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warping-realities · 5 months ago

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Parental Pressure

Eddie watched the personal trainer's video for the thousandth time as he was getting closer to the little gym for his first class. He had snuck out of his house super early and quietly because he knew Nick, his old man, wouldn’t approve of his son wasting time on this kinda stuff. He became a single father really young, back in high school, and now, at 35, he did everything he could to make sure his kid didn’t follow the same path. Becoming a doctor was Nicholas Rousseau’s biggest dream, but early fatherhood messed up his chance to hit the books at college. Not that he blamed Eddie for it; on the contrary, they usually had a solid relationship, except when Eddie strayed from the plans his dad laid out for his future. If Nick couldn’t get into med school, Eddie sure as hell would, whether he liked it or not. And now, with less than a month before college kicked off, Eddie was having doubts about the path laid out for him. So, in a rebellious move, after getting an invite to check out Rocco “Rocky” Mancini's gym, an Italian bodybuilder who moved to the States, now retired and not exactly a big name in the game, who a few years back started hustling as a personal trainer and, according to the promo video on Eddie's Instagram, was looking for young men to boost his portfolio. It looked like that gig wasn’t going great either. The first person to sign up would get a month of free daily training. Perfect for Eddie; after all, a month of training with an expert before college would make things way easier when he had to hit the gym away from his overprotective dad’s watchful eye. Surprisingly he was the first one to sign up! And so, the young skinny man, with light brown hair found himself stepping into the dimly lit gym at 6 AM.

As he stood frozen at the door, anxiety washing over him, a monstrous figure approached, strutting with swagger, muscles bulging looking like they might burst from the thin layer of skin wrapping them. With a fuller beard and looking at least five years older than in the video Eddie had seen over and over, the guy oozed confidence and a certain arrogance. But those weren’t the only things he was giving off, as it became clear to Eddie when the dude came up to him with a sweaty hand extended to shake, a distinct animal musk dominating his senses.

“You must be Eddie! Nice to meet ya, kid; I’m Rocco, but you can call me Rocky—everyone does. Welcome to my little temple. So, you ever trained before?”

“Ahn, no... I wanted to, but my dad... no, I’ve never trained.”

“Feeling a little bit of Daddy Issues here? Just kidding, son! Where’s your workout gear?”

“I thought, since it’s the first day... I... didn’t bring any...”

“Damn, son, you weren’t kidding when you said you’ve never trained; you don’t have a clue! But don’t sweat it, we’ll fix that! You can wear the shirt; I’ll get you some shorts.”

“I... don’t wanna be a bother.”

“Son, you came here to train, and train is what you’re gonna do. I don’t know what your pops taught you but it looks like you got a lot to learn from me. First thing, you gotta be more assertive—don’t be scared to say what you think or do what you like.”

Hearing that, Eddie felt something shift inside him; the fear and anxiety that had been eating at him for weeks seemed to fade away. He wanted to be there, and nobody was gonna take that away from him, not even his old man.

After hitting the locker room and putting on the shorts Rocco lent him, which were way too big in the legs but surprisingly just right in the waist, Eddie went back to the main room where the personal trainer was waiting for him.

“We gotta fill those shorts, son!”

“That’s why I’m here, Mr. Mancini.”

“Hell yeah! That’s the spirit but none of this Mr. Mancini nonsense; you either call me Rocky or coach.”

“Yes, sir, coach!”

“That’s right! Now, back to our chat, you said you’ve been training for a while, but how long is a while, son?”

That info was totally wrong; he’d never trained, right? But why did he have fuzzy memories of sneaking out to hit the school gym before class during his senior year? If he hadn’t trained, where did those small but tight muscles come from?

“I’ve been training for almost a year, coach, but I don’t think I’ve seen much result.”

“Two more things to teach you, son: first, we’re never happy with the size we are, and second, even so, you’re never gonna downplay your achievements; you’ve done something that most people can’t even pull off. Be proud of that.”

“I... I’m proud, yeah!” he replied, realizing the coach was speaking the truth. He had a lot of pride in what he accomplished, even though he knew he was still far from where he wanted to be.

“Awesome! Now you’re talking like a real champ. But enough chit-chat, let’s see what you’re made of.” Rocco said before putting Eddie through the most grueling workout he’d ever experienced. His self-taught training hadn’t prepared him for this level of exhaustion. After half an hour of intense agony, they took a break, and Eddie tried to recover before what he knew would be another half hour of torture as Rocco praised him.

“Damn, son, all that fuss you had with your pops to come train with me in your junior year was worth it. You’re huge; another minute and that shirt ain’t gonna hold!”

Still exhausted from the workout, Eddie took a moment to wrap his head around what the trainer had said. A fight with his dad...? And training here for at least three years...? No... it didn’t make sense... but then he saw his own reflection in the gym mirror, and he was... fucking swole! And that... that wasn’t just possible; it was thanks to the time he’d spent caring for his body all this while, even with his dad breathing down his neck.

“Thanks, Coach, but I’m still not anywhere near where I wanna be!”

“Well, if you get closer, this shirt definitely isn’t gonna hold. I’ll grab you one of mine, or you can train shirtless until the other clients show up, son. In the meantime, figure out how to get that thing off, but I doubt it’s coming off without tearing. Maybe you should film a video for your social media; I bet your followers will go wild!”

“Haha, I don’t think that they will care, and I feel kinda uncomfortable putting myself out there. So I’ll take the shirt.” Eddie replied as the coach returned with an enormous shirt in hand and offered it to him.

“Son, there’s no reason to be shy about showing off; you sculpted that body for a reason. Don’t tell me that’s another one of your dad’s ideas? You never cared much about what he thinks, and I’ve known you since you were a little brat, fourteen years old, showing up on opening day to get an autograph!”

Once again, Eddie felt something shift inside him; the cordial relationship he had with his overly protective dad was turning into a conflictual one, with both of them constantly arguing about the expectations they had for Eddie’s future, which drove him to practically live at Rocco’s gym, where he helped with maintenance or took care of the place to keep training without having to pay.

“You’re right, as always, Rocky; it’s just that, I dunno... I think this crowd that needs to post everything they do is kinda empty and vain.”

“Son if you don’t show off your gains, you won’t grow your followers, and so what if it seems kinda empty? What matters is being seen. And nobody builds a body like yours without a bit of vanity. I’ll let you keep training; I’ve got a client in twenty minutes. If you need me for anything, just holler.”

“Rocky, I can train better than a lot of pro bodybuilders, man! You know that!”

“Son there’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance! You can strut around all you want with your followers, but don’t come at me with that!” Rocky shot back, though he couldn’t hide a smile of approval.

As the trainer moved away to organize things for his client, Eddie focused on finishing his remaining exercises. Kicking off his sneakers and heading to the squat rack barefoot, he stacked plate after plate until he formed a sizable pile that would surprise anyone. But the truth was, despite the insane weight, it was relatively easy for Eddie. Next, he hit the leg press and finished with deadlifts using a bar that weighed more than a baby rhino. When he sat down to do his last exercise of the day, calves, a distinct funk emanated from his armpits, but mainly from his giant size 14 bare feet. Looking at himself and feeling pumped, he couldn’t resist pulling out his phone to shoot a TikTok video. He was in the middle of recording when Rocky interrupted him.

“Damn, kid, you reek! No offense, we all have a little man funk; I know how it is, but clients are gonna start showing up, so take a shower and let’s get to work.”

“Damn, coach, sometimes you’re worse than my dad.” The kid replied, stopping the recording.

“I am your father, boy!” The older man shot back with a sinister grin and a predatory look at the younger man before continuing. “And if you really wanna please your fans, be a show-off; don’t hide your assets, son; show off that chest and those abs, but hurry up, ‘cause this place is gonna be packed soon. We’re not the biggest gym in town by luck, Wardo. This young stud pose might please your fans, but the morning ladies prefer when you play the part of the innocent bambino.”

This time, the wave of strangeness hit Eddie so hard that he felt dizzy and nauseous, exacerbated by the potent funk he was putting off. And for the first time since he stepped foot in that gym, he fully realized what was going down as he automatically took off his shirt and walked toward one of the gym mirrors, a gym which seemed to expand with every step he took, turning from a small studio into a gigantic complex. As his skin took on an olive tone and his dark brown hair curled into perfect black curls, while his nose turned aquiline like a Roman emperor from antiquity, Eddie struggled within his own mind while Edoardo Mancini took control. If someone could hear the debate between the two, it would sound something like:

“Dude, I am... no, we are what you’ve always wanted to be! Pops gave you this chance; why not embrace it?”

“’Cause I... I’m going to med school...”

“You never wanted that; we never wanted that; that was Nicholas’s thing, not ours. This is our chance to be whoever we wanna be!”

“No... we are what Rocco made us; we’re just trading one controlling dad for another!”

“Not even close, dude! We chose this path; he didn’t pressure us! We followed him out of admiration, and that boosted both his success and ours; we’re legends in the fitness world!”

“Rocco was a mediocre pro... he’s using us for leverage!”

“And what’s wrong with that? We’re getting something out of it too! And how is that different from Nicholas pressuring you?”

“I... I... don’t know...”

“Dude, if you didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be here. Chill and enjoy; besides, Pops already got what he wanted from us. He’s not gonna pressure us to follow in his footsteps. We can be whatever we want: bodybuilders like him, or fitness models, or even kickstart an acting career; and I’m not even talking about porn, even though this big guy between our legs would be a hit. Just accept it.” Wardo said, stroking the giant cock in his mind and in real life.

“I... I... damn... this feels so... fucking... good!”

“Wardo! Wrap it up, kid, and stop playing with that thing; we got a new client coming.” Rocco scolded his son.

“Damn, Pops, another ruined video!”

“You weren’t gonna post that, kid; you wanna get banned from social media?”

“I was just messing around...”

“Kid... you’ve got five minutes to take a shower and get your ass to the front desk.”

“Okay, Dad! Did you hear that, folks? The great Rocco Mancini has spoken, and the good son obeys! I’ll be back with updates soon.” The young man said before stopping the recording.

“I’ll edit it so nothing racy gets out; don’t worry, Dad!”

“Five minutes and counting!” Rocco replied with fake irritation, but in reality, he was puffed up with pride for his son as he headed for the reception, spotting a man in his mid-thirties, wearing glasses and an outfit that screamed he’d never set foot in a gym in his life.

“Good morning, sir; welcome to Rocky's Gym; I’m Rocky Mancini, the owner and head coach. Are you looking for something?”

“Good morning, I’m Nick Rousseau, and I’m actually looking for my son; his phone tracker showed he was here just a few minutes ago before it suddenly stopped working.”

“Tracker? Isn’t that a bit much? Anyway, how old is he and what’s he like? We haven’t had anyone too young around here today, except for my own kid, but if I can help you out…”

“I... I don’t know...”

“You don’t know? What kinda dad doesn’t know how to describe his own kid?”

“I... I...” Nicholas replied, his voice filled with genuine desperation, which made Rocco feel a bit of sympathy, but not enough to stop him from making the next call.

“Hey, Wardo... Wardo!!! Damn kid never listens! Edoardo Mancini!!!!” Rocky yelled while watching Nicholas slightly tremble at the sound of that name.

“What’s up, Pops? I’ll get ready in a sec.” The handsome young man replied as he prepared to flex the powerful muscles that no kid his age could get without maximum dedication, watched by his dad and the other boy.

“Not that, you insubordinate ragazzo! This guy’s looking for his son; has anyone younger shown up today?”

“Nope!” He replied, giving Nicholas a quick glance over the shades he was wearing just for style before turning around and finally heading to the locker room.

“Sorry about that, teenage boys; you know how they are.” Rocco said, smiling at the other man.

“I... know?”

“Didn’t you come looking for your son?”

“Son?? Son... no... I don’t have kids... do I?” Nicholas replied, looking both confused and desperate.

“Are you feeling alright? I’m no doc, but I can try to help.”

“Doc... doctor? No... no need... I’m a doctor.” Nicholas replied with more confidence.

“Seriously? That’s awesome! Doctors are always good clients; they know how to take care of themselves.”

“Client?”

“You didn’t come here to train? We’re in a gym, after all.”

“Of course... I came... to train. You come highly recommended.”

“Modesty aside, it’s because I’m the best. I normally don’t take new clients, but we could use a doctor to evaluate our clients, so we could do a trade; you wouldn’t happen to be a sports doc, would you?”

“No, I…”

“Awesome! Just what I needed! But I can tell you’re already in shape!” Rocco said, grinning. “Let me show you the gym. Normally, this would be Wardo’s job, but the kid’s been so focused on his influencer career that he’s slacking here... between us, I’d rather he be a bodybuilder like me, but I think a dad should respect his kid’s wishes; don’t you think?” Rocco asked, and without waiting for a reply, he continued. “Don’t you wanna have kids? Are you single or married? Dude, if you’re single, I gotta introduce you to my sister; no disrespect to her, ‘cause my mama raised me right, but between us, she’s a total smoke show...” And so he went on while Nicholas followed, not realizing that with every word spoken, his reality was adjusting to the other man’s desires.

Minutes later, Rocco stepped into the locker room bathroom and watched his son recording another video, already showered but still unable to shake off the musk that surrounded him, maybe because he was still wearing the same shorts from his workout. He admired his boy, feeling proud knowing all this was his hard work paying off.

When the young man finished recording, he turned to him.

“Wardo, finish getting dressed and come out here for a minute; I got a surprise for you.”

….

“Hey guys, Wardo Mancini here, and I’ve got some awesome news! You’re probably tired of seeing my pops in my videos, but today, besides him, I wanna introduce you to someone else.” He said, repositioning the camera in the packed gym.

“This handsome fella next to my dad is my doctor, Nic Russo, and on top of that, he’s my uncle, married to my dad’s sister. And now for the biggest news: he’s about to be a dad, and he asked me to be the godfather of his boy! Just think about the genetics of that kid with a dad like this and an uncle like my pops. My uncle says the kid can be whatever he wants, but we all know the iron bug is in our blood, and as far as his godfather is concerned, Rocky Russo is gonna be a champion bodybuilder!”

#male tf #mind change #reality change #jockification #mental transformation #race change #musclegrowth #my story

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mianexil · 9 months ago

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◇ POV: He heard/saw how someone was planning to harm you ◇

(pt. 1)

◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇

💫 [ The reaction of the Windbreaker boys when they heard/saw that someone was going to harass you. Don't worry, cutie, you're under the protection of these boys ]

💫 [ I hope someone will check out the Easter Egg I left here ]

◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇

ㅡ Umemiya, Kaji, Nirei, Kiryu

Umemiya

A long-awaited weekend. How pleasant it becomes with the onset of spring. There is even a desire to go out on warm evenings, not to sit at home in a plaid.

And so, one of these evenings. You took your boyfriend out to hang out at a club with great music.

Umemiya stood leaning on the bar and watched with a smile as you enjoyed the music on the dance floor.

Those two jerks were also standing there.

《 Hey, look at the girlie in a black dress on the dance floor there. She has pretty legs... I bet I'm going to give her a good slap 》

The guy rushed towards you, but a step before the unsuspecting you, someone grabbed him tightly by the scruff of the neck. And then he noticed how several pairs of eyes were staring at him rapaciously, and Hajime towered behind him. It seemed that he was about to crush the boy with his menacing gaze full of contempt.

The poor guys did not suspect that if you hang out in a club, then you are surrounded by your boyfriend and at least two Heavenly Kings of Bofurin.

After 10 minutes, this idiot and his friend were already kneeling outside the clubhouse in front of Umemiya and Hiragi, and swore that they would never even look at girls askance again in their lives. While you, without suspecting anything, continued to dance in the club with Tsubakino.

After this incident, Umemiya increased patrols around such places.

Kaji

The other day, Kaji got 2 tickets to a rock concert by some aspiring band "Kessoku Band". This boy loved noisy places, and you didn't mind. So in the evening you went to the semi-basement concert hall together.

You had a great time enjoying the sound of rock music, and then there was a 10-minute break between songs, during which everyone bought drinks, talked, and so on. Kaji was buying 2 glasses of fruit juice for you when he heard a strange guy talking on the phone next to him.

《 Yes, I have already found the right chick. I'm going to give her alcohol to drink and have fun with her tonight. Huh, yeah, as usual, dude. All right, bye, I'm off 》

The vein on Kaji's forehead had already started to swell from hearing the disgusting idea, and when that asshole moved in your direction, Ren lost all control. The glasses of juice he bought for you crashed loudly on the floor.

You heard a loud noise from the crowd, but when you came up, the guy lying on the floor under Kaji already looked more like minced meat than a person. You had to pull your boyfriend away from that guy so Ren wouldn't kill him.

Is it worth saying that you are now banned from that concert hall? However, Kaji has never regretted what he did. He's ready to kill anyone who's going to hurt you.

Nirei

After the exams, the Furin members decided to celebrate at the club. You were relaxing with them, finishing off a sweet milkshake. After active brain work and a little stress, you wanted more sweets.

《 One more milkshake, please 》

After making a request to the bartender, you were distracted by some noise from your group. It looks like Sakura and Sugishita started showing their fangs to each other again and you headed towards them before this catfight blew up the whole club.

At this time, the bartender placed your order on the countertop and your sweet drink, decorated with whipped cream and a cherry on top, was waiting for your return.

At this moment, Nirey, who was actively writing something down in his notebook, looked up and there was such a picture in front of him: two strange guys approach the steam counter and one of them quickly pours some powder into a glass, and then both retire from the crime scene.

Nirei immediately tensed up. For this young collector of information, bandit tricks were known, which are popular for industry in places such as clubs and bars. The yellow-haired boy was already heading towards the bar to inform the bartender about what had happened, but when he saw you coming up and taking the drink in your hands, his hair stood on end and he rushed towards you with all speed.

Akihiko literally put his hand between your lips and the glass at the last moment.

《 Y/N, DON'T DRINK!! 》

He was noticeably nervous at that moment. You had to calm him down, and then Nirey told you and the guys from Furin what happened.

Of course, the guys quickly found these scum and handed them over to the guards, not forgetting to leave them a couple of bruises for prevention.

For the rest of the evening, Nirey did not leave your side and brought you drinks himself, carefully watching how they were prepared.

Kiryu

Kiryu invited you to a street fair. There were various counters and stands with geek themes: from games to anime and manga. Different lanterns and garlands, illuminating the evening street with warm light, created a sweet atmosphere. You both enjoyed spending time buying different stuff like key chains with paired characters, stickers, etc.

At some point, Mitsuki went to the bathroom, leaving you at the stand with "Love Is Hard For Otaku"

Standing at the sink, he heard some guys talking from the far corner.

《 Did you see that girl in the blue and white striped skirt? She's pretty. Let's buy her a drink and offer her a ride on a bike. Maybe we'll get something tonight 》

They were definitely talking about the very skirt that Kiryu helped you choose this morning. When these guys came out of the bathroom, he finished washing his hands and followed right behind them.

Making his way through the crowd, Mitsuki saw you with some kind of glass of juice in your hands, talking to those idiots. It seemed like you were trying to politely refuse, but they kept pressing hard.

Suddenly, someone's warm arms wrapped around your waist from behind and Kiryu leaned over your shoulder, drinking from the glass in your hand through a straw.

《 I'm back, love 》

Then he looked up at the annoying guys from under his brows. Mitsuki had the same relaxed expression when viewed at first glance. But your boyfriend wasn't smiling at those two idiots. It was a silent warning.

A cold light flashed in his green eyes.

The two guys hesitated slightly, muttered something, and left dejectedly. You still didn't understand what it was, but after that, you calmly continued your date, enjoying the rest of the evening.

◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇

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hotvintagepoll · 10 months ago

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Propaganda

Greta Garbo (Camille, Anna Karenina, Queen Christina)—Enigmatic and alluring and made me bisexual. The perfect example of the eroticism in silent films that literally transcends text. Could literally not change anything about her expression but you knew by looking at her eyes what she was thinking. She’s so gorgeous.

Audrey Hepburn (My Fair Lady, Sabrina, Roman Holiday)—Growing up, Audrey Hepburn desperately wanting to be a professional ballerina, but she was starved during WWII and couldn't pursue her dream due to the effects of malnourishment. After she was cast in Roman Holiday, she skyrocketed to fame, and appeared in classics like My Fair Lady and Breakfast at Tiffany's. She's gorgeous, and mixes humor and class in all of her performances. After the majority of her acting career came to close, she became a UNICEF ambassador.

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Garbo:

A cold-ass Swedish WLW Sphinx. Had plans to murder Hitler that she never got around to. "She will remain always a child of vikings, moved about by a snowy dream."

First of all, she's on the money; that's how much of a treasure she is. She's beautiful in such a distinct way you need very few lines to draw her. (Drawing by Einar Nerman) She managed to be mesmerizing in both silent and sound films. She kissed a woman in Queen Christina (and probably several more in real life). She was super dry and really funny in Ninotchka. She got the hell out of Hollywood and stayed out, living for almost 50 years after her retirement.

Garbo is one of the many reasons why I'm gay. If you haven't seen Queen Christina please do, She is so gender in that film. Also her accent makes it sound like she's always talking in cursive and it's so hypnotic (or at least I think so).

She's a gay introvert, like all of us here on Tumblr.

Probably a lesbian, absolutely a mood when she retired

Mysterious and aloof, charismatic and enigmatic, with beautiful androgynous characteristics, Garbo is undoubtedly the most eccentric and unique Hollywood vintage star. Her aversion to fame and stardom makes her even more desirable to the audience, and her insane chemistry with the camera, an actress one of a kind! Her particularity and her oddity is what discerns her strongly from her hollywood co workers at the time, noone was like her and would never be like her. I think, to the utmost extent, that she deserves the title of the hottest vintage star, even though that would be an understatement of what she is!

SO gorgeous, her thick Swedish accent makes will turn your brain into pudding

Audrey Hepburn:

"She may be a wispy, thin little thing, but when you see that girl, you know you're really in the presence of something. In that league there's only ever been Garbo, and the other Hepburn, and maybe Bergman. It's a rare quality, but boy, do you know when you've found it." - Billy Wilder

Raised money for the resistance in nazi occupied Hungary. Became a humanitarian after retiring. Two very sexy things to do!

where to begin......... i wont her so bad. i literally dont know what to say.

My dude. The big doe eyes, the cheekbones, the voice. The flawless way she carried herself. She was never in a movie where she wasn't drop dead gorgeous. Oh, also the fact she raised funds against the Nazis doing BALLET and she won the Presidential Medal of Freedom for her humanitarian work.

"It’s as if she dropped out of the sky into the ’50s, half wood-nymph, half princess, and then disappeared in her golden coach, wearing her glass slippers and leaving no footprints." - Molly Haskell

"All I want for Christmas is to make another movie with Audrey Hepburn." - Cary Grant

I know people nowadays are probably sick of seeing her with all the beauty and fashion merch around that depicts her and/or Marilyn Monroe but she is considered a classic Hollywood beauty for a reason. Ironically in her day she was more of the alternative beauty when compared to many of her contemporaries. She always came off with such elegance and grace, and she was so charming. Apparently she was a delight to work with considering how many of her co-stars had wonderful things to say about her. Outside of her beauty and acting ability she was immensely kind. She helped raise funds for the Dutch resistance during WWII by putting on underground dance performances as well as volunteering at hospitals and other small things to help the resistance. During her Hollywood career and later years she worked with UNICEF a lot. Just an all around beautiful person both inside and out.

youtube

No one could wear clothes in this era like she could. She was every major designer's favorite star and as such her films are time capsules of high fashion at the time. But beyond that, she had such an elegance in her screen presence that belied a broad range of ability. From a naive princess, to a confused widow, to a loving and mischievous daughter, she could play it all.

Look at that woman's neck. Don't you want to bite it?

#audrey hepburn #greta garbo #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 5 #Youtube

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lovingapparition · 6 months ago

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If Would Sure Do Me Good (to do you good)

Genre: Angst, Slow Burn, Smalltown American Aesthetics

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

A retired Simon moves to town. There are vibes.

Light warning for not very subtle sugar daddy implications that will ramp up later on.

AO3 Link

Modern civilization would be all but dead and gone, turned to dust, before this guy stopped talking. He's a regular at this dingy little convenience store, in at exactly 5:15pm Monday through Friday because it's, “just down the road from my job, and on my way home!” he reminds you, over and over as if you could possibly forget after being told for the second time that week. He insists you call him Pat but you never do, he's mostly just this fucking guy in your head. And boy, does this fucking guy love to yap your ears off.

You blink rapidly, not that he notices, focusing in on his hands. They're dirty, always are, with some weird mystery grime that makes you vaguely queasy when he hands you his warm dollar bills. You think he might be a mechanic, he must have told you at some point, but information like that doesn't really stick during the evening rushes because hello dude there's like ten people behind you-

Deep breaths. You are taking deep breaths, nodding, and smiling. The guy pauses for a breath, and you pounce. “So your total’s gonna be $13.47, the usual,” with a tight smile, your jaw a little clenched. Across the counter, he hums and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He's still describing something, gesticulating with his free hand before he pulls out a few bills. Through a couple of well-placed hums and nods you manage to focus on counting the proper change from the drawer. He pockets it without recounting his bills, too busy looking right at you as he tells you to, “Have a good night. Stay warm, honey.”

Ugh.

At least the next few transactions go quick, other people also getting off work but not as willing to talk your ear off. The weather was too cold for anyone else to feel like idly chatting. Your shift was just beginning, and already you felt worn out. Working evenings into the early hours of the morning wasn't ideal, but a job is a job. You value paying your rent more than seeing the sun or having time to hang out with your friends and family, at the moment. At least your cat was always happy to see you at one in the morning.

When the first rush eventually slows down, you're able to take what feels like your first real breath since clocking in. You let your mind wander as you wipe the counters down, fill out the daily logs, and stare at the grimy spot on the ceiling that seems to grow inch by inch each time it rains or snows. It's all become a familiar routine, as horrifically boring as it is. You'd listen to a podcast or something in one ear bud if you could, but your phone barely got service inside the old building. A perk of the cheapest phone plan you could find.

The night goes without too much fuss, and when you've tidied the shelves and double-checked that your boss hasn't left any cryptic notes for you to interpret, you find yourself leaning against the counter. There's early 2000’s rock playing softly over the old speakers, and you desperately wish that your boss would give you permission to change it to anything other than 98.8 FM The Rock.

Against your will you hum along to a Nickelback song as you watch the clock tick its way closer and closer to 9:30pm. Lunch. Also known as the only time you were allowed to lock the store. Your boss doesn't really vibe with the idea of paying two people at a time, so obviously you still had to help customers on your fifteen-minute breaks.

Halfway through the song you step out from behind the counter to go lock the front door. It's dark outside, and the street lamps cast everything in a warm, rusty yellow. The unshoveled and slushy snow looks like crushed gold, mixed with the oil and dirt from the parking lot. Inside, the lights inside Mo’s Mart buzz overhead. Their sickly green cast makes you feel a little ill if you think about it too hard. Looking outside just reminds you of it. You try to not feel disappointed as you trudge back to the counter to sit down for the first time in four and a half hours.

The stool beneath you is only a little rickety, and you sigh as you lower yourself into it. For lunch you pull a bag of potato chips out of your bag. You'd bought them from the store yesterday and saved half for tonight. At a certain point the frozen burritos and hot pockets stopped being appetizing. This isn't much better, though. The chips are already going a little stale, gumming up in your molars as you chew.

You're in the middle of digging at the crevices in your teeth with your tongue, zoned completely out as you stare at yesterday's crossword section from a newspaper your boss had left out. To be without. Six letters across and it ends in T. You're tapping your pen against the paper in thought, trying to ignore the urge to check the clock to see how much time you've got left on your break. You know you've got to have at least-

The locked front door clunking in the frame snatches your attention. You sigh. There are three loud knocks on the glass. You set your pen down. Without a doubt in your mind you know you taped the handwritten, “On break! Back at 10!” sign up at eye level. When you look up and make eye contact with the man out front, this only seems to incense him. You recognize him, a regular who's never really happy about anything. Why he keeps shopping at Mo’s you'll never understand. He shouts something that's muffled through the door, like you're the asshole right now. A quick glance tells you that you've got eight minutes until the inevitably awkward confrontation where you have to let him in. You would rather sink into the tiled floor and never come out. It almost makes the rest of the break not even worth taking.

Almost.

Trying to quell the unease his presence brings, you stay behind the counter. It's your break, and it's your right to take it without having to worry about some guy who wants his convenience store snacks in the middle of the night.

When you approach the door you try to avoid his eyes, you can practically feel him staring daggers already. As soon as the lock turns in your fingers he's pushing the door open, brushing past you as he haphazardly stomps the snow and salt off of his boots. You mentally add sweeping and mopping back onto your short mental to-do list.

You count your breath on the inhale, and again on the exhale, as you walk back to the counter. The small monitor on the cluttered counter shows the store’s security cameras on three separate little boxes. You’re vaguely aware of the man hovering by the liquor section, but you can’t bring yourself to head out into the center of the store to bother him in the hopes of deterring theft, your boss be damned. His abrupt entry brought in enough cold air to make you shiver and jam your hands into your pockets. Standing behind the counter gives you an odd sense of security as the guy wanders from aisle to aisle. You know exactly where the store's panic button is under the counter should anything go away. Some cynical part of you wonders if it even works, knowing how cheap Mo is.

The door chiming as someone else enters the store jolts you out of thought. You turn your head to greet the customer and you're met with probably the scariest individual you've ever seen. He's huge, wearing a heavy black work coat that doesn't hide the bulk of his body. The fact that he's wearing a skull print balaclava is what makes it worse. This guy could be totally normal and just wearing it because it's snowing out. He could also be about to ruin your night.

He's looking right at you as he beelines to the counter.

Anxiety bleeds into your hands, makes them feel like you've just stuck them in freezing water. Slowly, you take them out of your pockets and press them flat on the counter. You watch your own fingers spread out. From some job training or another, you recall that it's worse to look into the eyes of someone trying to rob you. “Hey there,” you try and fail to sound like you're not nervous. “What can I get you?” He's quiet for a long time. Too long. Risking a glance up at him, you find he's not even looking at you. The guy is carefully scanning the rows of cigarettes behind you.

You breathe a small sigh of relief. He doesn't say anything and you don't feel like pushing your luck tonight. You scoot over to the side and quietly thumb over your abandoned crossword. With a quick glance up you can see the man running a gloved hand over his jaw. There's a faint sound of his stubble rubbing against the balaclava. His eyes are dark, half lidded. Without moving his head, his gaze flicks to meet yours, and you look away without even thinking. Bright blue. Jesus Christ this is awkward. You tap your pen against the newsprint, wishing whatever was happening right now would just end. This guy isn't a regular, and he's certainly no one you've ever seen around town. Fingers crossed he's just passing through, never to be seen again.

“Hey dickhead, anytime now!” Your head jerks up. The masked man slowly looks over his shoulder. The guy who came in earlier is cradling a bottle of cheap rum and a liter of coke, clearly pissed about the long wait. Your stomach feels like it's about to fall out of your ass. A stranger you've never seen and a pissy regular, what could possibly go wrong? Chewing at your lip, you take a step back from the counter.

“Hey Marvin, I can get you over here. Relax,” you say over the stranger's shoulder, just barely managing to remember his name. You've carded him everyone else in this town enough to remember a few faces. The giant man in front of you steps over wordlessly as if Marvin hadn't just insulted him. Wanting to get him out as quickly as possible to avoid anymore confrontation, you check Marvin out. He's still grumbling to himself, working the toothpick in his cheek with his teeth. “Have a good night. Drive safe,” you tell him as you hand him his brown paper-bagged liquor. Marvin scoffs at you and yanks his items from your hands. You try not to react as he lets the door slam on his way out.

The fluorescent lights buzz above you. Coldplay is on the radio, crackling softly. The man approaches your register, already reaching into his coat for his wallet. “I'll have your cheapest menthols,” he rumbles in an accent you've definitely never heard in town. What the hell was this guy doing in Mo’s this late at night? The vibes were sketching you the fuck out. You school your face into as neutral of an expression as you can manage and turn to reach for a pack of Marlboro Black Menthol 100’s from the shelf of tobacco products behind you. The man is looking down at your crossword, still unfinished, when you turn back to him. You were half tempted to ask where he was from. You don’t.

When you ask him for ID he hands you a card from his wallet. Upon inspection, you find that it’s a British Military ID and heavily censored. It only tells you his first and last name initials. S. R. The photo is censored as well. As far as you can tell, it looks real to you. If it’s not, then he’s gone through an awful lot of effort for the worst cigarettes Mo’s has to offer. You weren’t in the business of prying. Most everyone else who lives in town you stopped carding years ago. Over time you just know through the grapevine who has what birthdays and when. Hard not too. Regardless, you nod uneasily at the man and carefully slide his ID back to his side of the counter.

You tell the man his total and he slides you a crisp twenty, avoids touching you directly. With a quick hand, you count his change back to him. It's all very normal until he neatly drops the cash into the dusty tip jar by the register. What the fuck? The cigarettes were barely five dollars, and you're pretty sure in your entire tenure at Mo's you've never been tipped anything other than the loose coins people don't want to keep. You're in the middle of trying to figure out how to thank him when he nods to you once, and turns to leave.

Stunned, you have no idea how to react. Genuinely what the fuck was any of that? You eye the tip jar suspiciously as if the man had filled it with Monopoly money instead of enough cash to buy yourself a couple of hot meals. You entertain the idea of going to the local burger place you used to love as a kid. Hot, fresh fries and a large coke would probably fix you at least a little bit, you think. When you return to the comfort of your crossword you see in very neat, small handwriting, that the last word has been penned in.

Bereft.

The rest of the night goes without much else of note happening. You sweep the floors and mop the salt and grey sludge from the entrance. The coolers are stocked and the cash drawer is counted when your replacement arrives at two in the morning. Mo liked to keep the place open 24 hours since it was close enough to a busy highway that folks came through at all hours of the day. Your coworker, Olivier, arrives a little early so you can check them out at the register. Each morning they like to buy an energy drink in a tall pink can and whatever gummies they wanted to snack on that day. You enjoyed the little moments you got to have together. Olivier was one of the few people in this town who you could relate to. Their hair seemed to change color and style by the week, and they always had the best fashion sense. It seemed they were an expert at thrifting in a way you could only dream of. Layering different fabrics and patterns, they seemed to somehow never repeat an exact outfit.

“How was everything? Good night?” they ask, already rooting through their bag of gummies for the blue ones. You shrug, making a high-pitched noise somewhere in your throat. Olivier, bless them, immediately understands. “Did that weird masked guy come in again? He pulled in with a giant moving truck the other night.”

This immediately perks you up. “No shit?” That guy was moving here? “What's wrong with him?” you half-joke as you punch out on the register. Olivier chuckles with you, and the shared judgment over a new face in town reminds you how glad you are to have them. These small moments in the quiet hours of the morning made the town feel like it wasn't so small and empty.

As you pull your heavy coat on you look out the windows into the parking lot. The lot had been heavily salted, but it was dusting snow. You could see the suspended motes in the yellow street lights outside. Part of you was a little jealous of Olivier. This time of the morning always seemed so peaceful and quiet. You knew you’d never want to work their hours though. Waking up at midnight to get ready for work? No thanks. You wish Olivier a good shift as you pull your gloves on, before pushing out into the parking lot. The air shocks a chill into your chest as you breathe it in. Your breath puffs in a heavy cloud as you exhale. Already you could feel your fingers burning as the cold licked it’s way through your heavy layers. Awkwardly, to avoid slipping, you shuffle your way across the lot to your truck. It’s a little blue beat-up thing. How you’ve managed to keep it running all these years, you have no idea. Apparently, luck and hoping for the best are good enough for the ancient beater. It takes a couple tries to get the engine to turn over, and you sigh in relief when it finally roars to life. After idling in the cabin for a few minutes, you shift into drive and begin the slow crawl home. The roads aren’t plowed, but it’s not slick enough to worry you. The sound of snow crunching beneath the tires, barely audible over the low hum of the radio, accompanies you home.

When you pull into the driveway you can feel your shift finally weighing down on you. You turn the key and slouch down in the seat, eyes shut. Your feet are cold. Your shoulders sag under your heavy coat, but you're somehow not warm enough. The cold always finds a way in. After a few moments, you manage to drag yourself out of the truck and you make the short walk to your front door. The only benefit of small-town living was the fact that you could afford the rent on this little house. Never mind the fact that you were pretty sure your landlord lived about an hour and forty-five minutes up the highway and owned most of the houses in your street.

Your nightly routine goes without much fuss. Tabitha, your cat, is pleased that you've come home on time to refill her dish with wet food. You undress, shower, and bundle back up in your warmest sleeping clothes. The house is cold, no matter how well you insulate the windows and the cracks in the baseboards. In the dark, you sit in bed with microwaved pasta in its plastic packaging with the instructions on the side. It's not good but it warms your belly and fills you up. As you eat you scroll on your phone, lazily browsing your social media and clicking through posts. Your mind wanders to the man you saw today. He was odd, and him moving here was even stranger. In all your life you can't really remember anyone moving into the town. Mostly your friends from high school have slowly trickled out, save for Olivier. You weren't sure why you'd never left for the bigger city, you'd just never felt the pull to get out and see more.

When you sleep that night it's restless as ever. You wake up often, teeth chattering. Your cat is nestled somewhere beneath the blankets with you, and you're careful not to roll onto her. You vow to do a once over, just to see if you can stuff any more of your hand-me-down towels into the draftier baseboards. It feels like it's been winter forever now, but with Christmas barely around the corner, you knew it had just begun.

—

You start seeing that guy around town. You pass by him in the grocery store. He's got a cart full of stuff, and you figure he's just stocking his kitchen. You grab your scant groceries, milk, and some canned goods that will last. While you're in the checkout line he pushes his cart behind you, leaving a respectful amount of space. You're not really the type to engage in the painfully long-winded Midwestern custom of talking about everything you possibly can, so you don't acknowledge him. You set your items down on the belt when it's your turn, and you offer a polite smile to the cashier.

“Hey, find everything okay?” he asks, nice as you please.

“I did, thanks Carter.” He was a few grades above you back in school. He also stuck around after his class had graduated. You vaguely wonder each time about his dreams of joining the military, and whatever happened to them. Maybe it was just life that happened. You know he's got a little boy to take care of with his high school sweetheart and another on the way. Maybe that was all it came down to, at the end of the day.

Carter tells you your total and you mentally curse. You'd counted your cash twice before you'd come in the store, and you were certain you'd been doing the right math as you grabbed your items. Carter gently angles the register's screen to you so you can see the line items. God damn. You'd just plain miscalculated, probably too tired to keep it all straight in your head. You look down at the things you'd grabbed, trying to calculate what you could do without. You force a laugh. Humiliation roils in a dark pit in your chest. You find yourself speaking without thinking, “Oh whoops! Sorry, go ahead and take off the soup cans.” Carter, bless his heart, doesn't make a fuss. He punches the register keys quickly and counts the cash you hand him. You very much do not want to look at the stranger behind you. You pray to whatever god might be listening that maybe he wasn't being as nosey as everyone else was in this town, and that he didn't just hear that you can't really afford an armful of groceries.

Carter hands you your single plastic bag, tells you to “Have a good one, hon,” You speed walk back to your truck, your breath puffing in clouds around you.

–

The next time you see him you're driving to work. The radio is playing softly and your truck's heaters are blowing semi-cold air onto you. You're stopped at a light when you see the guy, dressed in a light coat and the same balaclava. He's jogging, somehow managing to work a sweat on the cold. You have no idea what kind of psychopath goes on a run in the dead of winter. When the light turns green you have to drag your eyes off of him before you accelerate through the light.

It was rare that anyone in your town went on a jog. Unheard of in the winter. You were certain the old ladies would be gossiping up a storm at church. You figured it was no different than you and Olivier at Mo’s. You smile at the thought of sharing your sighting of the masked stranger with Olivier tonight. The little chats in the quiet morning hours were a light in the dark of winter.

It was easy to get lost in the cold. It seemed all your waking hours were spent in the dark, during these months. You'd wake up later in the afternoon, always too tired to rise any earlier. It wasn't great for your mental health, but neither would being homeless. You'd take your victories where you could get them. Without much family nearby to rely on, you had to get by on your own.

The joy of adulthood.

–

You see him again that same night. He comes in around midnight. He's the first customer in around an hour. There had been a small rush of truckers passing through, trying to make it off the major highways before some snowfall was forecast to hit the area. You note that he's better dressed for the weather than he was earlier while he was jogging. He's in the same black work coat and leather gloves as before. You find it hard to meet his eye when he approaches the counter.

Something about seeing him in town made the transaction feel off in a way that you've never experienced before. Getting Janet her pack of Marlboro Reds and ringing her son Nick up for his energy drinks was never sullied by the fact that you saw them at the Sonic Drive-In in their old beater from time to time. Seeing him now with the sense that he was apparently sticking around in town made you feel strange. You didn't know anything about him besides his initials and the skull print on his balaclava. Knowing he was likely some retired military operative from a foreign country was nerve-wracking and exciting and weird as hell for your little town. You had no idea how to interact with him.

When you're getting the register open to count his change, you can't help but blurt out, “Are you liking it here?” Immediately you wish you could stuff the words back in your mouth when you see his eyes flick to meet yours. How on Earth could anyone be enjoying one of the worst winters your town has seen in years?

To your surprise he humors you. “It's nice. Quiet,” he says after a beat. You blink at him, quickly looking back down to the cash you're supposed to be counting back to him.

“Good. That's good. Folks can be weird about new people, but I'm glad you're settling in.” Oh God, you're rambling. Make it stop.

To this, he hums. It's a low sound, almost silent, deep in his chest. You suppose that's the only response you're getting as he accepts the cash. You slide his pack of menthols across the counter. Your eyes widen as he doesn’t even recount the bills you’ve handed him, just folds them once and drops them into the tip jar. Sputtering already, cheeks red with embarrassment, you search for words but find none. This had to be about the grocery store. You were completely fine. Really, you were. You get paid this week and you would definitely go back to the store and probably pick up some extra groceries. None of this is coming out of your mouth though, as the man has basically vanished already. You can hear his truck starting up outside, the crunch of the snow and gravel as it pulls out of the lot.

Guilt rolls through you, thick and familiar. You had no idea what to make of this guy. First, he blows into your dead-end town and starts leaving you ridiculous tips on the cheapest cigarettes possible? What the fuck? It makes you feel ashamed and unnerved. No one had ever given you more than the change they simply didn’t want to carry around, and you’d never expected anything more than that.

When you talk it over with Olivier that night in the early hours, they eye you mischievously, clearly very interested in the man’s motives to give you excessively large tips. “C’mon, let the guy toss you a little cash here and there, it’s a free country. He can do what he wants, even if it's to give all his money away,” they tease over the lip of an energy drink. You hang your head, groaning in response.

“I dunno… I don’t know what to make of it, is all,” you admit. That little pit of nervousness in your gut had been sitting heavily all night. Olivier gives you a pitying look.

“Don’t worry too much about it, I think you should just let it ride. And tell me all of the details.” You can’t help but choke a small laugh at their insistence on being in the know. Almost nothing new ever came to town, of course it was the juiciest thing ever to Olivier. You give them a weary smile and wish them a good shift before heading out.

–

The next few weeks are more of the same. You see the man around town, like any other local. At the grocery store, he’s always got a cart full of food, and you’re sure to hurry off out of his way with your armfuls of items. Once or twice you’ve seen him meandering around the local shops, and you sort of dread the idea of running into him at the little cafe you sometimes indulge in when you’ve got a little extra cash on hand. Something in you wanted to be protective of your favorite spots in town, but you knew it was irrational. Soon enough he would be just as familiar to the folks around here as you were.

Without fail, he continued to come into Mo’s with large bills. He’d ask you for his cigarettes, tip you far too much, and leave before you could really say anything about it. He never spoke to you more than you spoke to him and he was never anything other than perfectly polite. You hadn’t begun to have a single idea as to why he insisted on tipping so much.

Eventually, you had come to terms with his insistence on leaving all of his excess cash with you. You started squirreling some of it away, using it specifically on groceries and smaller bills. It was nice to have a little extra padding in your wallet, especially during these cold months. You definitely weren’t touching the thermostat though, that’s for sure. Old habits, and all that. It was easiest to be thankful, to not look this gift horse in the mouth, and to do your best to just keep pushing through the winter.

–

A winter storm was forecast for your town. The weatherman you’d grown up watching warned this would be one of the worst in years, and to stock up on the essentials. You knew you had about a month’s worth of cat food and a few cans of something or other in the back of your cupboards and called it good before heading to work that day. Calling out wasn’t really a thing Mo liked you to do. It didn’t help that you’d woken early today, sweating through your layers of blankets and somehow still chilled to the bone.

Getting ready for your shift had taken about twice the time. You’d taken a cold shower, teeth chattering and your stomach turning the entire time. You did not look in the mirror while brushing your teeth and getting dressed. It had to be bad, the way folks looked at you when you arrived. You were bundled up in a hoodie and an oversized flannel. There was something about being ill that just made the cold weather feel so much worse. The black K-95 mask you’re wearing isn’t doing much to hide the puffiness or dark circles under your eyes. The near-constant sniffling and perspiration aren’t doing you any favors.

Between the little rushes of your shift, you unabashedly sit on the floor behind the counter, not caring if Mo saw you on the cameras and wanted to give you a pissy little talk about it later. You hadn’t had any medicine to take at home and all the store carried were caffeine pills and Tylenol for eight dollars per two-pack. You do your best to stay hydrated, refilling a small styrofoam cup from the soda machines often. The water tastes vaguely like Hi-C Punch, and you try to not think about it. When you’re able to focus on your own hands, you see them shaking as they bring the cup to your lips.

You think it’s around one in the morning when you hear the door chime. Close to the start of Oliver’s shift, the end of yours. No one has been in the store since around eight, you think. Time has stopped feeling real at this point. Breathing heavily, you muster the strength to stand. You lean heavily over the counter, trying to wet your mouth against the sudden nausea crawling up your throat. Under your layers, you’re sweating and chilled and just so uncomfortable. Whoever’s just entered the store stomps the snow off of their boots, and you can hear their steps squeak on the linoleum straight to your counter. A quick glance up and you’re making eye contact with the masked man who has become strangely familiar to you.

You can only manage a nod to acknowledge him, before turning around to grab his cigarettes. He’d been in the night before, so you weren’t expecting him tonight. Normally his packs last him a few days. Why would he come out so late, especially during this bad weather? You can’t really bring yourself to think too critically right now, instead choosing to focus on not passing out before you can clock out and go home. When you turn around, pack of menthols in hand, you find that the man is eyeing you more intently than normal. You think? The mask made it hard to tell. Your hands are shaking, you realize it just as the cigarettes slip from your fingers.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry-” You bend to pick them up and are met with a rush of blood in your ears. When you rise you lean against the counter for a moment, eyes closed. It would later come back to you as an embarrassing moment, but currently, you’re focusing very hard on staying upright.

“You're sick,” the man says, so plainly it's kind of funny. You huff a small laugh, nodding.

“Why’re you here? Storm’s gonna get bad tonight.” It’s a poor attempt at deflecting the obvious statement. Something bristled in you at him, it was enough that he’d seen you at the grocery store. Being seen by him like this now, especially after all the cash tips he’s been leaving you, makes you feel cagey and defensive.

“I could ask you the same.” He slides you a twenty as he says this. You meet his eyes, briefly. It’s easier to look at him with half of your face covered, you realize. Maybe that’s why he’s never been seen around town without his balaclava. He meets your gaze evenly, seemingly unaware of the shame that pulses under your skin. You sniffle loudly, not looking down at the bill on the counter. You’ve got about a dozen questions for him, but your jaw is clenched so tightly you’re not sure where to even begin. Just when you’ve worked up the nerve to fire a question at the man, the door chimes.

Both of you turn to see Olivier entering the shop. They wave one mittened hand at you. “Oh hey! You’re here too, Simon. Nice to see you again.” Simon? Somehow Olivier had failed to mention his name after all this time. Admittedly, you’d never even thought to ask. He’d never introduced himself formally, and you weren’t one to pry, especially into the lives of odd men who only buy their cigarettes after sundown. Simon raises a hand to greet Olivier, the most human thing you’ve seen him do so far.

“Hey Liv,” you croak, clearing your throat a little. At the sound of your wrecked voice, Olivier grimaces at you. Already, they’re reading into their tote back and donning a mask.

“Stay over there, and disinfect the counter when you leave!” They harp, only half joking. You nod wearily and quickly check Simon’s cigarettes out on the register. It feels strange to even think of him using his first name. Simon takes his leave, and as soon as you've got your coat on you’re following right behind him, waving a quick goodbye to Olivier as you go. They’re immunocompromised, and the last thing you want is to make their life harder by getting them sick.

The snow falls heavily, immediately sticking to your eyelashes and blinding you. You drag your gloved hands over your eyes, trying to clear them. Blinking rapidly, you see that the parking lot is a smooth expanse of honeyed yellow. The street lamp makes the area look warmer than it is. You can already feel the cold sinking into your fingertips. The trees on the edges of the lot are bowed heavily under the snow’s weight. When you step into the lot, the snow is powdery soft, but icey beneath. Not good. It would be a very slow drive home once you got your truck moving. The snow is only about halfway up the tires, but you’d still need to shovel it out to give it a fighting chance of leaving the lot if you could get it started in this cold.

When you get it started.

Historically, your beloved fossil of a truck has not done well in the cold. You’d been meaning to replace the battery and get the transmission checked out this Summer. You had forgotten.

The sound of snow crunching behind you tells you that Simon has not left the lot, and is apparently watching you have your silent meltdown now. Great. “You want some help getting that snow shoveled?” It’s strange hearing him outside of the contained environment that is Mo’s. The wind changes his voice. It’s odd to be shoulder to shoulder with him, and not talk about cigarettes. Dejected, you know when to choose your battles. You nod your head and lead him to the driver's side door of the truck.

“I might need a jump, it really doesn’t do well in this weather,” you admit wearily. Simon nods like he knows that already. Maybe he did, it’s not exactly the nicest-looking vehicle anyone’s ever seen. You crank the door open and hop in the seat. When turning the engine over multiple times does nothing but pitifully crank the engine, you lean your forehead against the steering wheel in defeat. Before you can say anything you can't fight the urge to suddenly cough. You turn away from Simon, who's kind of hovering near the open door of your truck, to bury your mouth in your elbow to cough. You've honestly had enough of being gross and embarrassed in front of this guy for one night. When your coughing fit is done you lean back, exhausted, against the seat. Your throat is raw, and your entire body feels weak. The thought of shoveling out your truck and waiting on the battery to charge fills you with dread. “Fuck this, man.”

Snow has started sticking to Simon's coat, dusting white onto the black fabric. He's standing a small distance away with his hands in his pockets, giving you a decent amount of space. “You want a ride home? Can come deal with it in the morning with you, if you like.” You turn your head to regard him, thankful again for your mask to hide behind. There's plenty of security footage of him coming into the store over and over again. You supposed if he wanted to kill you there would be at least a half-decent physical description. Plus Olivier probably knew more about him, given that they're a chatterbox no matter the time of day.

Your eyes flick out to the lot. The snow shows no sign of stopping. Fuck it.

“My house isn't far from here.”

#oh hey im back #sorry for the hiatus lol #ghost x reader #cod mw ghost #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #my writing #subtle sugar daddy stuff #idk i love angst so much??#i just want reader to be well taken care of <3

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butterflyscribbles · 2 years ago

Text

So I haven’t talked nearly enough about Mutant Mayhem yet but I saw it for the second time a few days ago and they have consumed all my thoughts have some random headcanons I’m dying I have to talk about them more:

⚠️(Spoiler warning for MM as well)⚠️

April

- Lives with her mom and grandfather on her mother’s side. Raised by a single mom who’s a veterinarian and her grandpa, a retired tailor and clothing retail manager, moved in after her grandma passed away a few years ago.

- Listens to way too many murder mystery podcasts and thrillers are her favorite movie genre

- Practices doodling a lot in the sides of her journal or class notes. She’s inspired by courtroom sketch artists and old biology journals.

- Swears like a sailor. Even more than Raph. Tries to censor herself around them but it only gets worse the closer they become as friends

- Becomes a sort of ambassador for the turtles and other mutants in the city. Anyone who doesn’t approve of them, goes through her…

- Favorite subject is biology, outside of working on the school newspaper of course

Leo

- Big time book worm. Has read a lot of the classics like The Great Gatsby, Catcher in the Rye, etc. which gives him an advantage heading into high school. His favorite subject is literature naturally as a result.

- Autistic, practically canon but just putting it out there

- Like April, he’s got a sensitive stomach under pressure. Nausea flares up all the time, especially at the sight or smell of blood. They bond over it. Nothing brings two people together like commiserating that your tummy hurts all the time🤝

- Hopeless romantic. Had fallen head over heels for a few other girls he spotted up top even before April came along. She was just…different. He watches a lot of sappy romance movies too they make him feel all warm and fuzzy.

- Love language is words of affirmation big time. He’s always about hyping up the people he loves and will defend them through anything.

Raph

- He’s the team medic in this iteration. He’s no professional but growing up he had so many injuries from being a scrappy lil dude that he picked up on how to take care of ‘em on his own and of course shares that knowledge with his bros and April later. He’s surprisingly gentle when he needs to be.

- He’s the most prone to nightmares/night terrors. The fact that Raph was the one to go seek comfort from Splinter in the tots scene is so important to me.

- He and Donnie are the anime enthusiasts. Hasn’t seen as many as Donnie but it’s close.

- Scratching his shell gently, especially up by the shoulder blades, is like an automatic snooze button. He passes out within minutes.

- Second biggest crybaby to Mikey. It happens when he feels any emotion too strongly whether it’s happiness, anger, sadness, etc. and he hates it. Makes him feel weak, which is why there usually is a lot of punching involved too.

Donnie

- Can’t swim and is the only one who actively dislikes getting into the water.

- He and Leo have been studying how to speak and write Japanese together for years. Don has picked up a lot from all the anime he watches.

- Is the most emotionally open version of Donnie to date. He’s always telling his family how much he loves them without restraint and is the first to ask what’s wrong if he picks up on someone acting weird or trying to hide something.

- To compliment the above hc, he’s insanely observational, like Sherlock level. They don’t know how he’s able to do it but his attention to detail and his ability to take that and create plans and get a read on people is baffling. If Donnie doesn’t get a good vibe off someone, believe him and run the other way. (Makes him really good at those spot the different puzzles too lol.)

- Loves to dance just like his previous incarnation before him:’) Bootyyyshaker9001

Mikey

- Is actually afraid of cats…growing up with Splinter, who would freak out at the sight of them, only taught him to freak out along with him. They are sharp and unpredictable.

- Other than that however he’s an animal lover. Had a few pet fish through the years that he saved after being flushed.

- Practically canon but the most physically affectionate by leagues. Constantly seeking a brother, adopted mutant family member, or an April to cling to.

- Super into musicals and is a actually a decent singer

- Can take a punch like nothing you’ve ever seen and can still be standing….but gets sick constantly his immune system is wack

#butterfly whispers #mutant mayhem #tmnt mm #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles: mutant mayhem #mm raph #mm april #mm leo #mm mikey #mm donnie #mutant mayhem spoilers #mm spoilers #more to come later probably

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freakinator · 17 days ago

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question about uu if that’s okay! I saw your post on how to get into the content and figured you’d be pretty knowledgeable, since you had talked about stuff about the character’s inner story and stuff like that. Hopefully this doesn’t sound too demanding—so answer only if you want! I appreciate it a ton!!

I know it’s heinous to read a wiki instead of watching the source material, but dude I simply do not have time to sit through 20+ hours of content just to find characterization references for my fic writing. (And even then, the UU wiki doesn’t have much yet.) Though I’m almost caught up with the second arc—kill me, I know—I still can’t seem to place Wemmbu’s motives. He clearly wants to get stronger, and doesn’t particularly care about mafia dealings, but why? Why does he do any of the things he does? What on earth is going on with this guy 😭

I know the answer is in the previous episodes, but I have adhd and I cannot stay present long enough to pick out the details I need lol

its okay dw! i have. very low standards as to who i answer cause i dont like ignoring ppl unless im taking a long time to answer lol

i havent caught up with any episode beyond wemmbus sky civ one so if this is in regard to anything past that then idk but wemmbus motivations for eps 1 & 2 was to catch and kill spoke because wemmbu thinks hes an existential threat after listening in on a conversation he had with jamatoP

for ep 3 it was to return a favor to zam cause he thought he owed her at least until he figured out for sure that zam was planning to betray him

for eps 4 & 5 he wanted to get richer and stronger so he can destroy zam's life just as she destroyed his even if it meant destroying his own in the process as well which he managed to do at the end of ep 5 but then he and zam both got captured by clown

in ep 6 he went back and forth between wanting to be friendly and hostile to zam (and pangi somewhat) while they tried to escape clowns prison, they ended on a hostile note and everyone who got imprisoned, including egg, got taken by the invis mafia (tho at this point wemmbu had No idea who the invis mafia actually were as he did not have any real direct contact with them before this and they were essentially framed as just regular guards who happened to be invis)

in ep 7 for some reason wemmbu and zam became buddy-buddy and also got captured together so his motivation was to get out of the escape room together with him so that he can go find egg, at the end of it clown threatened wemmbu by threatening egg

in ep 8 wemmbu was actually planning to retire at a lil skyblock island at spawn before some invis mafia members accosted him, this was the first time he ever made direct contact with invis mafia members and was naturally confused about what they were up to so he decided to follow them. unfortunately for him he found sky civ instead, at the end of it is when he actually had any real idea what an actual threat the invis mafia really were although he still didnt get to witness it

so yeah ep 8 was when he started really figuring out what a threat the invis mafia actually were so naturally he didnt really care about them until that point, well that plus he doesnt really care about the server in general that much -- thats not to say he Only cares about his direct interests, he isnt really appreciative of things he deems overly cruel for example even if he tolerates them at first (disapproving of zam preferring prisons over executions, stepping in when ro fighting for his civilization even if he knows it would kill him when it became overtly clear he was gonna die, keeping jarons secret despite the fact he despises him), but if it doesnt concern him or his interests (the prison breakers going missing, spokes wherabouts after he started hard focusing on zam, what the treasure hunters do for a living) generally speaking he doesnt care about it but if it does then he'll take action to solve it even if it kills him (revenge against zam, going against clown) and he will Always prioritize his direct interests (was supposed to blow up rek's tree in ep 4 for a job that would get him a fuckton of money and didnt care about the fact that rek was missing or any of parrot and wifies' reasonings and pleas until parrot pointed out that doing so will make him just like zam, switched his plan of attack on the pze after egg got captured, works with ppl he hates and tries to get on their good side for as long as he needs them, has stated that he has a history of betraying ppl if its in his best interest)

tldr:

his motivation boils down to 4 things: revenge, safety, the ppl he cares about, and his own principles

while hes not Completely self-interested he does tend to value his own priorities over everything else and the reason he didnt really care about the invis mafia until way later in the show is cause they just straight up werent relevant to him until after the princezam arc aka the first 7 eps

#mine.ask #Anonymous #uu #wube #btw i found out eps 1-7 is called the princezam arc cause of this ask lol

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ofstoriesandstardust · 2 years ago

Text

changes (j.h.s.)

a/n: this is the first part of my college!AU. not much happens yet, but things are only just beginning with these two! let me know you're thoughts so far!

part of second star to the right (and straight on 'til morning)

folks who wanted to be tagged: @memeorydotcom @djs8891

warnings: college!AU, javynat/icemav, swearing

word count: 2.7k

You slip into the classroom, smiling at Pete as he logs in to the computer. “Hey Pete.”

He glances up at you from the screen, returning your smile as you saddle up into the first row of seats in the lecture hall. “Hey kid, I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. How was the last bit of your summer?”

You shrug, tugging your bag off into the chair next to you. “Pretty good. Quiet. How was your trip to Italy with Tom?”

“Pretty good. Nice to get away from the work and hustle-bustle of his job. Definitely don’t miss the paperwork, that’s for sure.” You both laugh lightly, as the door to the classroom open again, a few boys you recognize from the football team filtering in. “I was surprised to see you on my roster for this class. Didn’t you already fulfill the requirements for this?”

You shrug, pulling your laptop out as you finally sit down. “Yeah, but I need a couple more extra credits to stay a full-time student to keep my scholarship and you know I love taking your classes as it is. Might be one of my last chances to do so.”

He tilts his head in acknowledgement as the door opens again. “Remind me after class that I wanted to talk to you about what you’re planning for post-grad.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Why?”

He huffs out a laugh, collecting his papers. “I might have something for you.” The room has slowly begun to fill up as the two of you have chatted, meaning class is just about ready to start. Pete hangs by the front podium, letting everyone get settled.

Your eyes glance over your computer screen at the non-existent Canvas page, meaning Pete has yet to publish it. The papers in his hands are what you suspect are copies of the syllabus he probably finished over breakfast with Tom this morning. Typical.

“...dude, this is going to be such an easy credit, I’m telling you.” One of the men behind you says. “He’s just Bradshaw’s quirky godfather. You just gotta say something nice about the Navy and he’ll give you an A.”

You snort, shaking your head at Bradley feeding his athlete friends with lies about his godfather’s class. You had taken enough of Pete’s classes to know that retired decorated Naval aviator or not, Admiral husband or not, Pete welcomed critical and open discussion of the United States military’s global engagement. Encouraged it, even.

One of the men behind you sighs and you hear him lean back in his chair. “All I need is an easy A. Gonna skate through this class no problem.”

“Shit, I forgot my pen. Jake, do you have one?”

“Javy, I don’t even have a notebook. What makes you think I have a pen?”

“Reuben?”

“Sorry Javy, you’re straight shit outta luck. I only have one for myself.”

The man, Javy, groans. “Fuck me.”

“Pretty sure Natasha did just that last night based on the- ow.”

“Hey, psst. You, girl in the front.” You startle, turning around to face the boys. “You got a pen for my friend Javy here?” Reuben asks.

You nod, digging through your bag for your pencil case. “Pencil or pen?”

“Whatever you got’s fine, sugar. Right Javy?” The blond says, nudging his friend. You roll your eyes to yourself, unimpressed.

“Here.” You say, leaning up to hand the black pen to Javy.

“Thanks, I’ll give it back to you at the end of class.” Javy says with a warm smile as he takes it from you.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got plenty.” You say with a wave of your hand, already turning back around. Pete clear shis throat just as you do, catching the attention of the students in the room. He offers them a warm smile.

“Well, let’s get started shall we? I’m Pete. You can call me Pete or Mr. Mitchell, whatever suits you. I’m a retired Naval aviator, served for nearly twenty years. I’m an adjunct here at San Diego State, have been for about the last six or seven years. I teach international relations and military history classes mostly. If you’re here, you should be here for History 2060, Global Military Conflicts Post-1945. If that doesn’t sound correct, you’re most likely in the wrong classroom. Don’t blame you, I got lost this morning on my way in from the parking lot.” That earns Mav a laugh from the classroom as you shake your head. He’s told the same joke on the first day of every class you’ve ever had with him. “I’m going to go around and pass out the syllabus. We can read through it and discuss it. The biggest takeaway is that, unlike some of the other History courses on this campus, I care less about your memorization of dates and people on a test. I want you to take something meaningful away from this class and that’s going to come from the papers you write, the readings you do, and the discussions you’ll have in this class. Let’s begin.”

“Easy A, here we come.” Jake mutters behind you as the stack of syllabus gets plopped in front of you.

He’s in for a rude awkaening, you think to yourself as you take a syllabus, passing it back to the boys.

“Don’t forget. Your first response paper is due tonight at midnight. I want well-thought out papers, with clear arguments and evidence. Feel free to be critical of the text, but you must respond to it and the more you can incorporate the discussion we had in here over the past few classes, the better. Shows me you’re listening and engaged.” Pete calls out as the class packs up.

Two weeks into the semester and you had all just finished reading Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried. Pete had said he’d chosen the book so you could all understand how these global conflicts could be captured in a fictional manner, asking you to focus on how it communicated a very real history of the event. The book had been supplemented by lectures and class discussion and you felt yourself falling in love with the class everytime you showed up.

“Have you started that paper?” Reuben asks, sliding his bag over his shoulder.

Jake snorts. “Hell no. It’s only what, three pages? I’m gonna start writing it after practice tonight.”

“Javy?”

“Finished it last night.”

“Fucking nerd.” Jake says as Pete calls out your name, motioning you up to the front of the room. It catches the boys attention as you walk around the front row, meeting Pete halfway. The boys are lingering and watching, something you’re painfully aware of.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, but are you thinking about grad school?”

You nod. “Yeah, I am, but I think I’m going to take a year off first.”

“Have you thought about SDSU’s program at all?”

You sigh, crossing your arms. “Kind of-”

“-Who willingly puts themselves through more school?”

You turn catching both Reuben and Javy nudging Jake. You sigh, uncrossing your arms, looking to the ground.

“We can talk more about this at a later date.” Pete says. “I’ll let you go, I know you have to get to work. Good job on the paper, by the way.”

“You read it already?”

He nods, walking back to the table at the front fo the room. “Thought I’d get a head start on grading the ones that got turned in early last night. You never fail to impress me, kid.”

You can't help the grin spreading across your face, even as Jake coughs words that sound oddly like teacher’s pet into his fist.

“Thanks Pete. See you on Friday.”

Jake swallows, staring the 12 out of 100 blinking back at him on the screen.

“Did you get your grade back for that response paper we wrote last week?” He hears himself, asking.

“Yeah, I got an 86. Why?”

“Dude, Pete graded those response papers harder than I thought he would. I scraped by with a 73.” Reuben says, sliding in the booth next to him. “How’d you do Jake?”

He shakes his head, unable to say anything as he stares at the screen.

Reuben leans over his shoulder, looking at the screen before letting out a low whistle. “Shit Jake.”

“What? What’d he get?” Javy asks, craning to see the screen. Jake turns the laptop to Javy, earning him a wince.

“Yikes dude.”

“What am I gonna do?” He mumbles.

He pauses, waving his friends on as you chat with Pete. He fiddles with his phone, trying not to look nervous as he hears you and Pete discuss research you’d done from this summer.

“...I really think you should try to get that published, kid.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know, do you think it could?”

“Oh absolutely. Here, why don’t you hang on for a second and let me talk to Jake and we can discuss it more?”

“Oh yeah, sorry.” You give him a nervous smile, stepping a little ways away to give them some privacy.

“What’s up Jake?”

He sighs. “Sir, I was wondering if you could maybe give me some insight to the grade I got on my paper.”

Pete frowns. “Did you not read the feedback I left on Canvas? I’m never sure if my comments save properly.”

“No, I did. I guess- I guess I’m just kind of confused as to why I got that grade.”

“Well, you lacked a clear argument and the paper was riddled with typos. The assignment was only three pages and you turned in a page and a half. You only used one quote, from the first chapter of the book, telling me you didn’t read any further. You didn’t incorporate any class discussion and you’ve only been here once since the semester started. Now, I know I said I didn’t have an attendance policy but if you aren’t here, you’re not participating in the group discussion and that’s a huge chunk of your grade, Jake.”

“Is there any way I could re-submit the paper for a higher grade? I’m on the football team and we have to maintain a 2.8 to stay. It’s my last season, Mr. Mitchell, and I’d really like to keep my starting position.”

Pete sighs. “Tell you what. I’ll let you re-submit the paper for a higher grade if you go to the Writing Center and work with one of their consultants on the feedback I left for you.”

“Sir-”

“Those are my conditions, Jake. For any one, not just you. I want to see that you’re actually working on improving.”

“Well, isn’t it just that… isn’t that place for all the bad writers?”

Pete’s frown deepens. “There’s no shame in asking for help if you need it, Jake. It’s important to me that you know that.”

Jake just shrugs.

“You know, she comes as a very highly rated consultant from some of your athlete friends.” Pete says with a nod of his head over to you. You’re looking at your phone, clearly trying to look busy.

“Yeah, yeah, I think Garcia worked with her last spring.”

Mickey Garcia was Reuben’s room mate, another athlete but on the baseball team. He’d raved about this girl he’d worked with at the Writing Center last spring, helping him get a 93 on a notoriously difficult final for an International Relations class.

“She’s one of the best students I’ve seen in my time at San Diego State. You don’t have to work with her, but it might be nice to have a familiar face and someone who knows the class material. If you do decide to re-submit the paper, just ask the tutor to let me know you were there, yeah? You’ve got a week to get the new one back to me.”

Jake pokes his head through the door, eyeing the room nervously. “This the Writing Center?” Your co-worker Mia pops her head up from the computer at the front desk, nodding.

“Yes, it is! How can I help you?”

Jake looks around nervously. “I have an appointment.”

“Okay…” Mia trails off. “Do you remember with who?”

You shut the room to the storage closet. “Hi Jake.” You say warmly, lugging the Costco-sized bag of candy out to the front table. “I’m just finish refilling the candy bowls if you wanna sit down at one of those tables over there?”

He nods, walking around the front desk to one of the tables, pulling his laptop out of his bag.

“Isn’t that Jake Seresin?” Mia whispers, eyes wide. “From the football team?”

You shrug. “I think so. He’s in one of my classes.”

She nods. “Want me to finish doing that?”

You sigh, handing her the bag. “That’d be great. Are you still leaving early tonight?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind locking up the Center.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem!”

You turn back to Jake, whose knee is bouncing as he takes in the space.

He’s nervous, you realize, a stark contrast from the cocky boy you’d known in class.

You grab your laptop, sitting down across from Jake. “Alright Jake, do you just wanna share the document with me so we can get started?”

He wipes his hands on his basketball shorts, nodding as he opens the computer screen before pausing.

“Can I ask how you did on the response paper for class?”

You duck your head, biting your lip. “It wasn’t my best one.”

“What’d did you get?”

“A 94. You?”

Jake swallows, eyes flitting around the Center.

“12.” He whispers.

Your eyes grow wide. “Wait, shit, are you serious?”

Jake nods. “‘S kinda why I’m here. Pete said if I came here, I could re-submit the paper for a higher grade.”

You nod. “Well, what do you want to focus on then?”

Jake shrugs.

“Well, what would be most helpful for you?”

“Could we start by just looking at his feedback and talking about it? I admittedly didn’t understand some of it.”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course.”

The next hour flies by as you work through Jake’s paper, identifying places for him to expand and ways he could utilize evidence. You both worked through Pete’s feedback as you worked to build a better argument based off of it.

Finally, you sit back and sigh. “Well, we’re just at about time. You got any last questions for me?”

Jake shakes his head, shutting his laptop. “Thanks for all your help on this.”

“Yeah, of course. It’s my job.”

“This… this all seems to come so naturally to you.”

You shrug, closing your own laptop. “Yeah, yeah, I mean I’m a senior so I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s a lot harder when you’re first starting out.”

“I couldn’t imagine just writing all the time.”

You give Jake a bashful smile. “I’m writing a 30 page paper for my senior capstone.”

Jake cringes at your words. “I couldn’t do that.” He says, rubbing his forehead.

“Hey, you’re already improving. It just takes time to learn how to write in a style like this.”

“I much prefer my Business classes. At least there, it’s a cake-walk to scrap by with a B average.”

“Well, you’re already doing better than me there. I failed Math in high school.”

Jake chuckles, packing up his things. “Hey, uh, Pete told me I needed you guys to tell him I came here?”

You nod. “Yeah, we just send them an email with your appointment form, discussing what we did in the appointment.”

Jake sighs, shoulders slumping. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Feel free to make another appointment if you have any more questions.”

Jake gives an aborted nod, slipping his backpack over shoulder and standing up. “Thanks again.”

He blinks, looking at the grade in Canvas.

70/100

Javy leans over his shoulder at his phone as their coach talks. “Is that the revised grade?” He whispers, Jake nods, locking the phone and slipping it back into his pocket, trying not to think about the comment Pete had left just below the grade.

There was significant improvement here Jake. Please see my comments in the document and on the rubric for further feedback. I highly encourage you to continue visiting the Writing Center throughout the semester. Let me know if you have any questions or concerns.

“How you do that, Jakey?” Javy whispers.

He shrugs as Coach Simpson dismisses them. “Does it matter?”

Javy lets out an incredulous chuckle. “I mean, if you went from a 12 to a 70, I’d kinda think you sucked Mitchell’s dick or something.”

Jake middle finger doesn’t stop Javy’s chortle as he leaves the locker room.

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin fic #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic #second star to the right (and straight on ‘til morning)

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winchesterride · 3 months ago

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i'm so curious about "the H case" and "against all common sense dean is the pregnant here" plsss🤲🏻🤲🏻

First "The H Case" -- this one is growing slow but the plot twist appeared last month, so things are going better

"Hey, man, do you remember that gay couple we found some years ago? What were their names again?" Dean asked entering the library of the bunker.

Sam looked at him and thought for a while.

"Jesse and César."

"That's it." Dean said looking at his phone for the contact.

"Why?"

"Theres this casee."

"And?" Sam asked.

"And... I think they'd... fit better."

"What do you mean, dude? They're retired."

"Yeah, I know but..." Dean said disappointed. "You're right. That was stupid"

"Why?" Sam asked. "Why would they fit better?"

"I don’t know if you remember this couples, gay couples, that were killed some years ago, we thought it was our thing, started investigating but couldn't solve it."

"Yes, I do remember that. What about it?"

"I don’t know if I told you back at the time, but I found the pattern."

"I don’t think so."

"Yeah, I think we were fighting at the time. Anyways, I... stalked the victims and did found it."

"Why the suspense, man? What's the connection?"

"They all spent a week on this hotel a month before they got killed. All them in the first week of the fall."

"In two weeks." Sam said.

"Yes. Four years apart."

"This year." Sam guessed.

"Yep."

"But why call César and Jesse? We can handle it."

"Yeah I know. I just thought... well I thought they could use their selfs as baits."

"Come on, Dean."

"Think about it. They're retired, they could live a fake apple pie life for a while, attract the killer and kill it before it could kill 'em and the others. Is not a bad plan. It's practical." Dean sighed. "But you're right, okay? Their retired and it's not fair to pull them back in, even to kill some homofobic son of a bitch."

"Do you have the files?" Sam asked.

"Sure, just a minute." Dean said and went back to his room, getting the papers he was looking at before talk to his brother and went back to the library. "Here."

Sam took the papers and skimmed through them.

"Well, we can do it."

"Yeah I know. It's just... I don’t know how obvious it will be with two FBI guys investigating it. Do you think it would kill us just to get rid of us?"

"No Dean. We can do the couple pretend."

"What?" Dean asked incredulous.

"Why not? People used to think we were gay all the time. We just... it can't be that hard, right?"

Well it really couldn't be that hard.

"Right... So... guess we're getting married."

Against all common sense, dean is the pregnant in here -- this one i started to write because, sure, Sam is the perfect pregnant wife but I can't get out of my head the idea that Dean is so possessive that he would want a child to get out of him since Sam didn't. This one i have the whole story in topics but wrote almost nothing

"Took you long enough." Sam said and got closer.

"I was thinking 'bout what you said." He said with a sigh and felt Sam getting tense.

"It was just a suggestion, cause I thought you wanted it." He said defensive.

"I do. I'm just worried." He said softly and caressed Sam's hair, that relaxed instantly.

"About what?"

"Desies?" Desies was an important point.

"We can go to a doctor see the rating and I do the math, see the chances we get."

"Okay, that's nice."

"But I think the worst 'd be malformation." Sam admitted.

"Malformation?" Dean hadn't thought about that.

"It can come without an arm. Or... it's brain."

It Dean noticed. That was good. Safe ground.

Time break

"So how would it be?" Dean asked.

"One of us have to carry."

"How?"

"Feminization spell."

"Would look like a woman? I'd like to see woman you."

"I was thinking just vagina and uterus but... sure if you want a gender switch."

"So... you're talking male pregnancy?"

"Yes."

"Well, the one doing it wouldn’t be able to go outside. Or to doctors."

"I know. I just wanted us to be us. But again, if you want..."

"Us to be us?"

"Uhum. Is stupid, cause we'd still be us in a female form."

"I like it."

"What?"

"I like it. The idea of... while doing it, the breeding, to be looking at your eyes, not another version of you."

"Yeah. That's what I mean."

Time break

"I thought about it." Dean said.

"And?"

"I wanna do it."

"Okay." Sam said smiling and Dean did the same.

"And... if you're okay, I wanna carry it."

Sam smiled.

"And me thinking you'd use any opportunity you get to fuck me with a vagina." He said laughing and Dean did as well.

"I sure would. But I want it to come out of me. From my womb." Then he added. "If it's okay."

#supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #wincest #wip

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pale-opal · 6 months ago

Text

A Legitimate Question

You know how in X2, you can go on a sidequest to retrieve Zero's body parts to prevent him from being rebuilt and brainwashed by Sigma & Friends? Well, here's something I don't quite understand about that:

Why is Zero's head detached from his torso?

No, seriously. Why is that? When he self-destructs back in X1, his head and torso are still connected:

This is the case in Maverick Hunter X as well:

Now that we've established that Zero's head was originally still attached, we need to figure out why on Earth the Three Stooges X-Hunters would change that. For what I can tell, there are two potential reasons:

Something Happened to Zero's Head, Meaning That it Had to Be Repaired Separately This is definitely a possibility. Homeboy was not doing well after self-destructing. He couldn't even open his eyes, he was in so much pain. And by the looks of it, his self-repair systems were pulling an X5 and not responding. If you told me that he concussed himself, or damaged some important part of his brain, I'd believe it. ...but at the same time, he literally blew his legs and one of his arms off. It is far more likely that the amount of pain he's in, as well as his self-repair systems not functioning, is a result of his extensive damage instead, much like what happened in X5. Not only that, but his head could've been repaired while still remaining connected to his torso. There's also the possibility that Zero's control chip would have to be inserted between his head and torso, hence why the head is removed. But if that's the case, why does X need all three of Zero's parts? Why not stop at the head and torso, if that's all that's needed? Couldn't Dr. Cain just cobble together some new legs? He's a smart man. I believe in him. So that leaves us with reason number two:

They're Screwing With X Think about it for a second. We know that the X-Hunters wanted to use Zero's parts as bait, so that they would have a chance to fight X and potentially stop him from getting any further in taking out the mavericks. However, they could've easily done this with his arm parts instead of his head if they wanted to, right? But here's the thing: Serges is a mad scientist. Agile is a spy and strategist. Violen is... a regular jerk, I guess (I have no idea what his role on the team is). But the point is that these people know that X beating them is a possibility, and they are going to go out of their way to make it as hard as possible, simply because of who they are. They aren't dueling him for who gets custody rights over Zero out of the nonexistent kindness in their hearts, or in the name of fairness. Think of it like this: if you were an X-Hunter, what would be the easiest way to mess with the guy that's ruining all your plans, while also making his potential victory over you as painful as possible? The answer is simple. Give him the severed head of his best friend before running away. Not only could he not kill you, but he also gets a gruesome reminder of just how dead his bestie is. Oh, and be sure to tell him that this isn't the last he'll be seeing of you:

So, what can we gather from all this? What's the big takeaway? Here's what I think: Dr. Light may have built X to be a peacekeeper, but that doesn't mean he's a pushover. He's got some serious mental fortitude on him. Sure, he retires in between X6 and X7. But honestly? If it were me, I would've hit the bricks a while ago. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't have even gone out to the highway back in X1. I would've been trying to figure out how to get out of the country as fast as possible, just so I wouldn't have to deal with whatever the mavericks were up to that week. But X? He takes those mavericks out, no questions asked. He fights the same dude eight times (ten, if we count Sigma's appearances in the Xtreme titles). He even comes out of retirement, just because he gets inspired by how much Zero and the random kid he brought home care about helping people. And he does all this despite hating fighting more than anything else. And you know what? I can respect that. (This essay was partially inspired by this post.)

#mega man x #mmx2 #mega man #x megaman #rockman x #zero megaman #serges megaman #x-hunters #x-hunters megaman #essay #long post #Opal Speaks #would you believe me if I told you that I wasn't an X apologist #may God bless you all

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sillyblues · 2 years ago

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Yoo, can I request a fic/hc's of Miguel with a Black Cat variant Male Reader?? 👉👈

Enemies to lovers, antagonizing, flirting, banter ykyk

ੈ✩‧₊˚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i am finally done resting and im taking a break writing with that one fic HELP i swear its coming out but n e ways I LOVE THIS i had fun writing this aaaaaaaaaa!!! im thinking of making this a multi parts again bc i so SO love this dynamic and the possible scenarios

okay so reader here, you, becomes Black Cat after growing up in the slums, seeing the brutality of poverty and the greediness of capitalist pigs. you said enough was enough and it was time to eat the rich!!

so you joined underground rings, fighting for mostly the experience and money when people bet on you so could survive. but it wasn’t enough you needed to learn more and it was a good thing you caught the eye of someone strong. you saw him before but you figured he was just a crazy homeless dude but boy you were wrong when he showed you to his house, a whole ass fucking mansion, in the Nueva York City. apparently he was the infamous Black Cat and you got his attention and bam, now you became the heir to his name and got a father as an extra. there, he taught you all he know, all martial arts, and even shared information about the celebrities and criminals that resided in the city.

after years had gone by, he faked his death and lived somewhere place far away because he was old and retired. you finally made your official debut as the Black Cat by ransacking the money drawers of a corrupt well-known Judge who accepted bribes and let criminals run free. the whole world’s eyes were on the newest Black Cat who made another robbery headline. you know who got his eyes on you as well? Spiderman.

colour you surprised when the next time you decided to steal from a known rich man who planned to destroy Atlantica for some project he wants, a big burly man with wide shoulders and hella sharp tons started chasing after you. not really, you were expecting to see him as your father warned you about him.

“Put those bags away.” He warned with a growl after he shot a spider web at you to try and get you stuck. “Now.”

You were in the middle of running away after stealing bags of cash from the rich man’s vault of money but the sudden entrance of Spiderman blocking your exit greeted you. It didn’t matter because it was one of the multiple exits you had planned beforehand anyways. And even if you run out of exits, you could always create one.

“How about no, Mr. Spiderman?” you grinned, showing off your pearly whites to him.

“I wasn’t asking.” He took off and ran immediately after you, hot on your tails. Like a cat, your reflexes were fast enough to move the second he moved as well and you ran down the hallways. You ran, sometimes pushing some obstacles for him to enjoy. It did nothing to slow him down of course, but it did annoy him and that was all you wanted.

He let out a frustrated growl and with enough anger as his adrenaline, he jumped at you and got down to the ground.

“Oh? You’re this excited for me even though we just met, Spidey?” He grabbed your arms and pinned you against the floor.

“Aren’t you a confident one?” His mask disappeared and he revealed his handsome chiselled face, his hair falling down onto you. He opened his mouth, fangs sharpening to bite you but you knew this beforehand.

“Save your bites when we’re in bed,” you smirked at him, “and when there isn’t a whole ceiling coming down at you.” He immediately looked up to see a swinging ceiling clearly about to fall. The moment he looked up, the strength in his hands lessened a tiny bit but for you, it was enough. You kicked him and pushed him away and yourself in different directions, not forgetting the bags of money you were after in the first place.

As the ceiling got destroyed, you had long gone with another successful heist and left an everlasting impression on Miguel O’Hara with a need to chase after you again.

#blue writes! ✧˖*°࿐#spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader

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teecupangel · 2 years ago

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Hello. Hope you're feeling good.

I was wondering if assassins in modern au weren't assassin and just lived like normal people what was their job?

Hi, nonny. I'm doing good. Just found some time to rest up after all the moving and unpacking XD

Oooohhh, I like this ask, nonny, but Imma cheat a bit and use a lot of my answers from the modern-day fic I wrote last year XD

Altaïr

I think this will depend on how much you want to reference Altaïr’s upbringing in AC1.

If you want an almost beat-by-beat reference, Altaïr will be heading some kind of PMC that he ‘inherited’ from his foster grandfather. He’s born into the family business and it’s the only life he knows. Reading about new tech helps make the PMC always be up to date with their equipment but Altaïr usually reads any kind of scientific advancement on his down time.

If you want to give him more freedom to choose his own path, his scholarly nature would make him a job in the field of science or history (with philosophy being a favorite hobby of his)

History: more on archaeology who mainly does fieldwork, sometimes goes to conventions and symposiums to talk about his team’s latest finds. His journals detailing each day when he’s in the field are usually published and a lot of people in the field enjoy reading his thoughts… even if he sometimes gets off track and there’s suddenly a drawing of the person he loves in one of the pages…

Science: owner of a privately-funded research and development company (might even have funded it from the inheritance he got from his foster grandfather) and actually leads one of the teams. The company focuses on researching and developing new tech that would make life easier for everyone although Altaïr does have a notebook filled with the deadliest ideas for weapons that he doesn’t really have any plans to make.

Ezio

Definitely born into a rich family that operates one of the oldest banks in Italy and he’s being trained to be a COO. Would have summer jobs in one of their banks.

His passion though lies in the arts and he would paint whenever he needs to relax. His parents agreed for him to take art classes because they want to support him (and Federico is meant to inherit the business anyway).

He meets his best friend in art class and they start a friendly competition of painting the same thing.

His friend is the one who gets recognized but that’s fine with him. He paints because it relaxes him, he’s not there for the spotlight.

Their banks would have framed paintings of his and he still paints as a hobby.

He mostly works for the family bank as a foreign representative, going to other countries to help out a new branch, train the new management, and sometimes talk to possible clients and partners.

Ratonhnhaké:ton

His father wants him to inherit the family business but he decides to take over his mother’s job as the representative of their tribe and the usual liaison that talks to outsiders.

His mother is currently a judge in tribal courts.

He also works similarly to a park ranger and would check their lands regularly, making sure nobody trespasses or hunts in the nearby forests.

The Kenways:

Edward married a socialite named Tessa Kenway a few years after the death of his first wife.

Before that, he used to be a captain of a freight ship. With Tessa’s money, he started his own freight shipping company.

He’s now retired with his son taking over his company and lives with his wife in Kenway mansion. He sometimes visit his son and grandson to annoy his son and to just ‘hang out’ (“Isn’t that what you kids say nowadays?” “… yes. I suppose so?””) with his grandson.

His oldest daughter (from his first marriage) ran away from home after they tried to get her engaged to a rich dude, Edward knows she’s living with Mary and Anne, two old buddies of Edward during his freight ship captain’ing days and visits sometimes. He didn’t tell Tessa though (it was Tessa’s idea to marry her off) because he doesn’t want things to escalate and Tessa has a suspicion that he’s having an affair with Mary or Anne (or both!) while Haytham learned that his sister is fine and living her best life when he tried to catch his father cheating for his mother.

Even in a modern day AU, the Kenways will still have drama. Them’s the rules.

Desmond:

Ran away from a very isolated community that may have been cultists or just really ‘we don’t trust the government’ kind of hippies. Desmond likes to joke both.

Works for a bar that has a new owner who isn’t afraid to try out new things.

Desmond thinks he’s flying by the seat of his pants but his heart is in the right place so Desmond tries to be supportive.

Also… he was given the go signal to adjust the drinks menu and make new drinks so that’s an automatic ‘that’s my boss and I support his decisions!’ for him.

Shirley Templar is his signature drink. He’s other signature drink is “Desmond Take The Wheel” which is just him preparing whatever the hell he wants for a customer who cannot take back the drink because that is what they ordered.

Shay:

Used to work for a freight ship with his dad being his captain together with his best friend Liam.

Hope works as a logistics support for the company they work for and also a radio operator when things get hectic. Shay and Hope may have been flirting on the radio for a while (much to his father’s amusement).

The company they’re working for started making really bad decisions after the owner lost his wife and son. Liam was transferred to another freight ship to be its captain and, during just a routine job, they got hit by a massive storm too far off the nearest coast which they wouldn’t have hit had their course not been switched an hour before their departure.

Shay’s father and a lot of the crew died that day and Shay blamed the owner because the route was approved by him. He refused to settle and lost with the cause being given as damnum fatale.

Haytham scouted him soon after and he was a captain first before being elevated to Head Logistics Officer.

Arno

He owns a cafe that once belonged to his uncle (not related to him but was a close friend of his father).

He’s been arrested for disorderly conduct (he was suppppeeer drunk and his longtime girlfriend/childhood friend just broke up with him) but the officers pitied him so they just let him sleep it off in one of the cells. The dude on the other cell started singing along when Arno began to sing sad love songs. Both of them were drunk though so they made the police officer giving them an easy time… well… a hard time.

He uses the profit he got from the cafe he inherited to buy more establishments.

He’s now focused on learning how to make a bar profitable… by buying a bar.

Jacob

He was the one in the other cell. He got into a bar fight but he wasn’t that drunk. The officers heard the fight happen because some slurs about Jacob’s sexual preferences were shouted by the other dude so the officer just left Jacob with a warning.

He’s actually the owner of a small orphanage and has an out-of-school youth program that usually helps children from high-risk areas. All of this is funded by his family (to be more exact, his sister).

He has a degree in pediatrics and this is his dream job.

This might (if the rumors were true) have been because he had been an unwitting accessory to a tragic fire as a young man that led to the death of children.

He has an adopted son named Jack.

Evie

Doctor, got top marks in her batch, and continued their late father’s job as a concierge doctor. She took over her father’s patients who are all quite wealthy (including the Kenways).

On her vacations, she would join her long-time boyfriend (“You married yet?” “No, Jacob. Jayadeep and I believe-” “Yes, yes, if it happens, it happens, blah, blah, blah.”) who is part of Doctors Without Borders.

She’s officially the head of the Frye family which she inherited from their father but she always gives Jacob his share (“So you’re still a trustfund baby.” “Pretty much, I guess. My sister loves me… as long as she doesn’t have to hear about my latest dumb stunt.”) while also donating a lot to his orphanage and program.

There are rumors that it’s a money laundering thing but that’s unfounded.

Bayek

The police officer who had to suffer thru Arno’s drunken singing of his ex’s beautiful flaming hair and Jacob’s sulking.

Almost always gets the graveyard shift so his fellow officers can go home and spend them with their families.

Used to be married, and had a divorce after a hit-and-run killed their only son, he still has a picture of his family on his table and everyone knows he still loves his ex but the death of their child was too much for both of them.

His ex may or may not be part of the government’s secret intelligence gathering bureau… maybe. Bayek does not know and does not want to know as he doesn’t want to risk her job in any way IF she was an actual spy.

Layla:

Still works for Abstergo and still has a feud going on with Sofia Rikkins.

Kinda friends with Lucy and Daniel Cross, enjoys adding chaos to annoy Berg if she knows she can get away with (or make someone like Robert take the fall).

Likes to drink in Desmond’s bar (technically Arno’s) and always takes the “Desmond takes the wheel” option.

Okay, so these ones aren’t Assassins or Hidden Ones (officially) but I kinda felt bad leaving them out since I wrote about Bayek.

Kassandra

MMA fighter who came from a military family.

Had a falling out with her stepfather when she was young and she left. It’s not clear if she left on her own or if she was kicked out and she doesn’t like to talk about it.

She only talks to her younger brother although her mother is trying to mend broken bridges… it… isn’t really working… unfortunately.

Her brother is in the army per the traditions of their family and she always worries about him.

Eivor

Spokesperson for her foster brother and working to help out for his reelection at the moment.

Her passion is in poetry though (and drinking everyone under but that’s more of a pastime) and she’s working on compiling her poems into a book. Her poems are quite beautiful but tend to be on the side of trash-talking certain types of people.

It took months but the ravens/crows around the area of her home now recognize her and would leave trinkets as a thank you for always feeding them.

Note: not a lawyer so I’m not sure if damnum fatale can be used for Shay’s part but Imma wave my fanfic writer card.

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