#hairbrained scheme

[builder051]

NaNo 2024 day 8: A hairbrained scheme

Avengers Infinity Saga canon/missing moment

Right before they put the time through the Scott

Humor without plot

————————

Bruce sits behind the control panel in his lab. Scott’s van is backed into place in front of him, and many wires and cords run from its trunk to his computer.

That’s not his focus at the moment, though. A video chat window dominates his screen.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Bruce implores.

“Nope.” Tony replies succinctly. “I already told you. And I haven’t changed my mind.”

“It’s still not too late. We can delay launch until you get here,” Bruce offers. “Come on. The team’s back. We need you to help save the world.”

“I need to be in the backyard,” Tony says. “Got to blaze the fire pit. Morgan already has the tent. We’re camping out tonight. You know, play a little banjo, melt some marshmallows. Way more important than your hairbrained scheme.”

“Can I get your blessing at least? If it works, I’m taking all the credit.” Bruce tries for a light, friendly tone. He doesn’t want to be angry with Tony. He doesn’t want to be angry at all. “If it fails… Well, it was Scott’s idea.”

Both men laugh, but they quickly sober when they make eye contact again. Tony’s hand comes into the camera view, and the feed cuts off.

“Hey!” Scott calls from across the lab. “Why were you laughing at me. This is a great idea.” He gestures at the van. “I’m the only one with an idea.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Bruce says. “It’s just…Tony. He’s spent too much time alone. I think it’s an entrepreneur thing.”

“So he’s really a no go?” Scott asks. “For sure?”

“Yeah,” Bruce sighs. He closes the tab for the video chat and returns his attention to the time machine’s programming. “At this point, he may as well be on another planet.”

“He still covers the insurance, right?” Scott squirms in his vermillion hazmat suit. “If I die on the job, somebody’s got to get the payout to Cassie. I, uh, haven’t been great at that college fund thing. Do a cashier’s check. And delivery receipt.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Bruce reassures. “It worked last time.” He taps a few keys, finishing up the last line of his equation. “You survived the dust after all.”

“Mm.” Scott nods. “Will it be like jet lag, do you think? If I come back all woozy, wave some horseradish under my nose. That’ll kick me out of any kind of time coma.” He takes in Bruce’s blank look. “You have condiments here?” He tilts his head toward the fridge in the back of the lab.

“I don’t know,” Bruce says. “Natasha does the groceries. I usually eat out.” He hovers his finger over the power switch. “It’ll go fine. You ready?”

“Wait!” Scott stalls. “We should get something tonight. To celebrate, you know? After this thing works? Your treat. You have Doordash?”

“We have to actually do it first.” Bruce flicks the switch. The equipment in the back of the van lights up. “Then tonight we’re eating on Tony’s ticket.” He grins at Scott. “Do you like s’mores?”

[kuzann]

So did Vlad wait 20 years before trying to get revenge on Jack because he had to enter his midlife crisis first? :p

[six-of-ravens]

me: okay wikipedia tell me what the deal is with Israel and Palestine

wikipedia: okay well let's start in biblical times--

me: okay, if we have to

wikipedia half an hour later: okay so, then the British--

me: stop, we've now encountered both of the architects of chaos in modern history, so you know what maybe that's all the explanation I need

[byberbunk2069]

She just found some juicy Arasaka secrets (2076)

[incorrectpizza]

hehehe disney ticket is OFFICIALLY booked and I managed to save twenty-five dollars and sixty-four cents which isn't a lot in the grand scheme of things but hey it IS disney we're talking about so uh yeah calling today a win.

[the-tpd-bau]

Just a PSA. I've officially adopted @auroravictorium . She's mine now. Sucks to suck.

[tenojan-in-tevinter]

In datv I want dialogue options for when people suggest doing something absolutely insane and dangerous that are along the lines of just "yeah ok I'll do that." Especially if the person who suggested it was joking

[retrograderesemblance]

It was different, this, seeing Abe knocked off his feet, it was different when it wasn't her delivering the blows, different that she felt a pang of regret twisting in her gut, almost wanting to step forward, to act maternal and go to him in his pathetic state on the ground. There would be time enough for that though, not now.

When the barn doors were properly opened, she allowed Ben to force her from the structure, her knotted wrists in one of his hands, his other clutching his pistol, the barrel level with Abe's back while they walked.

It was a measly bunch situated around the wagon, there were only four of them total, counting Ben, and the others consisted of Walter Havens and two men she didn't recognize.

"Christ, Tallmadge, you said they'd go quiet-like." One of the men she didn't know spoke, the man almost wincing at the sight of smeared blood on Ben's chin, at the apparent bruise forming on Abe's face.

She did hold her tongue uncharacteristically so, at least until she was being helped into the wagon by the "quiet-like" man and that was when she bit hard on the apple seeds, the pods bursting open into sharp shards in her mouth, and she spat in the man's eyes, managing to slip away and begin her faux escape attempt, and perhaps it was a foolish plan, perhaps there was no need to make it look more real than it was, but any and all of those thoughts didn't begin to occur to Molly until she found herself falling, her skirts used to trip her and then a boot connected with her face.

@honorhearted

“Please, Abraham,” his wife scoffed, “more likely I was the one defending you while you cowered under the table."

“Ouch…” he replied coolly, “Glad to know you’ve absolutely zero confidence in me.”

"She's right, Abe…” Ben chimed in, “Everyone knows how Molly gets at the tavern with rowdy customers -- hell, around anyone and anywhere. You have that one scar to prove it."

Whether he liked it or not, Ben had a point. With a sigh, Abe shrugged and turned to his eldest friend as Molly warned him not to slug him in the nose. 

"I'll aim for the eye and cheek area. That should do the least damage..."

Abe huffed again, bracing for the pain, “Let’s get on with it then.” 

Despite his preparedness, the force of the punch knocked him off balance and flat on his arse. 

“Christ…” he winced, tenderly touching his sore cheek despite his tied hands, the swelling already apparent. 

"Jesus, Abe, I'm so sorry." 

“Like hell you are!”

"I didn't think you'd throw your whole body into it like that..." 

Ben pulled Abe to his feet with little effort, only further serving to make Abe self conscious, as he’d always been when they were boys – and more so when they’d grown into men. Despite his strength garnered from years of farming, he knew he couldn’t ever compete with someone like Ben when it came to athleticism.

He was no soldier – no hero. Even now, he was more like a rat skulking around in the dark. Even if he felt like he could make a difference, could help his country, there was nothing heroic about what he did. 

Ben clapped him on the cheek, snapping him back to their current predicament, “You all right?”

“Oh, aye. Never better,” he answered sardonically. 

When Ben relayed their next move, Abe glanced over to Molly, almost as though it would give him some reassurance that regardless of what would take place, she at least would be alright. 

This isn’t real, he reminded himself, she’s gonna be okay.

With a nod to her, he played up his injury, feigning opposition as he allowed Ben to drag him outside.

@retrograderesemblance

[pricegouge]

Haul

Part One MDNI

Master list | on ao3

slasher!trucker!141 x reader

series cw: dark fic. major character deaths, rape/noncon

chapter cw: alcohol/drugs mentioned, though reader doesn't partake. up to you if that's for sobriety purposes or not, though most of this chapter takes place in a bar. public nudity. brief, non descriptive mention of animal harm. Let me know if I missed anything!

Like most terrible things in your life, it starts off with a dare. You're on the I-40 somewhere around Seligmen when Ash's fingers drum on the steering wheel of her busted old beater and you know she's got an evil little scheme brewing by the erratic, staccato beat. She turns to you and grins, hair whipping about her in the wind tunnel created by the open windows. "I dare you," she drawls in the same conversational tone she'd used a few states back to initiate a game of I Spy, back when there were colors other than tan and brown, and the occasional smudge of green shrubbery, to spy. "To flash this trucker when we pass him."

Like most terrible things in your life, it starts off with a dare.

You're on the I-40 somewhere around Seligmen when Ash's fingers drum on the steering wheel of her busted old beater and you know she's got an evil little scheme brewing by the erratic, staccato beat. She turns to you and grins, hair whipping about her in the wind tunnel created by the open windows. "I dare you," she drawls in the same conversational tone she'd used a few states back to initiate a game of I Spy, back when there were colors other than tan and brown, and the occasional smudge of green shrubbery, to spy. "To flash this trucker when we pass him."

Bored off your ass after days in the car with not much to do other than reconnect with your old friend and listen to the same band over and over (Ash was… over excited to be on the way to see them), you briefly consider it before taking in the tacky mud flaps - sexy lady silhouette that's been a staple of trashy truckers since before you were born, here X-rayed so you could see her sexy little skeleton as well. 

"No way," you scoff.

"Oh, c'mon," she nods at the same decals you'd already noticed. "Bet he'd enjoy the show."

"Yeah, bet he'd enjoy turning me into a skeleton, too."

"Well, he'd have to catch you first, and I'm an excellent, speedy little driver."

She was, that being the only reason you'd agreed to her hairbrained idea to drive half across the US. When she'd asked if you'd wanted to join her in seeing your favorite band from high school play their farewell tour out in California, you'd envisioned long nights, heart to hearts, deep conversation under starry desert skies, and a great pay off at the end in the form of one last, cathartic hurrah before a quiet, tired drive home. But you hadn't calculated on Ash still being in her party girl phase.

Perhaps you should have known. One of the main reasons you'd fallen off with her post-graduation was because the crowd she'd been migrating towards was only escalating. You were by no means a square, but between landing a nine-to-five and having bills to pay, your rough edges had slowly been whittling away over the years while, it seemed, Ash had remained the exact same Ash she'd always been. You didn't begrudge her that, but neither did you relish pit stops at dive bars every night, nor juvenile dares in broad daylight. Mind, when you were supposed to be sleeping because you'd driven all night after a stop in west Texas had left Ash incapacitated no less. 

Still, the boredom of not having much to talk about with your only companion, and the monotony of the same albums you've been listening to since middle school being played over and over was wearing on you, and despite your exhaustion, a sense of restlessness had crept in somewhere around Flagstaff and wasn't leaving you be. 

"Fine, but you're buying me a drink tonight."

"Are you drinking!?" she hoots, somewhere between excited you're no longer being 'a stick in the mud,' and apprehensive that she wouldn't have a driver lined up at closing time.

"No, but when I inevitably offer to buy someone else one, you're covering it."

Ash scoffs loudly enough to be heard over both the music and the wind, an impressive feat. "Deal, but once he gets a load of them titties, I'm fairly sure Mr. Kenworth here is gonna be dominating your time tonight."

"That's why you're driving quick enough he can't catch us, remember?" you laugh, already reaching up under your shirt to remove your bra.

The car accelerates, the long black trailer stretching past your passenger window as Ash pulls up alongside it. She whoops happily when you unbuckle your belt, blaring the music and hollering along to get your nerves up. There's a pit in your belly, the kind that forms right at the top of a rollercoaster. Your nerves alight, as if in preparation for a fight, skin drawing tight and pebbling into goosebumps. You spare a thought for how hard your nipples are gonna be and laugh perhaps a bit maniacally. Ash turns your nerves to excitement with a rousing set of slaps to your thick thighs. You take a deep breath, release it with a high, distressed whine. Still, you get a leg under you and contort yourself half out the port, Ash's excited shrieking following you out, though soon ripped away by the rushing of the wind around you. Your shirt whips up. Instinctively, you try to shove it down and then nearly roll your eyes at yourself when you realize what you're about to do. The white nose of the truck looms closer, side view mirror reflecting nothing back at you but a darkened cab. It strikes you as odd, what with the sun beating down on you both, hot and undisturbed by cloud nor foliage. It's blazing on your skin despite the wind, scent of the baked tarmac below heavy in your sinuses. Sand pecks against your flesh, abrasive. You hope a big beetle doesn't come smashing into your teeth before all this is done.

You don't have much time to think about it. Ash swats you on your ass and you pull your shirt up, screaming all the while as the tension in your body boils over like a tea kettle. Eyes squeezed shut, you don't notice at first how the truck carries on straight as an arrow. Unaffected. You expect an air horn or something, get none. When you peek, the tint of the truck's window glares apathetically back at you, a dark shroud through which you have no ability to gauge the driver's reaction.

It's Ash who honks first, the tired sounding beeps jolting you back to reality. You feel let down, disappointed. Self-conscious, stupidly. You shrink back on yourself a bit, shirt hiding the bottom half of your face as you slump back toward your seat. Your chest is still exposed, something you only register when - finally - the airhorn knocks you fully on your ass, hand scrambling to cover yourself in front of your friend. 

Completely ignorant of your emotional turmoil, Ash slaps the steering wheel animatedly, cackling and whooping like she's driving a getaway car after a successful heist. The airhorn sounds again and you glance up at the blank window, embarrassment and shame creeping up your throat. You've no clue why it's worse that you can't see the driver; even less of an idea as to why you were kind of hoping for their approval. Especially considering you have it, you think, another short blast of the horn attesting to the driver's pleasure. You force a grin, give a stupid little wave that you instantly regret. You roll up the window despite Ash's old beater having no AC, desperate for some kind of space between you and the truck. 

Brain skipping, trying to keep busy so you don't have to assess the weird pit of disappointment you'd felt, you reach into the footwell in search of your bra, but stop short when you see it dangling from a strap off Ash's finger. "Thanks," you mumble, and then glare daggers at her when she yanks it away quicker than you can grab. She's got that face on again, the mischief making one.

"Don't you dare," you hiss, but she just cackles and sends it flying out the open sunroof. "Ash!" you cry, twisting in your seat so see the lacy little number get caught up in the slipstream of the semi behind you, skirting up over the hood and plastering itself to the window where, quick as a flash, a thick, tattooed arm reaches out the driver's side window to slap the wiper down over it, snaring it against the glass.

The stone in your stomach hardens, sinks lower. Where before you'd felt oddly bereft without the driver's approval, this feels far too intimate, and you urge Ash quicker, turning back forward to watch the miles of open road pass, checking at each mile marker to see how the space between your car and his has grown. His grill glints chrome under the blaring sun, visible for miles. Combined with the tinted windshield, they turn the white cab into a skull, teeth bared and all.

***

The bar Ash chooses sits back from the road down a small slope, as if nestled by the dusty landscape - a hidden chest of glittering incandescent and neon bulbs, oil slick from the assembled nearby trucks painting what remains of the crumbling tarmac aurora. They line the lot on either side, backed up until their trailers overhang the paved lot itself, carving footprints into the hard earth. Between the two lines, the valley of the lot funnels you toward the boisterous building, music and laughter spilling out its seams. 

You'd rolled up the windows when the sun set so you're not quite prepared for the chill that greets you as you step out of the car. Still braless, you check to be sure the dark material of your shirt covers your nipples, but hug your flannel closer to yourself anyway, making a slow turn as you assess the assembled cars. You've been to enough dive bars to know the real warning signs; the get-the-fuck-out-of-dodge-before-you-decide-to-tryand-fight-a-blooded-Nazi kind of signs. Thankfully you don't see much here beyond the standard watch-your-drink-and-don't-let-your-bare-ass-touch-the-toilet-seat kind of vibes so you resign yourself to a night of babysitting, coming around the nose of the car as you bring a cigarette to your lips. 

Ash is giddy with excitement, dragging you along with her hands tucked through your elbow as she whispers excitedly about all the possibilities a dive bar off a forgotten county road in nowhere Arizona might offer. She'd said just a few drinks when she'd suggested going out again tonight, but you already know how that's going to shake out.

"Yeah? You gonna do some blow off the shuffleboard table by the end of the night?" You joke.

"And get sand in my nose? Please," Ash scoffs. "I'll do it off the sink like a normal person." 

You grin, holding the door open for her. "Go ahead and find us a spot, I'm gonna do my dirty deed," you wag the cigarette at her illustratively. 

"Yeah, yeah. Don't take too long or else all the lonely rednecks'll think I'm looking for company." 

You don't remind her she doesn't need to be here if she doesn't want to be. "If you ask pretty they'll take you to the bathroom," you wink instead, flicking your nose. Ash just laughs as she steps through the door. You let it drop behind her, fishing your lighter from your pocket as you step toward the edge of the porch. There's a loud group on your left, smoking more than just tobacco by the smell of it. You don't mind, but neither do you want to partake, so you stay a good distance away, listening in as the loudest of the group tells an animated story about the time he hit a deer and it ran off with his headlight cover. He's not a great story teller, but the assembled group laughs loud enough to drown him out half the time so maybe your perception is skewed.

Beyond them, inside, you can hear the clatter of billiards, and the general din of loosened lips, but outside, it is a cool and still night. You've never been to this part of the country, and you can't help but reflect on how nice it is in these quiet moments without Ash's chatter, or her constant performative nature. It's not that you dislike her, but days of such close proximity after years of barely any contact had certainly been a decision, and you're really started to regret it. Still, it's good to travel, and it's been so long since you've bothered with a bar that you nearly forget how to react when a man sidles up beside you and asks for a light. 

Stocky, handsome, you stammer over some words and extend your lighter, cursing when you realize you should have held the open flame out for him to light his cigarette over. He gives you a grin like he knows what you're thinking, and then exhales his smoke right into your face, destroying any attraction you'd felt for him before he'd even said a word.

You spare him a tight grin and hold your hand out for your lighter back. He holds it out, but gives it a playful little tug when you try to take it from him. "Alright," you gripe at the same moment he relinquishes his grasp, sending your hand dropping aggressively down with the slight force you'd been using. You nod while he just keeps grinning at you and snub out what remains of your cigarette. "Have a good one," you mumble, sliding past him and into the bar.

Ash perches at a small two-top, long neck dangling from her fingers prettily. You slide in across from her and she offers you the second bottle she'd snagged, though accepts easily enough when you shake your head. She's angled toward the room, that demure, but still inviting pose she'd perfected long ago on full display. As predicted, a string of men approach her, though she shoots them all down, giving you commentary on what she's thought of them all when she sends them packing. 

"Too scrawny."

"Smelled like Funyuns."

"I've seen more hair in my shower drain."

You giggle, content to watch her pick on sleazy men all night. Unfortunately her tune changes when return from the restroom a while later to find her flirting with a tall, broad man in a gaiter. She notices you as you draw close and beams at you, waving you closer in a way that suggests 'check this one out'. 

"Who's your friend?" you ask hesitantly, eyeing the big guy all over. He's dressed nice enough for a place like this, work boots and well-fitting jeans that hug his hammies sinfully. He's got on a canvas jacket over a tight thermal, some ink on his left hand you can't quite catch the shape of. The gaiter rubs you wrong, despite its innocuous dark material. Just this side of too sketchy in a place already bordering on it, you imagine there's no good reason a man would hide the bottom half of his face when he's presumably there to imbibe alcohol with his mouth all night. 

"Simon," the man rumbles, voice dark and accented. He extends his right hand to you and you take it, fingers engulfed by his broad, rough palm. In his left he holds a brown bottle, label obscured by his wide grip.

"Simon, this is my friend, Betty," Ash introduces you before you even have a chance. You shoot her a look, obvious enough that even the newcomer catches it.

"Betty?" he asks, eyes darting between the two of you.

"Not my name," you assert, but Ash speaks over you.

"Because she's so delightfully pretty, but so devastatingly boring," she pouts at you. To Simon she says, "Go on, ask her if she wants a drink."

"Can I get you a -?"

"No."

"See? Boring."

You roll your eyes, but don't offer any sort of retaliation besides. You're used to this, and generally unbothered by it. That doesn't mean it's not a pleasant surprise when Simon comes to your defense. "Nothing wrong with being responsible." His eyes are heavy on you, trailing in a way you're not necessarily comfortable with. That doesn't stop you from thanking him.

"Responsible," Ash scoffs. "One beer is still totally legal to drive."

"Quit complaining. Just means you get to have all the fun," you remind her.

"Mm, true," Ash sings. She tilts her bottle against Simon's, but you can't help noticing he gets distracted before the bottle makes it to his lips.

"You guys from around here?"

"Is anyone from here?" you quip, eyeing the assembled lot. They match their trucks outside: heavy, built for long hauls and quick stops at watering holes. 

"Suppose not," Simon admits, his own accent played up for effect. "Where you lot headed, then?"

"L.A.," Ash gushes.

When she doesn't elaborate, you tack on, "Ash's got a modeling gig."

"Really?" Ash smacks Simon playfully on the arm over his offended tone. 

"No," she laughs, "seeing a show. You ever been to L.A.?"

"Been everywhere," Simon shrugs, cryptic.

"You a trucker too, I take it?"

"Don't I look like one?" His accent thickens with every word until even your unlearned ear believes you could pinpoint his exact birthplace - distinctly un-American.

"You ever consider a mullet?" Ash giggles.

Simon looks about to snark something back when the lighter-less man from outside stumbles into his space.

"Hi," he tells the group in general, eyes unfocused before they slide to you. "Wanted to apologize. Think we got off on the wrong foot out there."

You can practically feel Ash brimming with excitement, the fact that both of you are now talking to men not going unnoticed by either of you. Not wanting to find yourself in some cheap motel Fargo sex with her, you make your lack of attraction obvious immediately, voice stern. "All good, man."

"Right," he balks. "Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?"

"Nope."

"Oh. Uh… you driving tonight or something?"

"Just not thirsty."

Across from you, Ash mouths the word 'Betty' at a stone faced Simon.

"Then why are you in a bar?" Lighter-less demands, belligerent. 

"Good question," you turn on Ash, but before she can answer, Simon speaks up.

"Piss off, mate."

"Fuck you," the guy snaps, turning to face the other man. You realize he must not have gotten a good look at him before approaching the group because you see his eyes go wide when he takes in Simon's sheer size.

"Nah, fuck you actually. Piss off."

He doesn't need telling a third time. Lighter-less gives you and Ash a nod and scurries off while Ash rounds on you. 

"And what was wrong with him?"

"Fuckin' rude."

"Are we ever gonna get you laid?"

You've only been on the road with her for two days and have not been actively looking, but you don't bother telling her that. "Only when you finally give in, baby," you croon instead and Ash snorts, already moving on.

"Simon, you any good at darts?"

"No."

"Great! Go bully us into a board using that broad frame of yours and let me win, would ya?"

Something dark passes over Simon's eyes, so quickly you think you might have imagined it when he immediately changes gears, giving Ash a brief nod before skulking away.

"Isn't he fuckin' cute?" Ash hisses at you after he's gone.

"Wouldn't know," you deadpan, covering the bottom half of your face with your hand.

She swats at you. "Oh, come off it. I'm gonna climb him like a tree by the end of the night." You curse to yourself when she sways her hips after him because the worst part is, you don't doubt her.

Simon's at least considerate enough to scrounge up a table by the boards for you, so you have front row seats to the flirt fest the other two partake in. True to his word, Simon lets Ash win three games in a row, each time being rewarded with a slightly more intoxicated girl hanging from his neck. Ash gets touchier the more she drinks, and Simon doesn't seem to mind. Though you find it odd how he rarely reciprocates, content just to let her feel up his considerable pecs and grin down at her like she's being silly. You briefly wonder if he's even into her, until you catch him giving her a congratulatory smack on the ass a little too enthusiastically after her fourth win. He says he's going out for a smoke after that and you leap at the opportunity, grabbing your jacket from the booth and following him out.

"Guess I'll keep our booth occupied," Ash pouts.

"Better, had to scare off a racoon for that thing," you hear Simon rumbling as you lead the way back out onto the porch.

The night's only gotten colder since you've been inside and you're reminded yet again that you're not wearing a bra when you feel the cotton of your shirt chafe against your tight skin. You duck your head in embarrassment as you pull your flannel tighter around yourself, too distracted to notice Simon offering you a cigarette from his pack as you try to remember if you'd been egregiously nipple flaunting back inside. 

"You okay?" Simon grunts as he lights his own smoke and you jolt back to reality, find him with his mask lowered.

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Just chillier than I expected." 

When he pockets his lighter, Simon keeps his cigarette tucked between his lips. Hands freed, he pulls his jacket off and offers it to you before you can get a protest out. His voice is gravelly when he insists you take it and you do, reveling in the body heat still trapped within. It smells vaguely musty, almost like a garage, but you figure that tracks and it's not unpleasant. 

You eye him over as you light your cigarette, not bothering to be all that subtle when you find him watching you just as closely. He's handsome, though you wonder if he keeps his face covered because of the cleft lip or the thick scar that crosses the bridge of his nose, a missing notch giving the slope of it a double ridge. Beneath his coat, he's just as muscled as you'd imagined, heavy texture of his thermal falling into the valley of his pecs nicely. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing more of the ink you'd spotted on his hand - a detailed skull crowned in heavy black swirls which follow the musculature of his forearm nicely. 

"None too pretty, eh?"

You let your eyes slide back up to his face, willfully overlook the ruin of his nose. "Wouldn't say that."

He narrows his eyes at you, as if searching for a lie. You know he won't find one, though, and weather it unflinchingly. Eventually he grunts in acceptance, or maybe approval. He doesn't say much after that, though you're content to enjoy the relative silence. The rowdy group from earlier have moved along, and the only other company you have out here is a couple quietly bickering down in the parking lot. Combined with the volume of the bar, it's level of noise you would have found annoying even just two days ago, but after so many hours stuck in the car with Ash's constant chatter, you revel in the lack of conversation, enjoy the minute twinge you get when you stretch your knees damn near hyperextension.

"Your friend's a bit more talkative than you," Simon eventually observes, voice neutral as to whether or not he likes that about you.

"My friend is quite social," you hedge, and laugh when Simon looks like he has something to say about that.

"Your friend has an agenda."

"That obvious?"

"Less obvious: is it a good idea?"

"Well why would you ask me that, when I have a vested interest in keeping the two of you apart tonight so I don't have to stand around awkwardly while the cab is a'rocking, you know what I mean?"

Simon smiles, first time all night. It does nothing to reduce his severity. "Well, you're welcome to join instead."

You can't help but scoff at him, though your laugh turns more nervous when he gives no indication of joking. "About the only thing worse than listening to Ash scream like a banshee from outside the truck, would be listening to her scream like a banshee from inside the truck. Thanks though."

He returns your grin, but it seems a bit tight. You squint at him, trying to get a feel for how insulted he actually is, but he's unflinching, unbothered. Simon's silence unnerves you, and you work to fill the void despite your earlier easiness within it. "Which, uh… Which one's yours?" You nod at the line of trucks on your left and his dark eyes follow the movement. 

Shaking his head, Simon steps into your space and angles you toward the other side of the lot. Leaning across your back, his big hand floats into your peripheral where he points at a bland, gleaming shape parked within the shadow of the building. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the low lot light in the corner, more a single porch light than anything. For a moment, it looks like any other of the million big white cabs you've seen crawling all over god's green earth, but then Simon clicks his fob behind you, and the lights flash, the dome light within turning on just long enough for you to catch a lacey little number hanging from his rear-view through the dark tinted glass, and then you notice the distinctly teeth-shaped grill you'd memorized in your passenger mirror earlier today. Your blood runs cold despite the heat of Simon behind you, you're tense, ready to flee even without your friend in tow. Your muscles don't listen, however, locked in place like a spring trap with no quarry. And then the crack of a breakshot from within the bar racks your nerves, has you spinning around to find Simon staring back down at you intensely, eyes dark enough to rival his truck's.

"You want that back? Kinda cold out here." His eyes dart down to your chest, as if he can see through the layers you've covered yourself with.

Part of you wants to yell at him, demand answers. A younger, squirrelier version of you probably would've slapped him. Instead, you slip past him wordlessly and make a beeline for your friend. "Ash," you hiss when you spot her, still at the booth where you left her. "Ash, we have to go -."

"Is that Simon's jacket?" She looks offended. You would roll your eyes at her if you had time to argue.

"Yes. Not important. Look," you take the jacket in question off, spare a brief thought for the base instinct telling you to rifle through his pockets. "Simon is the trucker I flashed. I think he followed us here."

"Oh, Jesus, Betty. That guy's probably already forgotten about you. You know how many people flash truckers every day?"

"In what world -? Is this National Lampoon's?" You huff, calm yourself. "Ash, I saw his truck, it's him, and I wanna go."

"You saw a white truck with a black cab, you mean? Spooky," she deadpans.

"He had my fucking bra hanging from his rearview -."

"You went in his cab?"

"No, fucking -."

"Did she go in your cab?"

You still, drawing yourself back to your full height from where you'd wound up leaning over your friend. Behind you, Simon steps close enough you can feel his heat again, smell that stale garage scent. "No," he shrugs and Ash eyes you both suspiciously.

"Here." You shove Simon's coat back into his chest, disappointed when you don't manage to move him an inch. Turning back to your friend, you dangle Ash's keys in her face. "I'm leaving. I encourage you to join."

"I can't even finish my beer?"

You don't bother to answer, storming back toward the door with enough confidence to have her scrambling after you.

"Jesus, what is your problem?" She hisses once the bar door slams shut after her. 

You point at Simon's truck, distinct chrome grill giving Ash pause for all of two seconds. "Could be anyone's."

"He asked me if I wanted my bra back, Ash."

Behind her, the bar door opens again. Simon's wide frame fills it for a moment, before stepping out onto the porch, casual as can be. He lights up another cigarette, eyes heavy on you all the while. He doesn't seem to notice when Ash waves at him. This time when you walk away, the crunching of gravel under foot is the only indication you get that your friend is following. She's silent for once as she climbs into the passenger's seat. You don't bother adjusting anything, tearing out of the driveway with a spray of dirt and debris that would probably ruin some paint jobs. Behind you, a truck follows you out of the lot, but the twenty foot shipping container it has loaded reassures you that it isn't Simon on your tail.

Ash remains silent for a long while, though you can tell she hasn't fallen asleep yet by the quality of her breathing. When she does speak, her voice is thin and reedy. "I didn't think he'd follow us."

"I know." For your part, you wish you could muster much beyond a general grumble of annoyance. She was just being silly when she made her little dare; it's not her fault the guy had been a creep. Thankfully, it seems he'd been content to just scare you a bit, the rearview faithfully returning only one set of headlights in your wake every time you check. 

"Go to bed, Ash. If he keeps following I'll wake you."

To your immense relief, she listens, her soft breaths relaxing the tension in your shoulders. After another glance in the side view to reassure yourself you're still safe, you take some soothing breaths of your own and run through what remains of your trip's itinerary, taking comfort in how little actually remained. Nearly half way over, and after tonight you don't think it'll be too hard to talk Ash out of any more unplanned stops at local dives just to check out the native wildlife. You're pretty sure you've both seen enough, the dejected way she'd looked after Simon's ulterior motive had been revealed playing again in your mind. Poor Ash, honestly, but you suppose it works out in your favor if it means getting home sooner and with fewer scrapes.

Feeling better, you turn the radio on, low enough it won't disturb your passenger. It takes some scanning through static to find anything, and when you do you're a bit annoyed that it's country gold of all things, but you can't deny how well it fits the landscape through which you drive, the low horizon backlit by the sunset's distant memory. It's nice, for a time. Nice enough you aren't really paying attention when DJ starts spouting local headlines, the news of a young woman's body being found recently only about an hour's ride north of here going in one ear and right out the other.

next>>

[my-destiny-my-chicken]

I think that Merlin would have been a lot more silly and whimsical if Gaius was 100% on board with whatever hairbrained scheme Merlin was involved in that week. Disguising Arthur as an ordinary guy for a tournament? I’m sure that will be hilarious I’ll be watching in the front row. Trying to make Lancelot a knight? Sure I like that guy let me help you design the coat of arms!

[st-just]

Like if I'm some random mercenary adventurer with delusions of grandeur and too many friends with hairbrained schemes I keep funding (Hawke) then yeah poking my nose into every random bit of interpersonal drama I can find and throwing rocks at every cave that's supposed to have a monster in it just in case money falls out makes total sense. When I'm theoretically a divinely anointed quasi-sovereign ruler with hosts and fortresses wearing my banner and courts enacting justice in my name like - why I am looking for this farmer's lost cattle? Do I not have people for this? And better things to do with my ostensibly valuable time? What sort of inner circle lets the holy symbol literally 100% of their legitimacy rests on risk death by gangrene fighting some random band of deserters looking for a widow's ring?

[six-of-ravens]

Not to just rant all day but WHAT. THE. FUCK.

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Stargazing-Ishtar X Reader

Happy Halloween!

It was the night of Halloween at The Clocktower. A night of celebration, ill thought out schemes, and the teachers eyeing their bags of candy set aside for when the night came to a close and all those dressed as ghouls and goblins filtered out.

Now, if only you were among those filtering out and about on the closest thing there is to a worldwide holiday in the world of Magi.

Instead, you were standing in one of the auditoriums used to teach the importance of proper alignment, depiction, and drawing of magical circles, having been badgered by your friends and associates into this hairbrained endeavor.

All because they learned you were studying systems of summoning in different magical systems in the European continent.

Yes, the name needed some work, but that could be left until later.

What could not be left until later, was you having to keep whacking your associates over the head any time they tried to touch the tome in your hand.

“C’mon! It can’t be that dangerous!” one of the many onlookers cried.

You ignored them in favor of ensuring that this was not screwed up and you didn’t accidentally summon some form of ultimate evil into the world.

…Again.

That aside, everything was almost ready, all you needed to do now was to add the final line.

The sound of your chalk scratching into the coarse material of the ground that had been infused with countless summoning attempts and experiments echoed in your ears.

With that, the complete symbol of Ishtar was inscribed upon the ground, with a few cautionary measures of course..

Everything was ready, all the precautions had been taken, not a single thing had been unaccounted for in your calculation and preparation.

Nothing was left to be done, save for the incantation.

You walked over towards the head of the room, the page of your tome being turned to the page that held the proper incantation.

A heavy breath left your mouth as you turned around, your circuits beginning to burn and thrum with power under your skin as you raised your hand towards the circle and began to chant.

“Spirit of Venus, Remember!”

The temperature dropped as the words left your mouth and ice began to form over the windows.

“ISHTAR, Mistress of the Gods, Remember!”

The circle began to glow with golden light as your audience started to grow fearful.

You couldn’t blame them, this wasn’t supposed to be what happened.

Had they underestimated the seriousness of all this?

Did you mess up on the sign?

“ISHTAR, Queen of the Land of the Rising of the Sun, Remember!”

The temperature dropped even further as a hole in the world appeared before you and, without warning, a vacuum formed.

You were getting worried now, but you had to keep going unless you wished to run the risk of something truly horrible occuring.

“Lady of Ladies, Goddess of Goddesses, ISHTAR, Queen of all People, Remember!”

The hole grew bigger and the vacuum grew more powerful as fearful screams filled the auditorium.

You felt your body getting pulled towards the hole, splitting your focus between keeping the ritual moving and not being pulled into the void.

“O Bright Rising, Torch of the Heaven and of the Earth, Remember!

O Destroyer of the Hostile Hordes, Remember!

Lioness, Queen of the Battle, Hearken and Remember!”

The hole continued to grow as your audience fled, pushing and trampling over one another to escape.

You wished you could join them.

This was nothing like anything you had tried before.

“From the Gate of the Great God NEBO, I call Thee!”

Pinpricks of light ignited in the void of the hole as the gate began to open.

“By the Name which I was given on the Sphere of NEBO, I call to Thee! Lady, Queen of Harlots and of Soldiers, I call to Thee!”

Light and color exploded within the gate as nebulae formed and a perfect look into the distant cosmos sat before you.

“Lady, Mistress of Battle and of Love, I pray Thee, Remember!

In the Name of the Covenant, sworn between Thee and the Race of Men,

I call to Thee! Hearken and Remember!”

A light began to form directly before the open gate, slowly morphing and attempting to take shape.

“Suppressor of the Mountains!

Supporter of arms!

Deity of Men! Goddess of Women! Where Thou gazest, the Dead live!”

The form began to grow more defined, more real, as the form of a woman made of light reached forwards and towards you, her hand piercing the veil.

“ISHTAR, Queen of Night, Open Thy Gate to me!

ISHTAR, Lady of the Battle, Open wide Thy Gate!”

Her form slowly came towards you, reaching outwards as it turned from light and into something real.

“ISHTAR, Sword of the People, Open Thy Gate to me!

ISHTAR, Lady of the Gift of Love, Open wide Thy Gate!

Gate of the Gentle Planet, LIBAT, Open unto me!”

Her hand was barely a step away as she reached towards you, her body becoming flesh and her eyes looking directly into yours.

Your vision was growing dark, you could feel your body grow weak from fighting against the vacuum, but you still had to continue the ritual, no matter how much your body and mind was screaming at you to stop, even when the hardest part was coming up.

Especially because the hardest part was coming up.

“IA GUSHE-YA! IA INANNA! IA ERNINNI-YA!

ASHTA PA MABACHA CHA KUR ENNI-YA!

RABBMI LO-YAK ZI ISHTARI KANPA!

INANNA ZI AMMA KANPA! BI ZAMMA KANPA!

IA IA IA BE-YI RAZULUKI!”

The final word escaped your lips, and the woman was fully formed before you, floating in the air as the hole in the world closed shut.

The woman had eyes like rubies, hair like onyx, and a smile more brilliant than diamonds.

She was beautiful, she would easily fit into any definition of beauty in the world.

Then, as she looked into your eyes, she spoke.

You could barely hear her, the entire world sounding like it was under water.

However, you could still faintly hear her.

“Are You My Master?”

After that, everything went black.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You groaned as you opened your eyes, the harsh light of the infirmary burning your retinas, forcing your eyes closed once more.

Your entire body ached in a way and in places you didn't know could even ache like that.

Not to mention your circuits, which you could tell you had overworked due to the feeling of intense, burning agony under your skin.

“Are you alive?” the voice of Lord El Melioi asked you.

“Not sure… try again later…” you groaned as you turned onto your side, briefly opening your eyes to see the woman from the cosmos, looking quite irate in some second hand clothes kept by the doctors and nurses in the case of an experiment turning… incendiary.

You blinked several times before turning over once more and towards Lord El Melioi who was currently chewing on a piece of gum in place of his cigarette.

“So, all that happened?” you asked.

“Correct.” the man responded with a pathetic attempt to keep his irritated expression in check.

“So… how screwed am I?” you asked.

“Royally, if it wasn’t for some extenuating circumstances.” the man responded.

“Hmm.” was all you said in response.

“So, who’s the lady?” you asked.

“I am RIGHT here!” the woman exclaimed in irritation.

“We do not know, but she claims to be the goddess Ishtar.” the old man answered.

“BECAUSE I AM!!!”

“We lack the evidence to prove her claim.” The Lord El Melioi declared.

“I will vaporize you, mark my words!” the woman who claimed to be Ishtar nearly shouted.

“I can see why that would be a bit hard to confirm…” you muttered as you turned onto your back.

“Seeing as if the woman’s claims are true-” the man began before being interrupted.

“THEY ARE!!!” the woman who claimed to be Ishtar whined.

“-It would mean that you dug up the bones of a goddess on Halloween night.”

You let out a groan.

“This is going to have massive repercussions, isn’t it?” you asked as you closed your eyes.

“Most definitely.” was all Lord El Melioi said in response.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You stumbled into your room and fell face first onto your bed, the woman who insisted upon being called Ishtar walking right behind you as you did so before making a bee-line to your closet and throwing it open.

“These are all your clothes?” Ishtar asked, flabbergasted.

“Yes.” You groaned into the bed.

“It’s the same outfit four different times!” Ishtar cried, abhorred.

“Exactly.” you said in response.

“This just will not do!” Ishtar exclaimed before walking over to you and peeling you off the bed to grab you by the collar.

“I REFUSE to have my spouse dress like some common cretin!” the woman cried.

“I don’t recall signing any marriage papers.” was all you said in response as your head lolled to the side.

“IT WAS IMPLIED IN THE SUMMONING!!!” Ishtar shouted.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It has been a year since you got a surprise wife on Halloween night.

She was a bossy, bullheaded, prideful, and big headed woman who had an ego the size of a galaxy.

You wouldn’t have her any other way.

Sure, she had a habit of threatening anyone who got too close to you with disintegration, but that is par for the course when in a relationship with a Goddess.

That said, she was still trying to get you to wear more “Appropriate Clothes For Your Station”.

She had continuously failed time and time again.

It was one of the many little games the two of you played.

Much like how Ishtar floated around you and took out whatever “Tax” she wished from any food you purchased.

Or how you, upon finding out she was ticklish, mercilessly attacked her every time she let down her guard.

The two of you were insufferable together, and you were frequently told so.

In all honesty, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ishtar might have the looks of a woman people would go to war for, but her personality was absolutely horrible, in a charming and adorable way.

And though you would never tell her for fear of her head getting so big it pops, you wouldn’t have her any other way.

As you continued to muse on Ishtar and the events of the previous year, a finger began to poke you in the side.

You ignored the sensation for a few moments longer, until a petulant whine cut through the silence and you were attacked by the arms of a woman wrapping around you like snakes and her body falling onto yours as you sat in your chair.

“Oh, hello Ishtar.” you muttered as you continued to gaze out at the starry night.

“You know, a girl could get really jealous if someone was looking at something else that wasn’t her.” Ishtar not so subtly hinted at as she tried to gently force you to look at her.

“What do you mean? I am looking at you! After all, these are the same stars as the night we met. Though, I have to admit that I didn’t pay much attention to them at the time.” You retorted with a soft smile on your face as you adjusted yourself and Ishtar to better ensure comfort.

Ishtar let out a laugh as she turned her eyes to look at the stars as well.

“I never took you as the reminiscing type.” the goddess muttered with a smile.

“I never took the Goddess Ishtar to be one to enjoy scooters. It seems we are both full of surprises.” You jabbed at her.

“You’re horrible!” Ishtar bemoaned with crocodile tears in her eyes.

“No worse than you dear, no worse than you.” was all you said in response as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, gazing at the stars.

[tachiharastanacc]

Tachihara is that one kid who gets annoyed by the other kids (Higuchi) talking and loudly tells them to shut up, which then also gets him in trouble with the teacher (Akutagawa)

Tbh I don’t fully understand where ppl get the idea that tachi is the one coming up with hairbrained schemes bc he’s almost always been shown being dragged into them and very very loudly and grumpily complaining lol

[warning-heckboop]

honestly i kinda love that the two most significant moments in which an au pair expressed independent thought were (a) telling dale his business scheme sucks and (b) lamenting that they aren't able to hug dev

GOD I didn't even think about the second one in relation, but you're so right

Obviously I have the whole "Au Pairs are secretly Pixies" theory, which works fine with telling Dale off for sabotaging his own business with his schemes, very on brand to be against actions that skew results, but the hugging bit doesn't quite fit that theory, at least not from what we've seen of Pixies in the past. I mean, hell, they raised Flappy Bob for 37 years and didn't seem to have considered ever even OFFERING actual care and comfort to him in that way. I suppose they could have learned from that and grown to adopt altered methods of manipulation? Orrrr I could be totally grasping at straws.

But regardless of my hairbrained theories, the Au Pairs canonically care about Dev more than they care about Dale--and also care about Dev more than Dale cares about Dev. So I'll consider that a win. A kind of depressing win, but a win nonetheless.

[dailyadventureprompts]

What’s fasinating about the d&d movie is that it is all the fun of d&d removed from the rigid restraints of the the clunky game system: Thrills and laughs and hairbrained schemes minus the minutia of needless rolls or waiting for your turn in initiative to circle around. Part of this is idealization, but as someone who’s obsessed with making my favorite game system the most fun possible I can’t help but draw some comparisons.

Combat: Holga’s fight scenes were a highlight of the film for me, displaying a huge amount of kinetic creativity as she pinballed between different combatants swapping out weapons, bouncing off the surrounding terrain . This is a far, far cry from how being a fighter plays out at the table, as most martial characters are focused into doing just one type of attack as good as they can because it’s their only reliable contribution to combat. Try to model Holga’s fights in game and you’d be caught in a boring slog of dealing 1d4+STR damage to a bunch of guards whittling away at their hitpoint pools, a far cry from the lighting quick flury of smashing, bashing, and flips that make her the film’s action setpiece.  

What d&d needs is a system for combat that exists alongside the traditional damage/HP paradigm: an additional layer of complexity for martial characters that encourages tactical thinking and lets those who do their damage up close feel just as cool and as clutch as casters. My mind’s already whirling thinking up something that revolves around stuns, suckerpunches, and positioning, so expect it later this week. 

Powercreep: This might be subjective but I find it fascinating that the official stats put out for the party has them hovering around level 16, a point in character progression  a)that  most characters never get to b) by which the game’s difficulty systems have begun to break down. I suspect this was done in order to keep their on-screen abilities in line with how they are in the base rules, but I can’t help but feel like its odd for the “idedalized” dnd experiance to be playing around with toys that most groups will never get their hands on. 

In my experience d&d is on a sliding scale of stakes V Shenanigans, with the exact ballance evolving over the course of a campaign:  Your group starts out as a bunch of dumbfucks and at some point while you’re making  making absolute fools out of yourselves you become a found family just in time for the consequences of your actions to circle back around and threaten the realm. First the characters start caring about eachother, then they care about the world, then they have to save that world. Level 16 is, for me, distinctly in “save the world” territory, despite the fact that the HaT crew are clearly still figuring out who they are and what they care about.  It makes me wish D&D was more free with its shenanigan enabling magic/items/class features at lower levels to help fuel these kinds of antics.  

Attunement: Perhaps the best “ oh I’m totally going to steal this” moment came from Simon’s attempt to attune to the helm of disjunction. Turning what was otherwise a rote game mechanic into an oppertunity for character growth was genius on behalf of the writers, though one I’d only really employ with items that were as necessary for my plots as the helm was for the heist. Just like Simon’s major flaw was self doubt, I could easily see delicious storytelling potential in throwing up other emotional hurdles depending on the situation: A hero’s sword refusing to attune to the haunted survivor until they’ve come to terms with what they’ve done, an otherwise altruistic character being forced to admit their sin and self interest by an evil-aligned artifact. 

Over all, I really enjoyed the movie, though paradoxically It didn’t hook me as much because for me one of the biggest charms of fantasy is the feeling of discoverying a new world, and I’ve been living the d&d world for the past 20 years so it didn’t come of as wild and magical as it could have been, having hewn so close to established d&d material.