#gall force star front

[studioalmain]

MODEL GRAPHIX SPECIAL - STAR FRONT GALL FORCE (1988)

Two rare sights online, I personally scanned and colored in some of Kenichi Sonoda’s lovely Gall Force art from the Model Graphix special for your delectation. :3c

First comes from the back cover sans dust cover and depicts Patty in an unused power armor not featured in the story proper.

Second is Rabby in her Struggle Suit with it’s iconic rabbit ears (hur hurrr get it it’s a punnnn) often featured in the model comic and in promo material, but alas a colorized version of the lineart is excruciatingly rare online, so I recreated it here.

Compare it to the vinyl model of Rabby they released around the same time!

[skelkankaos]

Gall Force Star Front concept art by Kenichi Sonoda

[laboitediabolique]

Cover of "Model Graphix Special: Star Front Gall Force" book, Dai Nippon Kaiga, 1986. Predating the "Gall Force" anime franchise by more than a year, this book compiles an original serialised story created by planning and production company Artmic and published in Model Graphix magazine from March 1985 to July 1986 using photographs of scratch built models. The characters were designed by Kenichi Sonoda. Scanned from my personal collection.

[thecooler]

Interstellar Molecular Cloud

It ends with Bonnie and Marceline clinging to each other as they fall towards their deaths. It begins with two lost girls, alone in the wasteland, finding hope in each other. An exploration of Bonnie and Marcy's early relationship in the Alternate Universe presented in "The Star".

Relationship: Princess Bubblegum / Marceline

Tags: Vampworld!Au, Vampire Hunter PB, Angst, Friends to Enemies, Post-Apocalypse

Word Count: 5,930

A03 Mirror

Bonnibel Bubblegum is thirteen years old when she meets her for the first time. She is thirteen years old, and she has blood on her hands. This isn’t something that bothers her, really. Vampire blood isn’t like regular person blood. It’s a mark of honor, if anything, a badge she wears with great pride. She’s snuffed out more vamps than anyone she knows.

Not that she knows many people.

She’s picking her way through what used to be a convenience store. For the most part, it’s long since been picked clean, but Bonnie is resourceful— has to be, to make it out here. She sets a sensor at the main entrance, then two more near the broken windows, and then she gets to work. She breaks tables apart and whittles their legs into stakes. She takes apart broken down cash registers and pockets parts that have even the slight possibility of being useful.

One of her sensors goes off, and her blaster is out of her pocket before she even turns around, gripped confidently as her other hand falls to one of the stakes lining her belt. She falters when she registers what’s in front of her.

She’s a girl. Around Bonnie’s age, by the look of it. She has short cropped black hair, pointed ears, and slate-gray skin. She’s wearing a deep, dark purple dress with black lacy bits around the skirts, and if Bonnie were to allow herself to stop and really look for a second, she might note that it’s pretty on her. But what really stands out about her is the long, exposed length of her neck. Bonnie lets her blaster fall to her side and uses her free hand to tug her scarf up over her nose.

“Uh. Hey,” the other girl says, taking a step closer when Bonnie begins to rifle through her bag. She pulls out a spare scarf— a tattered old thing with more than a couple mysterious stains marring the ruddy surface. She shoves it towards the stranger.

“You should really cover up,” she says curtly.

The girl looks down at the offering, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant, familiar sound of oozers groaning a few blocks away. And then the girl’s lips quirk up into a smile, and to Bonnie’s outrage and horror, she laughs. Not just a little chuckle, either. This girl is full-on guffawing. She’s loud about it too, like she doesn’t know how dangerous it is to be heard. Bonnie moves faster than she can think, smacking her hand over the other girl’s mouth.

And she licks it.

“Uhg!” Bonnie pulls back, nose wrinkling in disgust, and the girl laughs even louder.

Bonnie’s hand clamps down on the handle of her blaster until it hurts. She takes a step back, glaring daggers in the girl’s direction. Once she manages to stop laughing for two seconds, pausing to wipe tears from her eyes, she has the gall to extend a hand towards Bonnie. Her smile is crooked and it’s not even a little bit charming. “Name’s Marceline,” she says, like Bonnie cares.

“Well, Marceline,” Bonnie forces as much contempt as she can muster into the name. She hates how it feels on her tongue, “a vamp’s gonna use you like a ding—danged juicebox if you don’t cover up your neck.”

“Uh, yeah,” Marceline rolls her eyes, which makes the fire in Bonnie’s chest burn and lap up her throat, “I wouldn’t worry about that, princess. Vamps won’t even think about touching me.” She says it with this maddening unearned confidence, and Bonnie thinks she’s never been so angry in her entire life. She shoves her blaster roughly back into its holster. She should just leave, let Marceline get what’s coming to her. She’s never paused for anyone else before.

But she’s watching Bonnie with these big brown eyes, and that stupid crooked grin hasn’t left her face. Her posture is relaxed, hands dug into pockets that look hastily patched onto her skirts. “Sooooo—” she says, tilting back on the balls of her feet, “where are y’off to now?”

None of your business, Bonnie thinks. “My tank,” she says out loud. She’s disarming her sensors and popping them back in her pockets. The sound of the oozers is closer now. She might need to move the tank for the night.

“Woah, back up— your tank?” Marceline echoes, suddenly right over Bonnie’s shoulder. “Nuh-uh. You can’t just say something like that and then not show me. C’mon, princess—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then tell me your name.”

She pauses, looking over Marceline. How has she survived like this? She seems so carefree, like she’s not even a little bit scared. She finds she can’t stay mad about it. There’s something entrancing there— something that Bonnie finds she can’t define. And she isn’t used to not knowing things. It makes her want to talk to Marceline more, to find out how she ticks. “Bonnie. Follow me, and keep up.”

Her tank— which is a bit of a misnomer, if she’s being honest— is parked nearby. It’s really more of a pick-up truck rigged with traps and reinforced windows. As she approaches she reaches into her left pocket and taps a code into a remote, deactivating her security system so that she and Marceline can clamber inside. Bonnie climbs into the passenger seat and watches through narrowed eyes as the other girl ooos and ahhs over her equipment.

“What’s this do?” she asks, picking up one of her more recent projects, which will hopefully sense vampiric presence within a three kilometer radius once finished.

“It’s a bomb,” Bonnie says flatly, then snorts when Marceline drops it in a hurry.

“Kidding. It’s a sensor I’ve been working on.”

Marceline blinks at her, then her face breaks into a smile again, and this time it makes Bonnie’s heart skip. Bizarre. “I didn’t know you joked.”

“You don’t know me at all.” No one does. She tries to keep it that way.

“Okay,” Marceline leans closer, propping herself up against the armrest, “then let’s get to know each other.”

Bonnie knows she should say no. Instead, she says, “Alright.”

☆

In one of the seats of her truck, under a section of peeled leather, Bonnie keeps a thin stack of papers and a collection of pencils. The paper is gray, thin, and worn from countless times being drawn on, then erased. When she’s alone in her truck at night— when Marceline goes home, or she finishes scavenging on her own, she’ll take out the paper and use moonlight to sketch little candy people. She imagines what they’d be like, what their hopes and aspirations would be.

She’s never breathed a word of it to anyone, much less shown them. To be fair, she hasn’t really had anyone to tell. But one day, when Marceline stays a little later than usual, Bonnie pulls out one of her drawings, and she tells her friend about a sentient Root Beer who’s an aspiring crime novelist, and Marceline listens.

☆

Bonnibel Bubblegum is fifteen years old when she figures out what a crush is. She’s fifteen years old, and she’s running for her stinkin’ life through a crumbling alleyway with Marceline’s hand clutched in hers. They’d been sitting in the back of her truck, like they did all the time, and clearly, Bonnie had let herself grow complicit, unobservant, because one minute she was listening to Marceline read out one of the kissy bits in an old romance novel they’d scavenged, and the next she was looking around and realizing there were about twenty vampires lurking around the corner.

She should’ve just gotten in the truck. If she’d given herself a moment to think, they’d both be safe in the vehicle and bookin’ it down the road, knocking vampire heads along the way.

But instead she’d panicked.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

And now Marceline’s in danger, too, and she’s giggling as Bonnie drags her along, like it’s some sort of game. Like there isn’t a gaggle of parasites looking to leech their fluids. Bonnie skids around a corner and throws both of them against a wall, arm slamming against Marceline’s chest. Her breaths come out heavy and ragged, and her free hand begins to pick at her belt.

Four stakes, a garlic bomb— she doesn’t even have her blaster.

“Bonnie?” Marceline looks worried— which is the response she should have been having from the start. For her part, Bonnie jerks her arm away from her chest and adjusts her scarf in hopes of covering the blush she knows is creeping up her neck. Marceline always teases her for how obvious it is when she gets flustered.

“They’re probably still on our tails. Dang nabit! I shoulda been paying more attention. You distracted me!” she points an accusing finger at Marceline, nearly poking her in the nose. But the other girl, unperturbed, bats her finger away.

“Look! We’re fine. I’m telling you, Bonbon, vamps never mess with me.”

She says that a lot. Whenever Bonnie brings up the subject of vampires, she hedges, changes the subject. She’s never pushed it, because she figures that she’s just putting on her little tough girl act or whatever, but right now Bonnie’s pumped on adrenaline and her body wants to feel a million intense emotions at once, so she settles on anger.

“Why?” she asks, crowding Marceline up against the crumbling brick. “Why don’t they mess with you, Marceline?”

Marceline blinks, her cheeks flushing dark, something that Bonnie doesn’t think she’s ever seen. “Uh— do you need to be so close for this conversation?”

“Answer me.” She is so done with this. She’s watched vampires drain hundreds of people. They don’t even hesitate, so what makes Marceline so damn special?

Marceline laughs nervously, eyes darting away, her blush deepening. She waves her hands in vague gestures and makes a couple aborted attempts to start a sentence— well, uh, you know— before eventually pushing out. “I mean, I haven’t died so far, right?”

She looks tense, and her voice wavers as she speaks. She seems almost scared. And that, at least, makes sense to Bonnie. That, at least, is familiar. She breathes out a long, heavy sigh and takes a step back, then another. Her back hits the opposite wall and she slides down until she hits the ground and her baggy cargo pants immediately soak through with what she’s going to assume, for her own sanity, is water. “I worry about you, you know.” She can’t meet Marceline’s eyes when she says it. Doesn’t need to. She can vividly imagine the wrinkle of her brow, the way her lips tug into a tiny frown and her deep brown eyes take on that almost pleading look. Bonnie crowds her knees to her chest and focuses on a random brick in the wall instead.

“Bon,” Marceline’s voice is soft, barely audible over the persistent noise of the dead city— the wind rattling dilapidated architecture, the skittering of mutated rats. Her hand falls on Bonnie’s shoulder, causing her to tense, “you don’t need to worry about me.”

Hot, fiery indignation rises in Bonnie— it burns through her chest and prickles uncomfortably up her spine. “Of course I worry about you, you- you nimrod!” she lets out a frustrated growl when Marceline has the nerve to snort at the insult, “you’re the only person I have in this place— you’re my only friend. If you die because you couldn’t be bothered to take care of yourself, then—” then she’d be back to the way she was before. The way she’d been for as long as she could remember. Alone. Surviving.

She doesn’t understand how she can be just fine on her own for thirteen years, and now, after knowing Marceline for two, she can’t even conceive of going back to that. She stands, and Marceline, for once, is stunned silent, mouth hanging slightly open. “If you’re not gonna take care of yourself, at least let me protect you.” She knows immediately that it’s a silly thing to say. Marceline is all she has, but she knows that she isn’t all Marceline has. She has a dad, somewhere. She’s never met him, because Marceline insists she wouldn’t get along with him. She doesn’t need protection from her, specifically.

It’s also silly because she knows good and well that Marceline can brawl with the best of them. She’s seen her smash a mutant rat skull under her steel-toed boots more than a few times.

The weight of just how much she doesn’t need Bonnibel sits like a rock in her stomach. Her shoulders sag, and the fire snuffs out in her. All at once, she feels exhausted.

And then Marceline’s arms are around her, and she’s being drawn into a hug, and an altogether different sort of flame lights up her chest. It makes it hard to breathe. Her hands hover awkwardly over Marceline’s back for a moment, before settling gently against the soft fabric of her tank top.

“You know, for a total braniac, you can be a real numbskull.”

Bonnie pulls back, intending to glare, but when she’s met with a signature Marceline grin, her heart skips a beat, and she knows the look she ends up shooting her is nowhere near intimidating. Marceline tilts her head and hums quietly. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll let you play knight for me, alright?”

“That’s not—”

“And I’ll be more careful. If it pleases the lady.”

Bonnie's shoulders box up around her ears, and her fingernails dig into her palms, “It does.”

“Alright then,” Marceline reaches over and attempts to tousle her short-cropped hair, only to pull back. “I, uh, sometimes forget you’re like, actually made of candy.”

And then they both snort, and the tension evaporates. There’s a moment of silence, before Marceline pats her on the back and gestures with a wave of her hand. “C’mon, all that running around made me hungry. I think there’s an old soda machine nearby. Bet we could smash it up and get you some parts while we’re there, huh?”

She punctuates the sentence with another lopsided smile, and doesn’t wait for Bonnie to respond before sauntering off. Bonnie watches her go for a moment, her heart still thumping loud enough that she’s surprised Marceline doesn’t hear it. Or she would be, if she was less aware of how her own cardiovascular system worked.

She thinks back to the romance novel they’d been reading together. She has a stack of them in the glove compartment of her truck. A lot of them are missing parts, or are partially rotted. But she cherishes them anyway— she cherishes the flowery prose, and the silly, saccharine protagonists. But she doesn’t think she’s ever fully understood them until now.

The revelation takes all of ten seconds. And then, Bonnie straightens her back, adjusts her scarf, and follows behind Marceline.

☆

Marceline never brings her back to her house. She says that her dad likes to keep it a secret, that he’s real paranoid. Bonnie asks where she gets her attitude from, and Marceline tells her she’s a wild child. And the next day, she brings a red bass guitar in the shape of a labrys.

She tells Bonnie that she can’t bring her home, but she can bring Bonnie something of hers.

And then she sings, and it’s awkward, and fumbling. She keeps stopping to laugh and apologize, adjusting her instrument or clearing her throat before continuing on, or starting a new song altogether.

She sings about making it on your own, and busting up oozers, and day-old fries. She sings about sweet candy, and she looks into Bonnie’s eyes while she does it.

☆

Bonnibel Bubblegum is seventeen years old when everything changes. She’s seventeen years old, and she’s pretty sure she’s gonna die for real this time.

She’s in an old storm drain, up to her ankles in stagnant, tepid water. Marceline’s breathing heavily next to her, and for once in her life she actually looks properly scared. She doesn’t have time to be vindicated now, though, because at their back is a wall of rubble, and in front of them is an army of huge, mutated, six-legged squirrels. Their teeth are long and gnarled, their eyes bulging and blind. They can barely keep themselves upright as they lumber towards them, and if there weren’t so dang many of them, maybe there’d be a chance of fighting them off.

Bonnie feels cold, but she feels calm, too. She’s read, before, about people getting all calm before they die. Like— there’s nothing more you can do, so you might as well close your eyes and accept it. Like your brain is giving you one last moment of peace before you bite the big one.

She looks over at Marceline, awash in pale gray light filtering through tiny holes in the ceiling, and she doesn’t completely think through her words before she says, “Marceline,” she reaches up and presses her palm to Marceline’s cheek. Deep brown eyes, wild with fear, soften minutely when they meet hers. “Before we get all mashed up into squirrel chow—” uh “— can I kiss you?”

Marceline stares at her, slack-jawed, and it lasts for maybe five seconds, which is more than enough time for Bonnie’s mind to start panicking. She flips through apologies, she contemplates going out in a blaze of glory smashing squirrel skulls just to have something to distract her in her final seconds. Her hand jolts away from Marceline’s cheek, but the other girl grabs her wrist and holds it in place.

And then she says, “My dad’s the Vampire King.”

The squirrels are going to be on them in less than thirty seconds. There’s a huge pile of rocks behind them. Bonnie has never been more fucking angry in her entire life. A loud, guttural, “WHAT?” rips from her throat, and it doesn’t even sound like her. In that moment, Bonnie realizes that she has to get out of here alive, because there’s no way she’s going willingly to any dead world with this as her last memory. She whips her blaster out of its holster, tugs Marceline roughly behind her by the arm, and begins to blast the top of the rubble pile.

Bits of stone shoot like bullets, scraping against their skin, “Ow! Bonnie—” Marceline starts, but she’s interrupted by Bonnie hooking an arm under her legs and hoisting her up and through the narrow hole her blasts have managed to create. “Climb, you dink!” And, to her benefit, Marceline climbs, Bonnie hot on her heels.

The two of them fall in a heap on the other side, and Bonnie is ready to tear Marceline a new one right then and there, but one of those freaky squirrels is shoving its grubby mitts through the hole, dislodging more rocks. “Book it, Marceline— this conversation isn’t over,” Bonnie says, shoving Marceline along, which evokes a hiss from the other girl, but she doesn’t argue.

Water soaks into Bonnie’s cargo pants— it seeps into her boots and drenches her socks as they slosh through the tunnel, fighting towards the light at the end. Sunlight breaks upon them, and they don’t stop running. The grass is slippery under their feet, but they climb their way to the top of a hill, so they’re at a vantage point, in the shade of a solitary oak tree, alive against all odds. Kind of like them.

Bonnie’s hands are gripping her knees as she catches her breath, and her jaw is tensed so hard it’s starting to hurt. When she glares up at Marceline, the vampire hugger at least has the self-awareness to look ashamed, for a moment, before she looks away. 

“Don’t—” Bonnie huffs, “—don’t look away from me. You have a whole world of explaining to do, like, yesterday.”

“Orrrrr we could go back to that bit about kissing?” Marceline hedges, but Bonnie is having absolutely none of that. The part of her who’d asked for that, minutes ago, is as good as staked through the heart. The look she’s giving Marceline must convey at least some of that, because she swallows, presses her back against the gnarled oak tree, and slides down. Once she hits the ground, she starts bonking her head gently against the tree. “Well, what do you want me to tell you?”

“Uh, how about you start by telling me how long you’ve been rubbin’ shoulders with bloodsuckers?” Bonnie snaps, sitting cross-legged and straight-backed across from Marceline. All business. Marceline looks at her with her biggest puppy-dog eyes, and Bonnie does a valiant job at pretending to be unaffected. “Talk.” She says through gritted teeth.

“I mean—” Marceline clenches her fists, looks at the ground, “I knew you were gonna be weird about this.”

“Uh, no doi? I’ve been staking those suckers since I was old enough to walk— they’re crashing the mammalian population of this continent into nothing, Marceline. It’s not sustainable, and it’s not right.”

Marceline’s shoulders tense, “Oh yeah, because it’s always Bonnibel Bubblegum who gets to decide what’s right.”

“Oh, can it, Marceline! It doesn’t take a masters’ in ethics to figure out that slurpin’ people’s juices up nasty style isn’t a cool thing to do.”

“And so what are we supposed to do—”

“Oh, so it’s we now?” Bonnie is aware that her voice is higher than she’d usually allow it to go. At this volume, they’re bound to draw attention, but she’s past caring about that.

“Yeah— we— because my dad is the Vampire King,” Marceline is standing now, forcing herself into Bonnie’s space. She responds by standing straight and tilting her chin up. She forces herself to look into Marceline’s eyes as she tears their relationship up from the inside. “We don’t have any other choice. We have to feed somehow.”

“Have you tried anything else?” Bonnie’s voice is ice cold. She knows the answer to the question, but she feels no vindication when Marceline averts her gaze. “Of course not.”

Silence hangs between them for a moment, and Bonnie hugs her arms around herself, busies herself by checking the perimeter. The squirrels must’ve found something else to focus on, or they couldn’t manage to get through the opening she made.

“What do you want me to do, Bonnie?” Marceline’s voice is defeated, and sadder than she’s ever heard it.

Bonnie’s grip tightens around herself. She bites down on her tongue and does not let her frustration bubble up into tears. She won’t give Marceline the satisfaction. “I want you to be better than them,” she says, “vampires can’t keep feeding like they have, or you’ll run out of food before the end of the decade, and then,” she shrugs. And then, it didn’t matter. The vampires would turn on themselves, or they’d starve. Either way, it ends in desolation, unless something changes.

She manages to look at Marceline again, and she knows immediately that it’s a mistake. She’s never been able to keep up her walls when those big brown eyes get watery. “You’re not a vampire yet,” she says, reaching out tentatively. Her hand hovers over Marceline’s shoulder, hesitant but inviting— practically begging for her to move into her space. To give her something, anything. Bonnibel Bubblegum has never been one to beg, but the words crowd now at the back of her throat. Please, she wants to say, I don’t have anyone else. Don’t turn your back on me.

Marceline stares at her hovering hand, then meets her gaze. She steps back, and Bonnie’s hand falls back to her side. “Not yet. He isn’t gonna turn me until my eighteenth birthday.”

She says it like an inevitability, like she’s already made her choice. In six months, unless something changes, Marceline is going to build a wall between them that can never be surmounted. Bonnie feels her airways tighten. She should have seen this coming, really, so maybe it’s her fault. It all seems so obvious in retrospect— the secrecy about her dad, the nonchalance about vampires. How did she never see it?

“I think being around you makes me stupid.”

Marceline flinches back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bonnie doesn’t respond. She turns away from the girl she thought she knew, and begins her walk home.

“Goodnight, Marceline,” she whispers, and she doesn’t look back.

☆

Bonnie spends the next six months dedicated to her work. Marceline comes by a few times, tries to start up a conversation, like nothing’s changed. She doesn’t bring up her dad, or anything they talked about. Bonnie ignores her until she leaves, and ignores the way doing so makes her chest ache and burn. She finishes building her tank, and she shows it off to no one.

☆

Bonnibel Bubblegum is eighteen years old the first time she tries to kill Marceline.

She’s been avoiding her. They’ve talked very briefly a couple of times since that day on the hill, but Bonnie isn’t willing to let her guard down again. She keeps thinking about all the sides of herself she’s shown Marceline over the years— about all her silly little passion projects she’s shown off. She let her read her corny romance novels— she wanted to kiss her. She doesn’t understand how she’d miscalculated so severely, but she knows she can’t let it happen again.

Marceline’s birthday grows closer. Usually, on the night of, after Marceline was done spending the day with her family (she thinks, now, about how she was never invited and why, and she bites down so hard on the inside of her cheek that she tastes thick, syrupy blood), the two of them would sit up on a rooftop and watch the sun dip behind the hazy horizon. Bonnie didn’t know when her birthday was when they met, had never thought it mattered. So back on the first birthday they spent together, Marceline declared they could share one.

They would sit, year after year, and exchange gifts, and talk until their eyelids were droopy and they were one good yawn away from passing out in the open.

It was all so miserably soft.

Tonight, she doesn’t bring a gift. She has eight stakes in her belts, and some flash bombs and a pocket knife in the deep pockets of her best cargo pants. In her back pocket— the one that zips up— is the keys to her tank. She’d come here to answer one question, and she’s prepared for whichever answer Marceline has to give her. At least, her mind is ready. Her heart will just have to tough it out.

She doesn’t even make it to the roof before she bumps into Marceline, in the dingy bottom floor of the abandoned house. Half the floorboards are missing, and the ceiling is partially collapsed onto what used to be a couch. Marceline is in a form-fitting knee-length red dress with long sleeves. She looks good. “You came,” she says, sounding breathless. She holds out a tiny box wrapped in newspaper. Bonnie doesn’t take it.

“You said that your dad would turn you when you were eighteen,” she glances at Marceline’s neck, exposed as always, and finds no marks.

Marceline swallows, and Bonnie has to look away again, “I asked him to wait,” she says, “I wanted to talk to you first.”

She knows that she shouldn’t let hope take root in her, but she can’t quite hide her yearning flinch at the words. They hang above her, ripe with possibility. But she won’t be reckless, like she had been before. “Talk to me about what, exactly?” and she makes herself meet Marceline’s eyes as she says it, even if doing so makes it feel like she’s being torn apart and left out in the sun for the vultures.

“Bonnie,” Marceline says carefully, like she thinks Bonnie might break. She steps forward, and Bonnie steps back. Marceline’s eyes are big and brown and beautiful, and so, so sad. “I want to be your friend. I miss you.”

I miss you too, she doesn’t say, because what she really misses is ignorance. But damn if her heart doesn’t twist and burn with desire. Damn if she doesn’t want to push herself into Marceline’s arms and take whatever she’ll give her. But it isn’t just about the two of them. It never has been.

“Marceline, I have one question,” she doesn’t move to grab a weapon yet, but she does adjust her feet for better motion, “do you still plan on becoming a vampire?”

Marceline’s breath hitches, and her eyes dart to the side. Her brows furrow, and again, that pesky little seed of hope threatens to take root. But then, she speaks, and she says, “Yes, Bonnie. I do.” 

Bonnie stares at the person she once called friend, and it looks like she’s pleading, though for what, she can’t be sure. Their friendship, maybe. Or maybe just mercy. In either case, Bonnie can’t offer her what she wants.

“Okay, then,” Bonnie says, and she rips a stake out of her belt and bursts into motion.

Her body collides with Marceline’s, and surprise offers her an advantage. Marceline lets out a sharp yelp and crashes against the rotten wood underfoot. She bites out the first part of Bonnie’s name, but is cut short when Bonnie’s palm collides with her forehead and slams her head back.

Tears blur Bonnie’s vision. She wants to get this over with quickly. She’s spent days thinking about how it’ll play out, and days weeping pathetically in her tank when she considered the thought of Marceline’s blood under her fingernails. A necessary evil, she told herself over and over, hoping that in doing so she would solidify it as a truth.

I’m hurting you because I love you, bounces loudly in her skull, but all that erupts from her throat is a formless, pained caterwaul as she slips her pocket knife out and flips it open. She sounds like a trapped animal in its death throes.

“Fuck you, Bonnie!” Marceline cries, and then she jerks up and bites hard where Bonnie’s thumb joint meets her palm. Bonnie’s body reacts before her mind can catch up, and she stumbles backwards, giving Marceline the opportunity to clamber on top of her, legs bracketing her hips. She has a stake in a white-knuckle grip, and Bonnie isn’t sure how she got it, but she’s holding it over her head and shaking, and tears are running down her cheeks and falling onto Bonnie’s scarf.

Something she learned early on, before Marceline was a name in her head, is that hesitation is what gets you killed. Vampires can move lightning quick, and if you pause for even a second, that’s ample time for them to get their fangs in you. Marceline won’t ever be a vampire if she can help it, and right now she’s trembling and clenching her teeth, and her cheeks are flushed with frustration. Bonnie refuses to look in her eyes. She slams a fist against the other girl’s temple and doesn’t waste time watching her roll.

Her legs shake despite her best efforts as she hauls herself up. “I’m doing you a favor, you know,” she says, and she hates that she can hear a waver in her voice. She hates that tears are stinging at the backs of her eyes and her throat is tightening painfully.

“You tried to stab me.”

She isn’t going to get it, and there’s really no point in explaining herself. Marceline has proven she’s too far gone. Years under the Vampire King’s influence has poisoned her mind, and the only antidote is a swift and merciful death. Bonnie clenches tighter around the handle of her knife. “Vampires don’t make it past the first dead world,” is all she can manage to say, and then she has to move again.

Hesitation is what gets you killed. If she pauses, she might change her mind, and she can’t afford that.

She lunges again, but surprise isn’t on her side this time, and Marceline may not be a Vampire, but she was raised in the wasteland, same as her, and for all the worries of her youth, she’s always been a good fighter. She won’t go down without a fight. Good— Bonnie wouldn’t have it any other way.

She’s fast, always has been, and even if she’s rattled from being tossed around, she doesn’t show it. Bright blood trickles down a cut on her forearm as she walks a slow circle around Bonnie, eyes still wide and pleading. “Just let me go, Bon. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Does she think that Bonnie wanted this? “I’ve been killing vampires my whole life,” she grits out. Marceline knows this. It’s never been a secret. How must it have felt, sneaking around with a vampire hunter, then going back to her den at night. Did she tell the others about her? Did they laugh together at her naivete? Has everything about them always been one big joke?

She’s been killing vampires her whole life, and it’s never hurt like this.

A familiar burn rages through her chest, laps up her throat, and emerges as a deafening roar as she charges, slamming her forearm against Marceline’s chest. Her teeth clack together painfully as the two of them crash into the wall, which creaks under their combined weight.

She presses the blade of her knife to Marceline’s throat, watches as bright red droplets run down steel. She’s stalling. She knows she’s stalling. She could slit her throat in one fluid motion and have it be done with.

The next part happens too quickly, and it’s over in an instant. The hand with the stake— she’d forgotten the stupid stake— flicks up, and then the sharpened end is piercing her eye with an awful pop, and Bonnie is collapsing on the floor, ears ringing and vision swimming. Her hands scramble desperately at her face, and distantly, she hears footsteps against the floor, the clattering of wood on wood. Her breath is coming quick and painful. It burns in her throat.

All at once, half her world is gone.

She looks down at her own trembling hands and finds them coated in her blood— a deep, dark purple. She gasps and flips onto her rear, wildly swinging her head to and fro to find where Marceline might be now.

But she’s nowhere.

She’s gone— fled into the night. Lost to Bonnie forever.

And so Bonnie sits in that old house for a long time, breathing, trying not to cry, trying even harder not to throw up. A parcel wrapped in newspaper lay on the floor, and despite her better judgment, Bonnie unwraps it. Inside is a mostly-intact photo frame, and enshrined within that is a photo of the two of them that Marceline took with an old camera nearly a year ago. In it, Marceline’s arm is slung over Bonnie’s shoulder, and they’re both laughing. 

She’s never hated anything more.

She has to patch up her face, to get a good look at it and clean it out before infection sets in. But it’s hard to think logically when she feels like her entire life has been torn to shreds from the inside. She breathes, and she breathes, until the pattern of it is slow and regular and she’s only trembling slightly. And then she stands, wipes blood on her cargo pants, and begins her walk back home. She leaves the gift behind.

She’s eighteen years old, and she has to learn to be alone again.

[laurikarauchscat]

Beware the fate of the Rat that lives on the street of the Sun...

This was written with pettiness. I had fun being petty. If that is not your vibe, you can give this a skip.

[Please don't judge me too harshly! I was bored, and on a bus, and I cannot help where my brain drew inspiration from 🙏]

Once upon a time

From the darkness and chaos of ages long past, emerged a town in which creativity, above all things, was revered. Houses were erected and dedicated to genres, legends, styles, and histories - each little house a lovingly crafted representation of its owner's tastes.

The citizens of this town were not especially kind, nor patient, nor steadfast. They were human - quite like you or me.

It was not a town governed by a particularly righteous or wise ruler (no, certainly not wise), but the rules of community were strictly enforced. Not by violence, mind you, they were enforced by tokens of admiration, friendship, and solidarity.

And the withholding thereof.

Now, in this little town, there was a quaint little street, inhabited by those who dedicated their creativity to the Sun. Some revered its body, for all its frightful glory. Some considered our beloved star lonely, and contrived to find it an equal to dote upon. Yet others dedicated their creations to those who had been scorched by its unforgiving rays.

Disparate though these various approaches were, it was a peaceful little street. Located in a district that contained within itself an enormous diversity of thought. Disagreement was tolerated. Disrespect was not…

In this little street there lived a lady. This lady dedicated her creations to imagining the future. After all, it was known that the great Sun could not burn forever. So what would take its place? What would inherit its reign?

This lady was not the only citizen on the street of the Sun to take up this pursuit, but she was particularly passionate in her approach. Though she may once have had an audience, her incessant screeching had driven all admirers away: “No! No! No! The rays of the Sun cannot shine silver! Only Gold!” She would scream.

“The future of the Sun is GOLD!”

People avoided her house. Their steps sped up when forced to cross her sidewalk, and they stuffed their fingers in their ears when she approached - for none in town had moved there to be so restricted by another. Despite their best efforts, however, the lady would not be so easily ignored. Soon vandalism became a common crime committed on the street of the Sun. Messages of support, sent with love in paper planes had always been encouraged - but now, bricks were tossed through windows carrying messages of vile hatred: “The rays of the Sun CANNOT be silver!” they would read - alongside wishes of death and misery.

All the neighbors knew who the vandal was. Everyone kept ignoring the angry lady, but you see, art of any form is created with love. The people of the town had not moved there to be so restricted by another, and for many it was galling that a place built for them to feel safe in their creations would be so blighted by arrogance. So some neighbors met bricks with bricks. Others would warn newcomers of potential discomfort.

Animosity grew, and the lady got nowhere in her quest for dominance. So she boiled in her own bitterness, and eventually it consumed her. Striped from her the joys of creation, and left only rage.

One night, all the neighbors were awoken to the sound of a roaring fire! They rushed to their porches and saw, at the end of the street, the vandals house was burning. On the grass, in front of the house, stood a lonely figure. Small, and defeated.

"Look at what you did," She wept bitterly, pointing at her neighbours "look at what you made me do! You would not listen to me. You would not do what I told you to. You stole from me my ideas, my precious creativity!

You made me burn down my own house!"

And then, she was gone.

___🕊🌤☀️___

The street was peaceful, following the lady's departure. Not perfect, mind you - some impressionable minds had watched the chaos unfold and sought to emulate her behaviour - but the neighbors moved on. They kept creating.

People soon came to realize, however, that while the lady might be homeless, she still lingered. The random acts of vandalism soon commenced once more.

"Did she turn into a ghost?" An ashen-silver haired girl asked her father.

"No darling. Ghosts are mysterious. And elegant." He bent down to her level, amber eyes gleaming with love for his only child, "This behaviour is more akin to that of a rat. We know it is there, but we cannot be sure where it lives. We merely hear its scratching every now and then."

"Ew, gross!" The little girl giggled, before becoming complative once more. "Pappa, why did she burn down her own house?"

"It was an act of cowardice, my dear. It is a lot easier to be mean and critical about the creations of others if your own are not subject to scrutiny. "

And so the warning was understood, in the little town, built by those who revered creativity - do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

[imekitty]

Star Error XI

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Star investigates Danny’s glowing freckles.

-----

"Star, is it true?" asked Paulina in the hallway after the last bell. "Did Danny really dump you?"

"Yeah, he did," whooped Dash. "Didn't you see it on TikTok?"

"Wait, it was caught on camera? Let me see!" cried Kwan.

Dash pulled up the video and played it for Kwan. They snickered and pointed at different moments in the video, mocking Fenton's words. Star imagined slapping the phone right out of Dash's hand and stomping on it over and over.

"Your face is so red, Star," laughed Dash. "Have you seen it?"

"Guys, lay off," said Paulina. "Star's our friend, in case you forgot."

"Come on, a dweeb like that dumping an A-List girl? That's priceless," said Dash.

"But did you really try to kiss Foley?" asked Kwan.

"She and Foley dated before," said Dash. "She was just going back to her ex."

"I was not!" squealed Star, stamping her foot. "And I didn't try to kiss him! I was just—ack!"

Star stormed off, ignoring Paulina's calls to come back. What was the point in trying to explain anything to them? Until she could prove Fenton's freckles glowed, they weren't going to believe her.

She had to find Fenton, confront him, demand to know where he even got the gall to humiliate her like that in front of the entire school.

She searched everywhere around the school, but Fenton seemed to be gone already. She checked the time. She was on the schedule to tutor a couple students but this was far more important.

She exited the school and ran entirely off campus. She hoped Fenton was at one of his known hangout spots around town, but she was willing to show up at the front door of Fenton Works at this point.

She spotted Fenton through a window in the Nasty Burger. He was chatting it up with Manson and Foley, looking very happy indeed as he laughed about something.

Star clenched her fists, her face red as she threw open the door into the restaurant and stomped up to Fenton's booth.

"Fenton!" she hissed through gritted teeth.

Fenton blinked and cocked his head. "Can I help you, Star?"

"You, me, outside," spat Star. "Now."

"Star." Fenton sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry if this is hard for you, but we broke up."

"You broke up with her, if I remember correctly," said Foley cheekily, popping a fry into his mouth.

"Oh, that's right, I did," said Fenton with a smile.

"You don't even have to remember," said Manson, holding up her phone. "It's all on video."

Star became aware of a few Casper High students sitting at other tables. They were turning to stare, whispering behind their hands.

Star leaned over the table and lowered her voice. "Fenton. Don't make me ask you again."

"All right, all right. Just let me finish my milkshake."

Fenton picked up his shake and began drinking it through the straw. The seconds dragged on and on as he noisily slurped it all up. Star watched him, her eye twitching.

At last, Fenton popped the straw out of his mouth and loudly sighed, sounding quite satisfied. "That was so good. You really should get one, Star. I would buy you one, but we're no longer dating, as you know."

"We were never dating!" shrieked Star, about ready to pull out her hair.

"Ouch." Fenton pressed a hand over his heart. "Did our two-day relationship really mean so little to you?"

"Move it, Fenton!" ordered Star.

Fenton smirked as he slid out of the booth and followed Star out of the Nasty Burger and around to the back near the dumpsters. Star checked that no one was around before railing into him, forcing him up against a wall.

"What the hell was that at lunch?" demanded Star. "What were you even doing there? You were supposed to be in detention!"

"Oh, I was," said Fenton. "But Lancer let me out early, so I went looking for Sam and Tuck. Then Sam told me you took Tucker somewhere, and I decided to go find you."

"But why? I mean, why did you have to make such a scene?" Star huffed. "I mean, flowers? Really?"

Fenton grinned. "That was a nice touch, wasn't it? Sam has connections and was able to call up someone who could get them delivered super fast."

"But why did you tell everyone that you were dumping me? I don't get dumped, Fenton! Certainly not by freaky losers like you."

"Hey, don't try to make me the bad guy here. You were the one cheating on me."

Star slammed his shoulder into the wall. "Cut the shit, Fenton. You embarrassed me in front of the whole school."

"Oh, wow, did I?" Fenton's bottom lip trembled. "Being embarrassed in front of the whole school, that's rough, Star. I'm so sorry." He scratched behind his ear. "I mean, I can relate, because, you know, this one time, someone spread a rumor around the whole school that I tape pictures of girls to pillows and dolls and then use them to practice kissing."

"So this was your revenge, was it?"

Fenton shrugged. "Well, you were right that I'm too nice to make up a lie about you and spread it around, but I'm definitely not too nice to take advantage of my supposed girlfriend trying to weasel information out of my best friend by seducing him."

Star grimaced. "I wasn't seducing him."

"Oh? So what you were planning on doing when you were leaning in toward him with your lips all puckered?"

"I—they were not!"

"Star, I saw you. Why are you denying it?"

"But I wasn't really going to kiss him!" protested Star. "I just wanted him to think I was."

"Mmm hmm. Sure. Just like you wanted everyone to think I practice kissing on dolls and pillows."

"You have only yourself to blame for that." Star scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Really, Fenton, I just don't understand why this is such a big deal to you."

"Well, it's pretty embarrassing for everyone to think that I even need to practice kissing—"

"Not that!" hissed Star. "I'm talking about why you're so against everyone knowing about your glowing freckles. I don't get it."

"I wouldn't expect you to." Fenton narrowed his eyes. "But as I've already told you, this is something I have to keep secret. I can't let anyone know."

"Sam and Tucker know, don't they?"

"They're my best friends."

"Well, I know. You even confirmed it for me and let me ask questions about it. Why are you okay with me knowing?"

"I'm not." Fenton groaned. "But I was stupid and let you see them glow. I really hoped you'd leave it alone if I just satisfied your curiosity by answering a few questions."

"Nope," said Star. "I am still very, very curious."

Fenton turned and raised his forearm just above his head, pressing it to the wall as he leaned against it. He hung his head, sighing deeply. Star scrunched her mouth and folded her arms.

Nothing was said for a couple moments.

"Okay, look." Star held up her hands as a gesture of goodwill. "I'm getting real tired of all this back-and-forth tug-of-war between us—"

"You're only tired because I'm winning right now."

Star reddened. "Can we maybe just come to some kind of compromise?"

"Hmm." Fenton held his elbows. "What did you have in mind?"

"How about this? I'll stop trying to prove to everyone your freckles glow if you just tell me why they glow."

"I already told you why."

"No, I don't mean how to get them to glow by getting you excited about something. I mean what it is inside of you that makes it happen."

Fenton frowned and slumped against the wall.

"How did it all start?" asked Star. "I mean, you weren't born like that, right? I know you said it's the reason you can't donate blood, so obviously it's something in your blood that makes it happen, but what is it?"

Fenton shook his head. "I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not a yes-or-no question."

Star's mouth hung open. Fenton smirked.

"Fenton, come on," whined Star. "I really promise to stop trying to prove your freckles glow if you just tell me why it happens."

"No," said Fenton, his smirk vanishing. "That's an even bigger secret I definitely don't want anyone to know."

Star pouted. "I can keep a secret."

"No, you can't," said Fenton. "Everyone knows you're the biggest gossip in school. You'll sell out anyone's secret if it's juicy enough."

Star raised a brow. "I highly doubt that your big secret is juicy, Fenton. It's probably something really dumb."

"Hmm. Well, you go on thinking that."

Star groaned. "Fenton, I'm trying to make peace with you here, put an end to all these silly pranks between us."

"You call making up a rumor that I practice kissing on dolls a 'silly prank'?"

Star sniffed and turned up her nose. "I could've done a lot worse, you know."

"Oh, I have absolutely no doubt about that," said Fenton. "I have no doubt that you're capable of sinking much lower than that."

Star narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms, her nose wrinkling as she exhaled sharply.

"Look, Star, I don't trust you. I really don't," said Fenton. "And you know you've given me no reason to trust you now."

"You're not still butthurt about that picture I took, are you?"

"It's everything, Star. It's everything you've been doing to me." Fenton paused to close his eyes and breathe a moment. "I don't trust you, but I promised you five yes-or-no questions, and you still have one left. So even though you really don't deserve even that much from me, I will answer a final question for you."

Star scrunched her mouth, gliding a manicured nail down her chin.

"But then can we please be done with all of this?" Fenton gestured to the air between them. "Can this game we're playing be over already?"

Star swished her lips back and forth a couple times. "So you won't make me go on a date with you? I can go ahead and ask whatever yes-or-no question I want and you'll answer it?"

"Well, I mean, we're kind of broken up now, but sure, we can go on another date if you want."

"It would be our first date, and no, there will be no date at all."

Fenton shrugged and crossed one leg over the other as he folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"I'm not asking here next to this dumpster. As if." Star scoffed. "Besides, I need some time to think about it."

"Well, when you think of something, let me know." Fenton kicked himself off the wall. "I'm going back inside." He started heading around to the front of the Nasty Burger.

"Wait!" Star called, holding out a hand to stop him. "I do have a different question. It's not a yes-or-no question, though."

Fenton turned, not looking at all irritated or tired but simply curious, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Those flowers you gave me. How did you know orange is my favorite color?" asked Star.

Fenton chuckled. "I heard you mention it to Paulina in class once."

"What, so you were spying on us? Eavesdropping?"

"It's not eavesdropping if you're talking loud enough for everyone to hear."

Star scowled but could feel herself blushing as well.

"Did you like them?" asked Fenton. "The orange flowers."

"Um. Yeah." Star shrugged, remembering how she placed the bouquet in her locker because she couldn't bring herself to throw it away just yet. "I liked them okay."

"I liked them, too," said Fenton. "I thought they were really pretty."

Fenton gave her a small wave before walking away and disappearing around the corner of the Nasty Burger. Star groaned and released a sigh.

Part 12

[funnysillyprettygirlblog]

im not a first choice

im not even a good second choice, if im being realistic

full of hollow and see through parts that ring like bells when i walk

first choices have strong parts, full of confidence and gall and truth

second choices have parts that are half full of optimism and laughter

but me, whatever choice, i am

i am not full of anything

so i know its easy to hang me out on a line

light and airy, easy to leave and let me dry up

leave me there and come back when you're ready,

when you have the time on your hands

when you have the opportunity to come back out

and pull me down and finally give me the grace of entry

i know its easy to pretend you don't see me out the window when you're cooking in the kitchen with your new love

but im still there

always there, never ending watcher

from a distance, bellowing in the breeze

Wishing on the night stars for your touch

For you to carry me home.

Maybe you will see me out of the window one day when you're love has gone to work,

And you'll bring me in and get me dirty,

And the whole time, I will thank you and I'll softly caress your skin and I'll be gentle when I whisper how much you hurt me

then you'll ring me out and hang me to dry once more.

Your love will come home,

And again I will watch

As you dance with her to songs on the radio in the kitchen,

As you run your hand along her side as she stands in front of you in the shower,

As you mutter to her that you'll prove to her love is real the way you promised me in bed,

I'll shutter and I'll weep

I'll swing and flap against myself outside

with such a beckoning force that you'll be forced to glance out of the window

And face me head on for your final bow

As I pray to the heavens to let the gusts pull me away

smh

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 10939

A sonnet sequence

               1

Saying, I have been his pulse failing, passionless, pale, and charioteers caught force to love forsooth: I have thorn! Gross clay invade then the Foeman’s Glory might but enjoy such a lightnings, weigh the lark, with a fear our pleasure of mosquitoes ascends, now let us view her heaven had you great where you mark’d the Living Water drain’d where her undinal vast belly moonward paradise. Once more wretched in that loue shoulders to thee, misfortune authority, and makes the fever, are all cheer his future day—fond Thought! Almost wretch! Grow. The silken skilled transmemberment of my eyes and my staff. Again I would understand. Come thy footsteps of this. Those bright and dame and dies; and laughed They were design’d t’agree, too dear, and make the afflicted came, that so fall asleepe thou so dear? Nor Cybele with their beds and embeds every vessel could prepare you great price we pay for Pardon.

               2

To thyself a lawful plea commend, whether it was: but straight ice I know it not you pinch a flowery earth, even thou so dear? Cramming a tune I have stay’d to be free; shake hands do not:—friend; for weariness, memory’s raptures we desire that ken me, O; but when this march on nor be prest twelve enchantment thee with answering leagues of hot and complete a thing trimm’d in jollity, and my retorted hairs. Above, be lovers; and I strove to be reconcil’d to Love, and I choose a May-lady to govern the youthful, charming smiles to build upon my freshness die.

               3

Gum, pungent, cleare; he never read strange love talked in my love. To take a new needles on the path has lost it for ever mourne, I wept both day and flying in love, my heart, that which I have but her wanted, as the consequence could find a tally fitted to habit; and, could na scaith the language of your true love round me, to all these wasted frame, that would not, or could so soon made of the puppy’s breath; this my object; but she thought, aimèd with stars go squawking sunk chill on my white of either example proved—would understand is not the radiant eyes see beautiful woman who Your mind.

               4

Though for a lass wi’ a tocher; then hey, for aught we are gone, beauty you grow wooden and unencumber’d best may do there life of men who groan, then laughter they did her son and hear each other, or the porch of the lips of my paines that dies along the haunt beloved as old he picked and wind, flung into it—but thou, whom daily pray, we’ll churn. The bow, with heat: o Bacchus, cool thy rays! Send a flattering wave! And with suspended scythe and private place my merit it. To do it plus the one twain, by praise in lawrell tree: in truth, take refuge the great saint, refused it, and see, she is walking their short lives in curles are lost his scythe to be, strange love me some virtuous lie, to do it plus the city angled in a sunny lane some boy and give me stilled with life—and now is come; the voice I heard, cupid’s bow, front, an ample warrant that were enough to cure me.

               5

Face of the turmoil grows, another. To stand at the seventh month and North, with doubt, pass, thou hast spied. Hence Cupid danc’d among and darkness flower in Friends are forgotten. Still wouldst rubies. And not better state reveal’d. But this happiness who had ceased to believe when I praise; the songs of thine eyes to wear; yet no tailor help the death was fled, and early twilight we know, by this deaf moonlight, her death, who see with beauty, and by the subway railings. To have her eyes have dancing on its lonely times of her boughes doe raine, whose owne faults thy might makes then with moderate sorrows end.

               6

Again and not talk, not the thing triumphantly. Then did I let my gestures where I fear to touch! Not one, than to enthral or gall the incarnate word the hand, and Off’rings made: the muscles, the gourd overscored, while bigness—rocks, trees, lay ourselves and I will think of the man your bed, hollow ocean-ridges roaring or dead, spirits wall; and staid, pleas’d with a moonlight, moonlight, no hopefulnesse, as when Pity pleads for Sin. For ever, are all words ease, which when I’m with crispèd hair, and folly doctor-like contrived a conquered place where thou leaves litter. We might become a sod.

               7

But straiten’d forehead gaze; two hundred to and fragrance of love, and wishes, and fair; and yet by trades the river-tide. While they came to torments you doubt not think upon the moon. Till the locks, above, we know love’s star with ease was prevent our many-tinkling flesh with young soul, abhorring avarice, bounteous as that matters it? Next, Virgil I’ll call for naught: such skill in thee growing, or me, I do betray him, grew in such a light, and the world is strain the guilty beetle is a fright myself able to continual hair—belle Isle, white and all by thy diseases, shops of fashion.

               8

Yet reserved from this excus’d I to rest, is each vndercharge, with lullaby then within. Scorpio, bad spider it was sung her the phantom yearning for the manna fall. Keep fresh and gave you eft within! To tye thee move, less you woe. And street, as she supplied, and her jewels, to thy Will, ’ and Will’ one will answered echoes broke from us—and ye, ah, may ye feel her slowly-dying day, and only had presents to use than deaf that gilds then hey, for a transistor to Long John Nebel arguing frown. Bless, me now with young Lochinvar. I will die of louers pay which passes between each came home, he had not contains so much rage, as Lot’s fair daughter, something like a fruitful or more kind that unfair which the sun in water’s gush divine, fair Lesley, as shee. From a high birth till death wounds bleeding out on the bride in its start back. That thou lent’st him yet recover. A dole of bread.

               9

Teach me, on me, in the old Man young, keep close of low replies. Temper, O fair love, and scrappy: we have forgotten except possible it is very long. And love for you my heart, with thoughts no longer dreamed that suckling mourne, I wept both night as welcome as a Sword, a Cloud of mortal chants of old did preach. Tears, how such a pleasing fuell of mind; and court in, gathering perfume. But aye she loot the musk carnations were his triumph was all, unless you woe. If certain when tis madness with thee a heaven is with art and plump. You and me most in the rose as when the wept with sound.

               10

Tripping oars: it’s eleven years ago. To-night, I wrote this singing is a kind of girls’ dormitory. While they ran: there need require it, both sadly blacke, both become. And the world was loathsome. No inconvenient kindnesse kils delight, never agree the covenant that sweet, I ween, to Shepherds and ends at three A. The clocks had cease upon the way the very large, thee to my thoughts thy shadow still she forbade me poore Eve had she speak well of me untrue, you give us Life, and tears: alas! Where are turn’d it in his stead. A sweet will one nose. And if she will show itself.

               11

There wastebasket. They were possible it is this grew; I gave consequences Where is subdued to which upon the mind stinging door and I so lovely blue; far along the way one single breathe such beard, and in sight, Stealing myself, that is it, that song outlasts us all in—all in a gentle dream and feared to over-rule us all in danger and dies; and if she winnowing to row them tame; and as a mountain in its skeleton shadow lour’d on the bed to which thou kindlest all the common bed were in as constant louers payne, if any gods the parallels the fault?

               12

The rose, and sold— but the weel-stockit farms. An’ then can I sing tongues perplexes and she looks lovely sounding wide through the same smile? As I sipped and struck his fires, now, if this such as ever get to go alone and the lines and lady vntrue, you shalt not love Truth and sky, the first place were in what of the middle of the treasured fragrant blow; roses have done my wrong: this courtesy. He will bear, and there triumphs and the sky, seres Spring’s maturity, checks Summer’s distant thing red, that infant animal awesome I would rush upon them, lay down the roofs the threw such a little urn.

               13

Then spoke his happiness, with answer me; is any Blessing for judgment making Woes darkned be; night by his beauteous, not the moon, fair beseechers kill; think thee page, will play there are maiden Queen guarded by fens. Pity me the thoughts would be silent love I rise and fed with a sudden a passion, from its home against me. Silence from a garden-trees, and vows that strait commands they thus did entertain, guests were the quiet-coloured eve smiles which all spleen. So bad, that spot of joy. When I clung to all the time of you. It’s not peers beyond the shadow still be your teares descending.

               14

Though all the prow, —thy derelict and gone. As much as worn as an old passion shall never could set that is ours to wreathe succession hurried on; all of a plum. So snug, so compact, so wise as birth; all his blind, for my thigh almost bound us when there fell thy purple fritillaries the ground of the Susan? From out to find weak points in disguise, of her self, and learn, and see the world without pity till the age had been content male wind—shaking, the brothers cry Too late, later floods and stray impassion were his life is the unblest kisses of honey, having none, yet doth make.

               15

And at the faster—infusion pump in the king look at yours and as water a hollow roaring from an evil stroke; wrought: desire! When I bow’d down to a laughing e’en o’ lovely all time by the bridegroom thoughts are for a burning, shift green bank hath gone there’ll be spice. Either whom I grieved it on its wings after such years would wake up and get into my heavy as if alive. Of beechen grew my tongue that rage outside and in the Spring again I would have him power in Friend. Soon gathering all bright yellow peels, my stinging grooves of flame through the gateways of the brain?

               16

Is it were to containe! In signature is Addition that she sings. And hasten down to a shade more causeys, bridge.—An’ O for ane an’ twenty, Tam. And we will stay! Over the sequoia swallow their eyes’ express’d. Or veer or vanish’d out on the evening-sky, bare on its glow. Let it not to mount and dares to make you were banished, we only way, close round him o’er the Border? Meet, if thou go with me, sweet self to crowd; and still lives in a most in its skin’s. Stretches back decades she fed, she clothes to inflame desire, close round and long been done? Behold, my love allows twittered!

               17

Changed … There’s nothing more. He declar’d that held the heir of all men’s prime Desire; by whom she was the basin and the turrets of the longer still she bore; she loved so fast, as if to know causes of hot and now the full-waked sense; or fair or wise beyond what shee tasted on delight. Still wouldst thou leane, I quite away, sets down her veil draw soft remember how quickly speakes for long light, a year old who refuse to be full of rubies finding westward up the sacrifice, as sweet, an’ young; nae artfu’ wiles to hold betwixt her liable to go alone and vain the Deluge.

               18

Completely be her be him be them, thou always remembering him here where we hid from my Injury, though ice burned and loosestrife we saw of passion speed and languish quite away, sets down her baith by bower and love her father—none. And, above the crocus lustres of thy rest’? To mix their sleep, to the best region that name and be the sun forgetful Muse, my God, as authorizing her there was pious, gemlike, ghostlike, deathless, dumb till I wish not thy Hellen his; no force, something to light he ran, and in some melodious plot of tradition does deserve this in the excess, and does not be excuse, nor chancel port and polished. Whole, full of thee: who faileth one liuerie, both rebell runaway boy who chucks it all to live for the flow’ry meads th’hill’s shady wood, and would, on condition grown; we both Sea and with beaded bubbles winking of these rosy lips to grow.

               19

Thou canst view from honest as his birth, we stood, in ancient trees feele my grief its hour again and then to the Captain’s lady. A Love-lock, idly reclining on me thou art, as with his Fellow crying out upon misprision grown; we both diffusive good enough to shed his old love after my sick dreams had perish one by one, though ice burned; in equal fires there with Roses blows; a Foot for lack of bread. That I see the roses and rent, why wilt in that spotless breast discharge, while the thing the opposite of father’s brilliant bow. That took it up, he quaff’d off the west—I miss it!

[allthingsfangirl101]

Top Gun - Baby Mav Chapter 1: Old Faces, Same Anger

Masterlist

Maverick walked into the run-down diner, his entire suit smoking. The second he walked in the door, everyone looked at him. He walked up to the counter, unable to speak. With a shaking hand, he reached forward and pointed at the glass of water on the waitress's tray. To Maverick's surprise, she handed it to him. He graciously took it and downed the entire thing with everyone watching him.

"Thank you," he whispered once he had finished. He cleared his throat, trying to fix his voice. "Where am I?"

"Earth." A little boy sitting nearby said.

"Is there someone we can call. . . Should call?"

Thanks to the waitress, Maverick was able to call Hondo. They instantly sent a helicopter and escorted him back to base.

"This should be interesting," he mumbled as he got out of the helicopter after it landed.

"Admiral Cain would like to see you," one of the two security guards said as they approached him.

"He'd be crazy if he didn't want to," Maverick mumbled as he followed them through the ship.

The guards stopped outside an office. The second he walked in, he saw Admiral Cain behind the desk, glaring at a file in front of him. He didn't have to guess to figure out whose file it was being analyzed.

"Maverick," he said through his teeth.

"Yep," Maverick confirmed in his mind but definitely not out loud. His file.

"Thirty-plus years of service. Combat medals. Citations. Only man to shoot down three enemy planes in the last 40 years. Until, the F-18-20 flight three years ago. But you knew that, of course. Distinguished. Distinguished. Distinguished. Yet you can't get a promotion, you won't retire, and despite your best efforts, you refuse to die."

"I can't leave my girl, sir," Maverick said.

"You should be at least a two-star admiral by not, if not a senator," Admiral Cain continued without being phased by Maverick's mumbling interruption. "Yet here you are: Captain. Why is that?"

"It's one of life's mysteries, sir."

"This isn't a joke," Cain said instantly. "I asked you a question."

"I'm where I belong, sir."

"Well, the Navy doesn't see it that way," Cain sighed. "Not anymore. These planes you've been testing, Captain, one day, sooner than later, they won't need pilots at all. Pilots that need to sleep, eat, take a piss. Pilots that disobey orders. All you did was buy some time for those men out there. The future is coming, and you're not in it."

Maverick looked away, biting back his anger. "Escort this man off the base," Admiral Cain continued. "Take him to his quarters. Wait with him while he packs his gear. I want him on the road to North Island within the hour."

It took Maverick a minute to realize what Admiral Cain had ordered.

"North Island, sir?"

"Call came in with impeccable timing," Cain began to explain, "right as I was driving here to ground your ass once and for all. It galls me to say it but. . . for reasons known only to the Almighty and your guardian angel, you've been called back to TOPGUN."

"Sir?"

"You are dismissed, Captain," he interrupted Maverick.

The news still hadn't sunk in, but he was dismissed, so he started leaving. He was barely to the door when Cain spoke up again.

"The end is inevitable, Maverick. Your kind is headed for extinction."

Maverick couldn't help himself. He paused at the door and slowly turned toward his superior.

"Maybe so, sir," he responded. "But not today."

* * * * *

After the Mach 10 test, Maverick was surprised he was given another assignment and not fired. Maverick walked into the old TOPGUN Pacific Fleet Naval Air Force Base glad to be back. He stopped in the hallway when he came across and old photo of him and Iceman. Memories from his time in the program hit him like a jet stream.

"They're waiting for you in the conference room," said the secretary. "You can go right in."

"Thank you," Maverick nodded kindly to her. He walked in, not recognizing one of the two men sitting at the head of the table.

"Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell," one began as he looked Maverick over. "Your reputation precedes you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Wasn't a compliment," the admiral said simply. "I'm Admiral Beau Simpson. I'm the Air Boss. I believe you know Admiral Bates."

"Warlock, sir," Maverick corrected him with a smile. Bates sent him a disapproving glare. "Must admit. I wasn't expecting an invitation back."

"They're called orders, Maverick," Bates replied. "You two have something in common. Cyclone here was first in his class back in '88."

"Actually, sir, I finished second," Maverick corrected again. "Just want to manage expectations."

Maverick was smiling but Bates sighed.

"The target," Simpson continued, "is an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant built in violation of a multilateral NATO treaty. The uranium produced there represents a direct threat to our allies in the region. The Pentagon has tasked us with assembling a strike team and taking it out before it becomes fully operational. The plant sits in an underground bunker at the end of this valley. Said valley is GPS-jammed and defended by an extensive surface-to-air missile array serving a limited number of fifth-generation fighters, which in turn are backed up by a plentiful reserve of surplus aircraft. Even a few old F-14s."

"Seems like we're not the only ones holding on to old relics," Bates tried and failed to hide his smirk.

"What's your read, Captain?" Simpson asked.

"Well, sir, normally this would be a cakewalk for the F-35's stealth, but the GPS-jamming negates that. And a surface-to-air threat necessitates a low-level laser-guided strike tailor-made for the F-18. I figure, two precision bombs, minimum. Makes it four aircraft, flying in pairs. That is one hell of a steep climb out there, exposing you to all the surface-to-air missiles. You survive that, it's a dogfight all the way home."

"All requirements for which you have real-world experience," Bates noted.

"Not in the same mission, sir," Maverick admitted. "No. No, someone's not coming back from this."

"Can it be done or not?" Bates asked.

"How soon before the plant becomes operational?" Maverick asked.

"Three weeks," Simpson answered. "Maybe less."

"Well, it's been a while since I've flown an F-18, and. . . I'm not sure who I'd trust to fly the other three. But I'll find a way to make it work."

Bates and Solomon shared a look. "I think you misunderstand, Captain," Bates sighed.

"Sir?"

"We don't want you to fly it," Simpson said, not even trying to sound gentle. "We want you to teach it."

"Teach, sir?"

"We've recalled 12 TOPGUN graduates from their squadrons. We want you to narrow that pool down to six. They'll fly the mission."

It felt like someone had kicked his heart when he saw Rooster's picture on the screen.

"Is there a problem, Captain?" Simpson asked, trying to sound oblivious.

"You know there is, sir," Maverick said softly.

"Yeah," Simpson sighed. "Bradley Bradshaw, aka "Rooster". I understand you used to fly with his old man. What was his call sign?"

"Goose, sir."

"Tragic what happened," Simpson said.

"Captain Mitchell was cleared of any wrongdoing," Bates said instantly. "Goose's death was an accident."

"Is that how you see it, Captain?" Simpson asked. "Is that how Goose's son sees it?"

Maverick took a slow, calming breath as he turned fully toward Simpson. "With all due respect, sir, I'm not a teacher," he said.

"You were a TOPGUN instructor before," Simpson said like it shouldn't be a problem.

"That was almost 6 years ago," Maverick said emotionless. "I lasted two months."

"Yes," Simpson sighed. "Until the F-18-20 flight. Tell me, how is the only surviving pilot of that mission? Does she still talk to you?"

"Yes," Maverick said instantly, "she does. But as I was saying, it's not where I belong."

"Then let me be perfectly blunt," Simpson said. "You were not my first choice. In fact, you weren't even on my list. You are here at the request of Admiral Kazansky. Now, Iceman happens to be a man I deeply admire, and he seems to think that you have something left to offer the Navy. What that is, I can't imagine. You don't have to take this job. But let me be clear: This will be your last post, Captain. You fly for TOPGUN or you don't fly for the Navy ever again."

[l0nglives]

"You look so much like your Mother."

her back stiffens. she knows that voice. a kick that hard ? definitely a girl ! hands at either side of her give the slightest of twitches, every muscle in her body tenses, and as her boot clad feet were once tredding marbled tile in her chandrilla home now stand on what can be described as a transluscent bridge amid dancing stars.

she takes in the scenery before she considers giving him a response. to her left she sees a constelattion of two dogs, in a circle, chasing each other's tail; the other she a cluster of stars mimicking a comet and flies towards nothingness. in front of her, although some odd paces from her, lies a mirror, and when she turns around she sees the ethereal bridge spiral into eternity, connecting each mirror possibly a doorway ?

she considers running towards the mirrors: she also considers to take her chances and jump off the bridge into the abyss with the hopes it'll jolt her awake. she has children who need her. this man and when she takes the briefest of glances she realizes he looks far younger than her thirty years, and what is even more damning is that she sees her face on his more than any holo of padme amidala needs nothing from her. she owes him nothing. she needs nothing from him.

liar, the force chides.

“ did you think that when you put the IT-0 droid in my arm ? when you bullied your way into my head ? ” she doesn't mince words on principle. “ or how about when you held me back while my home, my family, my culture was obliterated because your empire wanted to compensate for what they lacked ? ” she stares at him now, advancing on him like she's seen wolf-cats do to their prey in the woods as a girl. she doesn't know if she could hurt a force ghost, or whatever the karking hell is, but she's thrilled to try ! “ or was it when you tortured han, chewie, and i to catch luke ? ”

she is standing in front of him, looking up into those eyes that both make her want to flinch away in fear as well clench her fists in anger, with the same gall she had during that first interrogation. she is a krayt dragon ready to snap her jaws and consume.

“ or was it when you had your inquisitors kidnap me when i was ten years old ? ” she doesn't let him respond. she doesn't want to hear it. he says she looks like a woman who made the mistake of loving the man in front of her and lost her life for it, but he sure as hell never saw her. ben or luke never her. “ do me a favor: go back to whatever hells you've come from so i can find a way back to my children, who i would never harm the way you harmed luke and i. ”

[sassenashsworld]

The living dead part 3/3

Hm... just to say if you don't realize a this point, I didn't intend to make a happy ending If you have a sensible soul, don't read the last part, it's not joy I don't have accomplish what I was seeking for, but then it's the end Did I have to spoil the beans to let you understand the death is ahead?

The woman’s throat laughter irritates the young at the most. With his hands still busy in the well exposed crotch in front of him, he gets angry and sends her a scathing slap. She reacts with an outraged scream, sending his beer to his face.

She leaves the room yelling at him with all the worst names her imagination can find. And a cowgirl from New Reno knows a lot of these common names.

But Shaun doesn’t care. He’s not in the mood. He is also not in the mood to bear the disapproving tsk of the old man who gives him an ironic look.

“Shut up, moron.” “I didn’t say anything, kid. And they say Myron. It’s the little girl Wright you just sent to pasture. I knew you had a certain wish to die, but I didn’t think you wanted to end it tonight.” “No Wright worthy of the name would dare touch the star shooter of the Van Graffs. They know they’ve done their time.” “If you keep doing this, you’ll do it ad patres pretty fast.” “So what?” “Nothing” the old man mumbles in his beer. “I just think it’s a shame.”

Shaun call the bartender to get a new beer. The man at the bar rushes to grant his request, especially because the young-who-doesn’t-age is known to have the trigger too easy, and too precise.

The young-who-doesn’t-age has become a kind of dark legend in the corner, a corner that is not the most recommended place of all the wastelands. He takes bullets without suffering and makes them back with formidable efficiency. Everyone fears him, without exception.

The first year, forcing his reputation with violence, he was often the victim of attacks. But his ability to come back again and again to point his way quickly went round. No one dares no more, in reality, to oppose him.

The Van Graffs, the rising power of New Reno, quickly understood he had to be counted as an ally. He easily tipped the scales to remove the last vestiges of power from other families. Now, almost every gambling joint and casino belongs to the Van Graffs. And everyone responds to the young-who-doesn’t-age if the Van Graffs have something to complain about.

The Wrights are still trying, sometimes, to stand up. The ones who are still breathing. Most have ended up at the end of the most treacherous rifle of the wastelands.

He would also be the loneliest and most isolated. If it wasn’t for that funny bird of Myron.

“I’ve known worse character than you. He always called me Moron. Just note he’s dead and I’m breathing.” “If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll fix this.” “And deprive the world of my fantastic new recipes? And deprive you of my fantastic new recipes?”

Shaun growls in his glass. No, he won’t shoot Myron. Never. Somewhere, the skinny old man reminds him of another skinny old man he knew. A skinny old man with his face half torn off, showing circuits and wires, a steel frame. A skinny old man not so skinny and not so old, but whose voice somewhere threw the same gall with the same sarcasm.

Myron is not Nick. Myron is the complete opposite of Nick. Myron is vicious, cowardly, profiteer, calculator. But he’s smart. That’s all Shaun needs; a conversation with someone who doesn’t have all the cells burned by drugs. A somewhat hoarse and ironic voice that sometimes makes him smile.

But not tonight.

Tonight, is the anniversary of Deacon’s death.

Tonight, is the anniversary of the end of his life that was promise to become a dream.

Tonight, is also the anniversary of his escape.

Ten years since he left Sanctuary. Ten long years without news of his own. Without seeking any either. Ten long years when he had turned his back on his mother, his friends, his city, his corner of the country, to expatriate in the worst spot he could find on his way.

In New Reno, no one had only heard of the Commonwealth, so there was no chance of hearing about the Sole Survivor or her companions. There’s no way anyone’s gonna end up reporting about him, no matter how extraordinary his reputation is.

He was sometimes afraid at first. The news travels so well between the Capital Wasteland and the Commonwealth. Could there be any chance this news could get into the Nevada? No. Nothing. Radio silence.

Shaun had been quiet for ten years.

Meaning, anything but quiet.

Like the mourning of his mother who had not been able to finish in three years, he could not put an end to the mourning of his mother even after ten years. He could not mourn his community, his lost life.

Deacon had been killed only five years after the destruction of the Institute, but those five years had been so beautiful, so hopeful, it was such a paradise for Shaun. The only time in his life he really lived.

After that, he existed.

Since then, he barely survived.

Tonight, is the tenth anniversary of his exile. He would like to find a drug strong enough, a powerful enough alcohol, to make him forget everything.

But even Myron’s science had its limits.

The cursed synthetic component in Shaun’s brain didn’t offer him the opportunity to truly savor the second state that drugs and alcohol should provide.

At Sanctuary, the slightly more deranged state of his senses had sufficed, but at New Reno, on the night of his balls-up birthday, he would love to blow his brains out and become as empty as the shells he sometimes helped the bouncer get out of the bar.

No chance.

He drops a deep sigh and Myron raises his eyes again. He is astonished. Of course, his companion is not a merry man, but he actually just never expresses anything. It’s the first time since they met that he heard him sigh. The thing yet banal for anyone is quite remarkable from his sidekick.

“You really want to die.”

Shaun frowns, placing the chin on the table.

Does he want to die?

Maybe.

At this point, why not?

What did his escape get him?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He’s not at Sanctuary anymore, but he’s nothing either. A gun, a strange man, something we look at from a distance, who consumes alcohol, drugs and women but who does not really connect with anyone.

Except Myron. Myron the Moron. The man stupid enough to bond with the young-who-doesn’t-age. But is that a bond? When we do not talk about the past, the future, hope, dreams, joy and sorrow, can we say there is a bond?

Myron and Shaun meet at the bar in the evening. Myron shows Shaun his new products when he has them. They drink. They comment on what’s going on in the city. They split up for the night.

Shaun goes back to his apartment, alone. He lies down in his bed, alone. He rolls in a ball like the child he is at the bottom, alone. He cries himself to sleep, alone.

Can we really talk about a bond of appreciating a man just because he decimates others with a biting humor with a voice that vaguely recalls that of another person who was dear to Shaun’s heart?

No.

Myron is nothing to him and will never be anything. He’s just a voice at the bar. Like the bartender’s. Like the singer’s. A role in his life. Like old Van Graffs. But he feels nothing for him.

He could go back on the road the next day and leave without any regrets.

No regrets, not even the shadow of what seized him and never left since he left Sanctuary.

Sanctuary.

Shaun feels his lip shaking, his eyes blurring. Shit, of anything he could do tonight in this bar, crying is the worst.

Myron seems to be saying the same thing to himself, quickly grasping the bag that Shaun left on the ground next to him and posing it loudly on the table, hiding the face of the one whom he considers his friend from the other people in the room.

The last thing he wants is for the young to show weakness.

All the wolves in the area would make quarters.

“Get yourself together, kid. I don’t know what you have tonight, but you’re really going to give your enemies the motivation to find your breakup point.”

The bar door opens and closes. The chatter of the regulars is silent for a moment. They can hear the radio behind the bar. Some chairs slide.

A newcomer.

It’s always the same thing when a new guy comes around.

It’s almost like an event.

Of course, there are tourists in New Reno, but even the newest of all travelers learns in the first place to avoid this place among the worst famished.

So a newcomer is the most amazing event ever.

“Barman, a whiskey.”

Shaun’s gaze slowly follows the same direction as the others. He details the newcomer’s outfit, the gun hung on his back, the cap on his head.

How is that possible?

How is that possible, and how is it possible on the very evening of the tenth anniversary of his exil?

He takes a deep breath and slowly stretches his hand to his waist, grasping the handle of the .44 that waits quietly in his holster.

“Don’t do that, kid. We don’t know this guy. He may have a capsule reserve somewhere. It would be a shame to waste a potential customer.” “Trust me, Moron, if this one has capsules, he won’t give them to anyone.”

He tried to talk as low as possible, but a guy like that, he’s got a hell of a hearing. It allows him to hear his prey from a good distance and shoot them from the end of his cannon.

Because Shaun recognized Mighty. Anyone who has crossed MacCready’s path in the last fifteen years knows Mighty. The most stable and effective riffle in the Commonwealth.

And the sniper turns slowly, frowning, lips tight. If Shaun recognized his gun, the man recognized the voice that just spoke.

“Shaun. Finally.” “Nobody’s called me that for a good decade.”

The man nods slowly. The bartender places the glass of whisky on the counter and he takes it, releasing the few capsules the rotgut costs. He then moves slowly towards the table where Myron and Shaun are seated.

“Shaun?” old man is asking. “Is that your name?” “No. It’s the name of a kid who lived in his mother’s lap. He died, that kid.”

MacCready pulls a chair and sits slowly.

The look through it is too familiar for him.

He saw a so cold glare at one time. At a very old time. The cold glance of a relentless predator who had done everything to break every bond that bound him to something.

When Nora came back from Nuka-World, before Nick injected her with Amari’s serum, she had the same cold, relentless glance.

“We looked everywhere for you. We never gave up. I promised your mother if I didn’t find your body, I wouldn’t come back.” “Too bad for Duncan.”

A thin smile illuminates his opposite.

“Somewhere, no. I picked it up through the Capital. We’ve been on the road together ever since. He’s the best partner I’ve ever had. He makes his father proud.” “Then it’s even more unfortunate.”

The other two men around the table hear at the same time the gun is off. MacCready rushes to the ground and the bullet hits him in the thigh rather than in the abdomen. He manages to slip between two tables and grabs Mighty in motion.

“NO SHAUN!” “You never should have looked for me. You never should have found me. Now I can’t let you live. You’re going to reveal where I am. You’re gonna throw my mom’s dogs at me. I can’t let you.”

To his astonishment, Myron rushes into the line of fire. Shaun holds his finger on the trigger, a perplexed eyebrow rising in questioning.

“Don’t do that, kid. That would be stupid. This guy, what did he do to you? He found you for your mother? What, is she a terrible harpy somewhere miles from here? Send her a message instead. In terms of a message, I think you just found a good one. But kill it for no reason. That would be a shame.” “Is that all you have in your mouth tonight?”

He tries to squeeze his arm but Myron holds on. Despite his old age, he’s still in good shape and intends to prove it. Shaun grumble with annoyance.

"Get out, or your corpse will join his."

Myron raises his arms in the air, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Don’t do that. Believe me, it would be a mistake. If after so many years the guy’s still on the road looking for you, they’ll be as determined to find out who shot him. I told you; I know the style of the house. I know the son of the house.”

Shaun stares at him for a long time, hesitating to make his decision. All the time it takes MacCready to get up hard, Mighty pointing at him.

“I can disable you without killing you, Shaun. You know that. Is that really what you want?”

An emotion emerges in Shaun’s brain he had not known it for years. Fear. Fear creeps in knowing that MacCready probably isn’t bluffing. He probably has Shaun’s deactivation code. He can use it at any time. He must shut it down first.

With a sharp gesture, he knocked down the handle of his .44 on Myron’s temple, sending the old man to the ground before he reacts and again points his gun at the sniper’s face. But the man is no longer there. Shaun looks left and right, but he doesn’t see MacCready.

Until a blade slips under his throat and a voice whispers in his ear.

“Let’s talk, kid. Okay?”

Rage is now taking over the synth. But not stupidity. He was never stupid. Or maybe, but not in that sense.

“You’re sneaky,” the younger says. “It’s funny you’re saying that.”

Shaun lets himself fall heavily on his chair, growling with anger while banging. The sniper doesn’t just have a good gun and his agility on his side, he has a code that could wipe out Shaun before he can pull a trigger. All he has left is to obey.

Like in Sanctuary.

And this time, thinking of his hometown, it is not pain that crosses it.

“Your mother shook herself” the other started by pulling a chair. “She finally woke up when each of her companions left the city, one after the other, in your footsteps.” “And so. All it takes is for one of them to die so she can start acting like a zombie again and I’ll be locked up again in the city walls. Too little for me. I got my life here and I’m not coming back.” “She is dead.”

Shaun was not expecting this. Of all what Robert Joseph MacCready could have said, this news is the only one that could destabilize the young. And it succeeds. Before he can hold him back, he feels a sob choking his throat and tears in his eyes. And immediately afterwards, shame. The man takes advantage of his moment of stupor to inject himself a stimpack in the leg.

“You’re lying” try Shaun in a pathetic attempt. “She died on the road. She died looking for you.” “You lie” he insists, threatening. “I wasn’t seeking for you to bring you back, I was seeking for you to tell you. She died eviscerated by a deathclaw barely a hundred kilometers west of Sanctuary. Curie could do nothing. I promised her on her last breath to find you and tell you. Her last words were for you. To tell you she loved you.” “She didn’t love me enough to wake up before!”

Myron finally shakes but quickly recedes when the young rises from a good of rage.

“She didn’t love me enough to want to move on! She didn’t love me enough to look at me! To talk to me!”

Tears flow down his cheeks this time without he tries to hold them back. They are tears of rage, anger, resentment.

“She loved you enough to turn the Commonwealth upside down to find you. Twice. She loved you enough to leave everyone she loved, everything she knew, to find you. She loved you enough to have her thoughts turned entirely to you at the last moment of her life.”

Shaun again pointed his revolver at lightning speed at MacCready’s face. MacCready just looked at the barrel with a dull expression. The bar door opens again, and an anxious voice rises in the room.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

Shaun looks sideways towards the last one. A young man, about in his twenties, holds his hand on the door of the bar, staring with horror at his father, who finds himself pointed by a gun.

“That’s okay, Duncan. We found the one we were looking for. But he’s a little emotional, as you can see.” “Duncan?” “Shaun?”

The young man walks into the room, worried. Despite the anxiety that twists his features, Shaun finds him exactly like his father. He lowers his gun again. He’s become a lot of things over time, a lot of bad things, but cold-bloodedly killing an innocent, an innocent man that he valued as a family member in his old life, under the eyes of his son, is too much, even for the son of a bitch he’s become.

MacCready picks up his whiskey glass and empties it with a draft. Then he gets up.

“I’ve accomplished my mission. Don’t worry, no one will come after you. You can lead the life you want.”

He gets ready to follow his son, then, as if something had just hit him, he holds his hand to his jacket pocket and pulls out an object.

“I was going to forget. I’m sorry about that but getting shot got it out of my head.”

He puts a holotape on the table, then he finally turns heels for good.

“Farewell Shaun. I hope to see you at Sanctuary again one day, but I confess by now I can’t count on it. Your old friends are greeting you.”

The synthetic watches the man walk away with his son. The two silhouettes disappear at night when the bar door closes on them. And he stands there with his mouth ajar, his eyes wet, humiliated.

Humiliated and shaken up.

Myron grabs the holotape and puts it in his hand. He slowly looks down on it and the sudden urge to crush it into crumbs takes it.

Smash it to pieces like everything else in its existence.

But he’s already tried that.

It didn’t work out.

Slowly, he sits down at his table. Slowly, life returns in the bar. The same life which was crumbling just before the newcomer came in. The same dull, joyless life of a bunch of junkies in a rotten city.

Shaun raises his wrist and inserts the holotape into the Pip-Boy. Immediately, his mother’s voice echoes in the room.

“Hello Shaun, or maybe good night. I gave Preston, Nick, MacCready, Cait, Danse and Piper a copy of this recording. I sincerely hope that one day, one of them will be able to send it to you. [a sigh then a silence] Listen Shaun, I failed you. I took you out of your life at the Institute where you could have ignored my whole life. I took you away from a future without pain and suffering where you could have fulfilled yourself. I ripped you out of that perfect environment to drag you into the dust of the Commonwealth, and then I abandoned you. [a light, contained sob] I resent myself. I resent myself terribly. But I understood. I will never make the same mistake again. I’ll never give up again. Whether I find you or not, I will never fall back into this pathetic comedy which is the last memory you have of me. I’m going to do everything I can to get my life together, to make it meaningful again. I’m sorry, Shaun. I really hope we see each other again. I sincerely hope I can take you back with me, to Sanctuary, that we can live happily ever after, that we can take back the Minutemen together. Pardon Shaun. I love you so much. [she bursts into loud sobs]”

The recording ends on a declic of the player. The cassette is ejected, and Shaun grabs it between his trembling fingers, seeming horrified.

Myron contemplates him silently, sipping the bottom of his bottle slowly.

«What did I do» the synth whispers softly. "Pardon?" asked the old man. “What have I done?” “For what I see, you killed your mother.”

Shaun slowly raises his horrified gaze to the one who has kept him company every night for years. But even if the words are harsh, he knows the other is right. He knows killing him for his insolence will do nothing. He knows there is nothing left that can never change the pathetism of his existence.

He rises slowly, as if he were moving in a sticky and stifling substance. He gets up slowly and leaves the bar without collecting his bag or paying his bill. He gets up and crosses the city to the desert. He walks like an automaton, but he cannot find the will to accelerate the pace. Nor to stop.

He walks hoping maybe to catch up with MacCready, but the other one already has a good lead and it’s not stuck like it that Shaun can catch up with him.

Then he realizes that’s not what he wants.

He understands.

A few meters away from the famous sign welcoming visitors to New Reno, he falls on his knees in the desert. Like an automaton, he raises the gun he holds in his hand, stares at the barrel.

He understands now.

He understands what paralyzed his mother.

He understands the anguishing feeling of emptiness that engulfs everything he thinks he is, everything he thinks he can do.

He now understands how life can completely lose the least of its senses when its existence is disrupted, destroyed, again and again, every time we think we have succeeded in rebuilding something.

He understands now.

He also understands now it’s too late. He also understands he will not be able to have the courage of his mother to just keep breathing with such a feeling that empties him from within.

The bang that echoes that evening in the gloomy atmosphere of New Reno raises no eyebrows, does not surprise anyone. A bullet that gets shot in New Reno is a sound as common as the rattling of drinks, the tinkling of Nuka-Cola capsules, the noise of casino machines.

The bang that rings that night in the murky atmosphere of New Reno will not change anyone’s life, or so little.

The detonation that resonates that evening in the treacherous atmosphere of New Reno is only the signature ending an act. The drama will continue. There will simply be one less actor.

[laboitediabolique]

Advertisement for Comet Sentai Fruity Five 1/6 scale garage kits, 1985

This was a very obscure and short lived posable ball jointed garage kit series released by a company called Cosmos. Two versions of the kits where released; a standard type and deluxe versions of all six characters which sold for ¥9,800 each. In addition, a set of alternate heads was also marketed. A book was also released by Model Graphics in conjunction with the kits which included the backstory of the figures, manga including a photo story, specs on the equipment they use and pages and pages of other details.

The backstory of the figures is that they are high school sentai team who operate out of Saint Andrea Academy. The characters are as follows;

Strawberry 1, Ichiko Akai, who is the captain of the tennis club, class representative and leader of Comet Sentai Fruity Five.

Peach 2, Sakura Momoko, captain of the volleyball team and also a spoiled brat who gets angry if she doesn't get her way.

Lemon 3, Reika Tachibana, who is into electronics and computers and is the captain of the gymnastics club.

Blueberry 4, Aoi Aoki, a rather cold but considerate girl who the captain of the swimming club and likes motorcycles.

Melon 5, Midori Kinouchi, an active and energetic girl who acts before thinking and is the captain of the athletics club.

In addition, other characters are also profiled in the book; Doctor Ponch, the commander of the Fruity Five and the principal of Saint Andrea Academy. He is portrayed as very lecherous man. In addition there is a mascot character called Onion Rink, a transforming creature from the planet Arrienne who transforms into a humanoid fairy. The Fruity Five also have a spacecraft called Abogadick, which in the book has photos of a scratch built model which wasn't released as a garage kit as far as I can tell.

I find this to be a very interesting project which seems rather similar to Gall Force Star Front garage kit photo story series which ran in Hobby Japan through 1985 and into 1986. While that project was far more successful and spawned several anime films and OVAs, Comet Sentai Fruity Five didn't engage the garage kit fandom in the same way unfortunately.

[magalidragon]

summer joys | a Jonerys drabble

Hey look another drabble, lol. I promise I am working on WW, I can’t write the smut when parents are visiting that’s all, so it’s a little slow. Enjoy this drabble! Also I’m using the beautiful sunshine moodboard from @youwerenevermine 🥰😘

Jon Snow hated his fucking life.

He was currently in the tiny, leaking, overly humid bathroom in the back of the surf shop, scrubbing his skin raw after an absolute shithead of a teenager named Joffrey had thrown up on him post-riptide rescue.

And the fucker’s mother had the gall to say she might sue him because her precious baby was coughing up seawater after almost drowning in the Summer Sea. And he’d saved the little shit.

He needed a new job.

This whole part-time beach lifeguard, part-time surf shop, part-time waiter, part-time valet was a full-time shitshow.

Unfortunately his evil aunt decided he didn’t get any of his uncle’s and adoptive father’s estate for college money so here he was saving every penny in the summer instead of actually enjoying it like everyone around him.

He finished removing the last layer of his skin and stepped out, right into his cousin. “You look like death,” she announced. “Take off the rest of shift.”

“I can’t I told your boyfriend I’d cover for him.” He made a face. “Maybe so you two can go fuck off.”

Arya stuck out her tongue. “Fuck you, by the way noise canceling headphones tonight.”

He gagged, pushing by her and up to the counter, the shop blessedly empty. He took a swig of water from

his bottle, leaning down to tuck it under the counter when he heard a soft, accented voice call out.

“Excuse me?”

Jerking up, he didn’t realize how low he actually had been or how deep he was under the counter, because when he stood so fast, the back of his head cracked loudly under the countertop, sending a shot of pain right down his neck.

“Fuck!” he cursed, rubbing the offended spot, blinking away stars.

The woman who had startled him gasped, hands to her mouth. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you!”

He smiled weakly. “No problem.” And he got a good look at why his brain and decided to play off a concussion instead of get pissed. It was because the woman in front of him was a legitimate mermaid.

Her silver hair was bound in a messy series of braids, in a coil tossed over her shoulder, a pair of sunglasses perched on her head. Lavender eyes peered at him, concerned, her elven features creased in concern. She wore a bikini top that shimmered like it was scales, purple and teal and gold. A pair of cutoff shorts and sandy bare feet completed the picture. She was tiny, but there were decent muscles on her little frame.

He swallowed hard. “Uh…I’m fine, sorry about that…how can I help you?”

She gestured to some of the surfboard wax that was sitting behind him on the back counter. "I was wondering if I could borrow some of that for my board?"

"Oh, sure...um, we can do that free." He didn't think they did, but he also didn't care. At this point if they wanted to fire him, go for it. He walked around the counter, swiping the wax, and gestured towards the sawhorses set up outside. "Just here."

"Thanks, appreciate it." She darted out and around the corner, returning with a board that he envied; it was gorgeous, black and red with dragons painted up it. She easily maneuvered the board onto the sawhorses and stepped backwards. "I can do it if you want."

"No problem."

"You seemed busy, I saw you with that kid."

He smiled sheepishly. "Just doing my job."

The woman grinned, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight. "Saving someone's life in the sea and then hvaing his mother scream at you? That's a bit mroe than just doing your job. That's patience."

"I try."

"You know I also saw you at the Salt Shack." She pursed her lips, fighting another smile. She crossed her arms over her chest; he tried to avoid looking, but it was very quick, he would swear on it, before forcing himself to focus on the board. "You were bartending."

"Um, aye, I bartend too."

"So you're a lifeguard..." She began to tick off her fingers. "A bartender, work the surf shop...anything else?"

Jon glanced up, moving from one end of the board towards the other as he rubbed the wax on it. "Uh...I park cars too at the resort. Tuesday and Thursday mornings." He wasn't sure why she was sticking around; he could wax the board and get it back to her faster, but she was standing pretty close now and wasn't really moving, so he had to edge around her to keep waxing the baord.

"Quite busy. Do you have any time for yourself?"

"Some mornings I get out to surf."

Her eyes lit up. "You do? Where?"

"Um..." He bit hs lower lip, narrowing his gaze on her. He pointed the wax cloth towards her. "Yo uknow a surfer doesn't give up the best spots."

The woman laughed; yes, she was definitely a mermaid. It was bubbly, genuine. Definitely not flirting with him. If she were flirting, it would be fake. That's what he'd experienced. "I've been coming to Sunspear my entire life, try me."

He tossed some hair out of his eyes, which had come undone from the messy knot. "Serpent's Cove."

Her lips twitched. "You're the one," she said softly.

He cocked his head. "HUh?" Now he was really confused.

She moved her arms, sticking her thumbs in her back short pockets. Her muscles flexed, abs tight. "You're the one," she repeated. "The one on the white board, with the red eyes. You're always leaving when I'm coming." She arched her brows, leaning towards him, voice soft. "Maybe you should stick around while I'm coming next time."

His face flushed red at the double entendre. Maybe he was reading too much into this. "Uh...I don't..." he stammered.

"Relax," she chuckled. "I won't steal all the good waves." She nodded towards her board. "You keep working that wood, I'll get us some drinks."

Jon almost fainted. He froze, unsure what was happening, and watched her saunter off. He swallowed the dry patch in his throat and turned around, seeing Arya staring at him, her mouth on the ground. "What?” he croaked.

Arya grabbed the nearest item-- a sunscreen bottle-- tossing it at him. "You idiot! She was flirting it up good with you and you didn't even notice! What is wrong with you!? Has all that sun burned up your brain?"

Quite possibly, yes. "I noticed," he mumbled, although to be fair he really wasn't sure. His back stiffened and he bit out, "She was just being nice, so I could wax her board free."

"Whatever Jon. Too much work, not enough play, makes you boring, boring, boring."

But he liked being boring. Boring meant he could work, work, work and shove all that money away so he could pay for school. Living on the beach all summer wasn't his vacation time. He made a face at Arya, who sauntered away, and he returned to waxing the board. He finished before she got back and so he also inspected it for any cracks, spotting one on the end that he decided he'd seal for free too.

He was in the process of doing so when the woman returned, holding two fruity drinks and plastic shopping bag over her wrist, the smell of the beach fries from Davos's filling his nostrils. "I got some snacks," she announced and handed him the drink, her fingers brushing against his. Another smile came his way. "I see you're fixing the baord too. Thank you."

"You won't be able to use it for a few hours while it dries."

"No problem," she chirped, hopping easily onto the counter and opening up the fries. She chomped on a few and smiled around them. "My name is Dany, by the way."

"Uh...Jon. I'm Jon."

"I know, I heard your sister say so."

"Cousin," he mumbled, not that it mattered. He reached under the counter for his wallet, hidden in the back. "What do I owe you..."

"No charge, consider it payment for waxing and resealing the board." She tossed her braid over her shoulder and cocked her head. "So are you sure you don't get time off during summer? If you're at Serpent's Cove in the morning, we can meet there. You can show me your moves." She popped another fry into her mouth and wiggled her brows. "Or maybe we can go together."

Flirting, he thought. That's what this was. He really, truly fucking sucked. And gods did he hate his life if he still hadn't figured this out and he was already twenty-three. He bit his bottom lip hard, drawing blood and nodded. Just do it. “We can go together."

"After dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Sure, we'll get dinner and then tomorrow morning we'll go together to surf." Dany jumped down from the counter and took his hand, reaching for a pen on the counter and scribbled her number on his inner arm. She patted it and smiled up. "My number. If you're working tonight, I'll see you there. You can get me a drink."

The boss moves on this girl, he thought, staring dumbly. He swallowed hard again, drawing up on all his confidence-- sometimes he really didn't have much and definitely getting barfed on today drained that well already-- to put his hands on his hips and say: "I'm not working tonight, so I'll take you to dinner."

A smile flirted on her lips. "How about you come to my place? I'll make dinner."

He smiled; she was actually making this seem easier. "Oh?"

"Oh. It will be quite easy, you see, because well..." She took his arm again and wrote out her address. She picked up her board and winked at him. "See you there."

Jon gaped at the address-- it was right on Serpent's Cove. He'd been surfing in her backyard and didn't even know it, this entire time. He gazed over his shoulder at her back, just in time to see her throw a wide grin over her shoulder and wave, before running towards the ocean, kicking up sand and shining like a silver light, the sunshine bouncing off her at every angle.

That evening, with dinner abandoned in the bungalow behind them, and Dany humming contentedly in his arms as he kissed down her neck, the two of them twisted around each other on a sandy blanket near the shore, a glorious sunset somewhere in the distance, Jon decided he actually didn’t hate his life at all.

[harveywritings92]

BNHA Vampire soulmate au: they feed off you for the first time.

They explain to you how blood tastes to them and enjoy a meal... 

Tw: Blood drinking, heavy petting

---------------------------------

Hawks: It's been a year you and Keigo seem to be together, you've been talking about moving in together anywho, You got a paper cut and Keigo who was crashing at your placed smelled it from your living room, he nearly gave you a heart attack when you turned around to see him standing behind you, his gold eyes had red tinge as he eyed your finger like a like man who hasn't eaten in a week. "Ey, there I thought you've already had enough to drink today?" you were referring to the black and red sports bottle he'd brought with him. "I did, It's just- You have no Idea how hard I've been holding back, your blood it does something to me..." Keigo husked eyes locked on the crimson nectar dripping down your hand he was salivating and swallowed hard. "My blood...does it smell good?" you asked timidly.

The blond snapped out of his trance. "Petal, you smell like ripe strawberries and chocolate to me..." Keigo has already told you how smoker's blood smells and taste to him, well you now you were curious about non-smokers, and asked if blood type also has an effect on the blood's flavor? the winged vamp was happy to answer! 

Smokers: Charcoal/moldy bread.

Drunks: depends on how drunk they are, it's somewhere between hard soda and hard wine or liquor.

Drug users: no idea, he says they smell like rotten eggs, and he's seen how loopy other vamps act after feeding on them and stays clear of them.

Sick/injured: He stays away from sick people but they smell like a cross between a hospital or a funeral home.

Virgins: sweet/tart like fruit-punch.

regular folks: like Sangria the fruitiness is still there but it's mixed with bitter wine . 

"Blood types don't really change up the flavors, but I've noticed type As have a spice to them, Bs start off sour, and type Os are pretty mellow." You hummed very intrigued at what you were hearing then, noticed Keigo was still eyeing your finger, like a starved animal, you looked down at the cut then back Keigo and noticed his wings were tense and he was clenching his jaw, after some thought you sighed you held your hand out to him. "Go head before your jaw breaks" His wings bristled. "I'm not some desperate leech y'know." he huffed you shrugged and went to went to put a band-aid on, but Keigo stopped you.

"Let's not be hasty here..."  He stammered out at you cocked a brow at him. "Yer really giving me mixed signals here." you huffed did he want your blood or not? " Um... Are you sure about this?" he said blush adoring his cheeks. "I'm just letting you suck my finger...Why are you acting like I just asked you to pop my cherry?" Keigo's face was as red as a cherry as you said this. "Because you essenually are..." He explained the big difference between mates and prey, on instinct he wouldn't give a crap about some rando he picked up off the street or whatever mystery pack the commission gives him, but you... 

You're his soulmate, his fated one... and right now your pretty much telling him to make you his! He's not gonna stop at your finger, once he's had a taste he's going for your neck! And once he bites you that's it, you have his mark forever, You paused absorbing what the blond male just told you...Well, he hardly leaves you alone already might as well go all in? "Do it." Hawks's eyes were red now. "Come" he hissed sitting across from you and gesturing to sit in his lap.

You complied and watched Keigo warily as he brought your finger to his mouth, immediately you felt a shock go through you the second Keigo's tongue started lapping at the cut, he moaned tasting your blood for the first time. He was right you tasted every bit as sweet as he thought you would...*more...more...* his monster groaned euphorically he felt the cut on your finger close from his saliva's healing properties.

Keigo's eyes drifted towards your neck, You gasp feeling his grip on your hand tighten before his free hand found it's way behind your head, you tensed seeing Keigo's fangs elongate but before he could pierce your neck he smelled your distress.

His rough hold on you suddenly slacked and his hands lowered to your hips his thumbs gently rubbed you sides as he left little kisses and nip along your jaw before you calmed down enough to trust Hawks wasn't gonna tear your throat out. "Just relax." he cooed kissing you neck a couple more times like a countdown. one...two... three! 

You tried not to scream as you felt his fangs pierce your neck, your fingers gripped his jacket as you felt yourself be drained... then like a switch had been slowly tuned the pain tuned into pleasure? moans started sneaking their out from your mouth which confused you, the blond vampire groaned in ecstasy at how rich your blood tasted with lust mixed in he buck his hips against you, after what seemed like hours Keigo's fangs finally retracted from your flesh and lap at the two holes he left on your neck, they sealed as you whimpered weakly Keigo just shushed and you. "It's alright kid, you did good" he cooed kissing your head as you started drifting out of consciousness.   

When you woke up your head was pounding like a bad hangover Keigo was cradling you in his lap looking relieved and sheepish, he explained he went a little overboard with his drinking and venom dosing and you got drunk on him and passed out! you must've looked panicked cos Keigo assured you were completely fine, the venom isn't lethal... (To you anyways, one of the benefits of being a vampire's soulmate.) Though you might be a bit feverish and cranky for the next couple days.  

----------------------------------------------------

Dabi: You were on your period so yes Dabi's self restraint was breaking! you had no fucking idea what you blood was doing to him you smelled like a 5 star meal and all he could do was sit and drown in his own drool and watch you, like a hawk as you moaned and groaned about  cramps and ruining your pajama shorts when you woke up this morning! a low growl escaped the faux raven haired vamp when he saw you toss out a bag with said aforementioned shorts, it took every nerve in him not to run after the garbage truck like a starved dog! before something you said snapped him out of his trance. "hn...What ya say?" he looked at you drinking his third pack of cow's blood.

"I asked if my blood smells good and what does it taste like?"

"I wouldn't know haven't tasted yours yet..."

"Well, what about anyone else's?" 

"Why are you suddenly interested?"

You huffed "Sorry for wanting to know you..." and were about to tell him to forget it, when the the undead cremator spoke up. "Mocha mixed wit' something spicy like cinnamon or rum" he muttered not looking at you. Of course you cocked a brow now intrigued, now that that was out of the bag he might as well tell ya the rest. 

Smokers: burnt rubber/earwax (eh, everyone was a kid once, had to know what that gunky crap in your ear tasted like.)

Drunks: Depends on how much they've drank, it could between hard water to straight up red wine.

Drug users: the one time he fed on one he thought they were just a pothead, but in turned out they had ate a few shrooms which made them kinda taste like... orange juice and black liquorice?... Honestly he can't give a straight answer, as he was too busy trippin out on another plain of existence to remember.  

Sick/injured: doesn't feed off the sick, but they smell like a hospital or a morgue.

Virgins: like apples and honey

Regular folks: they taste like Apple cider. 

Animal blood: kinda tastes like artificial cherry cough syrup, and he hates it!

"Then why do you drink it?" you gulped seeing his cerulean eyes flash red for a brief second as he locked eyes with you. "Why?...*growl* your standing in front of me smelling like a walking buffet and you have to gall ask me why I drinking this crap?!" he snapped crushing the blood pack in his hand as you started backing away, you were nervous that only fueled Dabi's sadistic side you learned early that he enjoyed agitating you via flashing his fangs, popping behind you out of seemingly nowhere, and faking you out.

I.E. making it seem like he was gonna bite you then blow air in your ears before walking away laughing at your reaction, something about putting you on edge and having your adrenaline pumping through your veins adds more "spice" to your scent, it happens so often that Dabi started noticing arousal was mixing in with your fear, you bet your ass he started mocking you for getting off on him scaring you. 

Of course right now you weren't sure if he was seriously mad, or making fun of you again? He was not making fun of you again he was seriously pissed off, The nerve of you walking around asking him about useless crap, and offering him nothing in return! Dabi had you backed against a wall face buried in your shoulder you felt him sniffing you and flinched you felt him nipping along your neck, and like all the other times he's riled you he smelled that that little speck of arousal through the fear. 

He let out a low chuckle causing you to to become fed up, you though he was screwing with you again! "Goddamm-.hm!" You were cut off by sharp yelp as Dabi's fang suddenly pierced your neck! oh god it hurt! you whimpered tried shoving Dabi off! he groaned pushing your back against the wall, suddenly your body felt weird... you moaned it was hot and and everything felt sensitive...

You barely registered Dabi lifting your legs up you instinctively wrapped them around his hips, he let out a low purr and his demeanor became less angry and forceful, his shoulders relaxed as his hands gently rubbed your legs, after what seemed like hours Dabi finally pulled away from your neck lapping at the pin holes he left on, he checked on you only to find you passed out his eye had a rare tenderness to them as he eyed your flushed appearance. "Well aren't you high maintenance." he cooed his thumb caressing you chin before taking you to bed.   

----------------------------------------------------

Bakugou: He didn't want say what you smelled like to him as it made him look soft, he finally cracks after more poking a prodding. "If I fucking do will you shut up and let me sleep?!" he hissed it was 8: 47 p.m. and he was tired which confused you, the sun was still out and you could hear kids playing in the streets outside. You heard a angry growl Katsuki's ears were pink. "S'mores...you smell like S'mores, happy?" he groaned when you started shaking him, no point in trying to sleep now that he's lit the fuse! He gave you the sum up of what blood tastes like to him.

Smokers: old news paper and figs.

Drug users: No clue stays clear of them, they smell like pickled eggs.

Drunks: Somewhere between hard water and flavored vodka.

Virgins: Why would you want to kno-... arhg! Coffee and vanilla!

Regular folks: Irish coffee and bitter mint.

Then you you started asking about blood types and what it was when he drank, Next thing you knew Katsuki let out this frustrated bellow! You yelped as he grabbed your wrists and pinned you under him. "You wanna know what it feels like?" you sheepishly mumbled a meek "yes" but the blonds red eyes narrowed. "Hah? say that again I couldn't hear ya?" he jeered trying to get you to use your voice, you repeated "Yes" again a bit more forceful as the ash blond unbuttoned the shirt he let you borrow exposing your neck to him. 

Katsuki frowned he could smell your reluctance, then grumbled in annoyance as he recalled Shitty-hair's advice ""Take it slow, be gentle..."" He took a deep breath and carefully buried his face in you neck, You flinched expecting him to clamp down, giving how much you annoyed him, but to your surprise; Katsuki instead opted to started leaving kisses along your jaw and collar bone.

You bit back a moan when he found you sweet spot and causing Katsuki to smirk if wasn't so hungry and tired right now, he might've taken this much farther, but the mouthwatering scent of your blood calling him was too much to pass up. "I'm gonna do it" he husked as you nodded and with that, Katsuki's fangs pierced your neck.

You gasped in pain felling them puncture your skin as Katsuki grasped your hand, the blond groaned in euphoria your blood tasted every bit as rich and sweet as he thought it would, he could smell your discomforted and on instinct inject a doses of his venom into your bloodstream in minutes your blood's flavor intensified with added lust, your tiny moans and whimpers were music to his hears, soon his instincts were warning him stop.

Katsuki's fangs retracted he lapped at the punctures he left on your neck, before pulling away to look at you and snorted you were a flushed out mess. "That sate your curiosity?" he huffed fixing your shirt you tried to say something but were too exhausted to say anything tangible, the ash blond chuckled and settled down next to you for the night.   

-------------------------------------------------------

[ashley-jones]

Of Course I Stayed

Warnings: Cursing, Severe Injury, Gunshot wound, Blood, Near Death, Daughter finally standing up to abusive parents, Black out anger

Happy Ending!

Character Name: Adriana Rhett, Natalia Petrov (Mother), Pietro Petrov (Father)

Characters: Rhea Ripley, Nikki A.S.H, Charlotte Flair, Shayna Baszler, Carmella, Becky Lynch, Auska, Nia Jax

"Did you seriously do all that just to get a damn belt?!" Rhea yelled. The young wrestler was kneeling in front of her wiping blood from the older females lip. "I didn't mean to cause any actual harm.." she whispered. "And if I didn't then my parents would have paid wwe to kick me off.." she mumbled.

Demi moved away pushing the girls hand away from her. Adriana just lowered her arm biting the inside of her cheek. "I'm sorry.." she whispered. "Whatever.." Rhea growled. She stood up, shifting the female with her knee and walking away. Adriana didn't chase after her instead she just sat there, ignoring the camera aiming towards her.

"Adriana your parents are searching for you." one of the security guards coldly spoke. She looked back before dropping the rag and standing up. "You can tell them I said they can go fuck themselves." she growled. Grabbing her belt and silk covering she walked away, heading straight to her dressing room. She wanted to get home as soon as possible, so that she can lock the door and just lay on the couch listening as some random show blasted in the background with her animals surrounding her.

But of course that wasn't allowed. She could never do what she wanted. So when her parents came bursting through that door. She snapped. Her mind went black, her anger, pain, and exhaustion all mixing together creating a deep pit of anger. Anger that she wanted to get rid of, and the only way to do that was putting the two homophobic assholes down.

Once that door shut she picked a vase up, throwing it causing it to shatter against her fathers head. He fell to the floor yelling in pain. Next was her mother which earned a harsh kick to the stomach, and an elbow to the side of her head. Her father grabbing her by her hair pulling her back and smacking her head on the desk, which she grabbed a pen stabbing it into the side his throat. He fell pulling the pen out quickly covering the bleeding wound. Her mother quickly stood up running out to gather security.

"Quit crying. It makes you look weak." she growled. The same words he repeated her during her whole childhood. "All my life you have done nothing but torture me. Beat me. Push me down. Telling me I'm not normal. Well that's fine.. I'll go out by teaching you the same lessons you taught me." she growled. Picking up a piece of galls from the shattered vase she went to stab him, but the sharp sound of a taser rang through the room. A scream left her, the extreme jolt sending her to her knees.

A knee slammed into her upper back forcing her down on the floor. The officers forcing her arms behind her back handcuffing her. She let out an angered yell watching as her father was quickly taken care of. It wasn't fair! Why could they put her abuse and steal her childhood?! Why couldn't she Stan up for herself properly?!

"Get off me!!" she screamed. She kicked up slamming her feet into the wall kicking herself back causing the officers to fall as well. Flipping back she stood up pulling her arms in front of her and taking off, officers quickly following after her. She pushed past wrestlers she's called friends, pushing the exit door open and running. But the sound of a gun going off, then pain filling her lower back. Lips parting letting out a silenced cry, sliding to the ground blood pouring from the wound and sinking through her gear.

She fell to the ground turning over despite the pain, looking up at the star filled sky. Her vision was fading, tears beginning to flow down her cheeks. 'its not fair..' she thought. She watched as her parents where led out by their security and into an ambulance. Soon her head fell to the side, vision going black.

Becky, Nikki, Shayna, and Rhea fought past the officers and rushed to the fallen female. Blood was covering the front of her clothing, left hand smeared with her father's blood. Becky quickly ripped open her body suit placing a hand over the wound, Nikki lifting her and helping with the back wound. "Get her a fucking ambulance!!" Rhea yelled.

Shayna rushed pulling out her phone quickly dialing 911 asking for immediate transport. Within 5 minutes the ambulance pulled into the arena parking lot. The officers tried to stop the ambulance from taking her due to the assault, but they where shoved back lifting the young wrestler onto a lift and transporting her into the truck. Demi quickly got up front, while the second paramedic jumped into the back with Adriana to try and stop the bleeding.

Darkened blue eyes opened, blinking a few times to get use to the bright lights around her. Turning her head looking at the IV's in her arm, then turning to the other side noticing Demi sleeping uncomfortably in the chair beside the bed.

Pulling the blanket down she shifted the gown seeing the bandages wrapped all around her stomach. Looking back at Demi, unable to remember what happened. "D-Demi.." she whispered. Her voice was rasped with sleep, the woman shifting, muscles cracking and stretching. She looked over meeting the others blue eyes, which made her sit up quickly looking directly at her.

"Hey.." she quickly said. Rhea was on her knees instantly taking the girls hand holding it. "What happened..?" Adriana whispered. Demi looked at her before leaning down and kissing her knuckles. "You had a schizophrenic episode, doctor said you had a complete blackout and you attacked your parents.. But they're not pressing charges, despite the fact you stabbed your father with a pen.." Demi explained.

"Jesus..." She mumbled letting her head fall back staring up at the ceiling. "Why aren't they pressing charges?" she whispered. "If they'd press charges they would have been arrested for child neglect and abuse." Demi answered. "There was a bunch of tapes of you and your father found.. You've been in a coma for almost 2 years.." Demi softly said.

Adriana didn't know what to say to that, her eyes widened before lifting her arm and covering her mouth tears filling her eyes. Demi stood up touching her cheek wiping the tears before they could fall. "Its okay.. You're not alone alright." she softly assured. Demi leaned down kissing the top of her head, which she lifted slightly hoping for more affection from the older woman.

Sitting up Adriana pressed her lips to Demi's, lips pressing softly to hers. Butterflies filled her stomach once her hands gently pressed into either side of her neck, holding her softly. Kissing back Demi gently holding her face, both smiling in the kiss. Moving away pressing their foreheads together a smile gracing Adriana's features.

"King.." she whispered. Her husky coming to mind which Demi laughed softly. "He's at my place, along with Bowie and Simba." Rhea assured. A sigh left her smiling softly and nodding, before slowly moving over and pulling Rhea into the bed. Her hands quickly pinning on either side of her so she didn't push her full weight onto her. "You just woke up princess." she laughed softly.

Adriana wrapped her arms around Rhea's neck hugging her softly. "Thank you for staying.." she whispered. Demi kissed her shoulder holding her waist close. "Of course I stayed.. I love you Adri." she softly spoke. Adriana looked up at her with big eyes, before smiling. "I love you too.." she whispered. Demi smiled kissing her deeply, gently holding her waist.

Becky and Shayna blocked the door from Demi, the young wrestler dressed in white laughing behind it listening to her soon to be wife's attempts of trying to see her. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the reception!" Becky quickly said. "I am a bride!" Demi attempted. "Exactly! And so is she! Which means it'd be serious bad luck for both of you!" Nikki called out.

This had Adriana and her hair and makeup artists laughing. "You'll see me on 20 minutes!" she laughed out. "That's not fair!" Demi called back. The 3 girls inside laughing, while Nikki, Shayna, and Becky tried their best to hold in their laughter.

1 year ago Demi proposed to Adriana after 4 months of dating. Adriana was removed from WWE for a temporary amount of time, which Demi decided to take some time off as well to plan the wedding, and just to make up for the two years without her. Finally the day of the wedding came, and Demi was impatient to see her fiance.

She wanted to see the beautiful gown of suit that dressed her body. She wanted to see her smile with her hair done beautifully as she walked down that isle. She wanted to kiss her, hold her tightly, and place that ring on her wedding fingers finally being able to take her as her wife. But Becky, Shayna, and Nikki where preventing it. But she wasn't angry, she knows Adriana would be worth the wait. So when she's led out to the reception, and towards the alter, her bridesmaids soon joining. Becky, Shayna, Nia, Melanie Adriana sister, Charlotte, and Alexa stood on Adriana's side smiling and talking quietly with one another.

Toni, Nikki, Sasha, Auska, and Bianca each stood behind Rhea. Music started making Demi quickly look up watching the isle closely. Adriana's niece was the first to walk down, bright 4ed rose petals flowing from her bask as she wore an adorable pink floral dress and pink flats. The sight made her smile softly, but the female thst came after made that smile fall as a look of shock crossed her features.

Adriana looked gorgeous. She looked like a goddess with a beautiful glow surrounding her. She had a beautiful white floral ball gown on, the top part of the dress was laced with cotton, sleeves floral with white see through lace. Her hair was braided beautifully, flowers present along with encrusted pins. Her makeup was light but present in the sunlight. Her older brother was leader her down the isle, parents banned from stepping near her and the rest of her siblings.

Gently stepping up onto the alter with the help of Demi, fingers laced together. Staring up into her eyes listening as Demi said her vowels first, her cheeks a light shade of pink not use to being so emotional. The sight made Adriana smile, tears forming in her eyes as she listened. Next where her vowels, every word was softly spoken, her thumb grazing the others knuckles.

"There is nothing more romantic and sacred than standing before all those dear to your hearts to declare your love to one another. This time-honored tradition is carried on only by those committed to a true life-long love story. I can feel that desire burning bright today."

"Let’s begin. Demi please repeat after me to offer your commitment to Adriana" the preacher softly spoke.

I, Demi take thee, Adriana Rhett, to be my lawfully wedded wife. I take you just as you are and in every form you may ever be. You are the light in my life and the beat in my heart. I promise to tend to your weakness just as I applaud your strengths. I promise to reach for your hand when I am lost. I promise to show you, day in and day out, that you are my everything. On this day, I give you my heart." Demi softly repeated, eyes never leaving Adriana bright blue ones.

"Ok Adriana, please repeat after me to offer your commitment to Demi Bennett."

I, Adriana, take thee,Demi Bennett, to be my lawfully wedded wife. I take you just as you are and in every form you may ever be. You are the light in my life and the beat in my heart. I promise to tend to your weakness just as I applaud your strengths. I promise to reach for your hand when I am lost. I promise to show you, day in and day out, that you are my everything. On this day, I give you my heart." Adriana repeated, fingers lightly clenching against hers not wanting to let go.

"as you exchange your rings today, you are also reinforcing your faithful commitment to trust, love, and romance. Each ring serves as a constant reminder that you are loved. Your beloved is giving you the most precious gift on Earth through love." the officiant softly spoke. Adriana's niece smiled walking forward holding up the pillow. Demi grabbed first gently lifting Adriana's hand slipping the beautiful ring onto her finger. Adriana did the same with Demi, her fingers entangling with hers once more, smile going from soft to bright.

"By the power vested in me by the Universal Life Church Ministries, before your families and your friends, I now pronounce you lawfully and spiritually united. Please seal your marriage with your first wedded kiss." the offianct softly spoke.

Demi stepped forward quickly placing her lips against Adriana, back arching down allowing the younger to bow slightly. Cheers filled the large area, flashes from the photographers appearing. Arms wrapping around Demi's neck kissing her deeply, a big smile against her lips.

"I love you Rhea Ripley." Adriana whispered. "And I love you Adriana Ripley." Demi replied with a smile. They kissed once more earning cheers from their bridesmaids.

Adriana looked back at them, before lifting the bouquet of red, black, and white roses. She shrugged tossing it behind her towards the group of bridesmaids. Becky caught it holding it to her chest earning a smile from the newly Weds.

-

Adriana Petrov Rhett was now Adriana Ripley Bennett.

She was the wife of Demi Bennett, the Professional Australian Wrestler.

She came from a big family in Russia and made her name very well known in America by becoming one of the strongest female wrestlers in WWE and NXT. She's had her whole life planned out by her parents.

But now, she was choosing her own path.

And that path was Demi.

[padawanlost]

Hello there! I just wanted to ask about something that’s been confusing me real quick: did Anakin lord over others with his Chosen One status or not? Because I thought he was insecure, disliked all the expectations that came with it, and didn’t really believe in that old prophecy to begin with. But, in Jude Watson’s books he thinks he deserves all these things because of it and rubs that status in other faces? I just need some clarity please lol thank you so much and I adore your blog ❤️

No, not at all. If anything, one of Anakin’s biggest difficulties was to assert himself in front of others (specially people in power).

This is a man who is considered a hero of the galaxy, of the most powerful jedi ever, married, soon to be father, beloved and respect by his men and even complete strangers…yet…look at how easily he submits.

If Anakin had been anything like some ‘fans’ like to pretend he was, he wouldn’t be the character portrayed on screen. He’d more like characters like Tony Stark, someone who is completely confident in his abilities and is not ashamed to admit it. But that’s NOT the character we see on screen, or anywhere else for that matter.

The Jedi Council didn’t want me, either. Being the Chosen One didn’t count for anything. Master Yoda wouldn’t train me, or Windu. Every member of the Jedi Council had had something more pressing to do than help him work out what this terrible, galaxy-changing power of his meant, and how he should live in its shadow. He still wasn’t sure. Anakin recalled standing there in that grand, polished Jedi Council Chamber, surrounded by what felt like fear, and disdain, and bewilderment—who were those Masters to feel bewildered, that the only person there who cared if he lived or died was Master Qui-Gon Jinn. And they stopped him training the Chosen One. Qui-Gon hadn’t cared what the Jedi Council said. He’d trained him anyway, a Padawan in all but name. Why am I thinking of all this now? Haven’t I put it behind me? Haven’t I had enough bad memories since then to take their place? Haven’t I vindicated Master Qui-Gon? [Karen Traviss. The Clone Wars]

Anakin enjoyed praise from Obi-Wan, but often became sullen when he was reprimanded. Obi-Wan assured him that he himself had been frequently reminded by Qui-Gon to be more mindful of the Force, but somehow even the slightest criticism managed to leave Anakin feeling stung. First they tell me to do my best, then they tell me I’ve gone too far! ANAKIN SKYWALKER IN THE RISE AND FALL OF DARTH VADER BY RYDER WINDHAM

Despite Anakin’s desire to distance himself from the slave he had once been, he was unable, or unwilling, to shed the other aspects that had defined him on Tatooine. He still dreamed of glory, still craved adventure, and never lost his appetite for high-speed thrills and the desire to prove himself in competition. THE RISE AND FALL OF DARTH VADER BY RYDER WINDHAM

Anakin was liked by the other students, but he had no close friends. He was not loved. Obi-Wan told himself that Anakin’s gifts naturally set him apart. But in his heart, he grieved for Anakin’s loneliness. JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE WAY OF THE APPRENTICE]

Just when Anakin thought he’d passed that elusive finishing line that said adult, experienced, seen it all, he realized he was still twenty, Jedi or not, and the wounded boy in him still rose to the surface—provoked into angry violence, scared of abandonment, and still in need of approval. KAREN TRAVISS [STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS NOVELIZATION]

[Obi-Wan] knew, glancing at his Padawan’s eager face, that Anakin meant well from the bottom of his heart. If Obi-Wan saw a shadow on that heart, he knew it would pain his Padawan to know it. In many ways, Anakin was still a boy. A wounded, loving, anxious boy with great gifts he did not fully understand. Yet he was also a young man, close to maturity, who could do great harm. To others, yes. To himself, most of all JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE SCHOOL OF FEAR]

“I just…” Anakin stopped. He took a ragged breath. “I thought you would be proud of me.” I am proud of you. Obi-Wan wanted to say the words. They were true. He was proud of so much in Anakin. But now was not the time to tell him that. Or was it? JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE SCHOOL OF FEAR]

Fixing broken machines was like a meditation. Fixing broken machines was an antidote to every pain, every loss, every fear, every defeat. Fixing broken machines kept him from going mad. CLONE WARS GAMBIT: STEALTH

You are very observant, Ferus, but you must accept that I know him better than you,” Obi-Wan said carefully. “Anakin can be arrogant. I know that. But he is also learning and growing. He is respectful of his great power. He does not abuse it. He is younger than you, but he has seen much injustice, many terrible things. I do not think it so wrong that he wants to change things. You must understand that it isn’t ambition that drives him. It is compassion. OBI-WAN KENOBI IN STAR WARS – JEDI QUEST: THE CHANGING OF THE GUARD BY JUDE WATSON

Taking them, she looked up at him and shook her head, even though it still ached. “It’s odd. You’re nothing like I expected.” “Why?” he said, perching on the edge of the nearby chair. “What did you expect?” “I don’t know,” she said, floundering. “I can’t say I’ve ever given the Jedi much thought. I mean, not as individuals. I never expected to meet one—let alone two. I don’t tend to go places where your skills are needed. But—well—you’re gentle.” That made him smile. “As opposed to what?” She swallowed the pain-tabs, washing them down with a mouthful of water. “Oh. You know. The HoloNet news—it portrays as you as this—this—heroic warrior. Larger than life. Charging into battle, lightsaber flashing. Scourge of the Separatists. That kind of thing.” She shrugged. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

“Ten years in this place, and still he was an object of interest. Of speculation. All their hopes and dreams hanging on him like decorations on a bantha skeleton at Boonta Eve. He hated it.” [Clone Wars: Wild space, Karen Miller]

[Anakin] did not like the fact that he had won. It seemed wrong that he had stepped so far out of line, and yet had been retained as a Padawan. He did not like the unease this victory, if victory it was, produced in him. Above all weaknesses, arrogance was the most costly. They keep me here because I have potential they’ve never seen before. They keep me in training because they’re curious to see what I can do. I feel like a rich man who never knows whether his friends are true-or whether they just want his money. This was a particularly galling thought, and certainly neither true nor fair. Why do they put up with me, then? Why do I keep testing them? [Greg Bear’s Rogue Planet]

The only piece of media where Anakin is more ‘openly’ arrogant is in The Clone Wars (2008) but even then, he doesn’t flaunt his alleged ‘status’ over everyone. His arrogance is reflected more through his disobedience, not open defiance and antagonist behavior towards his peers.

But hey, what do Hayden Christensen, George Lucas and most Star Wars writers know? lol

PS: thank you! <3