?"

~ Dutch was shocked at first. But it wouldn't be the first house of particularly ill repute he'd visited.

~ it certainly wouldn't be his first encounter with a man.

~ "Sure"

~ in strode the man Dutch had noticed down in the bar. He hadn't realized he was an employee.

~ His eyes were a beautiful hazel color. They sparkled in the firelight.

~ he rolled his sleeves up over his elbows and Dutch felt his mouth go dry.

~ "you just sit back and let me take care of you," the man cooed, sitting on the edge of the tub.

~ For once in his life, Dutch was at a loss for words.

~ as the handsome man began scrubbing him down, it was all Dutch could do to lift his limbs to make the man's job easier.

~ "How long you in town?" The man crooned.

~ "what makes you think I'm not a local?" Dutch asked.

~ "you got three states worth of dirt in your hair," the man chuckled.

~ "you got me," Dutch laughed, feeling at ease. "I'm not sure how long I'll be here. Depends on if there's something worth staying for,"

~ "Hmmm. So mysterious," the man hummed as he scrubbed Dutch's hair.

~ "What is a man without his secrets?"

~ the two men chatted as Dutch was scrubbed down. The man took his time, not seeming in any rush to get out of there, like some bath girls did.

~ but finally Dutch was scrubbed clean.

~ the man stood with a dashing smile.

~ "I think if I scrub you any harder, I'll scrub down to those secrets of yours," he teased.

~ "wouldn't want that," Dutch chuckled.

~ "my coin purse is on the table. Take a whole dollar. It was worth it," Dutch said.

~ the man gave him a dashing grin and approached the table.

~ Dutch kept an eye on him as he fished out his pay from Dutch's coin purse.

~ but the man seemed very honest, showing Dutch the coins he took to assure him that he took the right amount.

~ "I hope to see you again," the man purred as he left the room.

~ "me too," Dutch mumbled after the man had left.

~ he lifted his hand to examine his score.

~ nimble fingers had easily relieved the man of his pocket watch.

~ it was shiny, well looked after.

~ real silver.

~ not worth too much, but not something to just toss aside.

~ it would get Dutch a couple meals.

~ with a sigh he pushed himself out of the tub and got dressed

~ Dutch frowned as he pulled on his clothes.

~ his ring was missing. A golden lion ring he'd inherited from his father.

~ so was his pocket watch.

~ and while his coin purse was there, his money clip was not.

~ "god DAMN him," Dutch growled.

~ he tossed on his clothes and hurried down the stairs.

~ the man was nowhere to be seen.

~ the bartender gave Dutch a funny look when he asked about the man.

~ "we don't have any bath girls here."

~ Dutch gritted his teeth.

~ He couldn’t believe he’d been conned. Him! Dutch Van der Linde!

~ A pretty face and he let his guard down.

~ Dutch burst out the front of the saloon, eyes scanning the street for the man. But the streets were empty.

~ Dutch began searching, hand resting on his gun.

~ To the side of the saloon was a dark alley

~ It’s where Dutch would have hidden, if he were the thief.

~ Carefully Dutch made his way down the alley, squinting against the dim light.

~ He drew his gun, ready to fire if need be.

~ click

~ a gun is pressed to the back of his head.

~ “You stole my watch” A tenor voice growled.

~ “And you stole my ring, my watch, and my money,” Dutch said dryly.

~ He slowly turned to face the man

~ The two con artists stared each other down for a moment.

~ “Yeah,” The other man laughed. “I did,”

~ Both guns are lowered, though not holstered.

~ “That was quite the daring con,” Dutch commented. “Acting as a bath worker.”

~ “Yeah but you bought it,” The man chuckled. “I knew you would, the way you were eyeing me up.”

~ “I was eyeing you up as a target,” Dutch grumbled.

~ “Then why’d you let me bathe you?” The other man teased.

~ Dutch shook his head and holstered his gun.

~ “Well, I can’t fault a fellow conman. Especially one so cunning. Dutch Van der Linde,” Dutch extended his hand.

~ “Hosea Matthews,” the man replied, shaking his hand. “Wanna get a drink. You’re buying,” Hosea held up Dutch’s money clip.

~ “Sure,” Dutch chuckled.

~ The two men spent the rest of the night drinking and swapping stories.

~ it was the start of a legendary partnership.

[xenoblademisadventures]

Also here's a dump of other sketches with my thoughts process. Long post, so everything’s under the cut.

The Mythra:

I really liked my first idea so I stuck with it. My thought process was I wanted to emphasize that she's mecha anime and therefore out of place (she already has a mech). Pants are a reference to Alvis's illegal shoes. She’s wearing a crop top because Mythra reads as the type of person who would enjoy wearing a crop top to me. She has giant gauntlet things on her arms because they look cool. I gave her two giant braids because anime (and I’ve noticed a trend of tsundere characters often having two strands of hair going outwards for some reason? And I figured “might as well copy+pasta lol). Her left eye is partially covered by hair, which is supposed to represent her feeling distant or partially isolated from the rest of the world. It’s also a character design trend sometimes used in villain characters, which I thought would fit Mythra since she’s worried about her power being used for evil in 2 and is being constantly compared to Malos in Torna. I kept the choker from the base design because it looks cool and also relates to how she’s constantly constraining herself.

I also wanted to make her buff because she’s a warrior who wields a giant fucking sword, she should be buff (like, the fight scenes involving her in Torna DLC looked a bit awkward because Mythra was swinging a giant sword around one-handed like it was nothing while also having very shrimpy arms). 

Overall, I wanted Mythra to feel very alien and distant to the rest of the world. If I were to continue iterating on this, I’d probably look at some of Elma’s armor (mim and alien) for reference because doing that would allow for Mythra to look disconnected from the Xenoblade 2 cast but still feel like a Xenoblade character.

Side note: I assumed that the Aegis shape Core Crystal was a requirement. If I had the option to remove it, I probably would. It doesn’t look bad, but if the goal was to connect the Aegises with the Monado, I don’t like that Alvis’s key had to be retconned for that to function.

The Pyras:

A consistent theme here between the designs was the pants. I wanted Alvis's illegal pants to be a running theme among the Aegises because they are stupid and illegal and I like them. They also look like the most vaguely scifi part of his actual outfit, so I figured giving them a shared article of clothing would be a nice way to visually connect the five character designs (Pyra, Mythra, Pneuma, Alvis, and Malos), and I wanted to keep the vaguely mecha theme going. You can see in Pyra 6 that I was tired and just drew Pyra in Alvis's attire. 

I wanted Pyra to look like a mecha design covered up by something that more closely fits the aesthetic used in Xenoblade 1. So not quite mecha, not quite 1. The idea was that Pyra was trying to look more like a common person in order to appear less threatening. If she despises and fears her power, I don’t think she’d want to wear an outfit that embraces it. Putting her in more casual clothing would also contrast with Mythra and better communicate that Mythra is significantly stronger than Pyra. But all that said, putting her in full casual clothing might undercut the emotion Rex and Pyra’s first meeting was meant to invoke (of being like “oh wow, a legendary ancient weapon). And designing her to still look mecha would still be saying that “even though Pyra doesn’t want to be the Aegis, she is still the Aegis and cannot escape her power.” Which is why quite a few designs lean into the mecha aesthetic. The exact balance between mecha and casual clothing was the main thing I struggled with on this design. The final design is the one that more or less struck the balance I was hoping for.

A few of the designs are vaguely sexualized. Specifically Pyras 1, 4, and 7 all have tiny boob windows. If I were to finalize 7, I’d remove the boob window because it looks a bit awkward and I think a belt (similar to Elma’s underboob belt) would look better, but my thought process there was “do I want Pyra to be comfortable?” I don’t want to go over the top with the revealing clothing, but making Pyra wear slightly revealing clothing that she probably wouldn’t want to be wearing could help drive the point that she’s a combination of all the traits Mythra was criticized for lacking. It’s not pleasant or comfortable letting others dictate your entire existence through repeated harassment and Pyra already very heavily acts like the sexist ideas of what a woman should be, so giving her a tiny boob window could help emphasize that point. The main reason I’m saying I’d change it if I iterated on 7 is because I don’t think it compliments the design particularly well.

Another thing that stuck between each version of Pyra’s design was that her left eye is completely covered by hair. I did this for a few reasons: it would follow up on the symbolism of Mythra’s design partially covering her left eye, it would give Pyra a slight air of mystery, and it would faintly reference Alvis’s design (I want the designs to hint at each other but I don’t want it to be super obvious). The earrings were also kept between designs because they were in Mythra’s design and I wanted that to get carried over because it’s a little bit extra cohesion between the two designs. 

I wanted was to use Pyra's hair to help represented Mythra binding herself. Mythra has two braids that are loosely flowing, so she's already semi bound. If I were to start drawing Pneuma, I think I'd want her hair to not be tied at all (maybe a similar style to KOS-MOS and Elly as a reference, maybe not?) or I'd just put her in really long dreadlocks or something because hair go brr. One idea I had was to just have one big braided ponytail, but another idea was to try and tie the hair up (which is what I was going for in Pyra 2). I couldn't find a way to do that in a way I particularly liked, so single big ponytail is the way I went.

You can probably see that there were a lot of ideas thrown at a wall here, so I’ll go over some noteworthy facets of each designs.

Pyra 1 had a key on her chest, it was meant to be reference to Alvis. It didn’t stay in other designs because the reference felt too obvious. The first two designs also had a giant X on her chest, it was meant to look like the outfit was binding her, but I don’t particularly care for it. Pyra 2′s pants had weird patterns on them because I was trying to visually make them look a bit distinguished from Mythra’s while still keeping the same idea, but I don’t really care for them. I also don’t like how Pyra 2 is just wearing a T Shirt. I’m not really sure what I was going for with Pyra 3. She kind of looks like Glimmer in the She-Ra reboot, which wasn’t intentional. Pyra 4 leans more into the mecha than any other Pyra. She kind of looks like a ballerina but not really. I was focusing mostly on making her look a lot like Mythra, but I feel that this design has a lot of similar issues to what I have with Pyra’s actual design where it’s sexy and looks cool, but doesn’t really fit the character. Pyra 5 looks like a heroforge character (or maybe like something that fit Mass Effect’s aesthetic if I’m being generous?). I feel that this one also doesn’t fit her character particularly well. Pyra 6 was a bit of an overcorrection and I ended up just drawing Pyra in Alvis’s outfit. And Pyra 7 is the one I actually went with.

Rexes:

Rex 1 was more of a warm-up than anything. I put him in a vest and some pants. The hookshot and x marking were things I completely forgot about until last minute, which is why they look tacked on. He has a belt with some items in it. I wanted to give him scraffly hair and freckles to better emphasize that he’s just some kid. I don’t really like this design. I feel like if I polished it up, it would still have a lot of the benefits to base Rex while not getting as many people complaining about his pants, but the design is overall a huge “meh.”

With Rex 2, I decided to actually look up what scuba gear looks like. This design ended up emphasizing primarily that Rex has a lot of expertise in salvaging and that he’s a kid with humble origins. His strap on was based on a scuba outfit, same with the shoes. He’s also wearing pull-ups with giant pockets. I felt those imply humble origins because pull-ups get associated with rural settings. The giant pockets imply that he works with machinery. That’s also why his hair’s tied back. If you long hair and you work with machinery, that’s supposed to be tied back so that it doesn’t get caught in anything. I also gave him glasses because we need more characters with glasses. 

The character’s meant to be 15 and I feel that this looks closer to 15 than 12. If I were to make future iterations of this design, I’d try to lean more into making him look 15 because he doesn’t look 15 enough to me. I’d do this by giving him acne.

He has gloves because he’ll be using a sword and it’s generally not good to scrape up your palm while using one of those. His hook-shot also now takes up his entire arm because that’s heavy equipment. I haven’t figured out how the wire is supposed to be stored without having it fuck up his arm. But the hook itself is now in a little hook cubby. I think I’d want to make the bottom of the shoes look heavier than they are since they don’t currently look great for walking around the bottom of the ocean. 

Still, I’m very happy with this Rex. I mostly draw anime girls, so I’m happy with the number of things I feel I’ve gotten right with Rex 2.

Nims and a Dahlia:

I’m a bit unsure of what I want from the Blade designs. I decided to design around their element, their rough personalities, them needing a core crystal, and their element. I also want them to look like they could also exist in the same universe and maybe not look very human? That was, at least, my thought process when drawing Nim, though that thought process was not consistently held, like, at all. A lot of my Blade redesigns don’t look very good because I didn’t have a very good idea towards what I should even be aiming for. The Blades have very generic personalities and overall feel so disconnected from the world that I’d probably just scrap every existing Blade in their entirety and replace them different characters who are better established. Like, maybe because this Blade was born from the Gormott Titan, they look like Gormotti or part giraff as a result and are more likely to have the earth element? And how many hands they’ve been through and the personalities of their previous drivers stack up to subtly influence their appearance? Like, a Blade from Gormott that ended up in Uraya for 10 lifetimes might be an earth-type cat-person with fins or something? Or maybe the more developed a Blade is, the less it resembles a human? But doing that would require writing a lot more lore per individual Blade than is actually provided. But just having something to better frame the Blades as something other than “random (mostly) anime girls that you pick up along the way” would be necessary to give them good designs.

Anyways, with Nim, I figured giving her a Saytr like appearance would be good. She has a strong association with animals and nature, which, for me, translates to “naked.” Alongside that, I looked up Nymphs and they’re also usually depicted as naked women. I also completely disregarded to the two foxes on her shoulders. They were put into Nim 1 as an afterthought. 

Nim 1 is the only Nim that isn’t plus-sized because I figured “why not have some different body types among the blades?” A lot of my redesigns for Pyra and Mythra try to keep their body type more or less in tact less because I think it’s the best body type for them and more to spite the idea that them having big boobs is the reason that they’re oversexualized. Like, they are comically big, but they’re only sexualized because of how much attention the camera and design draws to them. But, that’s a side tangent. I made Nim overweight because I like drawing overweight women. Nim 1 gets the vibes of “naked lady” while Nim 2 has the vibes of “big fluffy friend” while Nim 3 is somewhat of a compromise. If I were to make a final design for her out of these, I’d definitely try and fuse some aspects of Nims 2 and 3.

Nim 3 has vines on her arms because Nymphs get depicted with vines quite a bit. The main reason Nim 2 is wearing a sun dress is because I stepped back and thought “wait, maybe some people would have an issue with a naked anime lady running around.” Nim 2 also has a transition between furry legs and no fur legs. 

I didn’t really have any ideas for Dahlia. I saw someone draw a version of Dahlia based off Elsa from Frozen and I thought that might be fun to draw. I don’t really have any further thoughts on this.

Praxises:

This is sort of where I was at the point where I realized that if I wanted to redesign the blades, I’d need to figure out some unifying theme for them all. I was thinking “maybe blades could try and visually represent different aspects of being human?” This idea was only really used on Praxis and wasn’t very strongly represented. I was kind of tired when I drew Praxis 1 and Praxis 2 was a bit of a warm-up sketch. 

Neither of these designs are particularly good. I wanted Praxis to be wearing those 90s bubbly arm and leg warmers because she has a bubbly personality and is a water type. I don’t know why Praxis 2 is a cowgirl. 

Zenobias:

Zenobia 1 is based a bit a wrestler because she has wrestler vibes. I see her as the type of person who would do Dark Souls no armor run on the dance pad. My other thought process was “let me google the word ‘zenobia’ and see what crops up” and I saw something about a Syrian empress but I decided to do zero research, so I have no idea if what I drew was offensive towards muslims. She has a scarf tho because wind.

Zenobia 2 is based on a picture of that empress lady. I don’t think it follows her character in-game particularly well though. 

Two (Blade) Nias:

Neither Nia is particularly finished. The main requirements were that this Nia has to look like a Blade, a catgirl, and like something were she’d be able to hide the Blade parts, but not comfortably. I’m at a bit of a loss here. I think the formal wear used in her base-game design is not the way to go. The outfit just doesn’t feel like it matches her brash and snarky personality, like, at all. The first outfit was trying to throw random ideas but nothing was coming up and that’s what happened with the other. Though, Nia 2 gets bonus points for looking like a cats 2019 character. I was sketching out what parts of her body should be covered, but I don’t think I’d want to go with crop-top and skirt because Mythra already has a crop top. The tail is also debatable since I figured if I kept that, how Nia hides the tail could be a fun part of her driver outfit. I also didn’t really like how Driver Nia and Blade Nia have different hair and ear lengths. It bothered me more here than with the original Pyra/Mythra designs because Nia isn’t the Aegis, I don’t think she should be allowed to material and dematerialize her clothing, hair, and ears like that. I do kind of like the idea of giving her paws since those are things that can be easily hidden by shoes. Giving her spotted skin isn’t a bad idea but it’s not as high on the “keep” scale as the paws are (which aren’t super high in the first place).

Overall, it’s probably a bit anticlimactic to end on some lame designs, but that’s how it goes, I guess. If I were to redesign more of the Blades (or finish the Blade redesigns I started), I’d need to figure out what running themes I want from the Blade designs. I think maybe focusing on the human designs first and working from there could be a way to go. Unsure. 

[the-calicos-missteps]

Blind Haruka Nanami AU

Uta no Prince-Sama AU

When I first watched Prince-Sama all those years ago, I legitimately thought the poor girl was blind until it was established that no, she was not XD. It was the style of her eyes that threw me off at that time. So, I decided to make an AU out of this old misconception of mine!

In the first episode, Haruka mentions to Shibuya Tomochika that she had poor health as a child. Seeing as she as young, in this AU she was born legally blind. Not completely blind, just... legally blind. This is probably not the reason she had poor health, but it certainly contributed to it. 

At the beginning of the series, she has a Golden Retriever Seeing Eye Dog named Hayate; yes, named after her idol Hayato-Sama. 

She also has a long white cane with a red bottom; this means she is not completely blind. However, it is usually folded up in a purse or pocket and she only takes it out if it is truly needed. She wears sunglasses on sunny days.  

Some things will not be true to real life. But when is anime ever? 

Episode 1 synopsis below! It’s mostly the same as the original episode with changes to account for Haruka’s blindness, but that is because we must set the stage! (Spoiler: The ending is very different!) Ready, go!

Episode 1 synopsis 

When Haruka begs the guard's to let her in, Hayate sits there making puppy eyes at them. She doesn’t grab the guard, but people watching coo at Hayate, same with the guard behind the one talking to Haruka. The guard then asks why a blind girl would even bother taking such a test for a prodigious school. She tries to defend herself and this is where Otoya steps in.

When Otoya starts talking to her and sees her eyes for the first time, he blushes thinking they look cute. He reaches out to pet Hayate, but then sees his vest and pulls back. 

 Haruka helped the lost girl by taking her around town until they found the child’s mother and retracing the child’s steps. Hayate helped to calm the girl down enough to get her to work with them. 

Ren says his whole spiel, but then adds that are famous composers who have created music even with disabilities like Beethoven, so why couldn’t she take the test? 

Haruka took the test in a specialized room, with previously set accommodations. A dictator read her test out loud to her, and for passage questions, she was given a brail booklet. 

She met Tomo after the test; they were both released around the same time and Tomo immediately latched onto Haruka. They met outside the school before term started. 

She had to keep asking Tomo what was happening during the entrance ceremony, who was more than happy to with over-exaggerated hand movements and sounds. 

When Otoya recognizes her in the classroom, Haruka says ‘Oh! Based on your voice... you’re the first boy that helped me, right? Thank you!’

She asks to ‘see’ his face by tracing it with her fingers. Otoya agrees with a blush and fidgets his hands while she traces his face. He becomes even more embarrassed when she asks if he is okay because his face is really hot. 

When Shinomiya jumps to latch onto Haruka, Hayate growls in warning pulling her away while Masato grabs her hand at the same time, but because of the unbalance of Hayate pulling, is unable to knock Otori into her place... So Shinomiya faceplants into the desks. 

When talking about Elizabeth, he finally notices Hayate and immediately starts petting him, saying he is just like ‘his Eli’ while Hayate growls at him. Otoya pulls him off, berating him while Haruka begs him not to do such a thing because he’s working. When Shinomiya becomes confused, Masato points out his seeing dog vest. Shinomiya has a sudden realization and apologizes profusely. 

Haruka notices the classmates negative perception of them. She clenches Hayate’s lead and says she’s going to sit back down. The others look at her confused. 

When Ringo-Sensei comes in, Haruka sees a blurry image of him and assumes from the long hair he is a woman, even with the masculine sounding voice. She still becomes shocked when Tomo tells her he’s actually a man. 

When Ringo comes close and slams on her desk, before he can say much Hayate growls and barks at him. That’s when he realizes Haruka is his blind student and his reprimand becomes less harsh. 

Ringo has automatically labeled Haruka as weaker in his mind. This is going to color both his interactions with her and her perception of him, as well as lower the classes perception of her.  He also mentions that the headmaster wishes to see her after class.

Hayate growls at people that get too close too quickly. He especially growled at Tomo when they first met but mellowed out around her when he realized she wasn’t a threat.

When Haruka says that they do not have a TV in her house, she also offhandedly mentions that she doesn’t really enjoy it that much. 

During lunch, Tomo reads out the options to Haruka, who can not read the small text. 

When Shou catches her card for him, he asks, rather rudely, what was up with her eyes, then saw Hayate. This is when Ren comes in and reprimands him for being rude to a lady. 

After lunch she’s led by a teacher to the headmaster’s office. Saotome mostly wanted to explain accommodations she would be getting at the school, in account of her... deformity. 

Haruka decides that she does not rather like the headmaster.

She would be getting things like a brail copy of the menus, special rooms for tests, dictators, extra help every Friday, a permanent ‘hall pass’ so she could ‘take care’ of Hayate easily, among other accommodations. 

Saotome sees her disability as a PR grab; they have a blind student whom they are helping to succeed. The press will love it! He doesn’t really care about Haruka as a person.

He tells her he will be seeing her at the end of every week on Saturday to discuss how things went during the week, for he is a gracious headmaster. This is non-negotiable, so she agrees. 

Hayate doesn’t like Shining Saotome. 

Haruka arrives back at the room late; mostly because she was forced to find her own way because there was no one to help her. 

Tomo helps her put away her belongings. 

When telling the story of the first time she heard Hayato, Tomo points out that Hayate’s name is very similar. Haruka then explains that she got Hayate shortly after this experience and named the dog after Hayato. Tomo deadpans. 

After Tomo leaves to get them drinks, Haruka only notices the cat because of it’s meowing. The cat gets close enough to Haruka to allow her to pet him and feel his body shape, while he touches noses with Hayate, who is also curious of this cat who doesn’t smell like a cat. 

When Haruka feels around his collar, he tries to get her to come with him by trying to pull her hand while it’s grasping his collar. This fails. Multiple times. 

He then tries to steal her handkerchief to get her to leave the room. Hayate, who thinks the weird cat is playing, instead takes it back out of his mouth, wagging his tail and falling into a playing position. The cat tries again, multiple times. This also fails. 

Hayate’s vest has been taken off, so now he wants to play. 

Exasperated, the cat soon just gives up and stays with them for the night. Haruka wouldn’t be able to tell easily if he left, and he doesn’t want her confused and wondering about his health!

~Enter Orpheus Heart here~

[fallout-lou-begas]

Elevated Extras: Ranger Ghost Companion

You a Courier? If so, this might be your lucky day...if you don't mind walking a bit and your eyes are good. 

(Original sketch by @tarberrymentats / based on the OC Companion Meme by @falloutfandomeventhub / if you borrow this concept please tag it as #fallout elevated extras)

General

Name: Ranger Ghost

Location: Mojave Outpost

How to obtain: Complete the sidequest “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize,” then begin the sidequest “Giving Up the Ghost” to get her reassigned from the Mojave Outpost. Once freed of her assignment, she can travel with the Courier to monitor Legion activity throughout the Mojave.

Companion Quest: “Giving Up the Ghost.”

Ranger Ghost, like everyone else, is sick and tired of being stuck at the Mojave Outpost. Unfortunately, orders are orders. With the courier’s help, though, she just might be able to come down from that rooftop, but dealing with NCR bureaucracy might be a worse ordeal than Legion crucifixion.

Companion Wheel

I think we should travel together. You probably can’t tell, but that’d make me very happy. Let’s get the hell out of here.

Let’s talk about your tactics. Sure. Lecture the ranger on tactics. Go ahead. / What’re you thinking?

I want you to change your combat style. (humoring) Alright. / If you insist.

Use a melee weapon. Close combat, then. / Sure. We can hold their hands and tuck them in while we’re at it. / (Wild Wasteland Enabled) Try to remember the basics of CQC.

Use a ranged weapon. (stating the obvious) It’s what I do. / You going to spot for me? / (deeply sarcastic) Aww. Finally remembered I’m a ranger?

Be passive. Sure, give peace a chance. / Don’t go pacifist on me, now.

Be aggressive: Locked and loaded. / (mocking the company line) Right, and with “extreme prejudice.”

Enough about tactics. Agreed. Anything else? / Are we good, then?

Let’s talk about how close you’re following me. Is there a problem? / What are you...implying, exactly?

Wait here. Right. Things to do, places to be? / Holding down here. / I’ll keep watch here.

Follow me. Let’s roll out. / Finally. Don’t like waiting. / Right. Skip to my fucking lou.

Stay close to me. (sternly cautious) Define “close.” / Got it, on you. / Just don’t bump my gun.

Keep your distance. Positioning, got it. / Yeah, covering you. / (facetious concern) Don’t get lost, now.

Let’s trade equipment. Don’t get fucking handsy, now. / Just don’t hog the ammo.

(Overburdened). I’m not your fucking pack brahmin. / (exasperated) I’ve only got so many pockets.

(Sneaking). Staying low. / (wryly imperative) Quiet, now.

(In Courier’s iron sights). What the fuck is wrong with you? / (slowly, emphasizing) Watch your trigger discipline. / Don’t make me take that away.

(Courier lays mine). I’ve got my eyes on that. / You’d better have a plan for that.

It’s time for us to part ways. It’s because i’m a bitch, isn’t it. / Such sweet fucking sorrow, I bet.

I’d like you to go to the Lucky 38. Hm. Sending the Ghost to the haunted house. See you there. I’ll try not to spook the Securitrons.

We can meet again at the Mojave Outpost. (sucks teeth) Guess I’ll report what I’ve got back to headquarters. Hopefully by now they’ve got someone else watching the brahmins shit full-time.

Injured: (seething) SSShhit. / Didn’t want it like this. / (with conviction) I didn’t get off that roof just to fucking bite it.

Damaged Limb: (shout of pain) Fucker clipped me! / Sure could use a fucking medic.

Regaining Consciousness: What...what the hell happened? / (trailing off) Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck...

Death: (death rattle) / (weakly) Ghosts...can die, huh...ha...

Attributes

Aggression: Aggressive.

Confidence: Brave.

Assistance: Helps friends and allies.

Karma: Neutral.

Perks

Ghost of a Chance: When Ranger Ghost is by your side, so are the odds. In addition to gaining an extra 3% chance to critically hit, any single attack that would kill you may instead leave you just barely alive and invulnerable for a brief moment..

Drops, if killed

Ranger Vest Outfit

Ranger Grey Hat

Authority Glasses

Cowboy Repeater

Combat Knife

Iguana Bits

Grognak the Barbarian

Dialogue, Quest Details, and Ending Slides:

Dialogue

Why do they call you Ghost? What, don’t I scare you? Boo? Nothing? (beat) Well, if you gotta know, it stuck pretty quick back in basic. Not like there were many other albinos in boot camp. The all-white spooky bitch who shoots better at night? Yeah, that’s a ghost, alright. Pissed me off at first, but I came around when it started giving privates the heebie-jeebies. Just a little kick, is all.

What’s an albino? Albinism is a pigment disorder. You know, the color of your skin and hair? As in I don’t have color. Pale as a sheet.

[Medicine 35] A sharpshooter with albinism? Isn’t your vision affected? Done your homework, huh? Well, these big, bad sunglasses aren’t just for intimidation, doc. They only come off when I sleep. Sucks enough being photosensitive in the goddamn desert, but like I said. I’m a lot better at night.

What’s your real name? (the thousandth time she’s answered this exact question) If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.

Aw, come on. Curiosity killed the courier. Don’t push it.

[Speech 40] I’m just trying to understand my partner better. Then “understand” that I don’t owe you shit except loyalty. Just call me Ghost, and you’ll get that.

[Cherchez La Femme] Surely you’ve got a name to match that lovely personality. (flustered) Are you d-...I-...Yeah, I do.But you can just keep calling me Ghost. (quietly) For...for now.

What’s the deal with Ranger Jackson? Man hasn’t got a thought in his fucking head...which is why he’s such a good C.O., from the top down. He’s a nice enough guy on a good day. He’s...principled, for sure. But the man wouldn’t budge on an order from brass if it’d save his life. Stranded caravaneers get so bored and restless because of the impasse he’s overseeing that he’s started (excessive emphasis) “hiring” the rowdier ones for odd jobs off the grounds, which is why we’ve been “losing” supplies for a while. Gets shit done, I guess, but wish he’d show half that drive when bitching to HQ, but no. They tell him to sit tight, he says yes sir, and then he takes it out on us when we get frustrated at the frustrating bullshit.

Do you know Major Knight? (standoffish) Yeah. Good guy. Known him a while. Hell, he’s been at M.O. longer than I have.

What does he do? Repairs, mostly. With all the caravans backed up, we sort of have a monopoly on maintenance and upkeep. And believe me, he does damn fine work.

[Confirmed Bachelor] Is he...you know…? Is he...oh. Between you and me? Yeah. He and I are...alike. I mean, I’m the bitch everybody hates, so I don’t really give a shit, but beneath that…(thinking how best to describe him, ribbing him a bit)...accountant exterior of his, he’s really the soft, sensitive type. Needs someone to talk to sometimes. I’m that someone, sometimes, but if you get the chance...it’d do him good just to know he’s not that alone out here.

How can I best use your skills? Hard to find a way that’d be worse than all the wasted time at M.O., but I’ll make it easy for you: give me a target and let me shoot it. If it’s too close to shoot, I’m trained in hand-to-hand, and if it’s too far to shoot, it’ll never see me coming. Standard repertoire for a ranger.

What’s your opinion on the NCR? High enough to keep me enlisted, low enough to where I’ve got plenty to mock. We’re a good country, a damn good country. We’re the only real country actually left in the West. We’d be the best thing to ever crawl out of the bombed-out ruins of this war if it weren’t for all the bureaucratic bullshit, and the brass getting duller the higher you go. It’s all just song and dance and sloganeering to them out here. Whatever looks good on paper. They don’t give a shit what really happens to people out here, and if Caesar doesn’t kill us, that might. At least on the inside.

What’s it like being a ranger? Ranger training is the best, most brutal gauntlet this side of the Colorado. Hours and hours of days and days spent shooting, drilling, fighting, bringing the body to its breaking points, pouring blood and sweat just to get an inch past the wide-eye hopefuls who were always going to just wash out...and all of it just to stand on a fucking rooftop staring at ants and malnourished raiders on the interstate. I swear, if you gave headquarters a golden egg, they’d fucking cook it.

Were you at the battle of Hoover Dam? Was going to be, but believe it or not, I sat out sick. Got the fucking flu right before and was stuck at McCarran the whole time, half-lucid. Let me tell you, the whole tent of coughs and sneezes crowding around that radio, listening to the reports...when Hanlon ordered that retreat out of Boulder City, we were grabbing our rifles and getting ready to march out on foot, even if we could barely stand. We thought that was it. Of course, it wasn’t, and we cheered so loud when they radioed about the explosion that I hope Caesar damn well heard it.

Do you wish that you had been there? Of course I do. If I miss the next one because I’m stuck at the Outpost or some shit, I’m deserting with a dozen fed-up caravaneers to flank his fucking fort myself, if only for some goddamn excitement.

How do you feel about the Legion? Love ‘em. Joined the NCR because I just wanted to meet them that bad. Their new Legate’s such a heartthrob, I hear.

You’re not serious. (sucks teeth, deep sigh) Look. You saw Nipton. It was just a taste of what they do. I’ve seen good men die on crosses, and that’s a mercy compared to the good women. I hear when women sign up now, they get about five extra “are you sures?” from recruiters. Not officially, of course. Brass would never let people back home know how bad it is. But it’s just another thing that makes me glad I’m a sniper, sometimes. Engage at range. Out of reach.

What about Legion society? Do you know anything about life across the river? There’s nothing across that river. Nothing. (beat, pondering) Do you remember the Enclave War? Bitter, bloody, big explosion at Navarro? And the Brotherhood campaign out here? Even worse of a shitshow, but still, we won that out, too. But the Enclave and the Brotherhood at least stood for something. They were societies, or at least promises of one, and if things had shaken out the other way for the NCR at least something would still be standing here. The Legion isn’t like that. They aren’t “something.” They’re one big razor across Arizona, shaving everything down. And if we don’t stop them here, we never will.

What about their Legate? (with contempt) Lanius, “The Monster of the East.” Caesar must’ve plucked him out of hell or something after his first legate blew it at Hoover Dam. Word from recon is that the only reason we’re all still twiddling our thumbs there is that he’s out making friends for Caesar someplace, and he’ll be bringing them all back for a whole ‘nother goddamn jamboree soon. (tension broken by a funny thought; spoken dryly) Or should I say a Damboree. Since it’d be at the Dam.

Do you know anything about Mr. House? No. Closest I’ve ever been to the Strip has been McCarran, where I was too proud to get wasted on expensive booze in the casinos. As punishment, I got stuck with nothing to do but get shitfaced on cheap booze at the outpost. All I know is Mr. House runs the whole Strip himself, and there’s one casino, the Lucky 36 or something, that’s supposed to be all his. No one’s allowed in, no one’s ever come out. Frankly? Just strikes me as fucking weird.

Companion Quest: Giving Up the Ghost

After completing the sidequest “Eyes On the Prize” (in which the Courier checks Nipton for survivors), Ghost will remark that the Mojave’s going to hell, and all she can do is sit and watch. The Courier will reply that she ought to stop watching and travel with them, to which she’ll respond that her orders are absolute—but if the courier can change her orders somehow, she’d be indebted. The quest then begins.

= = = Stage 1: Deal with Jackson = = =

First, the Courier must speak to Ranger Jackson and convince him to consider Ghost’s reassignment. They can do this through the following dialogue options:

[Speech 80] This outpost is just waiting to be overrun by Legion. You’ll be the next Nipton unless you’re proactive.

[Speech 55; completed “Can’t You Find It In Your Heart” beforehand] Maybe I could tell your superiors about where I “found” these “lost” supplies, then.

[Barter 80] Ghost is an exceptional asset to the rangers. Stationing her here is a waste of valuable NCR resources.

[NCR Fame] There’s work to be done for the NCR out there, and Ghost is who I trust to do it with me.

[Black Widow] I’ve ways of making men come around...especially handsome men in uniform. (The Courier must then sleep with Ranger Jackson)

Note that the Courier can not simply complete the quest “Can’t You Find It In Your Heart?” as a favor to Jackson for Ghost’s reassignment. While he’ll let a caravaneer go, it’ll take more than clearing some ants from the road to get him to compromise his standing force and let go of a ranger. 

Alternatively, Jackson’s death will advance the quest.

Kill Jackson. Similar to Cass’ companion quest, Jackson can simply be killed. However, Ghost is far less sympathetic to this course of action and will confront the Courier over the murder. If Jackson is simply killed, the Courier will either need a convincing alibi [Speech 90] to argue that they weren’t responsible or admit to the murder. If the Courier fails the Speech check or admits to the murder, Ghost will turn hostile (“Maybe you didn’t fucking think this through, but do you know what we call someone who kills an NCR ranger? An enemy of the NCR rangers. Now, eat shit.”). Alternatively, the Courier can intimidate Ghost into silence with a [Terrifying Presence] option, after which a shaken but seething Ghost will simply ask the Courier to leave the outpost and never come back. Passing the Speech check is the way to not fail the quest from this option.

Kill Jackson and frame Cass. If the Courier kills Jackson themself, attempting to loot Jackson’s body will trigger a message suggesting that they could frame Cass for the murder by splashing whiskey on the body (so long as Cass is not currently the player’s companion and is currently at the Mojave Outpost, not the Lucky 38). By adding a whiskey bottle to Jackson’s body without themself or the body being discovered in the meantime, they can successfully implicate Cass for the murder, and explain as much to Ghost. She’ll buy it, since Cass was one of the most frustrated residents of the outpost and was drunk almost all the time. Cass will then disappear from the game, and if Lacey, Major Knight, or Ghost (if the Courier left the outpost before speaking to her again) are asked, they will explain that Cass was arrested by the NCR.

Have someone else kill Jackson. A desperate, fed-up caravaneer named Paul by the brahmin pens is willing to kill Jackson for 5,500 caps. This price can be negotiated down to 4,000 with a [Barter 60] check, and 3,500 with [Barter 75]. At midnight that night, Paul will attempt to sneakily kill Jackson. Alternatively, Paul can be incensed into attacking Jackson immediately and for free with a [Hot Blooded] trait check. In either case, though, there is no guarantee that Paul will succeed, and if Paul is killed then the Courier must advance the quest another way (though they can loot their spent caps from Paul’s body). When spoken to afterwards, Ghost will remark that she saw the Courier speaking to Paul and ask if they had anything to do with it. By passing a [Speech 50] check, the Courier can convincingly lie that they were trying to talk him out of it. With either the [Black Widow] or [Cherchez la Femme] perks, the Courier can lie and say that Paul very foolishly did it to try to impress them. With [Low Intelligence] the Courier can earnestly say that they thought “taking care” of Jackson meant doing something nice for him.

Somehow allow Jackson to die. If Jackson just somehow dies in an unaccounted way, such as from a spawned-in deathclaw eviscerating him in his own office, Ghost will remark on the strangeness of the situation but won’t blame the Courier. This is a failsafe option to prevent quest breakage.

= = = Stage 2: Find a Replacement = = =

If Jackson is alive, he’ll agree with the Courier that he ought to let Ghost go, but he’s still under orders to maintain a standing force at Mojave—a standing force which includes a highly trained sniper. If Jackson has been killed, Ghost will mention that Major Knight is next in command and would be glad to give her clearance, but that he won’t be able to do so without a replacement sniper, either. Either way, the Courier is tasked with finding a suitable replacement. The Courier can ask her for advice:

Who should I look for to be your replacement? They have to be NCR, obviously. Ex-NCR might work, too, so long as they’re in good standing. Any Dick or Jane off the road is a no-go, since brass put the kibosh on officially contracting mercenaries. Oh, and anyone you get would have to be well-trained. Not necessarily a ranger, but good enough to replace one, even for a sit-on-the-shitter job like this. Only the best and brightest get to stare at this fucking road all day, apparently.

Where should I look for your replacement? If you checked out some of the ranger stations around the Mojave, they might be able to move some people around. Hell, take it all the way to McCarran if you want, or with Hanlon. If you’re going to give them shit on my behalf, by all means, go nuts. A lot of higher-ups can be greased with enough favors, anyway. Whoever you get just needs the right credentials. Legion attacks get dragged asses and twiddled thumbs, sure, but bad paperwork would set a goddamn fire at headquarters.

The following characters can be recruited as the Mojave Outpost’s new watch:

A generic ranger. By speaking to the commanding officers of at least three of the NCR ranger camps across the Mojave with sufficient [NCR Fame], the Courier can speak to Chief Hanlon to arrange for Ghost’s replacement with a generic ranger. This option is impossible if “Return to Sender” has already been completed.

Craig Boone. If the Courier has completed “I Forgot to Remember to Forget” in a way that makes Boone repentant over his past, he can be persuaded to take over Ghost’s position as a good way to put his skills to use. Otherwise, he will refuse, either preferring to stay in Novac where he lived with Carla or not wanting to be stuck as a watchman again when he could be out killing Legionnaires. If selected, Boone’s home marker will change from Novac to the Mojave Outpost.

Manny Vargas. Novac’s other sniper can be convinced to take up Ghost’s post, but only if the Courier has completed “One For My Baby,” “Come Fly With Me,” and eradicated the Legion presence from Nelson. Once convinced that Novac seems safe, for now, he’ll be willing to reenlist if paid a generous salary. The Courier can either pay Manny 5,000 caps to reenlist now, pass a [Barter 65] check to explain that it’s a provisional reenlistment and reduce their bribe to 3,000, or if the Courier has already passed the [Confirmed Bachelor] check in dialogue with Knight, they can tell Manny about the cute little major sitting behind the desk all day there by his lonesome. Once convinced, Manny will relocate to the Mojave Outpost and take Ghost’s place.

Bryce Anders. This keen-eyed ranger can be recruited to Ghost’s position if he is rescued from the Vault 3 Fiends by the Courier. Once spoken with in Camp McCarran, the Courier can explain that the Mojave Outpost needs a new ranger stationed there. He will defer to Colonel Hsu’s authority on reassignments, and with a successful [Speech 60], [Medicine 40], or [NCR Fame] check, Hsu will agree to the reassignment on the grounds that it’s a useful position still sedentary enough to not complicate the ranger’s recovery.

Little Buster. The listless bounty hunter at Camp McCarran is looking for another career path and would be willing to take over Ghost’s do-nothing position. However, the only way to recruit him is to fabricate both credentials and enlistment records by either stealing personnel files from either Colonel Hsu’s office at Camp McCarran or from the filing cabinets at Camp Golf, or speaking to Daniel Contreras, who “knows a guy” who’ll take care of it if the Courier has already acquired access to Contreras' expanded inventory by siding with him in the unmarked quest “Dealing with Contreras.”

Private Halford. The sole survivor of Camp Guardian mentions that he wants to head back home through Mojave Outpost after being rescued from the mirelurk caves, at which point the Courier can mention no one is allowed to leave through there, and ask if he’d like to take Ghost’s position there instead. At first he’ll refuse, but with a [Speech 45] or [NCR Fame] check he can be convinced that a quiet, do-nothing watch assignment would be a lot better than anything else after what happened at Camp Guardian, to which he’ll agree. He will also relocate to the Mojave Outpost after being freed anyway, getting stuck like everyone else so that the speech check can be re-attempted. However, Halford isn’t considered well-trained enough for a ranger’s job. The Courier must speak to Jackson (or Knight, if Jackson is dead) and pass a [Speech 80] or [NCR Fame] check to make a strong endorsement, or a [Survival 55] check to explain how impressive it is that he survived an attack from so many mirelurks. Alternatively, the Courier can fabricate impressive enough credentials through the options required to assign Little Buster.

Once Ghost’s replacement has been assigned to the Mojave Outpost, the Courier only needs to speak to Ghost again. She will explain that she’s been “reassigned” to open patrol across the Mojave, ostensibly to track Legion activity, so long as she does so with the Courier. She also gains an additional dialogue option dependent on your choice of replacement:

What do you think of your replacement?

(Generic ranger) For this job? Any ranger’s as wasted as any other. I almost feel bad, I doubt she’ll like that fucking roof any more than I did...almost feel bad. Doesn’t quite cancel out the relief.

(Boone) First recon is one hell of a pull. Took right to it, too, like he was already used to it. Strikes me as the...quiet, contemplative type. Likes to think. Not much else to do up there, anyway. I bet those brahmin pins have never felt safer.

(Manny) First recon is one hell of a pull. Took right to it, too, like he was already used to it. Seems like a nice enough guy, and seems to be getting along with Major Knight. Hell, you love to see it.

(Bryce) A good man. Heard about what the Fiends did to him, and after all that, he certainly deserves a break. Didn’t think of this shit job as much of a vacation before, but seems like it’ll do him good.

(Buster) Not sure where the hell you found this guy, but if (Jackson / Knight) gave the okay, then...okay. I would’ve put a goddamn brahmin in a beret up there if it could have gotten me another assignment.

(Halford) The mirelurk guy? Yeah, he seems alright. I’ve never actually seen a mirelurk, but after hearing his story, I don’t think I want to. I didn’t even know we had a camp that far up there.

Speaking to Ghost after her replacement takes her position completes the quest, and from then on, she can now be recruited as a companion. However, similar to Boone, she will only remain the Courier’s companion if they maintain good reputation with the NCR, and as an active-duty ranger, her intolerance for anti-NCR actions is even more strict.

Ending Slides

If "Giving Up the Ghost” is started, but never completed:

NCR Victory. Ranger Ghost remained at Mojave Outpost, dutifully, thanklessly, and restlessly. When the rangers there received word that the Legion had made their move on the dam, the entire outpost went silent. Waiting. From her rooftop perch, at least she was the first to see the bearer of good news come up the road. In the moment, at least, it was worth everything to be there.

Legion, House, or Independent Victory. Ranger Ghost remained at Mojave Outpost, dutifully, thanklessly, and restlessly. When the rangers there received word that the Legion had made their move on the dam, the entire outpost went silent. Waiting. From her rooftop perch, she was the first to see the NCR’s retreat, as civilians and troopers alike began fleeing through the Long 15. She was right: this whole time, all she could do was watch.

Ghost is dead. Ghost, bitterly, died as she lived...(deep sigh) at the Mojave fucking Outpost.

If “Giving Up the Ghost” is completed:

NCR Victory: When legionnaires by the score descended upon Hoover Dam, Ghost was proud to have been one of the many rangers in the battle that kicked their shit in back across the Colorado. She celebrated with the rest of them, even a smile creeping onto her face every now and then. Still, Ghost returned to business before long, as part of a squad out East tracking down the straggling remnants of Caesar’s retreating Legion.

Legion Victory: Ghost was among the many rangers who fought at Hoover Dam, but when the army of legionnaires led by the Courier, to whom she owed her very presence there, proved unstoppable, she was ultimately among its many casualties. Their advance was too sudden, too overwhelming, for a clean evacuation, and a grisly duel with a centurion trapped her near the front. Still, the Legion never took Ghost alive. She made sure of it.

House or Independent Victory: The arrival of the Securitrons at Hoover Dam was a surprise to every NCR trooper stationed there, including Ghost. Their sudden turn against the NCR, and their allegiance to the Courier, even more so. The triumph of vanquishing the Legion was short-lived, then, as Ghost joined the forced retreat, one pale face in a sea of many. 

Ghost is dead: Despite her name, there was no supernatural flourish when Ghost died. She simply died like a ranger, fighting to the end. That’s all that mattered.

(Bonus) Cass’s Ending Slide if the Courier frames her for the murder of Jackson:

Rose of Sharon Cassidy spent all of her time at the Mojave Outpost in a drunken stupor, which is why when Major Knight oversaw her arrest for the murder of Ranger Jackson, it took so long to get exonerated. By the time the alibi was pieced together and the evidence was admitted as circumstantial, the battle of Hoover Dam shifted NCR’s attention elsewhere, and the crime was never solved. For a few months in the clink, though, at least Cass got what she wanted: home, and finally away from the outpost.

[shsl-otaku]

Where Greed Goes, Despair Follows: Chp. 18

Y/N: Raven Sin of Despair

Tag List: @asgleo16 @yuri-2018 @vialuciferscage @commanderawkward @chidayasays @misfitgirlwrites @amberfoxcosplay @catlover7722 @shiggi-trash @supremetodoroki @happynoodle @remikay313 @milkysamu @kageyamis @yogurthdecoco @alysplxnet @i-understand-that-refrence

•••

"Step right up! Get your swords from a skilled blacksmith!"

"This fine specimen was found in the tomb of a king!"

You, Ban, Meliodas, and King strolled through town, merchants and markets left and right.

"You expect us to look through all this, Captain?" Ban asked, hands in his pants pockets. You snickered as he walked next to you wearing his red leather pants and a white apron that had the Boar Hat logo.

"You’re really just wearing an apron," King said, looking at Ban with a criticizing look. You laughed at his comment, causing Ban to glare at you.

"Let’s ask an arms vendor," Meliodas said, leading the way.

"Looking for anything in particular? Or are you in the festival?" A voice said. You looked to see an old man sitting on a stump of wood. He appeared to be drunk. You blinked, raising a brow.

"Nope, we’re looking for a weapon. A hammer," Meliodas replied. "We heard there was one here."

"Oh, that’s easy," the man said, stroking his mustache. "See that?" He asked, pointing to what looked like some sort of incredibly large boulder with a tiny building on top of it. "It’s behind there."

The four of you thanked the old man and walked to the far side of the boulder. Your eyes widened at the large hammer that was leaning on the boulder.

"It’s Diane’s Gideon," King exclaimed.

"It really was here," Meliodas said, smiling.

"Oh my god, how has it not broken that hill yet," you said, looking at the hammer with wide eyes.

"Now, let the annual Vaizel Fighting Festival begin," a shrill voice called out. You looked to see a large crowd of men standing in front of you guys. The voice came from a tiny figure who was mostly hidden by a small helmet.

"The use of weapons is strictly forbidden," he yelled. "Men who let their fists do the talking should sign up right away! The winner gets 100 gold coins and we’re throwing in this Giant’s war hammer as an added prize!" The men all cheered and raised their fists.

You hid your face behind your hand to hide your laughter. "How can someone take home that prize when they can't even move it? They're like ants compared to it!" Ban laughed at your comment.

"What a barbaric festival," King sighed, shaking his head. "Right, Captain?" He turned to look at Meliodas, only to gasp in dismay to see the three of you looking at the ring, grins on your faces.

"We’re signing up, right?" Ban asked, grinning at you and Meliodas.

"Let’s see who’s the best," Meliodas said.

"Those extras don't stand a chance," you said, grinning.

"Hey! Count us in," Meliodas yelled at the referee, dragging King to the ring.

"Count me out," King yelled. You and Ban cackled as King tried to scramble out of Meliodas’ grasp.

A man suddenly grabbed Meliodas by the collar, holding him up. "This is no festival for kids," he yelled. “Beat it!”

You suddenly jumped up and landed a drop kick on top of the man’s head, causing him to yell out in pain and drop Meliodas. He rubbed his head and looked to glare at you, only for his eyes to widen when he saw your cold expression.

"Keep your hands to yourself you disgusting pig," you said lowly, making the man's eyes widen in fear.

"Hey, buddy," a man said, putting his hand on the other man’s arm. He had big, dirty-blond hair, purple eyes, and a muscular build. He wore a pale yellow vest over a sleeveless green shirt. "Don’t spoil the fun, okay? This is a festival. Plus, you should be more polite to young ladies like her."

The large man glared at the blonde man. "W-Who do you think—?! You know that I’m Taizoo, the winner of this festival three years running, right?" He spared a glance at you again. If looks could kill, he would've dropped dead when he met your eyes. He shuddered then turned to trudge away towards the ring.

The blonde scratched the back of his head then looked at you. "Are you alright, Miss? Did he try to hurt you?" You quickly changed the deadly expression on your face to a more lighthearted one.

"Mhm, I'm alright. Thank you," you said, smiling politely.

The blonde's eyes widened at the sight of you. He blushed furiously. "H-He was definitely not being a gentleman! What kind of man would try to mess with such a beautiful lady as yourself?" He folding his arms over his chest. Ban’s eye twitched at his sentence.

The blonde cleared his throat. "A-Anyway, I’ll be going to participate in the festival. Let’s all have a good time," he said, smiling at you and the other Sins.

You nodded. "Of course. Thank you again for earlier." He blushed and waved at you all before walking deeper into the crowd.

Once he disappeared from your view, you turned around, only to tilt your head in confusion. The three Sins sweatdropped.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing," the three said, sweatdropping at how you scared Taizoo earlier.

King floated back a few inches away from you, nervously. Ban shook his head and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. Your eyes widened and you looked up at him quizzically.

"What are you doing?" You asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"What does it look like?" He said. "Making sure you don’t get lost. Or harassed." You turned away from him so that he couldn't see the slight blush on your face.

The four of you followed the crowd up to the top of the large boulder/hill, where a flat stone fighting ring was in the middle. Some men were standing on the ring, while others crowded around it. You leaned closer to Ban to avoid getting touched by other people.

"The Fighting Festival elimination round will now begin," the referee called out. "Fighters, step into the ring!"

Ban and Meliodas jumped into the ring, grins on their faces. You stepped onto the ring, bringing the attention of many men onto you. You ignored the stares and blushes and whistles that went around as men saw you pass them.

"I wish I’d stayed behind with Diane," King whimpered, hesitantly stepping onto the ring. You laughed.

"Okay! Let’s get Diane’s sacred treasure back," Meliodas said cheerfully.

Men chattered and flexed their arms everywhere, their wives and children waving at them from the crowd. They averted their attention to the referee.

"The referee will be yours truly, Love Helm," He said in his shrill voice. "The rules in this round are simple in the extreme! Knock your opponent out of the ring! Throw them out, okay! Push them out, okay!" Your e/c eyes glinted in anticipation. A smile slowly made its way onto your face.

"Punch them all in the air, also okay! If it’s barehanded, okay! The nine contestants still standing will move on to the finals!" You, Ban, and Meliodas grinned at each other.

"Without further ado, let the elimination round begin!" Love Helm yelled, causing the men to all cheer. They all launched themselves at each other, breaking out into fights.

Two men made their way to you, grins on their faces. "This isn’t exactly a contest for girls, but since you are one, we’ll go easy on you," one of them said, grinning at you.

He reached his hand out to you, which you responded by grabbing his arm and throwing him over your back. He grunted as his back slammed onto the ground. You grabbed his ankle and threw him out of the ring, yelling. His friend gasped.

"Y-You threw him out of the ring," he said. He growled and tried to punch you, only for you to jump up and do a spin kick to his head, making him collapse onto the ground. You grabbed him by his collar and threw him out of the ring.

Ban yawned, standing across the ring from you. "Elimination rounds are so boring," he said. He turned to look at you, a smile on his face as he saw you throw men out of the ring, your e/c eyes fierce and full of fire, your hair following you as you moved, your s/c skin bathed in the light of the sun. Ban threw men left and right, not taking his eyes off of you.

You caught a brief glimpse of Meliodas and Ban chatting as they fought off their opponents. You rolled your eyes and smiled, until a man yelled out and charged at you. You ducked and did a low spin kick to his ankles, causing him to collapse with a yell. You then nonchalantly kicked him off of the ring.

You turned around as you heard the grunts of many men. Your eyes widened when you saw a girl who wore a purple hat and cloak, hiding her identity. You knew who she was right away and grinned.

You gasped as you saw a large man charging towards her, her back facing him.

"Look out," you yelled, sprinting to the man and doing a jump spin kick, sending him flying out of the ring. She looked at you and gave you a nod of appreciation. She gasped when you hooked your arm around her neck.

"Hey, Diane," you whispered in her ear.

Diane looked up at you, her purple eyes meeting yours. "Aww, you knew already?"

"Of course I did," you laughed. "I know my best friend’s strength. How the hell did you get this small though?"

"I’ll explain later," she said, smiling. She pulled her hat down so that it’d cast a shadow over her face. "For now, let’s just beat these guys!"

You grinned and got into a fighting stance. "Right."

The two of you took down opponents back to back, a pleased smile on Diane’s face and a mischievous grin on yours.

"Wow! Talk about moves as fast as lightning! These two girls are taking multiple men out of the ring all at once! These two are the definition of dangerous and beauty," The referee called out.

"Wow, Y/N’s doing pretty good," Meliodas said, looking at the two of you. "But who’s that other girls with her?"

Ban raised an eyebrow at the girl who was fighting with you. "Don’t know. I’ll ask her in a bit."

Meliodas looked at Ban, who was now wearing a a jacket that looked suspiciously identical to the one he used to wear, and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, where’d you get that top?"

•••

You crossed your arms, looking at the now almost empty ring. Your eyes scanned to see who was left. You recognized the blondie, Taizoo, a very muscular man who you didn’t know, Ban, Diane (who is still undercover), and Meliodas.

Your eyes widened when you recognized the drunk old man from earlier, who was now standing in the ring. 'Huh?!'

"So, who is still standing in the ring?" The referee called out. Your eyes widened when you realized that there were only 8 instead of 9 people left in the ring.

"There’s one more who hasn’t fallen out of the ring," a man yelled, pointing at someone. You followed his finger to see a traumatized King clinging to his floating pillow.

You laughed at his expression as the men in the crowd were complaining that he was "cheating."

"I admit that it’s playing dirty, but no weapons were being used," Love Helm said. "Therefore, I’ll allow it!"

"Yeah! Go, King," you yelled, laughing but also feeling bad for the poor fairy.

"Good for him, winning by playing dirty," Ban said, snickering.

"Nice way to cheat," Meliodas yelled at King, giving him a thumbs up.

You smiled and made your way to him and Meliodas, shaking from trying to not laugh. You stopped laughing when you realized that Ban was now wearing a jacket that looked just like the one he wore before Guila destroyed it.

"Uh, Ban?" You asked, sweat dropping. He turned to look at you, raising an eyebrow. "Where’d you get that top?"

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Lost Boys: A Good Night

Word Count: 2,071

Summary: Sometimes Dwayne feels the need to wander Santa Carla by himself. On one such night, he comes into some money, gets in a fight, and picks up an upgraded bike all while looking good. It’s hard to know how a night will go when it starts, but this one looks like it’s shaping up to be a good one. 

Dwayne had been a calm, passive personality for most of his long life. That’s not to say he didn’t have moments of mischief or violence, because he certainly did both as a human and a vampire. But someone in their gang needed to ground the energy and that was a role he was comfortable filling.

Sometimes he wondered if he would have turned out the same if he had been born different. Maybe he would have been more assertive, or playful, if his brownness wasn’t a factor.

But it wasn’t something he liked to dwell on since wishful thinking never changed anything.

That particular night Dwayne was eager to leave the cave. The other boys were moving slower than usual that evening and he struggled to wait for them. Finally, he made eye contact with David.

“I’ll meet you guys later,” he promised quietly.

David looked at him for a moment then nodded once in assent. Dwayne flew out of the cave’s rocky mouth doing a few aerial flips before reaching the top of the bluff. Still airborne, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

He could no longer enjoy the warmth of the sun on his face, but the feel of the wind playing with his hair and the salty ocean spray that tickled his nose were nice substitutes that he made due with.

The longer hair was a newer development. For the first time since early childhood, he was growing out his hair and the nearly shoulder length strands would his around his face when he flew. He had considered braiding it, or at least tying it back, but figured the length didn’t warrant that quite yet.

Dwayne had also recently become the proud owner of a new motorcycle after he had taken it from a victim about a month back. Seeing as how it was new, he was still in a protective mode towards it and tried his best to take care of it. So when he had wanted to upgrade some parts, he brought it to a mechanic shop to make sure everything was done as right as possible.

He was scheduled to pick it up tonight and he was excited to get it back after missing it for a few days. But before that happened, there was the matter of payment.

There would be more potential targets to choose from at the boardwalk, but most who frequented at this time of night were young people who weren’t exactly rolling in money. On the other hand, there was a ritzy social club just up the street from the boardwalk that was popular with Santa Carla’s upper class.

The stakes were higher, but so was the reward.

And not only was Dwayne a seasoned pickpocket, he was also a professional, which meant success was all but guaranteed. Plus, it sounded like more fun to rip off the rich.

Mind made up, he flew towards the restaurant and dropped down in an unlit alley behind the building, landing with a muted thump. He staked out the parking lot with his arms and hands loose, ready to make a move when opportunity presented itself.

His brown eyes tracked a couple exiting the social club, a young woman in her twenties and an again man with a pronounced gut, the latter pulling a wad of dollar bills from his pocket to hand some to the door boy. He put the money straight back in his jacket pocket instead of using a wallet.

Bingo.

Dwayne stayed back until the couple was a couple of feet away. Squeezing his way between two cars, he sauntered up the lot, making sure he was on the side closest to the man.

In the immediate moment preceding contact, Dwayne curved his body in such a way so as to make sure he would hit as much of the other guy he could. He bumped into him, hard, simultaneously snatching the money from the jacket pocket, faster and lighter than a normal human could sense.

The transaction was over in less than three seconds. Dwayne expertly stashed it in the waist of his jeans then turned, raising both of his hands with open palms to convince the other two that it was an accident.

The man made a surprised noise during the jostling, his eyes focused on Dwayne’s long, dark hair and his buck skin vest. Now that he had a clear look at who had run into him, distain showed on his face. “Never expected to see one of your kind at a place like this. Better watch where you’re walking boy.”

Dwayne’s face remained neutral.

He was dismissed by the couple and they continued onto their car, none-the-wiser that the jacket was lighter than it had been.

Dwayne walked calmly, but purposefully away into the darkened alley to count how much money had lifted. He was pleased to find he now had $60 in his possession.

He smirked at the couple’s car as they drove away. What a bunch of suckers.  

He made sure the cash was secured and wandered down the sidewalk, deciding that he would go to the boardwalk next. Technically, there was still a little time left until he had to pick up his bike, and now that he had some extra cash, he was eager to check out the booths and tables at the boardwalk.

The blinking lights glow fantastically against the black skyline and the joyful screams of riders are audible even before entering official boardwalk limits. This spot has always drawn lots of people, locals and tourists alike, no matter the time.

Dwayne weaved through the thick crowds, which got thicker the further in he went, and found his way to the booths he was interested in. For the most part, they were all lined up in a row on either side of the wooden walkway. The things people were selling were fairly typically—art, clothes, and physic services, to name a few. The jewelry tables featured mostly handmade items that glittered under the streetlight.

One spot in particular, really caught his eye. Dwayne paused while he took in the heishi necklaces made with delicate fragments of shell, shiny silver earrings with bold turquoise pieces, and the selection of intricately beaded chokers.  He looked at everything, picking up the cool ones to properly admire them.

The traditional influences of several tribes were represented: the Navajo, Kewa Pueblo, and Cherokee, among others. Other than the fact that they were North American tribes, there wasn’t any discernable theme that he noticed so the booth likely wasn’t run by someone with ties to a specific group.

He was proven right few moments later.

“The turquoise is really popular right now,” said a young blonde from behind her wispy bangs.

In his mind, Dwayne answered with a sarcastic no shit remark, but all he did on the outside was nod. Turquoise had been an important color, full of spiritual connotations, for the better part of the last couple hundred years in a lot of different tribes.

So, yeah. Popular.

Although, Hendrix wore that beaded fringe shirt with some turquoise to Woodstock last year… maybe the mainstream thought it was a trend.

“Ghost beads are also cool,” she continued. She lifted up a necklace with chunky round beads that were neutrally colored. “They’re supposed to protect you from evil.”

He could use some peace in his life, but he doubted this would help him out considering he was the evil spirit, the ghost, the nightmare, that it was supposed to ward off. Instead, he pointed to a white beaded choker with a turquoise centerpiece.

“What about this one?”

“I’ve had it a while. No ones been that interested in it.”

He rubbed it between the pads of his fingers. It was smooth to the touch and seemed durable when he tested its flexibility. “How much?”

The lady seemed surprised, then contemplative.

“Fifteen dollars,” she said in her best business voice.

Dwayne countered, “How about you accept five and then I’ll take it off your hands.”

She opened her mouth, but made the mistake of looking into his compelling dark irises.  She readily agreed and he handed over a twenty, the smallest bill from his stack of borrowed bills. An illuminated clock post showed that he had fifteen minutes to get to the mechanic garage. He thanked her and left with his change and a brand-new necklace hanging from around his neck.

The flow of traffic had become even more packed in the short time he had been there, especially as he moved closer to the exit. He was nearly out when he accidently bumped into a random guy, this time entirely on accident. He had seen the run-in coming and tried his best to angle out of the way, but with so many people around, his shoulder still clipped the guy in the chest.

Since it was an accident, and because he had somewhere to be, he planned to shake it off and continue on. The other guy didn’t take it well.

Dwayne felt a hand grab his shoulder from behind and was pushed into a small alley between two stores. His back was slammed against the wall, his head taking a pretty good knock. A forearm pressed against his chest.

“Watch where you’re walking!”

It was easy enough to assess the easiest way out of the situation.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, throwing in a noticeable wince for good measure. People like this tended to back off faster if they felt he had learned his lesson.

It was annoying to be waylaid like this, but he kept that emotion absent from his face. He was much stronger than them physically and their attempts to hurt him were barely painful. With any luck, this one would get over it sooner rather than later.

“You should be, you redskin,” he yelled while poking the necklace.

F for creativity.

To stop from rolling his eyes he closed them in mock fear. Redskin was hardly the most creative slur that had ever been hurled at him.

But then the guy had the balls to spit at him.

Dwayne couldn’t stop his jaw from clenching as the spit soaked into his vest. Maybe he did have enough time to take care of this. Before he could make the guy sorry, a bloody hand burst through his soon-to-be-meal’s chest unexpectedly.

The hand retracted and there was confusion on the guy’s face at the gory hole in the center of his chest cavity that was pumping out a steady river of blood. Within seconds the body dropped to the wooden floor, dead.

Marko stood there with his vamped out face, shaking his hand to get some of the flesh out from under his claws.

“Racist dick,” he sneered. He turned to Dwayne, his features melting back to their soft human version.

“Hey man,” he grinned, waving.

Dwayne looked at him unimpressed. “I was taking care of it.”

“I know,” the blond admitted, sucking on his bloody fingers. “But I hate when they talk to you like that.”

Dwayne huffed but didn’t push the issue; the boys were all protective of each other, they were brothers after all, but they were extra sensitive with Dwayne. He appreciated the back-up most of the time, but in this instance, he was a little peeved that he had been robbed the satisfaction of the kill.

He toed the corpse with the bottom of his boot. “You made the mess, then you clean it up.”

Marko pouted but didn’t argue.

Dwayne patted the cash to settle himself. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Go. I got it. And don’t worry, we’ll find you someone to eat,” Marko waved him off.

He slapped the blonde vampire on the shoulder and left him to it.

A small bell jingled when he pushed the door open to the front office of the garage. A teenager with kinky hair was working the desk. He pointed at Dwayne’s choker.

“Cool necklace,” he complimented genuinely.  

Dwayne nodded his head in thanks and watched the kid go bring the motorcycle out front.

The night was shaping up to be a pretty good one. He was getting his bike back, his new jewelry looked good, and his friends would have someone waiting from his to eat when he joined back up with them. 

Yeah. A pretty good night indeed. 

_______________

Thanks for reading!

I wanted to get this out in November since it’s Indigenous Heritage Month and a decent amount of fans headcannon Dwayne as being Native. Or at least not strictly white. Tribes had a Red Power Movement following Civil Rights era so I imagine this sometime in 1970. 

Also partly inspired by how the boys jumped to defend Dwayne in the opening scene of the movie. 

[herradhighpriestess]

Artificially Sweetened Sodomy

Chapter Three: Whores are Easier to Deal With

Kari pressed her lips together, wincing as she compressed the broken skin as she considered the weight of her situation. “What do I do?” her mind asked on a scream.

Tig nearly choked on the cloud of his exhaled smoke as he watched her pink tongue dart out and moisten her lips.

He was mesmerized by the small movement and didn’t realize at first that she was nodding slightly.

“You’re sure you’re not going to be a problem?” he asked and tried to maintain a cool façade.

Kari nodded again, a little stronger this time.

“Yeah?” he asked as he cocked an inky black eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Kari finally mumbled and rubbed her fingertips against her throbbing temples. She longed for her mostly effective rapid-release migraine medication as she was certain her skull was splitting at the seams.

She looked over when a metallic tinkling noise fell around her ears and she found her abductor holding out a dented flask towards her.

“No thanks,” she finally said and sat up straighter in the seat, thinking alcohol wouldn’t do any good for her head except make her pay less attention and notice details that might be important for later.

Tig pretended to not notice her barely suppress a flinch when he moved away from the door and pulled on the plastic handle. “Where’s the tracker?” he asked as he patted the seat between them.

“There’s no point in denying it,” she thought in the small space before she answered. “Behind the water pump,” Kari mumbled as she stared straight ahead, feeling his eyes memorizing her, practically touching her with the weight of his gaze.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he pulled a warm soda from the nylon bag and held it out to her.

“Thanks,” she murmured and took the brightly colored aluminum can from him, careful to avoid their fingers brushing against each other.

“We’ll get out of here in a minute,” he murmured, and she watched him slide out of the sturdy vehicle and pop the broad hood.

Kari found herself gulping the soda as Tig removed and destroyed the government-issued tracker and did a once-over the rest of the SUV before getting back behind the wheel and cranking the large engine to life.

Tig glanced over his shoulder at her as she drummed her fingers on the tops of her thighs and stared down at the floor. He felt a strange sensation slide around inside his gut and light up his central nervous as he found her fingers bare, devoid of any jewelry. “Do you belong to someone?” he thought before he spoke.

“You want to sit up here Agent Stillwater, it’s a little bit of a drive.”

Kari shook her head. “I’m okay here and please no more Agent stuff, can you just call me Kari?”

The pull of his lips into an unreadable smile both frightened and made Kari have a glut of questions.

“As long as you call me Tig,” he murmured as he turned around further in the driver’s seat and they locked eyes.

“What?” Kari finally asked as his expression remained neutral and he remained silent. She wasn’t sure if she should feel like prey on the Serengeti or a pilot fish living symbiotically with a Great White shark.

Tig shook his head. “Nothing,” he muttered as he got the bulky vehicle moving and eventually spilled back onto the interstate.

Kari kept her hands clasped together in her lap as he pushed the accelerator to a comfortable cruising speed, careful to not draw the attention of the CHP.

Tig kept nervously moving his hands around the steering wheel as he kept glancing up at her in the rearview mirror.

She shifted uncomfortably on the seat, her multiple layers and Kevlar vest making her sweat profusely, her anxiety leeched from her pores and she could smell how unpleasantly fragrant she was becoming.

Tig felt his chest tighten when his name fell from her lips.

“Tig?”

He looked up in the mirror and met her eyes. “Yes?”

Kari cleared her throat. “Can I have one of those cigarettes?”

“Yeah, here,” he said and passed her the pack and dark green lighter.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, eager to have the acrid cigarette smoke to drown out her body odor.

Tig noticed how she began shifting on the seat as she took slow, deliberate drags off the cigarette. He heard her chuckle and quickly cover her smile when she caught him looking.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

Kari shook her head and retrieved the empty soda can off the floorboard to flick her ashes into. “Just when I thought I was finally going to stop smoking.”

As Tig paid better attention to the sudden stoppage of traffic, back at the Wit Sec house, agents and local police swarmed. Doors were kicked in and windows ripped off in questioning everyone about the abducted agent.

As agents descended on Charming and looked everywhere for their missing agent, Tig continued towards the cheap motel and long-term rentals, at one point, he dumped the Yukon and stole a paneled van, nearly beige with the layer of dirt. Kari slid onto the passenger seat, not wanting to sit on the bare, metal floor of the rear of the van.

They were about half an hour from the motel, Kari had lapsed into a comfortable silence as she stared out the window at everything moving by. “Talk to her,” Tig ordered himself as he glanced over at her, he considered that she was most likely in some kind of medical shock.

“How long you been working ATF?” Tig finally asked, drawing out his words.

Kari glanced over at him and pulled one of the three remaining cigarettes from the pack and offered him one of his own. He accepted and watched her light hers before she offered her lit one in trade for his.

Tig made sure their fingers brushed and felt a static shock as he pulled hard on the filter her lips had just been touching, tasting her breath.

“Just passed the one-year mark, from what I’ve heard, the Wit Sec babysitting is a hazing of sorts,” she said as she shook her head and rolled down the window a few inches, letting the brisk, clean outside suck in her second-hand smoke.

“What was the original plan when you got there? The witness?” Kari asked while he inhaled and signaled for the off-ramp.

Tig ignored her question and looked at the directions he had jotted on a burger chain napkin.

The motel appeared on the left side and was very underwhelming. The faded blue long-term condos were set in the rear of the property and their room was apparently on the ground-floor corner.

Happy’s friends had someone’s nephew go and check-in at the motel under the false name and stolen credit card. The parking spot for the room was just out of the security camera’s entire sweep and the video was recorded over every twenty-four hours.

Tig put the van in park and looked over at Kari as she looked out the windshield at the piss poor room.

She barely suppressed a finch when his hand fell over her hand where it rested on the armrest.

“It’s a short walk to the room, I’m going to come around and open your door,” Tig murmured.

Kari nodded as he added. “There won’t be any problem getting to the door?”

“I will not be a problem,” she said in a strained voice and stared at the room door through the bug-splattered windshield.

Tig tightened his hand around hers as he spoke, “look at me.”

Kari pressed her lips together and turned her head to meet his startling blue eyes. “No problem?” he rasped musically.

“None,” she whispered and fought the urge to try and yank her hand free.

Tig nodded and released his hold on her before getting out of the van, gathering the duffle bags, and opening her door.

Kari climbed out of the van and waited until he pushed the heavy door closed before following him to the room. He slid the plastic keycard until it beeped and flashed a series of green flashes before he pushed the door open.

She followed him inside and fumbled for a light switch and flooded the room with a wan yellow light. Tig pushed the door closed and slid the extra chain lock in place, in addition to the deadbolt.

He watched Kari look around the dingy room, pale yellow carpets and faux wood paneling the single room, extra sitting space in front of an older model flatscreen tv, closet and small bathroom with a cramped tub and shower.

Tig watched her eyes move over the single queen bed in the middle of the room before she briefly met his eyes and turned her attention to looking for the remote control and the local news. “It’s really cold in here,” she remarked as she flipped though the channels.

“These rooms are generally rented at hourly rates, no one cares about the temperature,” he said and winked when she looked over at him.

Kari settled in the creaky chair and adjusted the volume when the commercial break was over.

Tig took the time to walk into the small bathroom and dial Clay.

Clay picked up at the end of the first ring.

“Brother, you okay?”

Tig leaned against the door frame so he could keep Kari in sight as he half-smiled. “It’s okay, got to the motel, thank Happy.”

“Do you have a guest with you?”

Tig chuckled, “yeah.”

“Is she alive?”

“Very.”

“Is she going to stay that way?”

“Yes.”

Clay was silent for a minute. “Good,” he finally said. “Do you need more money?”

Tig shook head as he answered, “no, I’d like to get stay here a night or two and keep north.”

“Are you coming back brother?”

Tig gave a ragged sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I’ve found something,” he added unhelpfully.

“You always have a home here brother, I hope to meet this something someday. Call if you need anything,” Clay added before he ended the call.

Tig pushed his phone in his back pocket as he watched Kari watch the news and casually loosen her braid until she could run her fingers through her tangled hair.

Kari looked over at him when the loud thump of his boots sounded as he kicked them off before slipping out of his jacket.

Tig stretched out on the bed and slipped one hand behind his head before he patted the empty space next to him when he caught her staring.

Kari scoffed and worked on a stubborn tangle when he patted the bed again.

“No,” she finally said and turned her attention back to the shitty tv screen and pretended to be captivated by the weather report of sunny skies the following day.

“I thought you weren’t going to be a problem,” Tig said and sat up when she turned back to him, anger etched in her tired face. “I’m not but I’m not getting into that bed with you.”

Tig’s mind tried to rapidly put together an approach. He reached for his discarded jacket and drained the flask, wincing as the alcohol burned a hot path down his throat and spread warmth throughout his chest and belly. “You need to do this right,” his mind warned and climbed to his feet.

As Tig rose from the bed, Kari also stood from the creaky chair, tension filling her, a cold trickle moved down the length of her spine.

Tig held his hands up in the air and wiggled his fingers. “I promise I’ll keep my hands wherever you tell me, but you need to get in the fucking bed.”

Kari shook her head, her blood pressure rising as she found it hard to breathe with the compression of the vest. She felt herself getting overheated despite how chilly the room was.

Tig’s eyes moved over her face, he could practically see the coiled tension inside her, electricity building and threatening to shoot from her fingers.

“You gotta keep this shit together,” he thought and kept his hands outstretched. “Get in the bed, you have to be tired. I’m not going to do anything out of line.”

Kari narrowed her eyes at him, unable to judge the veracity of his words since he was there to kill that young witness. She fought to keep her shoulders back despite the appeal of laying down and closing her eyes, especially getting out of the fucking vest.

“What if I wanted to stay in that chair instead?” she asked, her voice steady.

Tig shook his head, “it’ll be cold sitting up all night.”

“I’ll risk freezing to death.”

“I can’t have that happen; a dead ATF agent isn’t good.”

“Kidnapping and assault is fine though?” she asked on a scoff.

Tig stood up taller, every moment spent with Kari reaffirming why he liked dealing with whores, livestock and the comatose.

[walkerofclouds]

A Chance Remembrance On the Frozen Isle

Lady Tiasha wasn't sure what had prompted her to begin a bed and breakfast in THIS tumultuous economic and political climate. However, since it's inception in 2006, it had steadily grown, and grown, making her, if not wealthy, than very very comfortably well off. Now the manager of nearly five hundred such collections of cabins and condos and chateauxs, she was currently overseeing her last project in the southern crook of Iceland. Just what had called her to the frigid landscape, mostly untouched by modernity, was hard to pin down. Some might have called it a good business hunch, a gut instinct that appeared incomprehensible at first, until it paid off. Others, far more bold than she, would chalk it up to fate.

Ember Tiasha, however, preferred to consider it the will of the Gods.

Just as they are.

Her on again off again freelance location scout stood off to the side, bouncing from foot to foot with his own copy of the dossier he had left in her office months before. The mercurial figure known as Ernish Serhat nodded to her as she approached.

"All coming along nicely isn't it?"

"Hmm? Oh yes. Didn't expect to see you today."

"When have I ever failed to stop by and see how your work os progressing. And *Don't* bring up Budapest."

"Fine. None. Have you eaten?"

Serhat sighed.

"Alas, no. Haven't had the time."

"You ought to start making the time. I mean it."

"Yes yes I know. Next time I'm in town."

"I'll be holding you to that."

"So...when is it set to open "

°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°`°

Three weeks into it's operation, now certain all was well in hand, Tiasha was packing her bags, content that this local no longer required her personal attention. Until, of course, several inconvenient circumstances befell to forestay her departure.

While the work had begun in mid fall, and hastened through the bulk of the succeeding season, February was quickly coming to a close. With it, the last dregs of Old Man Winters mighty breathe, in the form of the most vicious blizzard the region had seen in quite some time.

The roads too treacherous to travel, and power winking out all over the country side, locals and foreigners came to her in droves, seeking warmth and comfort. Her myriad cabins were all but full when two special arrivals made their appearance.

The first, having booked his trip almost before renovations were complete (she blamed the tech department for having the location advertised on the web page a week too early) came in from the chill almost too cheery, and, in fact, an hour ahead of schedule. A taller man, gaunt and slightly disheveled, in a surprisingly well tailored suit of onyx and burgundy, came up to the counter, deft long fingers clutching a jeweler's case, the navy vest beneath the coat winking in the candle light with small well placed semi precious stones. Behind him, an old steamer trunk, all hardwood and brass, with a decent sized garmet bag slung over top.

Misser Manolo Rhundé took a deep breath and gestured to the gale outside.

"Always something so...majestic and lovely about a good winter storm, isn't there?"

"Regardless of the state," the woman behind the counter nodded, handing him the key to cabin five, "we do hope you enjoy your stay."

Tiasha watched from off to the side, a slight shiver running through the warm aura'd woman. There was a certain feeling in the air about the man. Much the same the vibes given off by Serhat. A kindred spirit of some kind. Just things had been occurring more and more often of late. Though rarely in the same place twice, let alone this strong.

"I have no doubt I will. Frankly, it's a wonder I haven't visited before."

"That is completely and utter bullshit, sir. And I rather disagree with you on that." A woman's voice said, coming in from the cold. A dark brown glove pulls back a orange and yellow marigold stitched hood revealing a gorgeous dark skinned woman with long white dreadlocks, some of it in what looks like a hand knitted blue beanie, some of it is out and hanging free. Blue eyes glare slightly at the man who spoke, and it would seem that her hair would agree with her, because buds of light red petunias began growing and blooming in her hair.

Ororo Munroe is not having a good day. She had to wake up extra early for a flight that was slightly delayed for a few hours and she had to deal with annoying people on a ten hour flight from China, plus getting to this lovely little area was a pain in her ass. She's cold, tired, and doesn't want to deal with the bullshit of what an attractive man in a very nice three piece suit just said.

She undoes the first couple of buttons to her coat, revealing a light beige long shirt with chibi Studio Ghibli characters running down to the abyss of what is covered by her jacket. She walks towards the front desk carrying a worn out duffel bag along with a medium sized suitcase. The flowers soon die and turn into dust as she walks.

Her black uggs make little noise as she walks over to the front desk and side eyes the guy before looking at Tiashe with a tired and slightly annoyed expression but it soon melts away after a couple of minutes.

"Wǒ xiǎng huí jiā, xīwàng zhèxiē huā zhídé. Zhèlǐ tài lěngle.." She mutters softly before shaking her head slightly and smiling at Tiashe. "Sorry about that, I have a reservation under Munroe. If you excuse me.." She said as a lovely, vibrant violin ringtone begins to play from her jacket pocket.

Ro pulls out her phone and smiles softly as she answers. "Nǐ hǎo mǔqīn, shì de, shì de, wǒ ānquán de dàole zhèlǐ. wǒ yě ài nǐ." She said smiling and hanging up and putting her phone back in her pocket. She closes her eyes and hums softly before rubbing her eyes slightly.

[adrenaline-bloggers]

Adrenaline( By:Keri  Dyck)

Sam couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he read the notification on his phone. A shadow fell across him. He hurriedly turned it off, tucked it in his pocket, and glanced up. It was just a fellow passenger returning from the washroom. His heart pounded.

Adrenaline.

His head whirled with the possibilities. How was he going to do this one? Kidnapping, the text had said. Well, that was simple enough.

Sam stood up, holding the headrest of the seat in front of him until his stiff muscles allowed his legs to straighten. Golden wheat fields flashed outside the window while he made his way to the washroom at the end of the car. There he could go over the assignment in peace.

The victim—Alana—looked like a tough cookie, albeit a cute one. She was on vacation with her boyfriend of exactly one year, Roger. It was Timothy, his best friend, who had ordered Sam’s services this afternoon.

A voice came over the train speakers, announcing their entrance to the outskirts of Paris and requesting everyone be prepared to disembark. Sam knew it was going to be at least twenty more minutes, so he settled more comfortably on the toilet and went over the details another time.

When the train stopped, he ducked his way out of the crowd, then around a few alleys and up the stairs to the little apartment he called home. Tonight’s income was going to pay rent for another week. He needed to prepare himself.

The streets were busy with tourists and locals alike, but it was easy to find his target. Cropped leather jacket, blue striped dress, black combat boots, blond hair under a red beret. She was touching up her cherry lipstick in the reflection of a shop window. Roger was nowhere to be seen.

Sam strolled down the sidewalk toward her, but stopped to chat with the florist, Cecelia. “I might come by to get some flowers later,” he said.

She was all pink cheeks and long lashes as she replied, “I’ll save some for you. What colour?”

“Something violet, but not too dark.”

Then he switched to mission mode. Alana was adjusting her beret now, glancing toward the shop door, obviously thinking that Roger was taking too long. The timing was perfect. He tipped the beret down over her eyes and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her into the alley. He shoved her against the brick wall and covered her mouth with one hand.

“One sound and I’ll blow your brains out,” he hissed, tapping his free hand against the bulge in his jeans pocket.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. Her knee came up but he clapped his own together. While he was distracted, her fist connected with his nose. His eyes watered. He pinned her hands to her sides.

“Dirty move. Don’t try that again.”

Her eyes smouldered and her teeth bared. He was right, she was a tough cookie. He pulled the cloth out of his back pocket and pressed it against her nose for just a moment. Her eyes rolled upward while her legs gave out, but he stood her back up.

“There we go. You asked for it. Now, come along.”

She stumbled along while he pushed her through the streets. No one payed attention to the young man leading around his (as they probably thought) drunk female companion. They made their way across the river Seine and toward the fenced-off cathedral of Notre Dame. There was a hole in the fence behind some bushes on the less busy side, and he maneuvered her through.

She started regaining strength in her limbs when they were halfway up the steps, but was too out of breath to fight him. They reached the porch between the two towers. He held the cloth to her nose again, and she tried to hold her breath, but the exertion forced her to inhale the chloroform once more.

While she was dazed, he untied the rope from where he had wrapped it around his left calf beneath his loose jeans and used it to bind her hands behind her back. He secured the loose end to one of the pillars and leaned back against the opposite one, waiting for her to recover and planning his speech.

The sun sank closer to the horizon, bathing everything in warm light. Her regard slowly focussed into a glare, and once a level of ultimate hatred had been reached, he knew she was completely lucid again. He stretched and folded his arms across his chest.

“Looking at Paris in this light, all I can think of is my mother. She would have loved to see that sunset. I wonder if she’d be proud of me?”

The question had a very definitive answer written over her face.

“She always wanted to see the view from up here,” he continued. “But she never got the chance. So I make it a priority to allow others the privilege. At a reasonable fee, of course.” He sighed. “Not very talkative, are we? Did I make your ropes too tight?”

Her loathing could have set him ablaze. “Why are you doing this?”

“She speaks!” He grinned. “Well, mostly for the money. But partly for the thrill. The adrenaline.”

“What money?”

“My fee, compensation, ransom, whatever you want to call it. You’re going to give me a phone number, I’m going to dial it, and you’re going to tell them to pay me. Then I’ll let you go. Now, what’s the number?”

She deadpanned. “Call one-one-two.”

He laughed. “Real funny, sweetheart. Now, are you planning on cooperating, or not? Because it’s a long fall.”

Alana’s eyebrows twitched with the first sign of fear before her focus caught on something behind him. Something hit him, square in the back. He stumbled and landed face-first on the stone floor. Roger, it seemed, had brought a knife.

His breath came in short gasps. Sticky red fluid flooded the mosaic tiles under his chest.

“Oh, thank God. Alana?" Roger reached his girlfriend and set to cutting her ropes. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

“No, Roger, I’m fine. I’m so glad you came in time. I thought—I thought he was going to throw me off the roof—I know we don’t have a lot of money—” her words shuddered.

“I’m so sorry I let you out of my sight, Alana.” Then the kissing noises started.

Sam was facing away from them, so he took the opportunity to roll his eyes.

“Did you kill him, Roger?”

“I don’t know.” Footsteps rounded his body.

Sam coughed. More blood spurted from his mouth, dribbling down his cheek. Then his eyes rolled upward and he stopped breathing.

“I think so.”

Her voice was steady again. “Should we call the police? What if you get tried for murder? We should’ve stayed with the group.”

“I don’t know.”

Sam waited for the silence to reach a good level of tension before he sat up and spat out the leftover blood. They both jumped away. Roger shoved Alana and her clenched fists behind his back. Sam took no notice of the knife as he took off his shirt and removed his plated vest with its burst paint balloons.

“What were you saying about never letting her out of your sight? It seems to me that there’s only one arrangement where that’s appropriate.”

They both stared at him, frozen.

He removed the bulge in his pocket, unwrapped the extra paper that had made it appear menacing before, and handed the box to Roger. He slowly lowered the knife and took it. Then his expression cleared.

“Timothy.”

Sam grinned and bowed. “You’re fast. Sam from Adrenaline Junkies, at your service. I’m gonna have to charge him extra, though. Your girl gave me quite the blow.” He gingerly touched his face, which was starting to swell. It would be blue tomorrow.

Roger returned the look, although tentatively at first, before he shook his head and relaxed his grip on the knife.

Alana looked between the two of them. “What’s going on?”

“Timothy told us there would be a surprise adventure, remember?”

She laughed then. “I thought he meant tickets to go skydiving or something. You’re really good, by the way,” she said, turning to Sam. “Are you alright?”

“Yup. Although he’s gonna have to return that knife to whichever cafe table he stole it from.”

Roger looked at the knife. “That’s going to be fun to explain.”

“Oh, no worries. They all know me down that street.”

“Cool.” Alana returned her focus to Roger. “Um, what’s in the box?”

“Well…” Roger bent to one knee, and her jaw dropped.

“Are you serious?”

He popped the lid of the box, and a tiny diamond glittered from a simple pewter band. “Alana Renae Taylor, will you marry me and be a part of all my adventures from now until forever?”

Alana shot a mild glare at Sam. “Turn around.”

He obeyed while they kissed again. He wiped the fake blood off his cheek with the dirty shirt, then wrapped it around the balloons and vest into a neat little bundle. Underneath his right pant leg was his spare shirt. He untied it and pulled it over his head. Once he was finished, he turned around. “It’s almost eight o’clock, so we’d better be getting back to where we started.”

“Why?”

“Well, the florist, Cecelia, plays double duty for me. If any of the tourists witness my escapades, she tells them when to come back instead of calling the police. Me and my customers-slash-victims all appear happy and unharmed to explain the whole story.”

Alana cocked her head. “Wait. All you told her was that you wanted some violets.”

Sam nodded. “Very observant of you. What I told her was the colour of the sky when I would be back. Tear your eyes away from your fiancé and my handsome self, and look at the sky.”

Sure enough, the amber sky had faded to a darkening blue with hints of lavender.

“By the time we get down there, it’ll be violet.”

[ancientwastedlores]

The Support System (Ch: 6)

SUMMARY: The Avengers have managed to collect all the infinity stones across the universe, and are currently keeping them in far corners of the world, only for research and to see if they can improve the planet and its people. Reader is a researcher with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, as well as a field agent. Loki is currently serving time for his actions in New York City in 2012.

A/N: Find this chapter on AO3 here. This chapter is mostly soft Loki and some badass Y/N. 

AO3: The Support System Tumblr:  Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 

Warnings: N/A Audience: general.

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CHAPTER 6:

It’s very obvious to the rest of the Avengers that Loki only started watching Doctor Who with you so he’d get to spend the night in your bed. You know it too, but understand that he would spend it in anybody else’s room but his, because being alone at night haunts him. If someone else wanted to something about it, they would, and if they don’t, they don’t get to give their opinion about it.

And they know you aren’t about to listen either, so they keep shut.

The rest of the week passes like usual, with Loki sleeping in your bed and Tony playing concerned father and quippy teen at the same time. Then arrives the morning when you have to leave.

You wake up and don’t find Loki next to you as usual. You take advantage of the space and stretch, moaning loudly. You feel like you’ve cracked every single joint in your body, and sit up. You keep sitting, making a mental list of the things you need to prepare before leaving.

The dealers were expected at the secret venue at 7 in the evening, but Tony, being Tony, insisted the team get there a full 12 hours earlier. Natasha rolled her eyes and tried to convince Tony that two hours would be enough, but he wouldn’t budge.

The cars would leave at 6 AM. You look at clock and see you have a full hour before leaving.

 The door opens, and Loki enters with a tray.

‘What! Aww, Loki’ you laugh. ‘I thought you could use a breakfast in bed before heading out’ he grins as he walks to your bed, ‘I made it myself’ he exclaims proudly, placing the tray on your lap.

Well, there was no doubt about that. It was a plate full of fruits, a bowl of cornflakes, and some toasted bread. You were looking forward to digging into some pancakes and bacon before heading out to a gruelling mission, but the excitement in his eyes makes you abandon the thought completely.

You smile and ask him to sit and share the food. He obliges.

‘So you’re coming round to the idea of me going’ you tease. ‘What’s the matter, find another Doctor Who fan?’

He looks severely offended and you immediately regret saying it. ‘I was only joking. Thank you for doing this, it’s lovely’.

His expression softens, and then he reaches into his pocket.

‘I know you’ll be fine, but I did take the liberty of an extra precaution’ he produces a small rectangular object, no larger than a fingernail. It’s silver, and has odd markings on it that glow green, and attached to a chain.

You start to protest because amulets are absolutely the kind of thing you’re against, when he clutches your arm. ‘Please’ he pleads. ‘It makes no difference to you, since you don’t believe in it, but for my peace of mind?’

‘Loki, if I wear that, and something does happen, you’ll blame yourself for the amulet not working properly’. ‘No, I promise, quite the opposite…’ he unclasps the chain, ‘I’ll know I did everything I could, and you died because you did something stupid’.

You laugh. ‘Fair enough. You promise you won’t start beating yourself up?’

‘I swear on my honour’ he says, putting the chain around your neck. You tuck the amulet under your shirt, knowing if Natasha and Clint ever saw it, they would never let you live it down. You talk for a while longer while finishing up your breakfast, and then Loki leaves so you can change.

xx 

‘Good luck, kiddo’ Tony slaps your arm. ‘Give ‘em hell’. ‘Thank you’ you give Tony a small salute before getting into the car with Maria Hill, Clint, Natasha, and Sam Wilson.

xx

T-3 hours to the expected time of arrival of the dealers. You’re leading a group of ten agents, and everyone is already in position. You’re sitting, leaning against the wall with your group, circling a finger over your bullet proof vest which hides the amulet Loki gave you.

Ridiculous, you think. But nice. You smile.

‘What is it?’ an agent asks, seeing your smile.  ‘What? Nothing. Shush’ you say.

Natasha’s voice comes on the earpiece: ‘If anyone tells Tony this, they’re fired, but the convoy is here’.

You smile, knowing Tony would gloat for ages if anyone told him the convoy reached earlier than expected.

‘Alright gang, up up’ you stand up, and help a few up since they’re carrying heavy guns. ‘Look sharp, and if you find something weird, for god’s sake, don’t touch it. We got Thor for that’.

You put your helmet on and take a deep breath, waiting for instructions.

 You hear the dealers come in, boxes being dragged across the floor, clicks of guns and clanging of metals.

‘Where’s the Vibranium?’ a voice comes. Someone mumbles something in another language.

‘He’s saying there’s another truck coming’ Natasha’s voice comes. ‘Nobody move until every single one of them is in the room and the door is shut’.

You nod at the rest of your team to ask if they understand. They nod back.

You return your eyes to the group that has just entered. You look up, just to scope the room, and spot a figure move.  

‘Yo’ you whisper as low as you can, ‘did anyone see that?’ ‘What the hell is that’ Clint’s voice comes over the ear piece. ‘Oh, if that is who I think it is…’ Sam’s voice comes. ‘Ssshh’ you hiss. ‘Wait’. ‘Did you just shush me, don’t ever…’ ‘Ssshhh!!' you, Clint, and Nat say in unison. 

It’s a grave situation, but you can’t stop yourself smiling before returning your attention to the back of the room. The tall figure is still moving, shooting something that makes no noise.

‘For god’s sake’ you hear Sam’s disgusted voice. ‘It’s the spider kid’.

You inwardly groan. You thought Tony would have told him to stay away.

‘Tell me he isn’t our responsibility, please’ Sam says. ‘If you want to die at Tony’s hands, sure’ you say. ‘Stark put a comms system in his suit, someone tell Stark to get him out’. ‘We aren’t carrying cell phones. And we don’t know how he got in in the first place’ Nat says. ‘Let it just play out’.

You sigh.

You wait a while longer, and the ‘other’ truck arrives. After all the contents are loaded in the room, there’s a spat about payment, and then the truck guys clear off. The one you assume is the leader shuts the doors and walks over to one of the crates with a crowbar.

‘Hold it…’ Nat says.

You stretch an arm out to inform your team to stay as well.

You quickly glance back up, the figure is no longer on the roof. You dread that he’ll announce his presence at the wrong time.

And he does.

‘Anything here for me?’ you hear Peter shout. The dealers all cock their guns and turn around to point it at him. ‘NOW’ Nat shouts over the comms.

You put your arm down and your team moves out, guns pointed at the dealers. From the right, Clint’s team enters. From the left, Natasha’s. Thor is on the balcony-like structure upstairs, looking over the whole congregation. Maria and Sam come from the North side. You have them surrounded.

‘Whoa, no way, you guys came!’ Peter exclaims. ‘Get outta here, kid’ you yell. ‘No way, let me help, I can help’.

You roll your eyes.

‘Ay, what the hell is going on’ one of the men say. ‘Put your weapons down’ Nat shouts. ‘Turn over everything you have’. ‘Yeah, that’s not happening’ the man laughs, removing a cylindrical object and throwing it on the ground, creating a force field around his own group, also trapping Peter.

You look up at Thor. He’s already swinging his hammer and aiming it at the force field; it hits its mark and the shield breaks so your team can move in.  

A fight ensues, with you managing to dodge most of the attacks, while also grabbing onto some of the new tech the dealers have left lying around to use it.

‘This is so cool!’ Peter yells, swinging from wall to wall, pinning dealers to the walls with his webs. Okay, maybe he is helping a little.

 You manage to get every single one of them, either knocked out or pinned to the wall. Sam celebrates by slyly putting some of the new guns in his holster. You laugh and yell that you can see him, and he yells back ‘You see NOTHING’.

Peter is just gushing over what just happened. ‘I didn’t know you guys were coming, this is so cool, I’ve always wanted to be part of a strike team!’ ‘Peter…’ you start. ‘And, and look at this gear, wow can I try that gun, I swear I’ll be careful…’

You take off your helmet. ‘PETER’.

‘Oh’

He sees your face. ‘Oh h-hey I didn’t know it was you, hi’.

You sigh, remembering his crush on you. ‘You’re in way over your head’. ‘Mr. Stark says the same thing, you know, I’m much more capable…’ ‘Thank you for your help’ you say sternly. ‘I’ll inform Mr. Stark you did a great job today. But you have to go now’.

His eyes twinkle. ‘You’ll tell him I did good? Will you tell me what he says? Do you have my number? You can just text me what he says…’

‘Peter, honey, Tony has your number’. ‘RIGHT. Yes, he does. Okay. Bye!’ he shoots a web to the ceiling and goes out of the broken skylight you hadn’t noticed before.

Everyone else is putting weapons back in crates, while the Avengers are talking at the middle of the room. You walk over to them. ‘Hey’.

‘How’d you get him to leave’ Sam asks. ‘I just said he did good’ you shrug. ‘We’re sure these guys haven’t made any calls?’

Clint holds up a little device. ‘Blocks out any outgoing and incoming calls within a 2km radius’ he grins.

xx

Stark’s trucks arrive and the men get out to help load the crates in. Natasha and Hill oversee the operation, while Sam and Thor are in some conversation, and Clint helps you aid the wounded S.H.I.E.L.D agents.

While you bandage a woman’s arm, Clint walks over to borrow a pair of scissors. You hand it to him, and kneels down next to you.

‘Blink twice if you need help’ he says. ‘Excuse me?’ ‘You and Loki’. You sigh, frustrated. ‘We’re friends’. ‘I’ve been under his control. It’s easy to not understand the difference’. ‘Clint, he doesn’t have any way of controlling me, okay?’ ‘You just look badly beat up’.

You finish bandaging the woman and she thanks you. You smile at her and stand up. ‘I appreciate your concern, I really do. And thank you for asking. But there really is nothing to worry about. I decided to give him a chance, and I think all of you should too’ you pat him on the back and walk towards where the trucks are.

‘Hey, the last of the crates are loaded, I’m just calling Stark’ Hill informs you. You nod and she leaves, her phone in hand. ‘Off to Dubai, then. It’s a long ass flight’ Nat says. ‘When are we leaving? I hope we land at night, it’s beautiful’ you say, remembering your time there ‘I think we can manage that’ she grins.

After the driver calls something out to her in Russian, she responds and hits the side of the truck next to her twice. The engines start and the line of trucks head out to the Avengers Tower.

‘We follow through; can you get the team into the cars?’

You nod and rush back in, ‘Ya’ll got five minutes, get your asses in those cars’ you call out. ‘Anyone who needs medical attention, yell’.

One person from the corner of the room yells.

You turn to Natasha. ‘I’ll take him to the Tower and drop him off, get a new guy, and meet you at the jet’. ‘You sure?’ ‘Yeah. Save me a good window seat’. ‘You got it’ she smiles and sits in the car.

The rest of the group files in, and you’re left with a large black BMW. You haven’t driven in a while, but the car has sirens, so you hope people will just get out of your way. ‘Okay mate, what’s your name’ you ask, as you pick him up. ‘Paul’ he chokes out. ‘Paul. Well, Paul, have you ever been inside the Avengers Tower?’

He shakes his head.

‘You’re in for the pampering of your life, if you manage to stay with me till the ride there, Paul’ you help him into the backseat of the car, and buckle him in. You run to the drivers’ side, get in, and flip the sirens on, driving at top speed to the Avengers Tower.

You make a call while rushing through the streets of New York. Over the bluetooth - ‘Hello?’ ‘Tony! Okay, I’m bringing over Paul, he was hurt badly in the fight…’ ‘Yup, Nat told me, med crew is already at reception’. ‘Excellent, I also need you to keep a S.H.I.E.L.D agent ready for me to take as a replacement’. ‘Also downstairs waiting, with full gear’. You just love this man. ‘You’re awesome, Stark’. ‘I know, kid. See you soon’ he hangs up.

You pull up to the entrance of the tower and the med crew rushes to help Paul out of your backseat, which is covered in blood.

Fortunately, Tony also has another car waiting for you.

This man is on another level, you think, chuckling.

‘Take care Paul!’ you yell. He gives you a thumbs up.

The new recruit comes up to you. ‘Hi, I’m Sean’ ‘Hello, Sean. Get in, we’ll talk’

He gets into the new car and you’re about to get in as well when you hear your name called out and turn around. It’s Loki.

‘Hi! I have to leave…’ He comes up to you and gives you a hug. ‘I forgot to give you a hug before you leave’ he holds you tight. ‘Oh’… you smile against his chest and hug him back. You’ve removed your bullet proof vest now, so it’s just a shirt. Loki can feel the amulet through it, that’s how tight he’s hugging you. ‘Take care’ he says, and lets go.

You grin and turn to get into the passenger side, then shut the door. Off to Dubai, then.

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Feedback and requests welcome :) <3 Thanks for reading! 

[sheewolf85]

New Fic - Common Grounds

Stretch/Reader - Reader is male Coffee Shop AU Summary: You're a college student who just needs some coffee to stay awake and study after class. Your favorite coffee shop just hired a new barista, a tall skeleton monster. At first, your interest in him begins and ends with how horribly he's treated by the general public, as if he's a performing monkey. You're not gonna let that slide, no sir. In your opinion, monsters have more than earned their right to work and live without humans gawking. The more you get to know him, however, the more you realize there's something special about him beyond his affinity for terrible puns. Notes: Super special thanks to @sansy-fresh​ for letting me use him as a sounding board for ideas for this fic. This would not have been written if not for you. Tags: Insecure Stretch, Barista Stretch, Instructor Blue, Monsters on the Surface, light monster discrimination (mostly toward the beginning; it’s not a central theme of the story), Sort of a slow burn

Read on AO3

Or read after the cut: 

A windy chill brought a shiver to your body, and you huddled further into your jacket as you walked across the campus field toward the parking lot. Your last class had just gotten out, and now you were going to head over to the library to study for a few hours before you went home. Winter was coming fast; it seemed like it had just been summer a few weeks ago.

You got into your green Honda and started it up, turning the heater on immediately. You had to remember to bring your heavier jacket tomorrow, and probably a pair of gloves.

On the way to the library, you kept to your routine and stopped by the coffee shop you always liked to grab a drink to keep awake while you studied. Common Grounds was a terrible name for a coffee place, but it wasn’t like you could ask them to change it just because you thought it was lame. You could already smell the heavenly scent before you even reached the door.

Once inside, you rubbed your hands together to warm them up and got in line.

The place was busier than normal for a Tuesday in the late afternoon. There might usually be a person or two ahead of you, but today you were at least sixth in line and you couldn’t even see the baristas behind the counter.

The person in front of you turned and smiled at you. You smiled back.

“Are you here to see him, too?” they asked.

You raised a brow. “See who?”

They scoffed and gestured vaguely in front of them. “The new barista. He’s pretty good; gets your order right, anyway, even if he is a bit freaky.”

By the person’s description, you imagined a tall, burly man with tattoos covering his gigantic, muscular arms, one of them probably being a heart with a banner that proclaimed the wearer’s love of his mother. In your mind, said burly man was wearing a black t-shirt under a leather vest with typical fringe and was sporting a thick, heavy beard.

After a few minutes, however, it became clear that your assumption had been very, very wrong.

He was tall, that was for sure, but everything else about your vision vanished in a puff of smoke.

The new barista was a skeleton monster, not a tattoo to speak of (that you could see, anyway) wearing a bright orange t-shirt under the typical apron the baristas wore. He was smiling as he spoke to the patrons in front of them, taking their order.

In all honesty, you were really excited to see that one of your favorite places had decided to show their support of monster kind by hiring one of them.

Monsters had been freed from the underground for several years now, and for the most part, their presence in town was pretty much accepted. Your college had been among the first businesses to hire monsters, eager to provide classes on how to interact with monsters, their history, etc. It was part of the reason that you’d chosen the college you had; you were eager to learn more about your new neighbors and how best to welcome them to life in the city.

Not everyone was as keen to welcome them, however, and to this day there were people who treated monsters as though they were lesser.

You realized something then, and narrowed your eyes at the back of the head of the person in front of you. They’d said the new barista was kind of freaky. How was being a monster freaky?

It was then that you realized that several people were watching him as he made coffee, but not in a typical way they’d watch someone with a particular skill. They were watching him like he was a performing monkey.

Your teeth ground together as you huffed out an annoyed breath. The poor guy had to have just started the day before, Sunday at the very earliest, and already he was being treated like this?

Another barista came out of the back and smiled at the skeleton.

“Stretch, why didn’t you say it got busy? I could’ve come help you.”

Stretch? Interesting name.

Stretch smiled as the other took her place in front of the cash register to help the next customer.

“you were on break, amy. i can handle myself for ten minutes.”

Amy smiled amicably and continued helping her customer.

“This is not what I ordered!” the older woman who had just taken her coffee from Stretch shouted.

Stretch took the cup back and glanced at it, a very slight orange tint appearing on his cheekbones.

“uh, sorry, ma’am. didn’t you want the caramel latte with two extra shots?”

She sputtered. “Well, yes, but that’s not what that is.”

“i’m sure that’s what i put in there. hey, let’s find a common ground here, and i’ll make you a new one, yeah?” he winked at her.

“Of course you’ll make me a new one, and this time give me what I asked for.” She straightened the front of her shirt and actually stuck her chin up before she said, “and I don’t want you flirting with me again.”

You had to physically stop yourself from snorting at the idea of anyone flirting with that woman.

But poor Stretch; you felt terrible for him as his cheekbones lit up with bright orange magic. He turned away with a nod, his shoulders hunched a bit as he tossed the wrong coffee and started a new one.

By the time he made it back to the register, it was your turn to place your order. You stepped up to the counter and smiled.

“welcome to common grounds, what can i get started for you?”

“I’ll warn you in advance, I’m kind of picky. Not like that other lady, but...yeah. Can I get a large latte, half vanilla and half hazelnut, one extra shot, and like a quarter cup of ice?”

“so, you want it cold?”

You shook your head. “No, I want it a regular hot latte, but just a little bit of ice. I know how weird it sounds, trust me. I can’t drink it if it’s too hot, but then I inevitably let it sit too long and it gets too cold. But with a little bit of ice, it’s perfect.”

Stretch shrugged his shoulders. “okie dokie.” He read your order back to you and asked if you wanted anything else. When you said that was all you needed, he gave you the total and you paid, then moved over to the other end of the counter to wait for the drink.

As you usually did, you turned around and rested your back against the counter, digging your phone out of your pocket to check your emails while you waited for your drink.

Faster than you had anticipated, Stretch called out your order, and you turned around to smile at him again.

“Thank you so much!”

He paused for a second, his sockets widening in surprise. For a minute, you thought you’d somehow done something bad, but then his smile returned twice as bright as before.

“you’re welcome. have a nice day, sir.”

“Call me y/n.” You held out a hand. “Sir is my grandpa.”

Stretch chuckled and introduced himself, stripping off his plastic gloves to shake your hand. His bones were cool and hard, an interesting sensation against your skin.

Someone clearing their throat made you both look over at Amy who was helping someone at the register. The line behind them was just as long as it had been when you’d come in.

You grimaced. “Good luck,” you said. “And don’t let the haters get to ya. You’re doing great.”

He snorted. “you haven’t even tasted that yet.”

Taking the challenge, you brought the cup to your lips and took a tentative sip. It was hot, but not scorchingly so, and you let the flavors roll over your tongue. Your eyes slipped shut; many baristas had made your drink for you over the years you’d been coming here, and for the most part they had learned how to do it right. You’d never tasted it done right on a barista’s first time. Stretch was now the exception.

“Perfect,” you said, opening your eyes. Stretch’s cheekbones were glowing again. “Like I said, you’re doing great.”

You said your goodbyes and left the shop, holding the hot cup between your hands as you shivered your way to your car.

[andrea-lyn]

I was listening to 'Do I Wanna Know?' (Chvrches cover of Artic Monkeys) & these lines screamed Malex: Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new Now I've thought it through Crawling back to you Maybe one half of Malex is drunk, really wants to call the other but doesn't & the next day goes to have a sober talk with him about them?

When Michael wakes up, it’s to nearly fifty texts in his drafts. They’re all unsent, but they paint a very vivid picture. Sitting up slowly, he groans as he glances behind him to make sure he didn’t bring anyone home last night after a blackout night at the Pony, but luckily he’d been both smart enough to come home alone, but also not to send any of the texts.

Staring at them, he reaches for a bottle of acetone, because hair of the dog is a necessity if he’s going to cope with this.

They’re mostly to Alex. Early in the night, there’s a few drafts for Isobel (what was w/ ur weird muppet vest the other nite? did you skin fozzy bear?) and then a few to Liz (i need u to know that if u call me mikey in front of witnesses, i will crush u w/ my brain).

From there, it looks like he’d had a little too much to drink and had gone one-track mind.

Alex-minded, more like. 

u know what i miss, i miss the way you kissed my neck

fuck, how come we only ever woke up together once?

i miss you

ilu

They go on like that, and on, and just when Michael thinks that his parade of pathetic pining is over, he scrolls down and finds some more. Grabbing a bunch of his curls in his hand, his only relief is that the messages are all sitting in his drafts, so even drunk, he had some sense. He groans and collapses back on the bed. 

He knows he’s not doing so well, not since Max, but this is a new low. When he hadn’t been able to explain to Maria how his hand had healed, that relationship had grown complicated too, and he’d cowardly bolted from going down that road because the last thing he needs is yet another complicated thing that makes him feel like shit.

His drunk self doesn’t agree, it looks like. 

There’s a few texts to Maria in there, but they’re mostly apologies, the kind of drunken sad ones that radiate regret. He definitely didn’t text i want to lick every inch of your body to her the way that he had to Alex. 

For a few hours, he hydrates and drinks acetone until he feels like he can move a few steps without puking. 

Once his head is clear, Michael has the feeling that he needs to talk to Alex. He brings up a brand new message and texts Alex to ask if he can come by the cabin to speak to him. He sends this one, and this is the one that gets an instant reply.

only if you bring coffee

Right. Coffee run it is.

He drops by the Crashdown to get Alex’s usual and then adds two extra espresso shots to his own order before he makes the drive out to the cabin, caffeinating until he’s jittery. He owes Alex a lot – apologies, explanations, actual lines of honest communication – but right now, he just needs to sort out his head so he doesn’t have nights like last night. 

“Hey!” Michael calls out, letting himself in the cabin. Alex has already said that he can come and go as he pleases, which would be exciting if it weren’t for the fact that he’d also made keys for Liz and Kyle and said the same thing. He’s no better than a friend, right now, which is the bed he’s made and has to lie in.

He can hear rustling from the bedroom and Michael heads to the door to see Alex finishing with his prosthetic, fiddling with some of the adjustments. 

“Coffee,” Michael says, setting it on the nightstand beside Alex since his hands are busy. He’s nervous and a bit frantic, and he puts his phone down on the nightstand beside the coffee because he’s worried that he’s going to press the wrong button and send all those drafts, seeing as they’re open so Michael can let his eyes skim over them to remind himself why he’s here. He navigates back to the home screen, lingering at the edge of the bed, trying not to think about Alex getting undressed instead of this.

He wants to talk about the messages in his phone, wants to show Alex and talk about how much he still wants to be with him, but not yet. Michael decides that he needs a minute to collect himself. He can talk to Alex about it, he can, he just needs a minute. 

“Hey, can I use the bathroom?”

Alex nods, distracted with the latches, cursing under his breath. Michael takes advantage to bolt for the bathroom, where he spends a good five minutes staring at his reflection in the mirror, telling himself that he can do this. He’s here to talk, that’s all. They’re not ending things, no one is walking away, and they can be mature adults about this.

When another few minutes pass, Michael figures that either he’s got to get out there or Alex is going to think he only came over to the cabin to abuse bathroom privileges. 

When he leaves the bathroom, it’s to the sight of Alex with Michael’s phone.

“Fuck!” he can’t help his automatic reaction on the heels of a panicked noise, and the severity and suddenness of it makes Alex nearly fumbles the phone. 

“Sorry,” Alex says. “Sorry, it was ringing and I saw it was Isobel, so I was trying to silence it, only I think it shifted to your messages and I…” Guilt flashes over his face. “I saw the messages. The drafts.”

That wouldn’t just be there. That means that Alex had to go looking for them. “Why would you…?”

“Because last night, I got this one random text from you, and it looked like it was part of something else and I…” Alex gives him an apologetic look. “What you wrote me was pretty safe. It just said something about my mouth, how you missed it when I was reading something and i started mouthing the words out loud. I didn’t really think much about it, because it was kind of really badly typed and I know that you’ve been drinking, lately.”

Understatement.

“Guerin,” Alex exhales. “You’re not the only one with unsent, unspoken words. I just never know how to bring them up.” He gives him an unsure look as he steadies his weight on the prosthetic, standing carefully (with Michael’s help as he reaches out to hold onto him). “Is that why you’re here? To talk about them?”

He nods. “I think it says something about the fact that I wrote more than ten times the texts to you than I did to anyone else. I’m glad my finger only slipped the once, that some part of my brain knew it wasn’t right to send them to you, but I’m here because it also says that there’s something still there.”

Michael’s in pain and fighting grief and it’s not that he wants to use Alex as a bandage, but maybe part of his grief is because of the wound that he and Alex never let heal.

Alex reaches for the coffee and Michael’s phone, handing the latter out to him.

“Look,” Alex says quietly, “when you’re ready, send me the texts. Okay? I don’t want there to be things unsaid between us. Not anymore. I also don’t want you to think that you have to keep drinking instead of talking to me. So…” He reaches over to squeeze Michael’s shoulder. “Think about it?”

Michael nods, feeling like he’s been struck mute. It’s a terrifying ask, but it’s one that he knows will take them to a new level – a better place, even. All it will take is some courage, some honesty, and some willingness to try; on both their parts. 

“Come on,” Alex breaks into that unnerving silence. “Since you’re here, I was gonna clean out the eaves today and…” He waggles his brows at him, tapping his temple.

Michael huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, my alien powers were definitely meant to clean out blockages.”

“You’re here,” Alex points out. “And you brought me coffee. It’s up to you.”

Because Michael is a sucker and because it’s better than obsessing over all those unsent messages, he does stay and he uses his powers to help clean the eaves of the cabin. His phone is in his pocket and it feels like it’s burning a hole, but he’ll figure it out. He even thinks soon, because it feels like he’s sitting on a landmine and at this point, he’d rather it just go off. 

*

It turns out that Michael doesn’t need much time to figure his shit out.

He knows that he’s not automatically healed. He knows this won’t fix everything and that he has a lot of damage to undo both with Maria and Alex, for what he’d done. Still, he also knows that the only way out is through and if that way happens to end with Alex at the finish line, then he definitely wants to pursue it. He’d come over to Alex’s place with coffee again, because yesterday after they’d finished with the eaves, Alex had mentioned something about needing to dig out the foundation to repair a crack.

So here he is, ready to work, and ready for other things, too.

The next day, Michael presses a button and sends all his drafts. He takes immense joy in hearing Alex’s phone going wild with notifications, combined with the strangled sound that Alex makes from the kitchen that tells Michael that he’s read all of them, including the filthy batch that Michael had drafted nearer to the end of the night. 

That smug feeling of victory evaporates when his own phone goes wild with alerts and he sees his inbox:

278 unread messages from Alex Manes

It looks like he’s not the only one with things unsaid. Grinning as he catches Alex’s eye, he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

“No more unspoken words?” Alex suggests. 

That’s a promise Michael can definitely make. “No more.”

[milkchu]

❝anyway the wind blows❞ one.

Summary: (Y/N) Mercury’s journey of love, fame, and pain, alongside what would become one of the most legendary bands ever, Queen.

Pairing: Borhap!Queen x Reader, eventual Brian May x Reader

A/N: alright! here we go. before anything else, a big thank you to everyone who liked the preview, i’m really excited for this one!!! yes, this will be mostly based on the movie. next, (Y/O/N) = original name, (Y/O/L/N) = original last name, and also you have a cousin named poppy. alright that is all for now! enjoy the ride. happy reading!

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of drinking and smoking

{next chapter}

Bright lights.

Everyone is screaming.

The ground is shaking.

Heart is pounding.

“You’re a legend, (Y/N).”

London, 1970

Cursing under your breath, you rubbed at the top of your head, wincing and glaring the dropped box of biscuits near your feet. Sighing, you bent down and picked it up and placed it back on the shelf.

Looking at the clock at the far end of the store, above the cashier’s desk, it was a little past the end of your shift and as much as you wanted to leave and go have a drink at your favorite pub, you had to finish stocking up the shelves first, not wanting to get an earful from your boss.

Even though you were studying design at uni, you still opted to get a job at the local grocery store, ‘Fletcher’s’, where your only human interaction was with elderly women and on some nights, teenagers who are looking to get shit-faced.

Knowing that your family was already struggling, you felt guilty and you wanted to help pay for the tuition yourself. Plus, some extra purchases, of course.

A full thirty minutes later, you finally stepped the store, and ripped your work vest off and threw it somewhere in the tiny locker room for employees.

Not even bothering to say goodbye to your fellow co-workers, you just walked towards the nearby bus stop and sat down.

While waiting, you decided to pull out your small notebook and pencil, and began writing song ideas.

You brought this notebook with you everywhere. Whenever you thought of something nice or clever, you just pulled it out and wrote everything.

This had become a habit of yours, after your mother had left for some ‘business trip’ around the country.

You were only eight years old by then, and she told you to write anything you wanted to tell her on pieces of paper, and put it inside an old shoebox she gave.

She always had music playing around the house, the lyrics becoming stuck inside your head, so, you wrote literally everything from little letters for her to the same song lyrics over and over again.

Hearing the bus finally pull over, you put away your notebook and stepped inside to finally head home.

When you got home, you immediately ran up the stairs to your bedroom and changed out of your filthy clothing into a new outfit, it was an old sweater you’ve had for ages, but, it’ll work.

Walking down the stairs, and past the small living room, where your cousin, Poppy, was watching something on the telly, you heard your aunt call, “Dinner is ready!”

“Oh, I’m not hungry, auntie,” You said, as you walked towards the coat rack.

“Where are you going?” She questioned, fixing the plates on the dining table. After grabbing your coat, you looked at her, “Out with friends,” You said, with a small smile.

“A boy?” She smirked, looking at you with a knowing smile. You let out a small laugh in response, “Oh, auntie.”

As she faced you, she fixed the collar of your coat, “Look at you,” She smiled, “Give your auntie a kiss.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but pecked your aunt’s cheek anyway, “I’m going to be late!”

“You’re always late,” Your aunt chuckled before you heard the front door open and close, signaling your uncle’s arrival from work.

“Hi dad, how was work?” Poppy said, before standing up to take his things. Ignoring his daughter’s question, he looked at you with his stern eyes.

“Out again, (Y/O/N)?” He asked calmly, but still making you a little bit uneasy.

You gulped, and looked at him with a straight face, “It’s (Y/N) now, uncle,” Readying yourself for another lecture.

“(Y/N) or (Y/O/N). . .What difference does it make when you’re out every night, no thought of the future in your head?” He began, his tone getting louder.

The air immediately became tense, making both your cousin and aunt very uncomfortable. It was not unusual, though.

You looked at the ground, keeping up the straight posture as he continued, “Good thoughts, good words, good deeds, that’s what you should aspire to.”

You walked towards him, “Yes, and how’s that worked out for you?” You squint your eyes at him, before finally walking out of the house.

Feeling a wave of relief wash over you, you sighed, and took a bus going to your favorite pub.

You started going to this pub a lot because of the band that was playing there, Smile. They were pretty good, and had very nice music.

You thought of approaching them several times, but you never really got to do it mainly because you were too shy or you found them a little bit intimidating.

But, you decided that was going to change tonight.

Walking down the stairs leading to the pub, you smiled as you heard the familiar music filling your ears.

Where will I be this time tomorrow?

Jump in joy, or sinking in sorrow?

Anyway, I should be doing all right. . .

Reaching the end of the steps, your eyes turned to the three men playing on stage, the huge ‘Don’t Forget to Smile’ poster hanging behind them.

Doing all right. . .

You walked towards the bar, the bartender asking for your order. “Pint of lager,” You responded.

After coming back with your glass, you thanked her, “Cheers.”

As you took a sip, you turned around to face the band again, your eyes looking through each member, but lingering longer on the guitarist for some reason.

Should be waiting for the sun,

And anyway I've got hide away. . .

You started bobbing your head to the music, and sat down. You ended up staying a little bit longer in the pub, even after the band had finished, so you could write some more in your notebook, to finally finish a song that’s been on your mind for weeks.

After some finishing touches, you let out an exhausted sigh, and started walking towards the exit.

The band must be outside the pub by now, you thought, heart pounding faster in nervousness.

Near the exit, you noticed two men talking to each other on the side, one of them was a brunette while the other had blond hair.

As you passed by them, you couldn’t help but notice how cute the brunette was, he was wearing a shirt with ‘The Beatles’ on it under a dark denim jacket that fit him perfectly.

You didn’t even notice you were already staring until, “You all right?” The brunette asked, looking at you with a little smile.

Warmth immediately rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment, “Sorry, um, I was just looking for the band,” You stammered.

“They’re usually out back,” He gestured towards the exit.

“Thanks,” You nodded, turning around to the exit, but paused, and looked at the man again, “I like your shirt.”

“Thanks, it’s from Radio Box,” He smiled, before his blond friend added, “He works there,” He smirked, before the brunette looked at him with an annoyed look, “Thank you.”

You chuckled, before finally walking away, exiting the pub.

Walking into the cold air, you began looking for the band. Spotting a van that had it’s back open, some smoke coming out of it, you walked towards it, hoping it was them.

Recognizing the guitarist and the drummer from the band, whom you knew as Brian May and Roger Taylor, you stopped in front of them, “Enjoyed the show,” You smiled at the two men.

“Thank you,” Brian said politely, while the blond drummer said, “Thanks, love.”

You looked at the ground before continuing, “I’ve been following you for a while, actually,” You beamed.

“Oh, really?” Roger smirked, before bringing the beer bottle to his lips. Letting out a small chuckle, you began, “Smile.”

“Makes sense for a dental student,” You looked at the drummer, who now looked at you with a confused look.

“And you’re astrophysics, aren’t you?” You gestured towards Brian, who was just as confused, but still nodded, “Yeah.”

You smiled at him, “Makes you the clever one, then.”

Brian looks towards Roger, smiling, “Yeah, I suppose it does, yeah,” While Roger just shook his head at his friend.

“I study design here,” You said, before reaching into your coat pocket.

They both nodded, “Oh yeah?” Roger said, before taking a sip of his beer.

“Yeah. Also, um, I write songs,” You pulled your notebook out, letting out a shy smile. “Might be of interest to you.”

Noticing the change of atmosphere between the two men, “It’s just a bit of fun, really,” You chuckled awkwardly, before putting the notebook back into your pocket.

“Well, you’re five minutes too late,” Roger sighed, before Brian added, “Our lead singer just quit.”

You look at them in awe, before a smile starts making its way towards your lips, “Well. then you’ll need someone new.”

Brian shrugged, “Any ideas?”

You licked your lips as your eyes wandered to the ground then back to them, “What about me?” You pointed at yourself.

Roger then looks at Brian with a mocking smile, “Um, not looking like that, love,” He chuckles, gesturing towards your old, ragged sweater.

Your smile fell, before you nodded dejectedly, and slowly started walking away.

Brian just looks at his friend in disbelief, immediately smacking him on the arm for being so rude, especially to a lady.

Before Brian could even call you back, you turned around, and suddenly started belting out, “I know what I’m doin’,” Brian and Roger stared at you in amazement.

“I got a feeling I should be doing all right,” You continued. Brian and Roger still shook by your performance, decided to join in with you, “Doing all right.”

Brian and Roger chuckled, before you said, “My mum was a singer herself, used to tour and everything. I guess her skills were passed down to me.”

“I’ll consider your offer.” You smirked, before walking away from the two, slack-jawed men.

Brian and Roger look at each other, still shook by your performance, they both nodded in agreement.

“Uh, do you play bass?” Brian calls out to you.

You turned around,

“Nope.”

tagging; @icantgetnorelief // @b-hardys // @spideyyypeter

atwb taglist; @yoonlatte // @geek-and-proud // @everything-you-dont-wanna-be // @itsametaphorbriansblog // @marequeenii // @ladylannisterxo

[erintoknow]

evidence

fallen hero: rebirth fanfic, set right after Heartbreak ~1.8k words, staring everyone’s favorite Sergeant Steel. retribution alpha minor spoiler

content warning for a That Guy

------

Not quite civilian business, not quite Ranger business. Chen wasn’t really sure how to dress, wasn’t comfortable with this blending of lives. But if he didn’t get to the bottom of this, who would? Ortega was in no state of mind to pursue this. The odds of a dead end was too high. He couldn’t do that to his friend. Things were bad enough right now. Breath in, breath out. Straighten his collar. Ring the doorbell, knock on the door. Wait.

It had taken Chen more than a few beers and hours of reminiscing with Ortega. Surreptitiously going over what they remembered of old stories, writing down the details and cross-referencing everything against each other with a map of the city. Cross out options and narrow down the list. Maybe the fourth time would be the charm. Hopefully it would be worth it.

Someone shouted from the other side of the door, the sound of shuffling furniture. There was the sound of several locks being undone and then finally, the door cracked up, a single suspicious eye peering out. “Who is it?”

Chen clasped his hands behind his back. “Sergeant Steel, we talked on the phone briefly yesterday?”

The eye stares, boring in to him.

Chen stares back.

The eye blinks first. “Yes, yes, I remember now.” The door shuts, there’s a rattling of a chain, then opens again wider. “Com’on then, take a seat.” Defying expectations the owner of the eye is not a crone of an old woman but a man, maybe in his forties? Greying hair, wrinkles coming into their own on his face. If he dressed a little nicer, Chen might even class him as handsome. Untrimmed beard and beer-stained tank-top, however? Not so much.

“Thank you,” Chen says as he steps inside, closing the door behind him.

“Please, take a seat,” his host repeats, gesturing towards the wooden chairs arranged around a dining room table. His host pulls a chair away from the table edge before sliding into his own, a pile of books in poor condition scattered in front of him.

Chen raises a hand. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Alright then, suit yourself.” He shrugs, “I’m John Carpenter, nice to meet you in person, Mr…?” Chen eyes the man. Definitely a fake name.

“Sergeant Steel is fine.”

John frowns at that.

“You said the person I’m looking for might have been a tenant of yours?”

He nods, reaches to grab one of the books in front of him. This one looks like it’s seen some heavy water damage. “Yep, the name Becker sounded familiar, and you certainly don’t see too many German names in this part of town these days, mostly–” He stops himself, and looks at Chen uncomfortably. Chen allows him the courtesy of pretending not to notice.

“Anyway,” John flips through the book, stopping on one page to circle a name with a red pen. “Here we go.” The way John just rips the page out of the book and slides it over is enough to make Chen wince. “Moved in back in 2007, stayed about… oh, two years?”

Chen scans the page. Towards the bottom, the circled name ‘Chelsea D. Becker | April 13th, 2007 | Deposit and Rent: Paid’

Chelsea? A fake name? Even for Sidestep that seemed a little lazy. With some care, the fine motor control in his hand wasn’t the best, Chen pulls a photograph out of his unbuttoned front pocket, putting it down on the table. “Does this person look familiar?”

John leans over, squinting down at the small, crinkled picture. The only group picture Ortega had been able to corral Sidestep into taking without her suit on, dressed in a vest over a long-sleeved blouse and skirt with tights. It was supposed to stay on the fridge. Hopefully he’d find something out of this that would get Ortega to forgive him.

John purses his lips, pushes his tongue in his mouth from side to side and makes a clicking noise. “The one on the far right there,” Chen keeps a blank expression as John points a finger right on Sidestep’s face. “Reminds me of the kid Chelsea always had around, maybe a sister?”

That throws Chen for a loop. “Parent-Child?”

John shakes his head. “Don’t think so. This kid just showed up a not long after Chelsea did. Maybe right out of high school?” John clicks his tongue and shrugs. “Normally I’d charge extra for stuffing two people in studio apartment like that, but I think the kid had been homeless so I pretended I didn’t see nothing.”

Alright then. What was the connection between this ‘Chelsea Becker’ and Ariadne Becker?

“Can you tell me anything else about them?”

“‘friad not, I respect my tenants’ privacy.” John says with possibly the most lying-through-my-teeth look Chen has ever seen on a man’s face.

Chen waits him out.

Finally; “Okay, well. I think the woman might have been a drug dealer or something. Always weird hours. Always paid on full, never late–”

“That’s cause for suspicion?”

“Around here it is, yeah.” John waves a hand, dismissing the question. “Now that I think about it, you know how women are,” He shoots Chen a knowing look. “Maybe she was just keeping the boy around as a fu-“

“Excuse me,” Chen cuts him off, “Boy?”

“Yeah, boy. Kid was a boy.”

Chen frowns. Another dead end then after all.

John clicks his tongue. “Probably a fairy though,” He makes a face, completely oblivious to the fact that only years of self-discipline is saving him from having his nose broken. “Kept running around in girl clothes and shit. Hell, maybe that’s not a sister in your picture. Could just be him.”

Maybe not a dead end then? But that would mean… It would mean Chen has even more questions now than when he started this whole process.

“…when was the last time you saw the kid?” Chen asks, keeping his face blank.

“So, when Chelsea moved out, I offered to keep renting to him, but he couldn’t afford it. Felt bad though, so generous man that I am, I let him stay, off-the-books, until I got a new tenant to rent the room like, a month later? Never saw him again after that.”

“No idea where they might have went?”

John shakes his head. “Him? Nah, he just straight up vanished the day I gave him the heads up, didn’t even take anything with him.”

Chen sighs, frustration mounting. Why was trying to dig into anything about Sidestep like digging in sand?  “What about the… the woman, Chelsea, any idea where she went?”

John shrugs, “Left the city, I think?” An idea occurs to him and and he leans in for a conspiratorial whisper. “You think she was on the run from the law? You Rangers tracking down a cold-case?”

“Something like that.” Chen pinches his nose. “I can’t discuss the details of an investigation in progress.” That was… technically true.

John clicks his tongue, grins. “Say no more Sarge,” he winks. “Say, you know what? Maybe you want to take a look at the stuff he left behind, maybe something’ll help out the case?”

Chen raises an eyebrow. “I find it hard to believe you held on to a tenant’s property for half a decade.”

John waves him off and gets up the table, trundling into a back room. “I am a collector Sarge.” He says the word with an uncomfortable level of relish.

A few minutes of rummaging later and John is back with a small plastic bin. He drops it on the table in front of Chen. “Few pictures, a journal. Think there were some tapes and records too, but I kept those for me.” He looks at Chen, “Always figured I could sell it back to the kid if he came around again. Never did though.”

Chen has to will his hand to keep steady as he picks through the few items in the bin. Pull out one photo, a young blonde-haired woman standing next to an even younger looking androgynous teenager with short reddish-brown hair, and green eyes. Chen lays the the picture down next to the earlier photo he had brought with him. It feels like he’s looking at something he shouldn’t be – there’s an itching in the back of his skull. But the similarities are too close to be ignored, right down to the way the uncomfortable smile breaks across the face.

“I’ll need to hold on to these for evidence.”

John opens his arms wide, “Be my guest, always happy to be of service to the law.” John winks again, “Provided of course, the law remembers me favorably in return.”

Chen frowns, “I’ll make a note of it.” He says, with no such intention to do so. He reaches back into the bin, pulls out the journal. No indication on the cover who owned it. Just a plain black moleskin bound book, held shut with a cloth strap. Slip it open with a careful slide of the thumb, start with the first page.

chelsea thinks keeping a journal will help that I can write out the nightmares as if that’ll like get them outside of me?

she doesn’t understand why I can’t do that I can’t explain it to her either I mean

last night wasn’t even that bad, since i started saving people things feel better

like

i’m in control again it’s fun actually? just hang around with a police scanner and be ready to run across town tucking sucks like super shit though

i don’t trust the rangers charge seems real full of herself thinks she’s so hot with her perfect smile and the way she stands with her hips cocked and

wow that’s embarrassing

you know what forget this this is dumb sorry chelsea

Chen flips through the rest of the book, all the other pages are blank. Another dead end. Nothing to suggest what might have happened to Sidestep now. Nothing to hint at what was up with the ambulance Chen knows carted Sidestep away in direct contradiction to the official report. Where had Ariadne lived between this and now? Where did she go when she wasn’t at a crime scene or following Ortega like a lost cat? Who did she associate with outside of the Rangers?

Maybe they could put the journal in the ceremonial casket, it’d be better than nothing. But how to explain finding it to Ortega without giving away the investigation? And there was the matter of... Maybe it was best to keep the journal to himself after all. This was one secret that didn’t need to be exposed.

Chen puts the journal back in the bin and adds both the pictures and the torn record book page. Might as well hold on to it. Hopefully his government contact would get back to him soon with something, anything, about the where he’d seen that ambulance go. This had been his best shot at nailing down a residence and it ends up being years old. The only other lead left was this ‘Chelsea’ woman, and given his luck so far, it was hard to be optimistic about the odds.

Ariadne Becker, woman of mystery and thorn in his side, couldn’t even have the courtesy to have a non-mysterious death. This one was going to eat at him.

[coneygoil]

The Home We Built Together, part 14

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9| Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

Writer’s note: This is mostly a filler chapter, but there’s a few fun things in it and a tiny progression of story! This chapter gave me such fits for days. My muse must have went on vacation for several days and finally returned yesterday. Hope everyone enjoys!

She wanted to stay mad at him. She wanted to stew in anger over the broken promise and the assumption she wanted to give up on their marriage. But she just…couldn’t.

Hiccup was an idiot, but he was her idiot. There was no denying at this point that she wasn’t just performing her wifely duties. No, she truly cared for the clumsy dork.

After the two near-death experiences in the last few days, Astrid decided to step up weapons training. It wasn’t particularly natural for Vikings to use their left hand, but Astrid saw some benefit for learning to wield a weapon with the lesser used appendage.

Hiccup voiced some doubt, but he followed her direction. The longer they sparred, the more Astrid noticed how different Hiccup’s movements were. Precise. A solid hold. Swift defense. He was actually...good.

Astrid stared at his left hand as they paused for a break. A scene from their bedroom flashed into her memory. He always used his left hand to write or draw. After a moment’s thought, it hit her that she’d seen him use his left hand to swing a hammer as well in the forge.

“Why has it taken me this long to figure it out?”

Hiccup looked at her curiously. “Figure what out?”

“Your left hand is your strong hand.”

A sheepish expression crossed his face. “You noticed that, huh?”

Astrid caught the inward shame he must have been feeling. “Yes. There’s nothing wrong with that, Hiccup. It’s another thing that makes you, you.”

The relief was visible throughout his whole body. “Thanks, Astrid.”

***

“So, how is he in bed?”

Astrid snapped her head up as she replaced a shield on the stand. Just because she was sitting out of training for a few days didn’t mean she couldn’t help out. Her eyes were wide as she faced Ruffnut. “What?”

“How’s Hiccup in the sack? I bet he at least inherited something from Stoick the Vast,” Ruffnut elbowed her, suggestively, “if you know what I mean.”

A disgusted grimaced twisted Astrid’s lips. “Eww, Ruff! That’s a thought I could have lived without.”

Tossing a hammer carelessly into the wooden storage box, Ruff rolled her eyes. “At least give me some kind of hint on the Hiccup Haddock experience.”

Astrid held off replying as she fiddled a little too long with straightening the shields. “There’s not much to say.”

Ruffnut gasped as her eyes lit with realization. “You two haven’t done it yet!”

If Astrid could have died from mortification, she would have fell flat out right there. She clapped a hand over Ruff’s mouth, flicking her eyes to the teen boys close by. “Don’t say that too loud.”

Ruff casually discarded Astrid’s hand, revealing a sly grin. “What’s the deal then? Hiccup couldn’t lift it?”

The far-too-personal question irritated Astrid, but she was glad Ruff had lowered her voice.

“No, nothing like that.” Astrid frowned. She couldn’t believe she was about to admit this to Ruffnut Thorston, of all people. “We got thrown into this marriage with no experience or prior affection for each other, at least on my end,” she added, knowing full well that Ruffnut had observed Hiccup’s crush on her beforehand. “We want to take it slow. Get to know each other before we hop into anything like that.”

“But you have kissed him, right? Tell me you’ve kissed this boy!” Ruffnut shook Astrid’s shoulders, dramatically.

“Yes!” The sudden warmth heating her cheeks made Astrid duck her head as she escaped the other girl’s hold. “We have kissed, and--” The caress of Hiccup’s hand scorched her waist and sped up her heart. She wished he would gain the courage to touch her other places. “We’ve cuddled and sometimes held hands.” The last two were a bit of an exaggeration, but to Astrid, the little physical affection they’d had so far felt massive to her.

“Awww…” Ruffnut tilted her head, melting as if she’d just seen a cute little bunny. “Aren’t you two adorable.” She straightened up, slapping Astrid’s back. “Whenever you two get to the,” she made a clicking noise with her tongue and winked, “tell me everything.”

***

“Where’d you disappear to after training?” Astrid asked as Hiccup walked through the front door. She’d come home earlier to begin their evening’s supper of potato and yak stew, snagging the cooked meat from a vendor on the way home. “Gobber was not pleased you dodged work.”

“He’ll get over it. I’ll put in a extra hours tomorrow,” Hiccup blew off quickly. He shrugged a shoulder. “I went for a walk in the forest,” 

Astrid arched an eyebrow at his hand suspiciously behind his back. “What are you hiding?”

Hiccup grinned and presented her a powder blue flower. “Evening, Milady.” At first, he looked rather suave as he gave a slight bow, but when Astrid could only stare at the flower, his confident demeanor began to falter. “I saw it and it reminded me of you. I don’t even know if you like this sorta thing. I probably should learn if you do or not since you are my wife and all. And husbands give their wives things. Right?”

He was rambling, and it was all because of her speechlessness. Being called someone’s wife still held a small amount of disbelief for her.

Astrid shook herself out of whatever it was that had her. He’d keep going if she didn’t stop him. “It’s fine, Hiccup. I like it. Thank you for the flower,” she smiled sincerely as she accepted the blue flower. She caught the sigh of relief that pulsed Hiccup’s upper half.

“Oh!” Astrid carefully set the flower down on the kitchen table and retrieved a book. “Gobber wanted me to give you this.” She plopped the book in Hiccup’s waiting arms. “Read it. His orders.”

Hiccup skimmed over the title. His mouth formed an ‘O’ as his eyes lit up. “The Book of Dragons! Perfect!”

He tugged off his vest and tossed it onto the hook next to Astrid’s axe. He was in such a hurry he didn’t notice he’d completely missed the hook and the vest had fallen in a furry lump on the floor. Astrid watched Hiccup dash up the stairs, shaking her head at his enthusiasm. Only Fishlegs could mirror such excitement over reading a book.

Astrid contemplated leaving the vest there for him to pick up, but she sighed and picked up it anyways. Under the vest was Hiccup’s notebook lying face down. Must have fallen out his pocket. She picked up the notebook and was about to close it when the sketch on the open page caught her interest.

A dragon she didn’t recognize spread across two pages. It was symmetrical and aesthetically pleasing in an observational way. All except one part if it. The left tail fin was gone, charcoal smudged on the page as if it’d been rubbed away.

Astrid’s brow knitted together. Where’d Hiccup get an idea to draw this dragon? Was it a species he’d conjured up, or a theoretical drawing of one that exist? She slapped the notebook shut with one hand and slipped it back into his vest pocket. The pot of stew needed tending to. The question would have to wait.

@martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @justatranquilcloud