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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 1 year ago

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tuesday again 10/10/2023

by dry volume, this post is 80% talking about gallery walls. tl;dr : do not buy or hang up things you do not like in a vague attempt to make your house look more grownup ONLY put up things you love, mat your art to give it visual room to breathe.

listening

had a playlist of the james bond theme songs on while i was deep cleaning my kitchen and the line "YOU GOT TO GIVE THE OTHER FELLA HELL!!! " from SPECIFICALLY the guns 'n roses cover of live and let die (even though the playlist had the correct mccartney version) has been THOROUGHLY stuck in my brain for forty eight hours.

youtube

reading

academic transphobia to follow:

an anti-reading section, for once. Retraction Watch (site that tracks academic paper retractions and major academic beef like when someone is stripped of tenure for fraud, formerly my beloved) published an op-ed by an anthropologist TERF who is Big Mad she got called out by her professional association for trying to submit a conference talk that amounted to hate speech against her trans colleagues in the name of the stupid fucking largely disproven sexing skeletons thing. the comments have devolved into the professor sock puppeting anyone who goes "hey RW why did you platform this?"

would be very interested to hear from RW about how a retracted conference talk has the same impact on the scientific community as a retracted paper, but we'll fucking see. i think RW provides an important service to the scientific community (they are the most indepth and thorough tracker of retractions, more so than the actual publishers) but this is a fucking weird move

watching

rewatched Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (1988, dir. Zemeckis) for fic research. GOD this movie is fucking good. it performs a minor animation miracle every thirty seconds.

playing

nothing to report

making

by popular demand (four people), some thoughts about gallery walls. some discourse on the method, if you will. i went with a gallery wall bc i like the look and i had an extremely large blank wall to fill bc this apartment is slightly too big for me. the string lights remind me very much of my dorm rooms but cool lamps have been few and far between down here.

how to get art (and why/caveats)

i honestly don't have a ton of direct collecting advice here other than "have you tried going to a lot of thrift stores". i cheat bc both my parents were architects who collected art, everyone in my family dabbles in fine art, and my sister has her bachelors in art history. so i am awash in paper, constantly. i grew up with a set of flatfiles and a closet full of spare frames. i recognize most people do not grow up like this.

with that caveat out of the way, how do i actually get my art? usually one piece at a time over a very long period of time. there's a postcard on my gallery wall i got in 2009. this is a game you will be playing for the rest of your life as you discover things you like and your tastes evolve.

it is VITAL that you love every piece on your walls. no filler ikea canvases unless you actually like them. the instant you start thinking "oh i need a landscape to look Grownup" you have to strangle that thought in the cradle. there are no rules, especially in art. put whatever the fuck you want up on your walls with no regard for the public's taste.

i feel like "i should buy and put up more art" is something that often falls into a vague Grownup Improvement Goal (like budgeting) bc it is an Grownup Improvement Goal and not bc they actually want to buy and put up more art. fortunately for everyone, you do not have to buy or put up Morally or Socially Improving art that will impress some vague category of grownups, bc we don't fucking live in victorian times.

most importantly you do not need to spend much (or in some cases any) money to put things on your walls. getting the effect you want (fancy washi tape, matching frames) may take some money, but using the printer at work and stealing some scotch tape is free.

how to get art (actual advice this time)

i feel a little silly typing this all out but i really like reading other chewsdayposters' processes, and it is really helpful for me a lot of the time to have someone say: actually there is this complete other way of doing something you have never considered bc u did not grow up with it

i ask you: do you have a stack of sentimental papers somewhere in your home? congrats you have some frameable items. a thing does not need to be Fine Art to be in a frame to go on the wall and make you happy. tape up a birthday card. put a quilt up on your wall. pushpin a label from a jar of pickled herring bc it reminds you of your grandma. frame a beloved tshirt. this is a martha stewart ass statement but things that are not traditional paper art on your walls will add variety and whimsy to your home.

other places for art that are not thrift/estate/yard sales:

i do believe that making your own art, including a $3 paint-by-numbers kit, will fix something in your brain. it's very similar to how i personally have to go stand with my feet in a body of water twice a year or THE SLUDGE smothers my brain

your favorite weird indie bands are almost certainly selling posters on bandcamp even if they're not currently on tour

i like the artists' co-op justseeds for art that deals with "social, environmental, and political engagement" like my beloved "fuck space tourism" poster

start a "good lines" or equivalent "art i like" tag on here and buy prints when u have the money. even if artists here don't have a shop open or don't have the specific piece u want as a print, ask if u can throw them an appropriate amount of money on venmo or something and get it printed locally or online. ive had good luck with vistaprint and they have rolling sales

do you like a piece of art in the public domain, like something from a museum? print it out. put it in a frame. no it's not as nice as a professional print but it's free if you do it at work and now it's on your wall

fuck around on wikimedia commons and the internet archive. i particularly love pulp magazine covers and little illustrative insets for out of date astronomy books

non- and semi-consumable supplies

if u put $25 into supplies u can use for many many other projects (i assume you probably have some of the following list), you can make any frame nice and save approximately a gajillion dollars.

good utility knife and extra blades

hammer

tape measure

level (comes with most command hook packs, you can also use your phone)

stepstool, sturdy chair, or patient tall person

assorted nails (you can buy a little tackle box with assorted nails from most big box stores)

little squeezy tube of DryDex spackle ($5) and putty knife or honestly old credit card to fill in nail holes when you move out

OR command strips and hooks

matboard that is white on one side and black on the other (~$8 at big box craft stores). you can use this to cut your own mats and/or replace a kind of weird back on an otherwise good frame

most printer paper these days is acid free. steal some from your workplace.

assorted small brushes

little thing of acrylic paint in whatever color you want your frames to be (~$1.50 ea). you can also spray paint your frames for a different finish but i don't have the space or patience in this apartment

sandpaper or sacrificial emery board

i would further recommend a little set of letter size desktop drawers/mini flatfiles like this to keep all the small stuff you want to frame in one place. i have sentimental art i don't want to frame in one drawer and things i do want to frame in the other. this has been very good for my brain bc it's all safely and flatly contained out of sight, and it's easy to flick through a stack of things i already love when i need one more small thing or one warmer thing to fill a gap

frames

the good news for us is that frames and art are a fucking bitch to move and people frequently give them away. your local discount and thrift stores are going to be fucking awash in small frames 8.5"x11" and under for under $3 each. when you are thrifting or estate saling or yard saling or generally gallivanting about on a weekend, pay little attention to any art actually in a frame. is the frame in okay shape? can you repaint it without too much trouble? will it clean up all right? does it have the glass? can you insert the glass from a different frame into the one you actually want without any thrift store employees noticing?

for weird sizes above 8.5x11 and outside poster size that cannot be easily found at thrift stores, the big box craft stores here in america have roughly quarterly frame sales and frequent coupons. do NOT get your shit professionally framed at michaels bc they upcharge by about 3x compared to other local framers (both on the east coast and here in tx).

i went through two periods of seriously buying frames (last year of high school and the year i moved into the original lair, when/where i thought i was going to stay for a few years) and ive swapped in out and between those dozen or so total. once you have built up a little stock of frames that fit the general sizes of art you tend to collect, ur pretty good for a while. the only new "frame" i bought for my gallery wall was a little floating shelf.

mats

the absolute biggest fucking thing u can do to make your art look nicer is mat that bitch, which gives it room to breathe. if your art does not have a built in border or a lot of white space (see 9, 12, and 13 in the gallery wall below, as well as 8 which has a ton of negative space with the car door), you need a frame bigger than your art. you can google the suggested proportions yourself or decide with your heart.

i am a big fan of a very slapdash floating mat, which means cutting a piece of printer paper to size or flipping around the paper that tells you what size the frame is and slapping your art right on top of that, sometimes with a lick of gluestick to keep it in place. generally a floating mat means a sort of 3D matting technique but we don't have time for that. do not do this printer paper technique long-term with a particularly beloved or expensive piece of art.

u can also buy pre-cut mats at Michaels or Joann’s for not too too many dollars, or cut your own with the acid-free matboard ($10 for a poster board sized piece) and a new utility knife blade and a steady hand. or, if you're lucky, it comes with the frame.

gallery wall specific advice

there aren't any rules. actual galleries and museums tend to put the center of a piece or group of pieces at 57" from the floor. you may want to fuck around with that depending on your own height, the space you have, and the pieces you own.

a gallery wall does not need to be 24 pieces like this one. it can be any number.

this is the first one i have done mostly by myself and it is the most color-restricted one i have ever put up. it is also the one with the most successful repeating motif (circles). usually i grab the art i want most to go together and send pics to my art historian sister who will then arrange it for me and say shit like “do you have another small blue thing for the top left” or “do you have two pieces that are warmer and larger” or "different frame for the middle left"

look at a lot of other gallery walls. personally i like the ones that have non-framed and non-square things in them. ideally mine would have photographs and taxidermy in it for maximum weirdness. but u cannot go wrong with a grid, or all horizontal pieces, or all vertical pieces. for a full wall puzzle piece like this, u do not generally want an american southwest four corners meeting situation. stagger it. lay everything out on the floor and move it around eighteen times (this is the worst part). the gallery wall as a whole does not have to be perfectly aligned to the ceiling or the back of your couch or what have you. it can be sort of an organic blob shape along the top and bottom edges.

my wall

this soothing blue and green wall with wood tone pops has pieces from almost half my life. it skews later in college/recent acquisitions, as i sharpened my taste for limited-number prints and had a car to go to thrift stores with, but that’s just how this specific wall came together

the list below should tell you what each piece is, how much i paid for it (and the cost of the frame if applicable), and when i got it. this wall has most of the Nice Art in my collection that is signed/numbered/in some way slightly fancier bc it is the wall i stare at when on my couch.

embroidered Scorpio constellation hoop, birthday gift from my sister (free, came with hoop, i used some makerspace felt and batting to properly back and finish it much later so free with my tuition), nov 2016

numbered and signed print of an italianate cityscape, $5 and came with the frame and mat from an estate sale, i put a new back on it with scrap matboard so the back of the print wasn't just naked, fall 2021

signed print of a new england landscape, came with the frame and the mat but is stained right over the signature :( $2.50 from salvation army, one of the last things i bought in spring 2023 before i moved

signed original multimedia on board collage by my sister from her like second ever gallery show, $69 in winter 2022 for the art, the frame was from a free pile i gave a new acid free back with scrap matboard. that was such a good free pile i got a huge pile of frames from that

magazine page (idk which one either) i saved in high school (i graduated in 2013) or very early college, frame was from a free pile by the side of the road in summer 2021 and repainted with some white acrylic paint. it is float matted with printer paper. maybe a dollar for the paint? i definitely did not buy the magazine

this is an out of print poster by one of my favorite living artists (Josh McPhee) so i emailed him and asked if i could get it printed myself if i threw him $25 and he said yes. i think it cost $22 to get it printed professionally, the frame is basics by studio decor ($20 for a 2-pack) (i spent so much money and time on this one bc i wanted a very specific look for a very specific space in my kitchen in the old apartment), feb 22

signed numbered woodcut by Roger Peet ($20 in august 2020), another studiobasics frame that was i think $8 in summer 2022. float matted with acid free matboard and not printer paper.

gigantic fuckoff unsigned unlabeled poster i bought bc she reminds me of the Barnes & Noble murals, $10 at goodwill (came with the frame, half off) sep 2023

star chart from the US Naval Observatory that was on a free shelf at Amherst College when i was taking a class there in fall 2018, another studiobasics frame (idk when i bought this one) so under $10. float mount on acid free printer paper.

plaster frog mirror from an estate sale in spring 2021, i do not remember how much i paid for it but it was not more than $5

oh goddamnit this is a new block so of course it restarted the numbering. fatal off by a power of ten error, very typical for astronomy. poster from a show i went to in college spring 2015, do not remember when i bought this sub-$10 studiobasics frame either, float mount on acid free printer paper.

signed poster from my roommate-at-the-time’s cousin’s band in fall 2014 (i can’t actually find the receipt but i did find an email from her cousin letting me know he shipped me and my roommate’s orders together lol) let’s say $20, another sub-$10 studiobasics frame of mysterious provenance.

moon map out of an old science book in high school, let’s be generous and say $10 for both the book and the frame (another studiobasics)

numbered but unsigned new year’s print from a local-ish print shop in massachusetts, $12 at savers with the frame, fall 2022

cover of a very fragile vintage paperback copy of raymond c/handler’s The Long G/oodbye i acquired in high school (could not have been more than a dollar or two), with a frame and mat that came in an ikea multipack my dad bought me in high school bc i had a set of l/ackadaisy miniposters i wanted to hang, looks like the closest modern equivalent is the EDSBRUCK, a single will run you about $12 today

postcard inherited from my grandpa’s collection of loose paraphernalia in 2010 (free but at what cost etc), frame is a studiobasics that come in a pack of 6 for $20 (less if you have a coupon) so let’s round down a smidge and say $3. don’t remember when i bought this frame either, it is matted with real matboard bc the postcard and the back of the frame are so thin

“my heart is a fish” cross stitch (a reference to the imperial radch trilogy of books) i made this and did not date it but i know i blogged about it on here at some point between 2014-2018, i remember having to buy five colors of thread but owned the hoop already, again back and finished it properly much later with maskerspace batting and felt, let’s say $5 not counting my time

postcard from @believerindaydreams last winter in another studiobasics frame and float mounted with acid free matboard.

tiny moon mirror from salvation army in early spring 2015, under $5

CD mirror from Vapor95 ($125? preorder in fall 2021), came with velcro command strips which was very nice of them

a $300 original multimedia collage (the first one my sister ever made, when she was in middle school) i bought in spring 2021 from her first show, sitting on a $5 acrylic shelf from five below i bought last month

22-24 are national geographic maps, 50c each at an estate sale last month, had to buy $7 worth of binder clips and pushpins to put them up bc i don’t fucking know what box they’re in and didn’t have time to rip the whole closet of boxes im ignoring apart

a slightly longer tl;dr: do not buy or hang up things you do not like in a vague attempt to make your house look more grownup ONLY put up things you love, thrift and repaint your frames if possible but you can get very cheap studiobasics ones if you want them all to match, acid-free mat your art for preservation and to give it room to breathe, keep a little drawer or box of stuff you love and might want to frame

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #a month and a day out from my birthday which feels momentous

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mymoodwriting · 4 years ago

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The Choice Is Yours

F!Reader x Vampire!Yuta

Genre: Vampire Dystopia

Warning: Blood, Anxiety, Fangs, Biting, PTSD

Words: 1.5K

Chapters:

Prompt: Good behavior goes a long way when a new world order is established within hours and humans wind up at the bottom of the food chain. As luck would have it you were claimed by a vampire named Yuta, so you’re saved in a sense. Many would say you’re in a rather unique situation, and despite its perks it wasn’t really something you asked for.

You were asleep for most of the trip, not waking up until you got back to Taeyong’s house, stumbling out of the vehicle and being somewhat carried inside. You didn’t fully wake up until you were yanked into someones cold embrace, recognizing Yuta’s voice.

“You’re okay.” He kissed your head. “I was so worried about you.”

You couldn’t help the tears and shaking. Of course he took it as you being scared and happy to be back with him, but it was the opposite.

“It’s okay, I got you now.”

“You both need rest.” Taeyong commented. “So it’s best you stay here until you’ve recovered.”

“Yeah, that’s what’s best.”

You wound up in a room with Yuta, of course, since he didn’t want to let you out of his sight again. Although the room wasn’t entirely yours, you shared a bed with Yuta, and on the other was Xiaojun, still sleeping. You were told he was the worst off in the accident and he hadn’t woken up yet. He was fine and would recover, just needed more time than the others.

For the most part you stayed in the room, not wanting to leave at all. Your meals were brought to you, Yuta insisting on feeding you. On multiple occasions he wanted to feed you his blood, but he was still recovering, so he couldn’t. He kept busy and would find ways of entertaining you when you weren’t asleep, but for the most part you wanted to sleep, it was easy to avoid them all.

“Are you okay?” You suddenly asked Yuta as he fed you. “The accident…”

“I’m fine, it’s not that easy to kill me.”

“And your injuries?”

“Healing. I know you don’t want to be here, but we’ll go home soon.”

“Okay…”

“And you?”

“Hm? Me? I’m fine…”

“I’m glad.”

When you were alone you found yourself staring out the window, and your eyes always found the mountain tops off in the distance. Even if you were back where you started, it was somewhat comforting to know that there were people out there, hiding and safe.

“You’re… you’re okay…”

The voice startled you until you realized Xiaojun had woken up. You went to his side, making sure he was conscious, then you ran out asking for someone to come help him. Given the residents of the house, you were heard, and others rushed inside. In a moment you were kicked out of the room, you didn’t mind too much, figuring maybe a walk around the house wouldn’t hurt. You weren’t familiar, but this time you weren’t running around.

“Feeling better?”

You ran into Taeyong. He seemed busy in his own way, walking around with papers, and a bluetooth present. You simply nodded, thinking you were interrupting him. Instead he took the bluetooth off, and got closer.

“Would you come with me?”

You nodded, not wanting to upset him. You followed him to his office and sat down across his desk. He seemed occupied with a few things, then his attention shifted to you.

“How’s your recovery going?”

“Good…”

“Any lingering pains?”

“No…”

“That’s good to hear. I do have some questions for you.”

“Questions?”

“Yes. You were taken by one of the few little human rebellions that exist. So what can you tell me about them?”

“I… I don’t understand…”

“Where were you going? Names, descriptions. Anything that could help us locate them.”

“I… I don’t have that kinda information…”

“I see… I think you’re lying.”

“What?”

“It’s in your best interest to tell me the truth.”

You were scared of Taeyong, but you weren’t going to give him anything. You wanted to protect Jinwoo and the others who saved you, even if that meant getting hurt.

“I don’t have anything to tell you. I was in the wreck, I was injured, they were just dragging me along. I was barely-”

“You seemed to be well when we found you, surely-”

The door to the office opened and Yuta stormed in. He was worried about you, having found you had left the room. It didn’t take long to figure out where you had gone.

“Yuta, yes, come on it.”

“What are you doing?”

“Y/n and I are having a conversation.”

“And her heartbeat isn’t telling you anything?”

“It’s assuring me she’s withholding information on the rebels that nearly killed her.”

“If she knows anything, then you should trust I’ll get it out of her when she’s ready.”

“And when will that be?”

“You know, I’m feeling much better, so I’ll be going home.”

“Xiaojun just woke up.”

“And I’m sure he wants to go home too, if not, he can stay and recover.”

“Well you’ve got your mind made up, so you can go.”

Yuta took your hand and led you out of the office. You hadn’t actually noticed how stressed you had been over the questioning. You knew if Yuta hadn’t come in, things might have taken a turn for the worse.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…”

“I’m just going to talk with the others, then we’ll go home.”

Within the hour you were back on the road. YangYang was once again behind the wheel, Xioajun staying at Taeyong’s place for a few more days. You couldn’t help but feel anxious, the last time you were in a car with Yuta, it had been blown off the road. He could tell you were anxious, but he spent the whole trip soothing you. Despite the early argument, Taeyong had dispatched some of his people to escort you back home, for safety.

You made it home safe, and you were a bit relieved. The tracker in your neck was finally removed, and you could relax. Although that was one of the only things that brought you relief. Yuta was more clingy this time around, never wanted you out of sight or arms. You understood he was still shaken up over the accident, and you were too. You were a lot more quiet and reserved, far more aware of how good that little bit of freedom was.

Yuta was always trying to pick up your mood, make you smile, make you laugh, but most of the time he felt short. You didn’t want him to be mad at you, but you also couldn’t help your own feelings. He never tried to push you, or even point out your silence, overall just happy to have you. Even in your state, there was something that was on your mind, something you wanted to ask. You finally had the courage to do so.

“Yuta…”

“Yes? What is it?”

“About the crash…”

“Hm?”

“Before we got attacked… you said-”

“Ah, yes… that… I remember. I was drunk, very drunk, so I was just babbling nonsense. I didn’t mean anything.”

“Oh… okay…”

You didn’t know if you should be relieved or upset. It was good to have an answer, but now you weren’t so sure of what to do with it. One night, in another attempt to make you happy, Yuta suggested he bite you, pleasure you, even if it was cheating a bit. You didn’t want him to do that, but he had already made up his mind. His fangs were in your shoulder in the blink of an eye. You were overwhelmed instantly but it didn’t stop you from trying to get him off.

“Yuta… Yuta please…”

The boy stopped in that moment. Your voice, the way you called out for him, it reminded him of the accident. You needed him at that moment, and he couldn’t help you. Yuta had pulled away, panic starting to build, especially as he realized you were barely conscious.

“No, no, y/n, please, please, stay awake.”

Despite his pleas, he couldn’t really stop you from passing out from blood loss. It was irrational but in the moment he was afraid he’d lose you. He held you tight, your heartbeat helping to relax him. You weren’t hurt, you weren’t gone but he wasn’t going to do that again anytime soon.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

♥♥♥♥♥

In the morning you woke up sore, having slept in Yuta’s arms. You remember that he bit you, so it explained the weakness. Now that you were awake, your movements woke up Yuta, and he just cuddled closer. He had breakfast brought to you in bed, and was attempting to feed you, but you really couldn’t do this anymore.

“Yuta…”

“Yes?” He seemed nervous. “Is everything okay?”

“No… I… I understand you… you’re worried but… I just need space.”

“Oh… I’ve been overbearing…”

“I just need space…”

“Okay… then after today… you’re a bit weak from last night…”

“That’s fine.”

He did honor your request, and left you alone after that day, even if he wanted you near. To at least give some peace of mind, you’d spend most of your time outside in the yard, where he could see you from his study. Again you’d find yourself looking at the mountain, thinking of Jinwoo. In the moment his words rang in your head, about hidden tunnels on the estate. It finally helped you realize that you had become complacent in your cage. Fighting wouldn’t be pointless, and there was a place to go. You could be free, but only if you took matters into your own hands.

#nct #yuta #taeyong #yangyang #xiaojun #jaehyun #johnny #nakamoto yuta #lee taeyong #liu yangyang #xiao de jun #jung yoonoh #suh youngho #nct 127 #wayv #nct au #nct scenarios

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ficsilike-reblogged · 4 years ago

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Sunshine City: Three

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read/reblogged/commented on the last chapter. You are all lovely and deserve a Whiskey of your own. This chapter still revolves around the plot of the film, so if you have any questions just let me know! I hope this little story can make you smile at least for a moment. My asks and DMs are always open.

Pairing: (Eventual) Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 5.7k

Rating For This Chapter: T for guns, blood, injuries

Catch up on the Prologue, Chapters One, and Two here!

Y/N sat at the bar and ordered a cranberry juice.

Butterfly Guy was sitting with Eggsy, Whiskey, and a guy who insisted on being called Merlin in a booth near the window.

“Rough day, sugar?” Paula the bartender asked as she set down the cloudy glass filled with purple-red juice.

“Rough couple of days,” she muttered and handed over a handful of crumpled bills that Paula methodically straightened out before placing them in the till. Paula was basically an agent in her own right. She’d been part of the bar for nearly twenty years and since only Statesmen drank here and knew of its existence, they spoke freely about their work. She probably knew more classified intel than some junior agents.

“You sure I can’t get you anything stronger?” She asked, her bleach blonde hair swiping over her shoulders. “Something with a little more oomph?”

“Just the cranberry juice for now.” She smiled and sipped on the too-bitter drink and resisted puckering her lips at the taste. “But thank you.”

Paula nodded and cast a glance at the table where the agents sat. “You know, Whiskey keeps lookin’ over here.”

She ignored the twisting in her stomach and took a large gulp. “ ‘s just post-mission jitters.”

“Uh-huh,” Paula said with a roll of her eyes. “Sure. When a handsome man looks at me like that…” she drifted off with a raise of her eyebrows.

(But she wouldn’t deny that she noticed Whiskey looking at her a little more often. When they met up after she implanted the tracker in Clara, she noticed Whiskey kept turning away every so often, a hand tucked in his front pocket. It was a common gesture used by men to hide an erection, she knew that—she just didn’t believe he would have one at that moment. They were in the middle of a mission. There was no way he was hiding a boner. But the thought was fun.)

Thankfully, Agent Moonshine started hollering and she sighed into her drink and got up from her barstool and walked behind the bar.

Paula was watching the scene unfold like she hadn’t watched a million bar fights before and looked ready to piss herself. Sunny patted her on the shoulder and signaled for her to hide in the little cubby beneath the register.

The Butterfly Guy quickly made a fool of himself, trying to teach Moonshine and his buddies some manners and she leaned against the sticky bar to watch as Whiskey stood from his seat. It wasn’t the first time she would watch Whiskey kick Moonshine’s ass but it was always fun to witness.

And those tight jeans did wonders for his butt.

While she would never understand his affinity for his lasso or his whip, it was nice to watch him work (and to see Moonshine bleed a little).

As he finished, Moonshine and his hangers-on all unconscious or bleeding enough to keep them still, Whiskey adjusted his hat and let out a whistle. “I feel like a tornado in a trailer park.”

She snorted and finished her drink as Paula slowly came out from the cubby and gaped at the mess. “It looks like a tornado came through here, boss. I think you owe Paula another window.”

“And new glasses!” Paula said with a frown.

She patted Paula’s shoulder again with a promise that the window would be fixed within a handful of hours as the televisions switched from the football game and were overtaken by a wash of yellow and red with an obnoxious chime.

A woman draped in a horrendous yellow outfit with fiery red hair soon filled the screens. “Mr. President, my name is Poppy Adams. I believe the UN has no teeth. So I've selected you, as leader of the free world, to receive this communication. And I invite you to begin negotiations on the largest scale hostage situation in history. A few weeks ago, an engineered virus was released and contained in all varieties of my product: cannabis, cocaine, heroin, opium, ecstasy, and crystal meth.” Each line item popped up on the screen in a pretty font. Cap looked over to see Whiskey already looking at her, lips pulled into a frown. “Some of you are already infected. And this is what you can expect in the coming days. After a brief incubation period, victims present with stage one symptoms: a blue rash. Next, second stage symptoms appear: mania, as the virus enters the brain. Very distressing to the victim and those around them. Stage three: paralysis. Muscles enter a state of catastrophic seizure. And once the muscles of the thorax become affected, breathing becomes impossible.” She watched as one new victim after another was revealed on the screen until blood spurted out of the last man’s eyes and nose, dead for millions to witness. “This leads to a very nasty death within 12 hours. But I have good news to the millions already affected. It doesn't have to be this way. I have an antidote.” Poppy held up a clear vial filled with an amber liquid—and Elton John behind another glass wall.

“What have you done to me, you fucking bitch?” God bless Elton John.

Undeterred by Elton John’s outburst, Poppy continued, “100% effective and ready to ship out worldwide at a moment's notice. I will do this if the following conditions are met. First, you agree to end the war on drugs, once and for all. All classes of substance are legalized paving the way to a new marketplace in which sales are regulated and taxed just like alcohol. And second, my colleagues and I receive full legal immunity. Meet my terms. I look forward to helping you keep our beloved country great, boosting our ailing economy, and easing spending on law enforcement. Or continue this blinkered, outmoded, and, frankly, disastrous exercise in prohibition, and live with blood on your hands. Save lives. Legalize.”

The broadcast ended and the televisions screens quickly flipped back to the football game. Whiskey was at her side in a blink of an eye. His hand brushed down her back. “We gotta talk to Champ, Sunny.”

And that was how she found herself bundled in winter gear on an Italian mountainside. Clara had called Charlie, and thanks to the tracking device she had implanted at Glastonbury, they were able to pick up the conversation. Charlie told Clara (who was now covered in the blue rash) to meet him at the ski resort they’d visited last year so he could give her the antidote. The tracking device could pinpoint their exact location and everyone was betting that the Italian resort was one of the storehouses for the antidote.

But she was also wondering, once again, why she found Whiskey attractive. He was in a terrible blue and white snowsuit that had to have been made in the 1970s. And he still refused to take off his damned cowboy hat. She appreciated the dedication to his aesthetic but it still seemed…ridiculous.

And he’d been grating on her last nerve on the flight over.

Ginger had buzzed in and suggested that Cap be the one to retrieve the antidote because only Clara would recognize her as opposed to Charlie possibly recognizing Eggsy or Butterfly Man (who she was told to call either Galahad or Harry). Whiskey then laughed—loudly—and stated plainly that he would be planning the mission and Ginger should stick to her computers and gadgets. “It isn’t like ya have any experience in the field.”

She really thought about murdering her boss for the rest of the flight. Her plots to kill him only got more creative when he told her to stay at the safe-house when they landed.

She was tired. She was angry.

And that was probably why she finally snapped. “If you didn’t want me to come along, you could have just told Champ. God knows you don’t listen to anyone else.” She hefted her bag filled with her own weapons and ammo higher onto her shoulder and turned away from him, readying to hike up toward the house and stew in her lonesome until the three men returned—hopefully with the antidote in hand.

But his hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop before she could get very far. “That ain’t fair, Sunny.”

She pulled out of his grip with a poorly hidden snarl. “No. You’re not fair. To me. To Ginger. All because of some bullshit you think is right.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection. I’ve been in this game a long time-”

“And I’ve been in it longer-”

“-and I can take care of myself. What you’re doing to Ginger is so fucking backwards I’m surprised you can see straight,” she hissed it out like a curse. “I’m tired, Whiskey. I’m so tired of watching her jump through hoops trying to get you to notice that she could outperform half the agents in the field and you want her stuck behind the desk until she dies. I’m tired of you thinking you know best in the field. Why do you even request me to go with you if you’re going to undermine me every step of the way?”

Whiskey’s mouth opened. Then closed.

Her shoulders slumped. Harry and Eggsy both looked like they were very interested in the calibrations of their earpieces and not listening to what just happened. God this whole situation was pathetic. They were trying to save the world and she was waffling between yearning and rage for her stupid boss. She trudged away in the snow toward the safe house and barely heard Whiskey say, “what are you lookin’ at, Butterfly Guy?”

But she continued on, up the mountain and found the small shack of a house and swept the perimeter before settling in. She comm’ed in only to say she reached the safe house. Eggsy responded cheerfully but she didn’t respond when Whiskey also chimed in with a, “good work, Sunny.”

Time ticked by.

There was a commotion on the other end of the comm line when Butterfly Guy wouldn’t respond—and then all she heard was Eggsy and Whiskey screaming. She rolled her eyes. They were so dramatic. But soon, the trio was making their way toward the safe-house and she didn’t bother to open the door when she heard them outside. They all hobbled in, mid-argument.

Eggsy pulled out a small vial and showed it to her with a smile she had to reciprocate. “You got it.”

“We did. A little dicey—Charlie recognized me.”

She glanced at Whiskey who frowned in return. It didn’t matter. Ginger had been right and now he knew it.

“Can I see it, kid?” Whiskey asked with his hand outstretched as he walked toward them. But then his dark eyes tracked to the window and widened. “Get down!” Whiskey all but tackled both Eggsy and her to the dusty ground of the house as bullets started to fly. Glass shattered. Wood splintered.

She watched, unable to do anything from her pinned position, as the small vial was all but knocked from Eggsy’s hand and shattered on the ground.

“You fucking dickhead!” Eggsy hollered as he scrambled out from under Whiskey to look over the spilled antidote, almost uncaring of the bullets whizzing by.

“Fuck you, I just saved your life!” Whiskey retorted.

“Yeah, and cost millions of people theirs!”

She had to slap at Whiskey’s thigh to get him to move off her and she rolled off into the corner when he did. The rain of bullets stopped for a moment and she looked out the window. “They’re reloading.”

Whiskey nodded. “All right, I'll fix their wagons. Cover me, boys!” And then he all but bolted out of the house, guns blazing.

With a roll of her eyes, ignoring how Whiskey had told the ‘boys’ to cover him, she followed suit and ran out into the snow, pulling her guns out from their holsters. The shootout was nothing she hadn’t seen before and, while she didn’t have all the flair most of the Statesmen agents had, she could mow down people just as efficiently. (The acrobatics the Statesmen and Kingsman agents seemed so fond of really just seemed…excessive.)

Whiskey went through the left flank so she went through the unlucky men on the right.

It was easy pickings, really. Despite the heavy artillery and uneven numbers, it was almost too simple of a gunfight. But the adrenaline rush was nice. It had been too long since she had felt her heart beat this fast. Bullets were flying by her head as she dove behind a tree and then twisted to shoot down the other man. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Whiskey pull out his electric lasso and then cut a man in half who came out with a knife.

“Fucking ridiculous,” she muttered as she stood, lowering her guns and quietly thankful that Whiskey wasn’t hurt.

There was a single gunshot and she froze. A familiar cold crept up her torso and one last man stepped out from the tree line with his gun raised right in her direction. The barrel smoked. But his eyes were wide like he couldn’t quite understand that he’d actually managed to shoot her. With a snarl, she pulled her guns up again and fired twice, painting the trees and snow behind him in a spattering of red.

“Sunny!” Whiskey yelled as he spotted her.

She pressed a hand to her stomach and felt the terrible, wet warmth soak her palm. She holstered her guns again and stepped out to look at him, turning ever so slightly to hide the blossoming red from him. “We’re good.”

“You should’ve stayed in the house.”

“You needed back up!” She said, marching toward the house despite feeling her legs shake. Pressing against the wound only made bile rise in her throat.

“The kid and Butterfly Guy-”

“It’s over, boss. Let’s just-”

Whiskey suddenly grabbed at her waist and all but threw her into the house and she nearly lost her footing. She barely had time to recognize the pain suddenly roaring through her system as the adrenaline started to fade.

“Troop carrier coming in. And I’m out of ammo—whaddya got?” He asked, pointedly looking at Eggsy and Harry.

But they were both looking at Whiskey’s hand.

He slowly raised it to his face and saw it covered in blood. His head snapped to the side to look at her. “Sunny?”

Her knees finally buckled and she hit the weathered wood. She shakily caught herself with her other hand, feeling blood slip between her fingers. She coughed and watched as blood splattered against the wood.

“They’ve got Gatling guns!”

Whiskey was yelling. Bullets whizzed by. And the beat of her heart started to drown out everything else.

“Harry, no!” She barely heard Eggsy shout.

And then, in her quickly-hazing vision, she watched Whiskey’s body crumple to the floor beside hers. She reached out a bloody hand toward him without thinking, pressing crimson-colored fingers against his face as if that would stop the bleeding.

“He broke the vial on purpose, Eggsy. If we made it out of here, he was gonna kill us both!”

The world went dark.

The sterile scent of HQ’s medical wing was a welcoming aroma as her eyes opened.

“There you are.” Ginger leaned over her with a soft smile. “How ya feeling?”

“Tired.”

“No pain?” She asked as she helped Cap sit up slowly.

“A bit tender—but I know what feeling shot in the chest feels like so I would prefer this.” She pulled at the bland, cotton-blend shirt she was dressed in and saw her stomach covered in a bit of gauze and tape. Despite Ginger telling her not to, she pulled at the coverings to reveal the mostly-healed bullet wound and then pushed back into the pillows. It looked like it had already been healing for weeks instead of a day or two. Statesmen truly knew how to patch someone up. But then a thought struck her. “Where’s Whiskey?”

And Ginger’s soft, answering smile calmed her suddenly clenching heart. “He’s in the next room over, Cap. He’ll wake up soon. Eggsy gave him the Alpha Gel and it worked like it was supposed to.”

She pushed out a long breath through her nose and nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

Ginger’s watch beeped. She looked at the small screen and sighed. “I will be back. Don’t get into any trouble, okay?”

“I promise nothing.”

Ginger chuckled, having heard that answer many times before, and let herself out of the room.

She let herself stew for a moment (it was really about an hour). Her life had really gone off the rails since Vegas. It was one thing to secretly harbor amorous thoughts about your boss. It was another to scream at him, get shot, and then see him get shot after seeing him (possibly) thwart any efforts to get the antidote and save millions of people. And she had a chance to say something to Ginger. But she didn’t.

Hm.

She carefully slid off the bed and winced when a bolt of pain zig-zagged through her body as her feet touched the cold floor. Shuffling over to the door, she peered out into the hallway and then stepped out. Whiskey’s holding room was only a few footsteps away.

Should she go in? But then what would she say?

Should she just go back to her room and pretend she was unconscious the entire time and remembered exactly nothing from Italy? But what was she trying to forget anyway?

But, thankfully, Eggsy found her in the middle of the hall and broke her rambling thoughts. He pocketed his phone and looked a bit worried as he noticed her. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Better than I should be after being shot. You?”

He started to nod but then shook his head. “My girlfriend…she, uh, she’s got the blue rash.” He rubbed at his forehead.

“You care about her. Probably more than you should, right?” That was easy to see. Eggsy was a good kid, probably a little too easy to read. “Especially in this line of work.”

“You get it—Kingsmen aren’t allowed to have attachments. And I…” he tried to grasp at the words he needed, “love her.”

“Statesmen doesn’t have that rule. Probably because we’re very bad at following any sort of guideline anyway.” She shrugged and regretted the movement as it pulled at her wound. “But that means you’ve got less than 12 hours. You got a plan?”

Eggsy quickly explained that they had been able to trace Poppy’s location to Cambodia and they were heading out there now. But his eyes quickly widened as he realized he had just revealed a plan to a potentially dangerous adversary.

“Relax, Eggsy. I’m not the one you shot in the head.” She waved him on. “Go. Save the world. Look out for landmines.”

“Landmines?” Eggsy parroted, face scrunching into a confused frown.

“If Poppy’s as crazy as I think she is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has nonsense like that. Who knows? Maybe she has a fleet of man-eating robots, too.”

“What are you on about?”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

He smiled and started to walk away. “You should come to London when this is all over. I’ll get you a drink!”

She smiled a bit and watched him disappear around a corner before her eyes once again drifted toward Whiskey’s door. “…fuck.” Against her better judgement, she walked up and let the door glide open without a sound. The room was quiet. Whiskey was motionless on the bed, face still covered by the machine to help the Alpha Gel finish its work. His vitals were steady, displayed on large screens across the wall.

He would be fine.

She slipped gingerly into a chair near the bed and resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hand. He just looked so…vulnerable. It was so unlike him. An angry, terrible twisting pulled at her chest. “I’m not sorry I yelled at you, you know.” She wasn’t sure why she was talking to him but the words kept coming anyway. “You need to let Ginger out in the field. She’d be a better agent than me. I don’t know why you’re… I don’t understand you at all, actually. I wish I did, I think. I wish I could understand you and why you do things and say things. I wish I could understand why you make me feel so stupid.”

Maybe being this close to death—again—was making her sentimental. Or maybe the pain medication was making her crazy.

Probably the second option. Hopefully, anyway.

The door opened again and Ginger stepped in. “I knew I’d find you in here.”

“How’d you figure that?”

Ginger gave her a look but didn’t answer. “It is about time we wake him up. You remember how it’s like, right?”

She nodded. She had heard stories about how most agents needed a ‘reminder’ of a traumatic event to bring them back to the present and how their minds could be a bit foggy for a few days after, but she had never seen it in person. But she basically knew what to except--right?

With a flip of a few switches, the machine receded and Whiskey’s eyes opened. He was up and off the bed with a spring in his gait that had her laughing as he gave some terrible pick-up line to Ginger. But the laugh drew his attention and his body went rigid as his eyes landed on her. “Sunny.”

She felt tension she didn’t realize she was holding leech from her shoulders as he smiled at her. “Hey, boss.”

Ginger tucked something back in her pocket and her smile seemed to reach her ears. “I’ll leave you two…alone. But I’m just outside if you need anything.” She then scurried out and left her alone with Whiskey and her hammering heart.

“Sunshine.” The new nickname was all but crushing to her heart, caving in her chest.

She waved him back to the bed and told him to rest before she curled her fingers around his hand. It was warm and calloused and, as cliché as it sounded, seemed to fit hers perfectly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot in the head.”

She almost laughed and her other hand carefully pushed his still-impeccably styled hair away from the bandage covering a small bit of his temple. “Yeah. You look great for a dead man, though.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” But he said it with a smile and squeezed her hand. “Say it again.”

“You look great.” And her smile grew, heart a little lighter.

He huffed out a laugh but then a long silence stretched between them. She looked away from his dark eyes but didn’t pull her hand away from his, fearing he’d disappear if she did.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sunshine?” He squeezed at her hand until she looked at him again.

“I’m okay. They fixed me up just fine. A new scar for the collection.”

His smile slowly dropped and he placed his other hand over hers, too. “I saw you drop. You were bleedin’ out and I-”

“I saw you get shot, too, you know. Butterfly Guy has an interesting way of showing he doesn’t trust someone.” She shook the thought away. Harry’s brain was scrambled, too. “I’m just happy you’re okay. Your brain might feel a bit funny for a day or two, but I’ll be here.”

“Where are they now? The Brits?”

“They’re on their way to Cambodia. They think they’ve found Poppy’s base.”

Whiskey all but yanked his hands from hers and threw his legs over the side of the bed before standing on his long legs. She quickly stood too, chair clattering backward. “We’ve gotta go. Tell Ginger to get the Silver Pony on the runway.” He started toward the door before she grabbed at his arm.

“Boss, c’mon. You need to rest-”

“I need to make sure that bitch doesn’t get what she wants.”

She was scrambling then, hands pawing up his arm to grasp at his face. Her heart was in her throat as she looked at him. His dark eyes looked so cold. Unfocused. She knew the Alpha Gel could scramble someone’s brain as it physically repaired it, pushing them into old habits and thoughts and fears. She knew Whiskey wasn’t thinking right at the moment—no matter how soft he had been with her moments ago, this wasn’t her Whiskey. Her mouth went dry. Thoughts raced by as the pit she had felt growing in her stomach expanded to an abyss. She knew what he’d been through. The death of his wife at the hands of some coked-out druggies was an open secret. And she knew her own grief, dealt with it in her own way—not all of it healthy, she knew. But she had to try. She knew the look of a man who wanted vengeance no matter the cost—and, right now, the cost was millions of lives. “Do you know why I don’t drink?”

“We don’t have time for this,” he said as he pulled out of her grip.

“Drunk driver plowed into my dad’s car. I was at the local pool with some friends and Dad piled everyone in to pick me up so we could get ice cream after. They never made it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you think I hold it against everyone who likes to put a little something extra in their coffee? Likes to have a little liquid courage to talk to the cute guy across the bar?”

Whiskey’s face twisted and his eyes seemed to dilate before he scrunched them shut. A shaking hand pushed through his hair.

“I work at a distillery for a man named Whiskey.”

Another silence stretched between them. She would swear he could hear her heartbeat in the quiet of the room.

A careful hand reached out to touch his wrist, too afraid to do much else. “Stay,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”

And his eyes finally opened.

Champ smiled and congratulated them on a job well done. It was a week since the entire Golden Circle situation had been handled. Tequila was well. Whiskey’s mind was clear. And their profits had never been higher.

Merlin, Harry, and Eggsy were standing at the end of the table and each held a glass of amber liquid as everyone raised a toast. Whiskey was sitting across from his Sunny, golden glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He probably should have been listening to what was Champ was saying but all he could see was how she licked her lips after taking a sip of her cranberry juice.

Statesmen, knowing an ally when they saw one, had purchased a distillery in Scotland. It was the perfect guise to help Kingsman rebuild and keep their money looking “clean.” Yes, he should have listened.

Because the Kid opened his mouth and said Kingsman needed more agents.

“I think Ginger would be a great Kingsman,” Sunny said with a smile.

Ginger, tucked into a corner a drink of her own, smiled in return. “I…”

“Agreed,” Whiskey heard himself saying. And he quickly realized that he meant it.

Ginger’s eyes went wide and she nearly sloshed the entirety of her drink across her shirt.

Champ laughed. “Alrighty then. Ginger Ale, well, I guess you’ll get a new code name, won’t ya?”

But the Kid’s smile widened. “And I was thinking Cap could come, too.” He turned to her and shrugged a shoulder. “Whaddya say, Cap? I’ll show you the real London.”

Whiskey looked at her, feeling like someone had shoved their fist down his throat. Don’t go. Don’t leave.

“I always wanted to be a knight of the round table.”

The men at the end of the table cheered again and Ginger walked over to knock their glasses together.

And while everyone continued to pat themselves on the back for completing the mission, all he could feel was cold.

The revelry eventually died down and Whiskey found himself the last one seated at the table. Everyone else filtered out to ready for the next mission—or the move to London. It was just him and Champ. The older man plopped down in the seat beside him and refilled his empty glass.

“London is only a few hours by plane from New York.”

He took a long pull from his glass.

“I’ve never known you to wait for something you wanted, Whiskey. But sure seemed to drag your ass on this one.”

“What are you talkin’ about, Champ?” He finally asked after another large gulp of alcohol.

But Champ just shook his head with a throaty chuckle. “You two are a mess.”

Royal weddings were…an event, she was finding.

After nearly losing Princess Tilde to the Golden Circle, Eggsy actually proposed. And with Harry now known as Arthur and presiding over Kingsman, the rules changed. Attachments were allowed. And because Tilde knew his fellow Kingsman were like Eggsy’s family, they were invited to the wedding. A handful of Statesmen, too. It had been a year since Poppy’s demise in Cambodia and the world was (mostly) at peace. Kingsman managed to salvage quite a bit from the wreckage of their former bases and Statesmen funded the rest of their necessary rebuilds. It was slow-going, and a handful of new agents were still finding their footing after graduating from the selection process.

“Please tell me Tequila is not wearing jeans,” she muttered.

Ginger, now known as Agent Percival, rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile as she spotted the jean-clad man amid the rest of the American crowd. “I could but that would be a lie.” She paused. “But Whiskey certainly dressed for the occasion.”

She leaned forward just the slightest bit to see Whiskey dressed in a fine tuxedo. “Is that one of ours?”

Ginger hummed. “He came in a few days ago for a fitting.”

She swallowed the saliva filling her mouth and turned back to watch Eggsy nervously fidget with his cufflinks at the end of the aisle. “Looks good.”

The ceremony finished after the vows and a bit of perfunctory reading and singing before the guests were all chauffeured over to the reception space at the royal palace. “You know, Merlin told me that you and Whiskey are quite fond of using emojis in your emails,” Ginger said as dinner was cleared away and dessert started to be served.

Her glass of water nearly slipped from her grip as embarrassment washed over her. “I was told those were private.”

“Nothing’s private in our line of work,” Ginger said with a pat to her hand. “But you haven’t really explained what is going on between you two.”

She rubbed at her temples. How could she possibly explain that she knew Whiskey, while his brain was still scrambled, wanted to let everyone infected with the Blue Rash die? How could she explain that she, despite all that, missed his smile and stupid mustache? Missed how he had terrible pick-up lines that always made her roll her eyes? Missed how she always seemed a little lighter whenever he would waltz into her office in New York?

Their constant contact devolved away from work and missions and into their private lives. He would ask after Bela and she would ask him to tell her about the view from his office window. It was now a strange sort of friendship that she treasured and protected despite how they hadn’t seen each other in person in over a year. She had taken the position at Kingsman, took the code name Agent Mordred, moved to London. It should have been a clean break. She could have kept their communications purely professional. But she didn’t. She just couldn’t truly let him go.

But on the outside, she shrugged as her hands dropped away from her face.

“It looks like I’ll be able to see for myself because he’s on his way over here.”

Her head snapped up at the sound of Ginger’s smug tone and, sure enough, Whiskey was on his way over, walking through the dancing crowd and wandering guests, right toward their table.

“But oh no. Would you look at that, I need more champagne.” Ginger then scampered off and left her alone.

Whiskey easily took Ginger’s vacated seat and smiled at her. “Hey, Sunshine.”

“Hey, bos-Whiskey.”

He chuckled at her slip. His head tilted to the side as he looked at her, eyes trailing down her form and she resisted a shiver like a teenaged girl but was silently thankful for the designer dress that fit her like a glove in a soft blue silk. “You look good.”

“You too.” And he did. The tuxedo was impeccably cut and the darkest black. A pristine white shirt was held back with a matching cummerbund and a black bowtie was slightly crooked around his neck. She reached out and straightened it.

He reached up to keep her hand pressed against his chest with a small smile. “I miss you.” It was whispered like a secret.

“We talk every day.” But she didn’t pull her hand away.

“ ‘s not the same and you know it.” He squeezed her hand. “Dance with me?” Wordlessly, he led her out onto the dance floor and pulled her close.

His expensive cologne made her mind swim but she resisted the urge to rest her cheek against his shoulder despite every nerve in her body telling her to do so. The music was slow, soft, and romantic. The lighting was low and accentuated by flickering candles that danced across the golden walls of the royal ballroom. If she could let herself remember anything—it would be this moment. Held in the arms of the man she loved even if it was just for a tiny sliver of time.

“I never thanked you, you know.”

“For what?”

“Saving me. My head was a mess—even before Butterfly Guy put a bullet in it. It took me a while but I…” He shook his head. “You’ve given me a second chance.”

She cocked her head to the side with a smile. “To save the world?”

Whiskey’s smile was small and his cheeks reddened the slightest bit but his dark eyes never left her face. His grip on her hand and waist tightened the slightest bit. “A second chance at everything.”

She chuckled and ignored how her chest tightened. Reading into it would only make it hurt.

A/N: Thank you for reading!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm @honestlystop @paryl @fioccodineveautunnale @lackofhonor

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey #kingsman the golden circle

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jq37 · 5 years ago

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The Report Card -- Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 1

Sophomores and Spring Break

Note: Hey guys! I decided to try something a little bit different and slightly more structured than my usual recaps for FH: Sophomore Year. I’m hoping this will be a little easier for me and a more useful tool for keeping up to date since there will be a lot more eps to keep track of and they’ll be easier to miss. Lemme know what you think and if you want raw, unfiltered opinions on anything specific, feel free to send me an ask. I’m always down to go off about literally whatever.

We’re back, baby! It is Sophomore Year at Aguefort and the gang is on Spring Break. A lot is going down so lemme break it down. The Bad Kids, having defeated Kalvaxus last year, are all entitled to a share of his hoard and all the red tape is finally cleared so they all get 20k gold each (which is an insane amount of money converted to USD if you use the WOTC conversion rate of a gold coin being around $145 (circa 2006 when they answered the question)--which would be close to $330 with inflation). Jawbone and Sandra-Lynn are moving in after less than a year into a profoundly haunted house and it’s kind of a Full House situation because Adaine, Fig, Kristen, and Tracker all officially live there (plus it seems that Zayn has also anchored himself to Adaine’s tower--btw, Adaine took the tower that the haunted house obviously has) and you know all the other Bad Kids are gonna be there on the regular.

More importantly, Aguefort gives the gang their big project for the year--finding the crown of the Nightmare King which was stolen at the end of last season--which is worth 60% of their grade (Adaine does a full Hermione at this information). Each of the gang has info about the NK but the trail has mostly gone cold. Luckily, Fabian just got a hot tip about where Falinel is keeping Aelwyn and she seems like a pretty good lead to start with since she was super tied up in the bad side of all the messiness of last year. Adaine is displeased to say the least.

Going off to find the crown is super exciting story-wise for two reasons. First of all, it means the gang gets to hire, well, hirelings to help them and temporarily join the party! They ping basically every cool NPC they can think of (except for Tracker for some reason which is BONKERS because (1) she probably would have done it for free and cutting her in would still be keeping the money in the family, (2) she’s dope as hell, (3) she’s a cleric and the party can always use more healers, (4) she’s a werewolf so presumably she has skills that would help in the woods, and (5) they’re t r a c k i n g down a crown and the girl’s name is literally T R A C K E R, but I will not backseat D&D) and eventually end up with Ragh (who has been without an adventuring party all year, poor guy), Sandra-Lynn (swayed by a nat 20 rolled by Fig), Cathilda (!?) ,and, for some reason, Gilear (which Fabian is happy about, mainly for the opportunity to maybe bump him off on the way). Second of all, if you recall, Elmville is a pretty modern town but the rest of the continent is less fantasy high, more high fantasy. Horses and lanterns and all that pseudo-medieval goodness. They are gonna stick out like a sore thumb. I am very here for it.

Everyone goes home to rest up but, after some ominous dreams, only four of them wake up. Riz and Fig are left asleep and then Brennan mic drops and ends the episode which is a power move and I am extremely upset about it but also, respect. Right for the jugular immediately. I heard Murph and Emily are on tour in the UK next week which probably has something to do with this but, in the moment, I did not know that and I really felt the hammer drop in my heart. It was wild. Cannot wait to see where we go from here. Plus, who doesn’t love watching characters freak out because their friends are in danger?

Random Thoughts

I have no idea what the title of this episode is or if it’ll even have one and not a number but I gave it a placeholder one for now. I also don’t have access to the stream yet so I didn’t get to include some info I wanted to (like a record of nat 20s, and nat 1s so I can track their stats for the school year) and I probably missed some stuff because my brain can only hold so much info guys. I’m not Brennan.

I mentioned this yesterday during the stream, but there will never be anything better than the pure D&D joy of everyone, in character, talking over each other to clown on each other. They get the friend-group banter that’s a hair breadth’s away from bullying so true to life and it’s so fun to watch. On the flip side, the opening scene with everyone introducing themselves and affirmatively claiming each other as their best friends was also peak D&D. Found family= best trope.

Fig and Adaine burn spell-slots at basically the same time to try and beat each other to the best room in the (Scooby-Doo ass) house--which is exactly the kind of thing that would happen in this world. It’s such an intuitive setting. I love it so much. (BTW, Fig ends up staying in the false space under the revolving grand piano because, of course).

Fabian and Gorgug went to recruit Ragh, who assumed they were propositioning him for a three-way. In his defense, they did do it in a super proposition-y way and they were in the middle of the LGBTQ student union.

Also, Gorgug gives Ragh an inspiring speech about thinking you’re your own dad which makes him burst into tears.

Speaking of, Jawbone offhandedly says he’s poly but, like, based on some of the stuff he’s said, I feel like that’s not really a reveal. He also gets along well with Gorthalax and would be down w/ a three-way if Sandra-Lynn wanted to which, again, totally checks out.

Arthur Aguefort uses Chronomancy to rewind time and catch a snide comment Adaine made under her breath, which is exactly the kind of frivolous use of God-like power I’d expect from him.

I really love Adaine’s energy coming into this season. She’s in therapy. She’s in a good home environment. She’s comfortable enough with her friend group to do stuff like prank Fig (love that they’re gonna be living together now). And she’s good friends with Zayn now which I want to see more of based on their one interaction in this ep which was very cute. I am already on record as saying I would be down with her getting a ghost boyfriend--I mean, for the aesthetic alone--but I’d be happy with just more friendship.

Fabian is also hilarious this season because you can tell he’s gone a bit soft from having friends and leaning into that (the friendship necklace with Riz) but also he’s fully aware that it’s happening so he’s, like, ping-ponging back and forth like, “These are my friends,” and, “What am I saying? I used to be cool,” and it’s very funny. Very happy the Aelwyn storyline is happening right out of the gate, both because I think Aelwyn is a very interesting character with a lot of potential for nuance but also because Fabian reacting to her and Adaine reacting to Fabian reacting to her is always gold.

Prompted by an offhand conversation from Fig about rock and roll, Brennan--earning another feather for his Cap of God Tier DMing--goes on an impromptu five minute long improved diatribe about a bard who played such a good concert that it instantly impregnated everyone in attendance (dudes too) who gave birth to kids with sick rocker hair and denim jackets and ascended to Rock Heaven on their 18th Birthday. You truly have to watch it to believe it. At a certain point I thought he was gonna drop it but that was the moment he doubled down and kept going. Amazing.

Watching Murph, in real time, make up a girl/boy/whateverfriend in Fantasy Canada was a gift.

I don’t have access to the stream yet but best quote of the night that I can remember is Kristen choosing her room: This is triggering and I’ll take it. (Her line about her lesbian starter kit and the one about wanting a horse were also bangers).

The group talks about what they’re going to do for transportation outside of Elmsville since they don’t really use cars out there and they somehow get from “disguise Fig’s tour bus” to “commission Aguefort to create a brand new animal that can hold six people plus hirelings, one of which is Fabian who is also riding his motorbike”.

I love that Sandra-Lynn’s Mom Powers work on Tracker.

Basrar doesn’t accept the invitation to come with on the quest, but he does give Kristen a bag of infinite ice cream sandwiches, which is basically just as good, IMO.

Oh Gilear. The man is sleeping in the Seacaster garage, being bullied by skater kids, and now he’s stuck on this quest with his ex and Fabian who actively wants him dead.

Speaking of, I’m psyched to see more of Sandra-Lynn. She was kind of a sleeper badass at the end of last season.

Ragh is keeping secrets which I hope the cast doesn’t forget because it could be nothing serious (like the high school drama happening with Skrank and the 7 maidens--maybe he’s just crushing on Gorgug who did full kiss him during Promocalypse) or it could be Serious Business that will blow up if the don’t stay on top of it. We’ll see.

Oh, almost forgot. Adaine wants an emotional support frog. Every time I think I can’t love her more.

Detention

Fig for Not Respecting Personal Boundaries

Fig goes full Emily right out the gate and, after finding out that Skrank (nerdy bird dude who apparently can get it) was not only dating Ostentasia (rich, popular dwarf) but also dumped her in pursuit of Danielle Barkstock (one of Ostentasia’s party members, the scandal), disguises herself as him with Danielle to figure out what’s going on. And, wouldn't you know it, when she gives herself away, Danielle immediately is shocked and appalled, as you would be, obviously. We also learn that she’s still catfishing Dr. Asha which is, how you say, for sure a crime. Fig, please, I’m begging you. Cease.

Honor Roll

Fig, Riz, and Adaine for Researching the Nightmare King

Fig made both lists, look at that. Wasn’t my plan for this to be a three-way tie (also didn’t expect to use the word “three-way” this many times in this writeup) but I think their contributions were pretty much equally valuable. Rainsolo on the Discord wrote up this summary of the lore dump Brennan gave them.

#fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #the report card #report card

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bgn846 · 5 years ago

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FFXV Batio AU Chapter 2 is up!

Gladio is a vampire that can turn into a bat and Ignis is a human. What more do you want?? Thanks @mintfoxmimi for letting me use your AU!!

Full link to ao3 piece if you missed chapter 1. https://archiveofourown.org/works/20721377/chapters/49227167

It had been nearly a week since Ignis had seen Gladiolus come into the guild. To be exact he hadn’t seen him since he’d flown out of his window in the form of a small fluffy bat. Ignis hadn’t told anyone about his encounter and the information he’d discovered. Perhaps Gladiolus thought he would change his mind. Admittedly Ignis had altered his habits slightly after the incident. Choosing to only go out during daylight hours, and making sure he was safe within the guild headquarters at night were two notable differences.

Ignis had asked around the guild about Gladiolus and had heard nothing but good things. The vampire by all accounts was a good fighter and tracker. He’d saved many of the hunters from certain death in his time there. Perhaps Gladiolus was a good vampire after all.

Losing himself in his work once again Ignis hunkered down to detangle the mess of paper laid out before him. How the guild had remained functioning was a mystery. Nothing was filed where it should be. Private documents were kept out in the open for anyone to steal. Ignis knew he’d have a lot of hard work ahead of him in order to straighten out the mess.

The hours whittled away as Ignis lost himself in work. He didn’t even pause until his desk lamp began flickering. The oil must be running low, he would have to go find more. Glancing at the clock revealed it was close to three in morning. Astrals where had the time gone?

Standing up and cracking his back Ignis made his way to the storage closet. Scanning the contents indicated there was no oil to be had. Debating about whether to call it a night or to try and find another light source Ignis stood stalled in the hallway. A thought hit him suddenly; there was more lamp oil in the shed out back.

Trudging to the back door he went to unlock it when a voice behind him called out. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Gah! What the hell are you doing here?” Ignis shouted as he turned around quickly and tried to calm his nerves from the shock.

“Checking on you of course, what kind of vampire do you think I am?” Gladiolus offered.

“How long have you been here?” Ignis demanded.

“Not long, I flew in to make sure you were doing alright. I know you’ve been overworking yourself.”

“I have not been overworking myself Gladiolus.” Ignis huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Sure –,” Gladiolus droned, “That’s why you thought it was a good idea to go outside in the middle of the night for no good reason.”

“I had a reason! I needed lamp oil!”

“Yeah that’s not a good reason. It’s prime time for us vampires so why don’t you stay inside instead?”

“I still need lamp oil.” Ignis added dryly.

“I can get that for you easy. Hold on.” Gladiolus announced as he morphed into a tiny bat and proceeded to fly up the chimney flue.

Ignis’ protest died on his lips as a cloud of ash fell on the hearth. Thank the six the fire had gone out long ago. Maybe this was all a dream and he wasn’t going insane. However, after pinching his arm twice he was still standing in the main room waiting for his vampire friend to bring him lamp oil.

Unsure of how long it would take Gladiolus he began pacing the small space. How long had the vampire been there watching him? He did have a point that going outside at this hour was rather stupid. He had enough problems with seeing vampires at six in the evening. How many would he run into if he went out at three thirty in the morning?

Ignis didn’t have time to dwell on his almost terrible decision. His attention was captured once more when a scratching sound erupted from the fireplace. Staring intently for several minutes Ignis waited to see what would appear. Finally after lots of odd noises and squeaks a bat fell out. The logistics of how a bat could bring back lamp oil bottle had escaped Ignis tired mind. It shouldn’t have been possible but Gladiolus had managed it. The small bat was now clutching an oil refill container in its feet.

The only issue now was that the bat was covered in soot. “Why aren’t you turning back into a vampire?” Ignis questioned.

The bat merely shook its head and squeaked. Sighing heavily Ignis reached into the fireplace and gingerly took the oil container out. Placing it aside he turned his attention back to the bat. It felt funny calling him Gladiolus when he was in this form. “Now what?” his question was rewarded with another bevy of squeaks and ear twitches. “Is there a time limit or something on your shapeshifting?” He tried.

Again the bat shook its head and gave Ignis what could only be described as a smile. Groaning Ignis carefully picked up the small creature and removed him from the fireplace. “I still don’t know what you want me to do.”

This comment got a reaction. The bat outstretched a wing and shook it. A dusting of soot came off and the animal grinned at him. Blinking slowly Ignis decided he shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of thing in life. “You want me to dust you off?” He was rewarded with a vigorous head bob. Extending his arms out Ignis headed to the kitchen.

Within twenty minutes Ignis had thoroughly brushed all the soot off of the bat. It squeaked happily and crawled around on the counter poking at containers. “Are you planning on staying in that form much longer? It’s hard to have a conversation when you can’t talk.”

The bat started to hobble over to the edge and before Ignis could react, it threw itself off. Reaching out to try and catch the small ball of fluff before it hit the floor didn’t go as planned. The moment the bat was free of the counter it morphed back into a vampire. Ignis’ attempt to save the small bat now meant he was holding Gladiolus’ right hand instead.

The grin he was met with didn’t help either. “Thanks for helping me out. I didn’t want to get soot on my clothes.” He announced while squeezing Ignis’ hand.

“Gladiolus I do wish you’d warn me somehow before you do things like that!” Ignis huffed as he tried to wrench his hand free.

“Things like what? Fly up a chimney, jump off a counter, or fetch you lamp oil?”

Unable to answer the question Ignis simply shrugged and rolled his eyes. He was tired and needed to rest. Any ounce of energy he had left to work was now gone. He’d even stopped fighting to get Gladiolus to let go of him.

“And call me Gladio, the full name sounds to formal.” The vampire supplied. “I mean I braved the confines of the flue to get you oil. So I think that means we are friends now right?”

“This must be how you get your victims. You make them go crazy so they beg you to kill them.” Ignis sighed.

Gladio laughed at the statement and finally released him to pat Ignis on the back. “Nah, we’re friends, I’m not gonna getcha.”

“Why me?” Ignis lamented.

“You’re nice.”

Yawning widely and failing to cover it up caused Gladio to herd him to the stairs. “I’m fine, I still have work to do.” Ignis protested lamely as the vampire easily guided him up to his room.

“Nope time for bed. You need to rest, you’re a human.”

“Blech – I can stay awake for longer than you think.” There was no more time to fight back as Gladio had reached his room and was shoving him through the door.

“Go to bed!”

“Are you doing that thing that made me sleepy like last time?” Ignis questioned with concern as he turned to shut the door on Gladio.

“No, you’re tired enough that I don’t have to. Promise me you’ll go to bed and not try and work more in your room?” Gladio requested with a raised eyebrow.

“What? I wouldn’t do that.” Ignis lied. Though he was terribly tired and really did want to sleep. Something about bickering with Gladio was fun in a way.

“I’ll charm you to sleep in a heartbeat.” Gladio threatened, despite his kind expression. “Promise me you’ll go to bed.” he pleaded.

“Hmmff fine. No more scaring me half to death though, I’ll keel over one of these days and you’ll feel bad.” What was he doing? He was having small talks with a bloody vampire. Finally Gladio nodded in approval and waited for Ignis to close the door.

Ignis was curious to see what would happen if he attempted to work. He assumed that Gladio would figure it out and continue to bother him until he slept. Opting to get some proper rest Ignis got ready for bed and was asleep within minutes.

——————————–

The minute Gladio had stepped into the alleyway behind the guild a low voice filtered through the night air. “Checking on your friend again?”

“He’s human, I have to make sure he’s safe.” Gladio defended as he walked towards the other vampire.

“You’ve given us all strict orders to leave him be so why would you need to check on him?”

“He’s a good guy.”

The other vampire tilted his head slightly, shifting his braided hair, and stared at him. “In your two hundred and thirty years of existence you’ve never taken an interest in another human like this.” The vampire noted. “What exactly is it about this one you like so much?”

“Awww come on Nyx don’t pick on me! I know you’ve had humans as friends before.” The comment seemed to lighten the conversation.

“True. Do keep in mind if you keep sneaking away to see your human Noct will get suspicious.”

“He’s not my human!” Gladio exclaimed as the pair continued into the darkness.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Nyx laughed, “Don’t be surprised if he demands to meet him.”

Gladio stopped walked and stared at his friend. “Oh shit, he’s so totally going to do that. Dammit Ignis is gonna freak out all over again!”

“He survived a giant bat encounter from what you’d mentioned earlier. No reason why he won’t handle meeting the prince of darkness.”

“Please don’t ever call him that.” Gladio added dryly as they started walking again. “He’ll let it go to his head. Do you really want Noct wandering around the castle prattling on about how he’s the prince of darkness?”

“What harm would it do?”

“His ego is big enough already, don’t make it worse.”

Nyx laughed again which displayed his perfectly white fangs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you Gladio.”

Deciding to stay quiet Gladio trudged alongside his friend. He hated to admit it but Nyx was right. When Noct found out he was going to demand to be introduced to Gladio’s new human friend. Astrals, poor Ignis was in for a shock. Though, if they met that meant he could hang out more with Ignis. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

————————————

Ignis was starting to wonder if he was perhaps working too hard. Drautos didn’t even mention his terribly late start to the day. The man was all about pointing out other people’s flaws and he’d simply nodded a hello to Ignis.

No one was in the kitchen as he began making his coffee. Waiting for the water to boil allowed him time to grind the beans by hand. The process was labor intensive but so worth the end result. Ignis cursed the difficulty in crafting his favorite beverage. Though, it was most likely a blessing, otherwise he’d drink it all the time.

A small smudge of ash on the corner of the counter caught his eye when he went to grab a mug. The memory of a small sooty bat came back to him. The idea that Gladio could shapeshift into something so cute was odd. Vampires were ferocious creatures; they were supposed to be scary. It was getting harder and harder to believe that notion the more Ignis interacted with Gladio.

Entering his small office nearly caused him to drop his mug. His desk had been tidied and the new oil container was already installed in the lamp. Gladio had come down to his office and cleaned up for him while he slept. This vampire was not normal. Again he had to bury himself in work so he could focus on something other than Gladio.

Unfortunately, that tactic only worked if said vampire didn’t suddenly appear out of nowhere.

“Don’t you ever take a break?” Gladio asked from the doorway of his office.

Looking over Ignis felt himself smiling. “Checking on me again? I’m not going outside, besides its still daylig–.” Ignis stopped mid-sentence and stared at Gladio like he’d grown another head. “How are you out when the sun hasn’t set yet?” he hissed quietly.

Gladio rolled his eyes and wandered further into his office. “Not all of us burn up in the sunlight Ignis.”

“Shhh! Someone might hear you talking.”

The vampire perked up at the comment and sat on the edge of Ignis’ desk. “So I guess that means I don’t have to worry about you keeping my secret. Sounds like you’re are on my side.”

Ignis scoffed at the remark and pouted. “What side would that be exactly?”

“The good side.” Gladio answered like it was obvious.

“My morals are not the ones in question Gladio.”

Shrugging the vampire leaned in closer. “Think you might want to go out and grab a bite to eat?”

Quickly pushing back his chair so he was out of arms reach Ignis gawked at Gladio. “You said you weren’t going to hurt me.”

“What? No I’m not –,” Gladio fumbled, “seriously, Ignis I meant grabbing real food at the tavern down the road. Not me biting you.” He added in a whisper.

Ignis still didn’t believe him, “You don’t eat real food.”

Sighing heavily Gladio rubbed his face with his hands. “Ignis are you a vampire?”

“No, of course not!”

“Exactly, so why would you know what I can and cannot eat.”

Pausing for a moment Ignis debated about the plausibility of Gladio’s statement. He was clearly a different vampire than most. “If you can eat than why do you need to uh – do the other thing?”

Raising an eyebrow Gladio hunched over so he could answer quietly. “I consume human blood when I need to. Otherwise I can eat regular food. I just don’t get anything out of it. I can’t really taste it, and it doesn’t give me any energy.”

“Why then?”

“It’s a social activity and some food feels good when I eat it.”

“When is the last time you drank blood?” Ignis asked with worry.

Sighing again Gladio replied. “A few days ago and before you ask, I didn’t kill anyone or turn them. There are some humans that exchange blood for protection.”

Figuring he still had a lot to learn about vampires Ignis slumped in his chair. Glancing up at Gladio’s face revealed sad amber eyes looking back. The expression made him feel terrible for questioning Gladio’s intentions. “Yes!” he blurted awkwardly after a moment of silence.

Squinting with a furrowed brow Gladio seemed to be waiting for clarification.

“I’ll go with you to the tavern. I didn’t mean to darken the mood.”

Relief poured over the vampires features. “Thank the six; I thought you might not want to be friends anymore.”

“I’m realizing I don’t know as much as I’d like about vampires.” Ignis admitted meekly.

“Well for starters I’ll show you how one eats real food for fun.” Gladio exclaimed as he stood up. “Come on lets go I think they have garula steak on the menu tonight.”

Dinner was oddly normal. It seemed Gladio knew people at the tavern which earned them a nicer table. They ended up talking about the food more than anything else. Turns out the vampire had been on a quest to discover a food that would produce a taste in his mouth. He’d not succeeded but was still trying.

The sun had gone down by the time they’d left the tavern. Normally this would cause Ignis to be on high alert. However, with Gladio walking next to him Ignis felt at ease and was able to enjoy the stroll.

“Do you think we will ever openly co-exist?” Ignis pondered out loud.

Gladio shrugged and looked ahead. “Maybe, but it would take a lot of work. Humans are the weaker race. It would be very hard to instill a feeling of safety if we all suddenly showed up and wanted to make peace.”

“I suppose,” Ignis sighed, “There are more like you though right? The nice ones?”

The vampire grinned widely at the comment and nodded. “Yeah there’s more like me. If you’re interested I can introduce you to some.”

Ignis stumbled slightly on the street. “Do you think that would be a wise idea? I don’t want to become a target.”

“I wouldn’t ever put you in harm’s way.”

“I still don’t understand why you are being so nice to me, we barely know each other.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about you Ignis. You’re smart and treat me with respect. Seems like good friend material to me.” He offered.

Humming response Ignis decided he could go along with this arrangement for a little while longer. Gladio did provide good company. He seemed to be fun to hang out with providing he didn’t fly him off somewhere as a giant bat. “What do you do when you’re not at the guild?” Ignis queried.

“I’m in the family business.” Gladio supplied, “It keeps me busy.”

“Sounds like you have your hands full.”

“I do but it’s all good.”

“Ahh, I see.” Ignis mused. The back door to the guild appeared when they turned a corner. Ignis wasn’t sure what Gladio would do once they’d made it back. The vampire spared him from having to figure it out when they got to the door.

“I’ve got to go take care of some things, and I’m sure you will be working late again. Mind if I swing by later tonight to make sure you’re doing okay?” Gladio asked hopefully.

“I don’t see what harm it would do.” Ignis answered with a small smile. “Until later tonight then.”

Gladio grinned and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be fun don’t worry.” He then looked to the door and back to Ignis.

“You won’t leave until I go inside will you?” Shaking his head no Gladio waited patiently. Ignis sighed and unlocked the door. Waving goodbye he went inside to his office and attempted to work.

#ffxv #fanfic #gladnis #eventually

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scenerp · 5 years ago

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WELCOME TO CHICAGO !!

. . . . . P O P U L A T I O N; you.

scene stealers is a relaxed, no word count roleplay. we are a jcink premium community set in the beautiful city of chicago, illinois! our goal is to provide our members with a long lasting community where they can create life-like characters and build a vibrant world for them to live in. we are lgbtq+ and poc friendly, and the foundation our roleplay is built upon is to be a long lasting, comfortable, safe space where everyone feels welcome!! interested? well, you're in luck ... for the scene has just begun .... ready, action!!

hello scene stealers!

so let me be the first to apologize for how delayed this was. the admin team all got chaotically busy with real life and preparations for opening the site, and that took us away from you lovelies for awhile. but we're back and ready to finally announce the winners of our development challenges. we want to start by extending our gratitude for everyone who continuously posted development and really helped fill the tag. we truly enjoyed reading up on your characters and are so . so . so . so excited to meet everyone. if we could have given prizes out to everyone, we would have. but don't worry, we're going to be opening another development challenge ....half an hour after you finish reading this one. total honesty. right, focusing.

DEVELOPMENT CHALLENGE ONE

we initially said we were going to have two winners, but do to the outpouring of submissions we decided to declare two lottery winners and then one scene stealer winner, because we can. don't fight it.

the two lottery winners, chosen by randomization . . . kory & piper the scene stealer. . . winning the hearts of the staff . . . tei

congratulate all three of these winners! each of you has one one additional face reserve. please send a love note to our ask box stating some variant of "i was the dev 1 challenge winner, i'd like to reserve blah blah blah" and we would be happy to take care of that for you!! tei will also be winning the 250 points for winning scene stealer, which will be deposited into the account of tei's choice on opening. yaaaaaay.

RAPID FIRE DEVELOPMENT CHALLENGE

we are sticking with our two winners on this one, but we were really blown away by the thoughts that everyone put into the rapid fire challenge. kudos to you guys, we loved reading every single one of your posts.

the lottery winner, chosen by randomization . . . bri the scene stealer. . . winning the hearts of the staff . . . muffy

congratulations to both of you! each of you has one a free premium member group on the account of your choice upon open! muffy will also be winning the 250 points for winning scene stealer, which will be deposited into the account of muffy's choice on opening. going into our second official development challenge all of your development trackers have been archived. past posts will not count towards the new challenge, and there will be a new set of prompts that will be released soon. everyone is on an even playing field, and our past winners will be eligible to compete for our next prize. so put those game faces on, and continue trying to steal the scene.

to those of you just joining us...

don't forget to post up a personal intro and tag it #scenerp, after you've done that you can go ahead and send us a love note to our ask box to claim your first official free face!! then you can get cracking on that development to try and win some really cool prizes. include: alias / age (range?) / pronouns / your favorite kinds of character, faces, tropes, etc / a personal statement about you! / a tribute to the admins (a funny meme?), your favorite meme, a funny cat gif ... something to make us chuckle!! again, we are super happy to see how excited everyone who has joined up so far are for this roleplay! we'd love to hear from you. if you have any suggestions / comments / ideas for the roleplay, or things that you'd like to see prior to us opening .... our ask box is always open. feel free to shoot us a message and we'll be happy to answer you. welcome to chicago. let's create a scene !!

( BLOG // TAG // STAFF // RESERVES // CALENDAR . . . . . . . . . . . . GUIDELINE // INTRO // DEVELOPMENT // PREVIEW // MEMBER GROUPS )

#jcink #jcink rp #jcink roleplay #jcink premium #chicago #chicago rp #city town rp #scenerp #site buzz #roleplay advert #roleplay advertisement #rl rp #city/town rp

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attackonlingling · 6 years ago

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How Civilizations End

A/N: I always imagined that Tomoe (Hakatori) and Ayato have some kind of friendship going on — they’re not too far apart in age and they’re both Tatara’s kids lol — and wondered how it plays out with Hinami in the picture.

So I wrote this on a whim after rereading chapter 124 where Hakatori comments to Takizawa on how the sense of smell destroys civilizations (Takizawa atom bombs lol :p). This is the first fic I’ve ever posted on my newly-created tumblr. I’m thinking of editing it and expanding the story though. Please feel free to comment and reblog ^^

Hope you enjoy!

Tatara once said, people with good noses are real bad news.

“The act of finding things by sniffing them out always leads to devastation. It’s what destroys civilizations. Be weary of people with a sharp sense of smell,” he said.

Tomoe didn’t quite understand what Tatara meant at the time, so she simply nodded and went about her day.

She had the day off, so she decided she was going to take her time to relax and sketch. An old ghoul who shared her interest in botany happened to procure a pot of Evelyn Roses, and was generous enough to lend her the plant to sketch.

On her way to get her art supplies, she bumped into Ayato and Fueguchi in the hallway. It occured to her that she hadn’t hung out with Ayato in quite a while.

Back in the day, it was just the two of them — her and Ayato. Though there were other children in the Aogiri Tree, children were generally charged with menial tasks, non-combat roles such as cleaning or chopping up meat. As the only child combatants of the Aogiri, being only two years apart, the two found a friendship between missions and daily survival.

And then Fueguchi Hinami showed up. Fueguchi, out of place as ever among the Aogiri recruits, was assigned under the care of Ayato. At the beginning, Ayato had complained about having to babysit Fueguchi; nowadays it seemed like they were attached at the hip, always together on working days or off days.

“Did you just come back from a mission?” Tomoe asked.

“Yeah, I’m calling it a day. On your day off, eh?” Ayato replied.

“Those flowers are so pretty, Tomoe-chan! They smell so nice, too, like a perfume my mother used to wear. Enjoy your day off,” Fueguchi said as they parted ways.

“Yeah? I can hardly smell anything right now,” Ayato continued the conversation with Fueguchi.

Tomoe watched Ayato and Fueguchi as they headed towards their neighboring rooms.

Why is it that he always reeks of blood after missions, yet she still smells like perfume?

I hope he doesn’t get into trouble.

—

The air was tense in the 19th ward base.

“Yamori, Bin… All those that died… Is everyone in the Aogiri just a replaceable piece to you?”

“That’s right. Stray dogs should just behave like stray dogs, Ayato.” Tatara dismissed the visibly upset young man in front of him.

The mention of her dearly beloved brothers in such a manner stung Tomoe’s heart, but she reasoned with herself, Tatara was only trying to set Ayato straight. Ayato’s demands were absurd! The last time Aogiri stormed Cochlea, countless lives were lost. A whole decoy operation had been set in motion just to weaken Cochlea’s security — an operation in which her brothers perished. How many more would have lost their lives had they decided to raid Cochlea a third time?

And just for Fueguchi?

Fueguchi heard a sound. Fueguchi picked up a scent. And Fueguchi went AWOL. Fueguchi made a choice.

And yet… even stray dogs’ lives mean something, right?

A few days after, Ayato asked Tomoe out of the blue, “Is it possible to fight for something, but at the same time keep sacrificing that same thing, over and over again, until there’s nothing left?”

“…What are you getting at, Ayato? Is this about —”

“Are you happy here, Tomoe?” he cut.

…

People with good noses really are bad news.

—

Ayato had been acting strange lately. He was always the type of person who was very hands on with his work; he really wasn’t big on delegating. However, these past few months he had mostly hung back on missions and let his subordinates do most of the work. Empowering subordinates is great and all, but for some reason it left an unsettling feeling in Tomoe’s stomach.

“The sooner you do it yourself, the better,” Tomoe recalled his words during their handover period before she took over as Tatara’s direct subordinate, “After I’m gone, it’s all you.”

He also wasn’t the type of person that would miss meetings, unless he had Aogiri business to attend to. So when Tatara asked where Ayato was during the meeting, she knew something was wrong. She curtly dismissed herself and ran to the docks.

Seeing a lone figure in the distance, she tightened her clench on her quinqe and prayed her hunch was wrong.

—

Sadly, she was right.

“Ayato.”

He spun around and saw her, quinqe in hand.

“Tatara’s looking for you. He needs to go over some plans with you about logistics on Rushima.”

“Are you going to kill me?” he cut to the chase. Tomoe wasn’t stupid, there was no point in trying to make up excuses.

Tomoe ignored his words, “There will be equipment transportation for dr. Kanou from the 20th ward to Rushima. Since you’re familiar with the area, you’re the best person to oversee that job.”

“I’m sorry, Tomoe.”

“According to intel, there’s been suspicious movement around Kanou. We suspect it might be from a ghoul called The Serpent. You might want to watch out for that one.”

“I’m leaving.”

Silence.

Are you happy here, Tomoe?

…

Aogiri is all I have, Ayato.

“Come with me, Tomoe.”

She threw her sword and it flew past him, barely missing his cheek as it stabbed the tree behind him. Yet he remained on the spot, unflinching, feet planted firmly on the ground.

“Cut it out, Ayato! You’ve worked so hard for this — we’ve all worked so hard for this. We finally have a fighting chance against the CCG and you’re backing out now? Please… stay.”

“You know I can’t do that, Tomoe.”

“Is she worth it?” Ah, that burning sensation behind her eyes. “Does she mean that much that you’d leave all of us, just like that?” Do we mean that little to you?

A silence fell upon them, neither knowing what to say. After what felt like an eternity, Ayato took a deep breath and closed his eyes, turning to walk away from her to the docks. So that’s your answer, Tomoe thought, This really is it.

After a few steps, he stopped.

“Tomoe,” back turned on her, he shifted ever so slightly, “I’ll come back for you.”

So stay alive.

—

A few weeks later, during a meeting, Tatara asked for a follow-up on a particular mission that involved tracking and stopping the movements of a rogue ghoul organization.

“Well,” Miza sighed, “In Ayato’s absence, the team was ill-coordinated in that mission, leading the target to be able to disperse before we caught them. We have not yet been able to track them. And honestly, ever since we lost Fueguchi, we’re hard-pressed to find as good a tracker as she was.”

Ah, so this is how civilizations end.

—

Thanks for reading, guys! :)

Sorry if I made any mistakes!

#tomoe #yumitsu #ayato kirishima #hinami fueguchi #ayahina #ayato x hinami #implied ayahina #tg #tg:re #fanfic

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thefragileblackdahlia · 5 years ago

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Pilot: Part two

Summary

Blaire’s outfits 1 | 2

Warning(s): Angst, Typical Supernatural Violence, Mild Profanity

A/N: There is an error some where. It should say ‘of three years’ Not six years. My math was off by so much. It’s somewhere in there so ya.

Word Count: 6,889

NOV 1ST, 2005

GAS STATION

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" Sam mumbled as he bounced his leg up and down in annoyance. He figured he should address it right now before Blaire woke up and before it went any further. Why should he care? He and Blaire aren't together anymore, and he has Jessica.

"Notice what?" Dean questioned.

The short-haired hunter tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he anticipated whatever Sam may have been talking about. He glanced at his brother with a raised brow.

Sam let out a hard sigh and nodded back to Blaire. "I told you she's off-limits." He uttered while glaring straight ahead.

Dean let out a boisterous laugh. "Dude, Bee, and I- aren't a thing." He looked into the rearview mirror to see Blaire stirring in her sleep.

She looked peaceful like she wasn't plagued with bad dreams anymore. Strands of kinky hair fell over her face just right, and the sunlight that peered through the windows maximized her beauty.

A small smile appeared on Dean's lips as he couldn't imagine a world without her. 'Off-limits' A voice in his head reminded him to stop and wiped the smile from his face.

"You're just seeing things 'cause you're jealous," Dean whispered in hopes of not waking Bee.

Sam stayed silent the rest of the ride, mildly annoyed by his brother's blatant lies.

There were obviously some underlying feelings that maybe Dean and Blaire couldn't see, but anyone on the outside could pick it apart.

Bee slammed her hand down on the backrest of the front seat, startling the two brothers. "What are you two princesses talking about?" She stretched her arms and legs and gave their shoulders a light pat.

"Mornin' Sunshine. You woke up right on time- The gas station is a mile away. We're gonna fill up and get some breakfast." Dean greeted Blaire with a big smile. He was giddy; he had his baby brother and his best friend by his side.

It was just like old times- maybe some things were different, but it all came down to semantics.

"Wow, thanks for the rundown- Huggy bear." Blaire quipped as she carded her fingers through her thick curls and yanked off the hair tie. Her scalp ached from being in the tight pony-tail all night, and it needed to breathe. She shook her digits through her mop of hair and finger, parted it to the left side.

The gas station came into view, ultimately saving Sam from this awkward interaction. When did they start giving each other nicknames? How much has happened since he left for Stanford? It didn't make sense to him. He looked out the passenger side window as the car pulled into the gas station lot.

Dean drove the car in a complete circle so he could get aligned with the gas pump. He then shifted into reverse and reached over the back seat, turning his whole body to reverse into the spot.

Faint music could be heard over the store's loudspeaker, Allman Brothers' 'Ramblin' Man.'

"GOTTA PEE!" Blaire shouted as she quickly tapped the seat and gazed at Dean, who has yet to unlock the car.

The woman danced in her seat while she struggled to slide on her boots. Once she got them on her feet, Bee swung the door open and sprinted into the store.

Sam just let out a small chuckle and shook his head. A wave of nostalgia hit him as he watched her run into the store.

It felt like it was just yesterday that John was driving the Impala, Dean shotgun, and the other two in the back. Once in a while, Bobby would let Blaire go on a hunt with them, but he always preferred Bee working alone with him.

Sam let out a heavy sigh and just decided to rummage through Dean's music collection.

Amid the action, Dean had started filling Baby up with gas and managed to go into the store and buy a bunch of junk food. He appeared with a bunch of chocolate candy plus an energy drink for Blaire in one hand and Doritos with soda and gum in the other.

Dean's idea of breakfast was skewed.

"Hey!" Dean called out, prompting Sam to lean out his open door and look at him. "You want breakfast?" He wiggled the bag of chips in his arms.

Sam grimaced and shook his head. "No, thanks" He resumed rifling through the box of cassette tapes. "So, how'd you pay for that stuff?" The scholar inquired but continued. "You and Dad still running credit card scams?" Sam held a condescending tone in his voice.

Just then, Blaire came walking around the corner with a disgusted expression. While she was in the bathroom, a wave of nausea hit her hard. Then suddenly, voices came in from many different directions, and it made her sick to her stomach. One voice was so loud; it sounded so much like the mechanic working just outside.

'God, she's such a pretty girl.' This comment made her eyes widen. WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING? First, she started having bad dreams, and now she hears voices? It can only go downhill from here.

Bee rounded the corner, Dean was standing by the pump with her snacks.

"This was the only energy drink they had, so- mazel tov!" Dean tossed her the drink, which she gracefully caught. Blaire only nodded and strolled over to the free pump by Sam's door. She leaned against the machine and cracked open her drink, taking a long sip.

The sun beamed down on her smooth skin, casting an ethereal glow.

Dean grasped the gas nozzle and tapped the sides as he spoke. "And, Hunting ain't exactly a pro ball career-" The man paused as he turned to put the nozzle away.

"Besides, all we do is apply. It's not our fault they send us the cards." Dean gathered the junk food off of the trunk of the car and made his way to his side of the vehicle.

"Yeah?" Sam scoffed. "And what names did you write on the application this time?" He pulled his legs into the car and closed his door, still examining the box of tapes.

Blaire still stood against the pump, staring off into the distance at the mechanic. The boys couldn't tell, but she was trying to read his mind. She sipped her energy drink and glared daggers into the old pervert. Occasionally, she would catch him peeking under his hat at her. She didn't snap out of it until Sam closed his door. '

When did Dean finish pumping?' She thought.

"Uh, Burt Aframian-" Dean answered as he opened his door and then climbed into the impala. "And his son Hector. Scored two cards out of the deal." Dean paused and leaned over into Sam's space. "Hey- Bumble Bee, the hell you doin'- get in."

Blaire furrowed her brows and got into the backseat. "Sorry- That dude was checkin' me out." She closed her respective door.

"Maybe he can't resist the gloss." Dean mocked as he moved his hand over his face in a circular motion. He donned a dorky grin as he raised his brows at his silly joke.

Sam finally spoke, "I swear, man, you've gotta update your cassette tape collection." He roughly placed down a tape into the box and motioned with his hands as he talked.

"Why?" Dean asked, genuinely interested in hearing his reason.

Sam picked up a tape, "Well, for one, they're cassette tapes. And two-" He held up a tape for every band he named. "Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica?" Dean immediately snatched the Metallica tape from Sam as he continued talking. "It's the greatest hits of mullet rock." Sammy laughed.

This particular conversation intrigued Blaire. She leaned forward and rested her arms on the seat.

"House rules, Sammy." The oldest cooed while he slid the tape into the player. "Driver picks the music," Dean started but looked at Blaire expectantly.

The 22-year-old woman snatched the empty case from Dean and finished for him. "Shotgun shuts his cakehole." She tossed the case into the cardboard box with the other tapes.

Just then, Dean started the engine, and Loveless' 'A Gift to the World' began to play on the console.

Sam turned his head to look at his former best friend. "You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old. It's Sam, okay?"

This request just made Bee burst into laughter. She lunged forward and turned up the volume, the guitar now blasting through the car speakers. "Sorry," She gestured to her ears and shrugged. "I can't hear you, the music's too loud."

Dean just kept his eyes on the rearview mirror as Blaire interacted with Sam. It was like watching a mirror image, except it was female and African American. He set one hand on the wheel, shifted gears and pulled out of the lot and onto the highway.

The huntress reclined back and sipped her drink. And when the vocals came in, Blaire sang along with Dean tapping his fingers to the beat on the steering wheel.

Sam watched from the side view mirror. They were so much alike yet so different. Both were great trackers, hunters; they loved to eat and struggled with emotional situations. They were also sensitive about the mom subject and were loyal to their fathers. The only difference was, Blaire was a black woman.

'Huh,' He said to himself.

"I'll call to see if they got anyone matching John," Blaire affirmed while leaning forward. She whipped out her pink Razr phone and began dialing a number.

Dean kindly lowered the music.

The clever huntress cleared her throat and put on her best Welsh (British) accent. "Hello? Yes- I was calling to ask about a John Doe that may have came in anytime in the past three weeks."

This immediate change in accent made Sam glance at his brother, who just gave him a knowing smile. That accent got Dean a lot of things, and it and she quote 'made him all tingly.'

"Uh...who's calling? Felicity Shagwell-" She murmured into the phone. Dean's head snapped in her direction, a sly smile on his face as he picked up on the reference. Blaire hit him on the shoulder and pointed to the sign they had just passed labeled Jericho 7.

(Reference to Felicity Shagwell in Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me)

"Yes! It would be male, salt and pepper hair looks to be in his mid to late 50s."

"Well, alright, thank you so much." Blaire immediately snapped her phone shut and gripped the device tightly. "There's no one matchin' John at the hospital or morgue. So, I guess that's somethin'" She now had her natural southern accent.

As the impala drove around the bend, they were met with two police cars and several officers spread out on the bridge ahead.

CENTENNIAL HIGHWAY

"Check it out." Dean nudged the two and pointed over the scene. He pulled onto the side of the road, and Dean killed the engine.

The three stared intently at the police cars. It was like a lightbulb went off in Dean's mind as he stretched for the glove department and pulled out a box with many fake IDS. There were a few with Blaire's face as well as Dean and John's.

Dean plucked two badges and handed one to Bee.

"All right, Let's go Mr. Powers."The African woman laughed and got out of the impala. She strutted up to the fellow black officer and listened in on their conversation.

Dean and Sam were close behind her listening as well.

"Fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?" Bee asked.

The southern accent made the deputy spin around and straightened once he saw the trio. "And who are you?"

Dean stepped around Blaire and subtly patted her thigh, signaling her to lift hers. They raised their badges simultaneously as Dean spoke for them. "Federal marshals."

"You three are a little young for marshals, aren't you?" The deputy queried.

Dean laughed. "Thanks, that's awfully kind of you." The surly hunter strolled over to the abandoned car. "You did have another one just like this, correct?"

"Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that." Deputy Jaffe responded.

Sam interjected. "So, this victim, you knew him?"

Jaffe nodded. "Town like this, everybody knows everybody."

While the men were talking, Blaire circled the car, checking the interior and exterior. Dean soon joined her, "See anything?" He whispered.

The huntress shook her head."No, as far as I can tell, it just looks like the lord snatched him and left no trace."

Dean nodded and spoke loud enough for the deputy to hear. "Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?"

"No. Not so far as we can tell." Jaffee replied.

Blaire shuffled beside Dean by the trunk of the car. "So, what's the theory?"

"Honestly," Jaffe paused. "We don't know. Serial murder, kidnapping ring?"

"Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys." Dean derided.

Blaire kicked Dean in the shin as subtle as she could and looked at Sam with a nervous smile. She wound her arm around Dean's and tugged, a signal that it was time to go now.

Sam picked up on her uneasiness and the deputy's growing suspicions. "Thank you for your time. Gentlemen." The tall hunter hurriedly made his way back to the impala.

Bee and Dean were close behind.

Dean slapped the back of Blaire's head. "Ow! You prick- What was that for?" She cried.

"Why'd you have to kick me?" Dean quipped.

Sam gave Dean a disapproving glare. "Why do you have to talk to the police like that?"

This prompts Dean to move in front of Sam and halt their retreat to the car. "Come on. They don't really know what's going on. We're all alone on this. I mean, if we're going to find Dad, we've got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves."

Blaire cleared her throat, warning Dean not to speak any further. She carefully peered over the man's shoulder, showing him that there was someone behind him, listening.

Dean turned around to find the Sheriff and two FBI agents. Now they really did it.

"Can I help you, boys?" The Sheriff uttered, completely ignoring Blaire's presence. So she put it together that either he was sexist or racist. She preferred the former.

"No, sir, we were just leaving," Dean affirmed.

When the FBI agents saw there was no issue, they started for the crime scene.

Dean felt as though he had to get one last quip in before they leave. "Agent Mulder. Agent Scully." He acknowledged the agents.

"Shut up, Stupid." Blaire drawled while grabbing the boys and scurrying out of there before there were any more questions raised.

Once they were out of earshot, Bee tore Dean a new one. "You have gotta stop challengin' authority, Dean. Next thing you know, we're gonna be on TOP 3 most wanted."

"Hey, it'd be an honor to get number one." Dean laughed as they all climbed into Baby and pulled off.

From the slither of information, the trio decided it was best to question Amy.

STREET

HIGHLAND MOVIE THEATER

"Pullover here." Blaire pointed to the movie theater, which had a young brunette woman pinning papers to the wall. Bee hung her head outside the window to get a good look at the flyers in her hands as Dean pulled over and parked the car. It read 'MISSING TROY SQUIRE.'

"That's her." She affirmed.

The triad of hunters exited the car in a uniformed fashion and approached who they assumed to be Amy.

Blaire reached her first, "You must be Amy." The southern belle flashed the woman a charming smile as she leaned against the wall post where Amy was taping the last paper.

"Yeah?" Amy murmured while glancing at the dark-skinned woman and the two men behind her.

"Uh, Troy told us about you. We're his uncles." Dean took his place next to Blaire and gestured between the three as he introduced them. "I'm Dean. That is Sammy, and this is Blaire..." His words died off as he remembered that Bee was a black woman.

"And this is Blaire- his aunt- my wife- She's my wife- his aunt. Yes." The 26-year-old stumbled over his words.

"It's almost like he forgets that we're married," Blaire muttered with her head tilted to the side. Sam furrowed his brows but had no words to say.

Dean just smiled at Blaire, who was currently glaring daggers into his face. He looked back to Amy, who was indifferent to the exchange.

"He never mentioned you to me..." Amy turned as she spoke, digging in her handbag for more flyers.

There couldn't have been more tension between the three of them. It used to be Sam that introduced Blaire as his wife, but now Dean was doing it?

Blaire just returned Dean's pseudo-loving smile while she spoke. "Well, that's Troy, I guess. We're not around much. We're up in Modesto." She then fixed her gaze on Amy, who was walking away.

Sam decided to butt in; he walked around Dean and Bee to stand in front of Amy and prevent her from walking further. "So, we're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking around."

Just then, another young woman scurried behind the trio and placed a hand on Amy's shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah."

"You mind if we ask you a couple questions?" Sam questioned.

"Maybe we could go to a diner?" Blaire added with a sweet smile.

"Sure thing." Amy murmured and stuffed the flyer back into her purse.

The five of them headed over to the diner close by.

DINER

Blaire was sandwiched between the brothers with Dean on the outside and Sam on the inside. Dean had his arm resting across the back of the booth.

"Ya, can I get a bacon 'n egg sandwich- oh! and a cup of coffee." Blaire snapped the menu shut and handed it to the waitress. "Make the coffee black. I like it bitter" The Nubian woman appended.

The waitress nodded and started to walk away, but Bee leaned over Dean to wave the waitress down. "Hold on!"

In the midst of stretching over Dean, her tank top shirt rode up her back, exposing the natural curve of her back as well as her pistol.

"Yes, Ma'am?" The waitress asked from the counter.

Dean reclined back to distance himself from the girl but didn't take his eyes away from the exposed skin and gun. He shifted in his seat as a sheepish smile danced across his face. To be honest, seeing her pistol tucked in her jeans aroused him just a bit but not enough where it was noticeable.

Blaire stayed in her provocative position, unaware of the eyes on her. "Just coffee for the boys and Pepsi-cola for the girls- oh and a slice of pie!" Bee affirmed with a bright smile. "Thanks a million" She sat back down in her seat.

Dean looked up sheepishly at Sam, who was also guilty of ogling at the dark-skinned woman. Amy and Rachel just stared at Blaire in awe. She radiated dominance.

Eventually, the food and drinks came out, and everybody took their respective items. Blaire started chowing down on her food and pointed her fork at Amy. "My bad sweetheart, the drive was long- So tell us what happened."

Bee chewed on her bacon and pushed the slice of pie over to Dean, who just smiled. He picked up his fork and started digging into it.

Amy played with the frayed ends of her sweater. "I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving him. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did."

Sam shifted in his seat. "He didn't say anything strange or out of the ordinary?" He rubbed his thumb along the rim of his cup and then lifted it to his lips.

"No. Nothing I can remember." Amy sighed.

Dean held up his fork and finished the last bits of pie in his mouth. He leaned forward. "Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared- something's not right. So if you've heard anything..."

While Dean was talking, Blaire snuck a few pieces of his pie, jamming the fork into her mouth and snickering. The male hunter just smacked her hand away, but Sam gazed at her with great attention. Blaire's giddy smile; he missed that. She used to smile at him like that; he furrowed his brows and just decided to focus on questioning the girls.

"So, have you heard anything?" Sam questioned

Amy and Rachel exchanged looks which grabbed Blaire's attention. "What?" She inquired.

"Well, it's just...I mean- with all these guys going missing, people talk." Rachel answered.

The triad of hunters spoke in unison. "What do they talk about?" Dean plucked a piece of bacon off of Bee's plate.

This question made Rachel shift in her seat. "It's kind of this local legend. This one girl, she got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago." The teenager paused and inhaled sharply.

During the pause, Dean looked over at Sam with an 'I told you so' expression.

Rachel resumed, "Well, supposedly she's still out there- She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other in unison then down at Bee, who was casually drinking her coffee and nodding.

"Thanks for the info. You both are so kind." The African woman cooed as she finished the last bits of her food.

"Ready, hungry hippo?" Dean teased Blaire, who just roughly pushed him out of the booth and stepped out herself. She dug into her back pocket and gracefully placed the money on the table. The young woman of color strutted out of the diner.

Amy and Rachel both stood from the booth and glanced at Dean with small smiles.

"Your wife is cool."

Rachel's comment earned her a sheepish smile from Dean and a grimace from Sam.

"Thanks, I know- but don't tell her that. It'll go straight to her head." Dean motioned to his head, exploding. "Anyways, Let's go, Sammy." The eldest brother patted Sam on the back and left the diner.

When he and Sam exited the restaurant, they saw a guy hitting on Bee by the impala. Their mood instantly dropped.

STREET

IMPALA

"Sweetheart, I don't think you can handle someone like me." Blaire laughed and slid her hands into her back pocket.

The man felt intrigued by mysteriousness and just placed his hands on her hips. "I'm sure it ain't hard." He whispered into her ear.

Blaire's expression changed at the unwanted contact. "Look, sir. You're sweet 'n all, but I'm not interested. You're about as sharp as a butter knife- So... how about you take your hands off the merchandise. You break, you pay." She drawled. Her eyes met Dean's, who held a heavy and cold gaze.

Dean stepped a little closer with his fist clenched tight. "Problem here?" The hunter asked Blaire, keeping eye contact with the female.

Sam was close behind Dean with a firm expression.

"No, there isn't. Mind your business." The man jeered and pressed Bee against Baby.

"That's my car and that's my-" Dean started but he was interrupted.

The sound of a gun cocking made everyone stop their movements. Being the feisty woman she was, she dug her pistol into the man's thigh, presumably where his dick was. Then she tiptoed and whispered into his ear.

"When I say, 'Hands off the merchandise,' I meant it. Now stop botherin' me before I sick my friends after you, and they don't play well with perverted assholes who force themselves on innocent women. Let alone their best friend." Bee spitfired and dug the barrel of the gun deeper into his thigh.

"Understood?" She beamed.

The oppressor raised his hands and slowly backed away as she kept her gun trained on him. He nodded and scurried off without looking back.

Sam raised his brows at her ferocity. When did she become so aggressive? Maybe he shouldn't have left. He didn't like this side of Bee.

The whole thing amused Dean. "That was awesome." He laughed.

"When did you become so aggressive?" Sam questioned with a hint of disappointment in his voice. He gazed down at his ex.

Blaire tucked her gun away and just let out a small exhale. "When you left me alone for two years. That's when. Now let's head to the library and do research." She searched through her pockets and pulled out her copy of the impala keys.

Bee walked to the driver's side of the car and opened the door. "I'm driving." She mumbled.

"I didn't leave you- You're the one that told me to go." Sam huffed as he followed behind her and slammed the door closed.

"Hey guys, please don't argue now." Dean tried to reason with them, but his plea was ignored. He dragged his hand over his face and shifted on his back foot.

Blaire had a brooding and pensive expression. The angered woman turned around with an expression Sam had never seen; It was hatred.

"I said, 'Go Sammy, and if things go wrong, don't bother coming back to me for help.' That is what I said. Now while you were gone- studying and fucking petite blonde women I almost-" Bee paused and looked away from him to Dean, who just had a somber expression.

Dean shook his head 'no.'

It was as if it was yesterday when Blaire came to Dean sobbing and a mess. He had to help build her back up; now, Sam was undoing all his hard work that took months.

"I'm driving, and You lost shotgun privileges. Dean's front." Blaire muttered, opening the car door and climbing in. She slammed the door shut and jammed the key into the ignition, starting the car.

Bee turned up the music, Metallica's 'Enter Sandman' starting.

Sam looked to Dean, who averted his eyes and climbed into the front passenger seat. The tall hunter felt like an outlier in his own family. He only left for two years, and it's like everyone changed; it was an unsettling feeling. Sam tapped the roof and just got into the car.

Blaire tapped her fingers to the beat as she pulled off into traffic. After a minute of guitar, the vocals finally came in. She sang along to the words.

"Say your prayers little one

Don't forget my son

To include everyone

I tuck you in, warm within

Keep you free from sin."

The car pulled up next to the public library.

LIBRARY

Once the car was parked, Blaire was the first one out. She marched into the library.

Dean stayed behind so he could talk to Sam.

Dean played with the car keys in his pocket and let out a heavy sigh. "Can you be a little cheerier, man? It's like you've become this stickler- don't get me wrong I'm happy for you, but- just be a little easier on Bee...please?"

Sam narrowed his eyes and said nothing; he just shook his head. Why should he be nicer when Blaire broke up with him because he wanted to follow his heart, with her. She could've gone to Stanford too, but her biological dad started young with her. Who starts training at four years old? Who does that to a kid? Sam just wanted more for her, but she claimed hunting was her true calling. She was brainwashed, clearly.

Sam entered the library with Dean close behind.

Instead of being at a computer, Blaire was sitting at a desk with a book on demonology in her hands. Maybe reading up on demons calm her down? They thought since she said they would do research that she would be busy typing away, but they guessed she needed time to herself.

Dean sat at a computer and opened a web browser. It automatically loaded to 'Jericho Herald.'

"Check the archive search page."Sam pointed.

"I know," Dean grumbled and clicked on the tab. He clicked on the search bar and began typing 'Female murder hitchhiking' and then clicked GO. There were 0 results. The 26-year old narrowed his eyes and began editing the words. He replaced 'hitchhiking' with 'Centennial Highway.' and got the same 0 results.

Sam reached for the keyboard, "Let me try."

Dean, acting like a 5-year-old, smacked Sam's hand away. "I got it."

Sam shoved Dean's rolling chair out of the way and took over the computer.

"Dude!" Dean exclaimed and hit his brother in the shoulder. "You're such a control freak." He grumbled.

Not too long after Dean's outburst, Blaire slapped both her hands on each of the brothers' shoulders, whispering as she bent over. "I can't even read alone without you two barkin' at each other. This is a library. You're 'sposed to be quiet, children."

"You know, I almost mistook you for the librarian." Dean teased while scooting closer to the computer.

"Uh-huh, whatever. Find anything?" Blaire walked to Dean's left side of the chair and sat on the armrest.

"Not yet, I was just thinking- angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?" Sam quizzed.

"Yeah." Blaire and Dean spoke in unison.

"Okay, well, maybe it's not murder." Sam replied as he replaced 'murder' with 'suicide' and one article titled 'Suicide on Centennial.' Dean glanced at Sam either in awe or annoyance, maybe both.

Blaire observed but grew impatient, so she reached over Dean and clicked the article. "1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river." She read aloud.

They all stared at Constance's picture before Dean spoke up. "Does it say why she did it?"

"Yeah, An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently, her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die." Sam informed them.

"Hm." Blaire hummed.

Sam continued reading the article. " 'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband, Joseph Welch."

"That bridge look familiar to you?" Dean asked in the rhetorical sense.

"What a coincidence." Blaire murmured and hopped off of the chair.

Dean pushed himself up from the chair and reached in his pocket for the car keys, "Let's get going, it's getting dark."

Sam turned off the computer and followed close behind the other two.

They all climbed into the chevy impala, and by the time they arrived at the bride, it was dark.

SYLVANIA BRIDGE

NIGHT

The triad of hunters walked alongside the bridge; Dean was front, Blaire was middle, Sam was last. Blair traced her digits on the cold metallic railing and peered over the side at the rushing water.

"Poor Constance..." Blaire mumbled.

"So, this is where Constance took the swan dive." Dean looked over the edge along with Bee.

Sam gripped the railing and glanced at Dean "So you think Dad would have been here?"

Blaire leaned over the railing, her eyes glossing over as unwanted memories resurfaced. "Take me instead..." She mumbled to herself as she dug her nails into the rusted metal.

Around rivers and large bodies of water, Blaire disassociated. It wasn't because of phobia, but more of that, she witnessed something horrible as a kid. No kid should be close enough to the water to where they get dragged in by a water wraith. Jaxon blamed himself, 'he should have seen the signs,' He thought. But that wasn't the case, at all.

She was in the veil for 5 minutes, before suddenly being yanked out. Bobby had to come and finish the job. That's where he found little Bumblebee.

Blaire shut her eyes and took deep breaths as she tried her best to fight the impending flashback. She heard Dean's gruff voice and smiled wanly.

"Well, he's chasing the same story, and we're chasing him." Dean clarified while heading back to the car.

Sam followed Dean, pressing him for information. "Okay, so now what?"

It took all the strength Blaire had to pull away from the railing and take her place between the guys. She sensed an argument brewing.

Dean held up his arms and sighed. "Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while."

The younger sibling stopped walking and tilted his head back. He couldn't spend forever looking for John. "Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday-"

Dean pivoted on his heel and laughed, "Monday. Right. The interview."

Blaire stepped off to Dean's left side, showing she sided with Dean. Her eyes followed the conversation.

"Yeah," Sam replied simply.

The huntress held up her hands and shook her head in disapproval. "Guys, not right now...Constance, remember?" Her tone was somber.

Dean glanced at Blaire with a raised brow. He completely forgot about her PTSD until he heard the sound of the rushing water. Sam still had no clue as to what happened or how her father died. For some reason Blaire felt close enough to tell Dean after many years avoiding the topic; in some ways, he felt honored, but now he just felt constricted, sad by the fact that he couldn't save her from that horrific event. Dean thought back to Sam and him leaving them.

"I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you?" Dean gestured with his hands while talking. "You think you're just gonna become some lawyer?" He furrowed his brows and gazed at Bee, who was eyeing him with a morose look and clouded eyes. "Marry your girl?" Dean concluded with spite in his voice.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Maybe, Why not?"

Hearing those words broke Blaire. Imagine being with someone for six years and then hearing that he planned to marry someone he only met two years ago. To her, it felt like her heart was carved out of her chest and set on fire.

Tears pricked at her dry eyes, causing her to blink many times before a tear finally fell and ran down her left cheek, only visible to Dean.

Dean clenched his jaw and masked his anger with a laugh. "Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?" He jeered.

The tall hunter inched closer to Dean, "No, and she's not ever going to know." There was a slight twitch in his eyes, almost as if he felt threatened by what Dean had asked.

Sam's reaction gave Bee a bad taste in her mouth. Maybe it was the anxiety or oncoming depression, or both- whichever it was; it made her want to hurl. She let out a shaky breath and began walking to the car, her wet cheeks hidden behind her curly hair.

"Well, that's healthy." Dean mocked. "You can pretend all you want, Sammy, But sooner or later you're gonna have to face up to who you really are." He hummed while turning away, catching up with Blaire, who was drifting off to the left side of the bridge.

Sam was taken aback by Dean's assumption. "And who's that?" He hurriedly made his way around the two and stopped in front of them, making them halt as well. The brunette glared daggers into Dean.

"You're one of us." Dean put it simply.

"No, I'm not like you two. This is not going to be my life." Sam spat.

Dean curled and uncurled his fist, angry at the fact that Sam was acting like a complete douche. "Like us two? You have a responsibility to-"

"To our Dads? And their crusade? If it weren't for pictures, we wouldn't even know what our moms look like." Sam held disdain in his voice as he looked Dean in the eyes.

He recommenced. "And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed them, our Moms are gone...And they aren't coming back." Sam spewed.

Blaire inhaled sharply. She never liked family arguments, they were overwhelming, and you always had to pick a side. Sam was more of a bitch than he used to be. Why did he have to mention their moms? Bee had many early memories of her mother. They were faint, but it is what kept her going through challenging hunts or when she felt like she was alone.

That was the last straw that broke the camel's back. Dean grabbed Sam by his collar and shoved him up against the metal support beam.

"Don't talk about her like that." Dean dug his nails into the fabric, close to tearing into it until he heard the faint sound of Blaire's heels thudding against the concrete, followed by a small,

"Dean..."

The huntress stared ahead at the apparition of the vengeful spirit that stood on the railing. "Guys..." Blaire sniffled and slowly made her way to the woman in the white gown.

Dean released his little brother from his death grip and also advanced toward the ghost.

Constance looked over at them and boldly leaned forward off of the ledge. The trio broke out in a sprint but got to the scene too late.

"Where'd she go?" Blaire breathed as she peered over the rail.

Dean panted, "I don't know."

Just then, Baby's lights and engine turn on, prompting the three hunters to turn around. "What the-" Dean started.

"Who's driving your car?" Sam quizzed, assuming someone must've stolen the keys.

Simultaneously, Blaire and Dean held up their copy of the keys and jingled them. It was like Christine, the killer car from Stephen King's novel; Baby jerked into motion, barreling straight for them.

They all turned and began sprinting down the bridge. Ultimately the car was faster than they are, and as it got closer, Dean instinctively wrapped his arms around Blaire's waist and leaped with her off the bridge. Dean took the brunt of the fall, his back smacking hard against the water, he tightened his hold on the woman.

Sam also jumped but caught on to the edge of the bridge, saving him from the murky water. He swung his legs, creating a momentum before he hauled himself back onto the bridge. "Blaire?! Dean?!" His voice boomed.

Just below the bridge, two filthy and agitated bodies laid on the mud; Blaire still on top of Dean. "What?" Dean rasped.

"Hey! Are you guys, alright?" Sam looked over the side of the bridge, relieved.

The mud-covered woman rolled off of her best friend and held up an A-OK sign. "Super!" She laughed off the pain.

With that response, Sam also laughed and backed away from the edge. He retreated to the car and waited for the duo to arrive.

"You did not have to pull me in with you- my hair is all dirty." Blaire whined as she pushed herself off the muddy ground. "It's in every crevice!" She screamed and smacked Dean in the arm as he got up from the ground.

"Look, it was either the water or get run over. I didn't wanna see a Bee pancake, so we took a dive. I just wanted to hold on to you-" Dean paused and just put on his best fake smile. She didn't need to know the real reason. "You're so tiny, a gust of wind could knock you over." He teased while hiking up the trail.

The African woman scoffed, "Wow, How chivalrous of you." She also hiked up the hill.

Soon the two reached the car, meeting a clean and pleasant smelling, Sam.

Dean immediately went to open the hood and check the engine. He bent over and poked at a few parts, seeing everything was intact.

While Dean was checking on Baby, Sam checked on Blaire. "You okay?" He whispered.

"Yeah...thanks for asking." Blaire beamed. She was genuinely happy that Sam had actually talked to her without ill intentions. It felt nice to be cared about for a little bit. Her smile lingered. The sound of the hood shutting pulled her away from Sam's gaze.

"She alright?" Bee asked Dean while raking her fingers through her mud-caked hair.

"Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems alright now- That Constance chick, what a bitch!" Dean bitched at the air, pouting like a small child. Blaire giggled and leaned against Baby's right side, next to Samuel.

"Well, She doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure." Sam sighed and took a spot next to his brother on the hood. "So, where's the job go from here, genius?"

Dean's only response was him throwing his hands up in frustration and a strong pout. He flicked the mud off his hands.

Sam sniffed the air. "You guys smell like a toilet." He teased.

"Oh yeah?" Blaire challenged. "We smell like a toilet?" She snickered and brought her hands up to the male, threatening to rub the muck all over him.

Sam speedily distanced himself by running around the car. "Don't!"

When Dean joined in the fun of chasing Sammy around the car, everything felt like it was going to be okay.

Eventually, the trio decided it was best to head to a motel and clean up.

PART THREE

SERIES REWRITE MASTERLIST

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