#it lived for the record and I tipped the trash can outside and it ran off

[broodygaming]

What’s better than coffee?? Ur naughty cat coming in through the window carrying a wild rabbit the same size as her. 🙃🙃🙃

No I did not get a picture I was too busy screaming and catching it with my trash can.

[trials-by-blood]

Umm...I always see Yautja being paired up with someone strong and skilled and stuff. I was wondering if you could write something with any Yautja being with someone who is shy, meek, and a little chubby. And when they're alone or think they are they sing along to music and dance even though they can't.XD Sorry if I'm asking too much or anything...

Fegris, the dump world where the unwanted are left to rot and crumble.

  This was once a world where the yautja would crash their obsolete vessels so that they could not fall into use by the other space faring races. Ships were not the only things they left behind. Exiles, heretics, or anyone who upset the balance of their society were also left to wither, but not all did.

  In the following ages, other peoples would use Fegris as a place to forget their burdens. The Faceless Ones unloaded their collected specimens here when science deemed that their time of usefulness had ended.

  Now generations of humans, yautja, clade, mind eaters and all manner of invasive species build their cities here, clinging to half remembered mockeries of their mother cultures. Here, all Forgotten busy themselves mining ore, seeking pleasurable escape, stripping precious metals from ancient wrecks, gambling, farming, extorting, building, destroying, breeding, killing.

  One of the few honest livings to be made anywhere, the food service industry, prospers here. Organic people must eat, so this work will never die.

  Heather, an old name from an old world no one can recall, worked for her room and board at what would best resemble a mall food court. It wasn't a particularly hazardous occupation, so long as you don't taste-test the food or stay long after the coalition of retail outlets close.

(OOC: Okay this ran WAY longer than I anticipated and I had to make the choice to cap it off at 2,500ish words. I’m sorry if this TOTALLY misses the vibe you were hoping for, I kinda got carried away. Oops)

  Once, she'd made that mistake. Even her cold hearted rock-sucker of a boss told her not to bother finishing the cleaning if it meant staying after hours, but she hadn't listened. Heather hadn't wanted to leave her work half done and risk losing her job and newly acquired living space on her first day. So she'd stayed to wipe down the counters and load the trolly cart with the leftovers for the cooler. The reward for a job well finished was stepping out into the market spaces abandoned by customers and workers but repopulated by the local Yautja Bad-bloods and their rivals, The Cranium Skaggers. They were working through a territorial dispute.

  The Skaggers were human, but barely. They injected enhancement serums, most barely tested, directly into their brain tissues via an implanted port installed at the top of their shaved heads.

  Heather had stepped out of her safe enclosed little work area into a street brawl, and was pinned between the doors she'd only just locked and the carnal violence of the city. One of the yautja, who's vision was... not like hers, must have mistaken her bright heat signature and rapid heart rhythm for a Cranium Skagger.

  Oh, she tried to run when she saw him move on her with his unhuman, talon tipped hand outstretched to seize her. Heather had dropped her bag, the keys, the silly hat which matched with her uniform, and she ran but he was fast, so horridly fast for something so big, heavy, and grieved with bulky armor.

  It only took him three strides, thud thud thud, to reach her and tangle his terrible claws into the back of her long tunic. She was thrown, landing hard, disoriented and crying out as deep, raw pain shot up her left hip and into her pelvis. Something was broken.

  She saw him, her attacker, and the blades attached to his dominant arm glistening with the blood of Cranium Skagger's, but she didn't even think to cover her face. All she could do was scream for help.

  Her plea was answered. A great clawed fist smashed across the Yautja's mask with such force that his yowling face was revealed as his helm was torn from him. Next, skulls collided with a clapping of flesh so sharp, Heather thought someone had cracked a whip above her.

  One Yautja had begun to fight another. That was when she did the sensible thing, curling her arms over her head and making herself as small as she could.

  She survived that night. That battle resolved itself as she lied on the ground trembling and weeping in terror, but her savior stuck around after all the others had left. He put her things next to her, and waited until her boss came to collect her and get her help. The yautja must have gone through her communicator for her contacts.

  The fractured hip was easily and painlessly repaired but the procedure had completely drained her savings. To her shock and mild horror, someone had wired to her account credits in the exact amount to replace what she'd spent at the Urgent Intervention Facility to fix her leg.

  When she returned to work, who was there at the food court? The yautja who'd stayed that night. He stood out like a broken finger, the cleaned hand bones and torn out skull ports of Skaggers littered about what he wore like grim badges of honor. The sight of him watching her enter her workplace sent a chill up Heather's spine.

  This kept up for weeks, until The Indecent was months behind her. She'd go to work, and he'd be there, just watching. Heather's co-workers weren't fans of her admirer. Yagon, the young clade boy who took the morning shift before her was the least fond of the yautja lingering around.

  Today, as Heather stepped past her bad-blood observer who had decided to lean against the wall next to the employee entrance, Yagon was peeking out from the door to keep a watchful eye on her as she came in for her shift.

  Yagon chittered irritably, antennae vibrating as he took off his smock and hat so he could scratch his double claws at the translator hanging on a lanyard around his the joining of his head and thorax.

  The voice emanating from the little box was monotone and purposefully slow so that it could be heard clearly as he continued chirping and tweeting.

  "You know what that creep does all day waiting for you to come in? He listens to recordings of you singing on your shifts."

  Heather cringed. That was creepy. She'd had a feeling that he'd been able to hear her sing to herself from where he usually hung around, but she never thought he'd record her. It felt incredibly invasive. She briefly imagined confronting him about it, but thought better of it. He could crush her skull between his hands as if it were a brittle little Skitterling egg. She hunched her shoulders and hugged herself a bit.

  Yagon then turned and dropped the claws of his primary arms on her shoulders.

  "I can file an anonymous report for you. Please? I don't want to come in to work one day and find out something happened to you."

  Heather sighed, trying not to vividly imagine how an exiled yautja might retaliate to that.

  "N- no, I think that would just make things worse, Yagon," Heather tried not to whimper.

  Yagon finished folding his smock and hat into his bag and left, but not before offering twice more to file that report.

  A few hours passed and Heather caught herself singing a handful of times as she fell into her work routine but always stopped when she remembered who was listening. It felt awful, being observed so closely and denied the personal freedom do anything without fear of having it recorded for some stranger's entertainment.

  Again, she thought about confronting the yautja watcher, but couldn't help the violent catastrophes imagined with the idea.

  She felt like she couldn't make a noise or do a thing for herself to make this crappy job the least bit bearable without putting on some bizarre show for Captain Cranium Crusher out there! Heather's frustration built and built until she couldn't take it anymore.

  The walk-in cooler. It was sound proof, right? The moment she finished the lunch-rush line of customers holding out their trays for their greasy food, Heather tore off her gloves, tossed them in the general direction of the trash chute and turned on her heel to stomp her way to that cooler door.

  Heather glanced over the counter to confirm the Skull Collecting Jerk was still out there haunting the seating area. There he was, arms crossed against his chiseled chest, ass planted on a chair that could barely hold his weight with his big ugly sandled feet propped up on one of the tables. Bastard.

  She pulled open the thick insulated door and slammed it behind her. First she simply bellowed angrily, stomped her foot, slapped a bag of single serve condiments as hard as she could manage, doing anything to break the severe edge from her frustration.

  "UGH! WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" She tore off her work smock and threw her hat on the floor to stomp on it, "I'M JUST A SHORT, ROUND, NOBODY WHO SHOVELS SLOP ONTO PLATES SIX HOURS A DAY. I'VE NEVER EVEN BEEN IN A REAL FIGHT! I'M NOTHING! WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ME? WHAT THE FUCK COULD BE SO INTERESTING ABOUT ME?! STOP WATCHING ME, YOU ASSHOLE!"

  Then, spitefully, she sang her favorite song, watching the misty puffs of her breath dissipate as her heart pounded.

  Now, she felt cold and her throat hurt from belting out her very favorite lyrics so harshly. It wasn't fair, she shouldn't have to be reminded of that night every afternoon on her shift. It sucked, and somehow she felt guilty for being angry even though none of this was her fault and she knew she had every right to be angry. So Heather curled up and cried in the cooler for a half-hour at the helplessness she felt. It felt gross, and she knew by now there had to be a never-ending line of pissed off customers outside. She was afraid of confrontation and couldn't ever imagine herself actually standing up to anyone. She could already tell that she'd be crying in her apartment after work too. Whob wouldn't after the verbal abuse she'd no doubt suffer at the service counter from customers tired of waiting.

  Miserably, Heather stood and steeled her resolve to go back out there. With a deep, shaky breath, put her smock back on and fixed her hat.

  "I'll get through it because I'm good at getting through it," she told herself to make it easier to reach for that door.

  Chur-clunk. Chur-clunk. It was jammed. Oh no the cooler door was stuck. Heather put her weight into her next push, then her entire being into the push after that.

  "Oh GODS I'm going to freeze to death!" she wailed, pushing at the door again with everything she had.

  Frustration, anger, helplessness, now panic. She didn't want to die alone of hypothermia at work.

  There was a bang and a great dent had appeared in the thick door. Before she could figure what was happening, the door was torn completely from the reinforced hinges. Heather shrieked and fell squarely on her bottom.

  There he was again, who else would it be coming to her rescue and staring coldly down at her through the dead lenses of that helmet.

  In one swift motion he lifted his left arm and clicked away at the keys of his gauntlet computer with those claws. The hologram display showed Heather a collection of files marked with icons she recognized. They were just cropped, slightly fuzzy pictures of her name tag for work. With a few more taps of his claw, all of the icons dissolved. He deleted them. He'd deleted all of his recordings which pertained to her.

  "Oh, shit, you heard all of that," Heather whimpered, clutching her head with both hands in mortification. He must have heard what Yagon said earlier too.

  He said nothing, made no noise. He just stood there like an imposing statue for a few tense seconds before turning to stride away.

  She wasn't fired for the broken door and spoiled food. Before she could even collect herself from the floor in the cooler, her boss was wired a credit transfer for "damages".

  Later as she heard of his generosity, it also explained the mysterious funds appearing in her account after the hip procedure. That had been Him too.

  Her "admirer" didn't come back after that, which was a relief for the first week or two. After a while she found herself over thinking the whole thing. Yautja were notorious for being socially incomprehensible. Heather wondered if he just pitied her so much after one of his own kind damn-near destroyed her that he felt responsible for her continued safety. Or, maybe he was just a stalking sleeze-ball. She tended to flounder between the two conclusions, but one thing was certain, he was respecting her boundaries now and she appreciated that.

  After nearly a month, she decided that the best closure she'd get was accepting that the entire ordeal was some bizarre misunderstanding, totally on his part, and he did a few nice things but that didn't make up for the weeks and weeks of discomfort he'd inflicted.

  More time passed, Heather became more comfortable with her new job, and she very nearly forgot about that Yautja. The only time she remembered him were on cold days when her hip would ache, but it was pleasantly warm out on the afternoon she came in for her shift and found Yagon agitated with his antennae twitching so fast one might expect them to fly off his head. Heather looked around, hoping that the cleaning she couldn't finish the night before hadn't upset him. What she found was... Unusual, and she certainly hadn't left the thing there last night.

  It was a skull, from what she wasn't sure, sitting there on the counter by the check out scanner.

  "The Creep is back. This time he left a name with that." Yagon's translator couldn't read the inflections in his speech, but Heather could tell where the translator omitted expletives.

  "W-hat was it? His name?"

  "Stone Fist was the direct translation. I can't get the translator to say the correct pronunciation in his language and he made a scene about it until I threatened to call security. You know what that thing means, don't you?"

  Heather nodded, she knew what it meant. Everyone did. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the empty sockets of the skull. It was as if it were staring through her being.

  "I can still file that report, Heather," Yagon offered again.

  "Don't, I mean... As long as I don't take it, then nothing happens. Right?"

  "As far as I'm aware? I think that's how it works."

  If Heather didn't touch it, he wouldn't come back. If she took it home, he'd follow her home because accepting an offering like that was an act of giving permission to pursue courtship.

  Working with that lifeless skull watching her was eerie to say the least. She covered it with her hat midway through her shift so she didn't have to look at it. At the end of her shift as she fiddled with the patterned key to lock up before she left, she considered the skull one last time. No, She wasn't taking it, but she'd leave a note. Two notes actually, one to ask Stone Fist if he would consider an actual conversation before anything else, and a second note to apologize to Yagon for asking him to speak with Stone Fist again.

To Be Continued?

[rainkandysux]

Lost Siblings

Paring: Dabi X FemReader

Rating: E

Word Count: 2,039

Summary: Siblings can only hold a family together if they’re there.

Warnings: 17+ explicit content, death

You watched your younger sister play with another girl close in age. The white and red highlighted hair of her playmate contrasted your sister’s onyx curls. You sigh as you check the time: 05:03PM. You two were overdue at getting back to the house you shared with several other orphans trying to stay out of the streets. Before you could reach your sister, a tallish, lanky redhead with two more of his siblings approached the thirteen-year-old girls.  

“Let’s go, Fuyumi. Say bye to your new friend,” the boy requested politely despite his bored tone.  

“I’m not her new friend. We play here every Friday,” your sister tartly replied.  

The boy’s eyes squinted in irritation. That was when you noticed their brilliant shade of turquoise, catching your breath as they turned to your direction. The stunning color wasn’t the only thing you noticed though. Bandages peeked from underneath his collar and long sleeves.  

“Oh, um, sorry about her attitude...” you trailed in discomfort.  

“I told you to hurry up, Touya!” A large man yelled towards the group of kids.  

The boy in question sighed in disgust before returning his attention to you. He studied your odd reaction to Endeavor. Most people's faces would brighten at seeing the Number Two Hero out of uniform and posing as a domesticated father, but your face appeared drained of color.  

“Come on, sis, we really need to go,” you mumbled as you snatched your sister’s hand to lead her away. You were too late though. The beast of a hero had already spotted your retreating form.  

“Hey, wait you little brat! Weren’t you the one I caught stealing from the market downtown?” Enji Todoroki shouted, his orange flames already cloaking him.  

She was stealing from a market? Was she taking food? Touya thought as he finally took note of your shaggy appearance as you ran away.  

You and your sister managed to get out of Endeavor’s reach before he made it to where his children stood by in uncertainty.  

“Fuyumi, you need to learn to stay away from garbage. Those girls are nothing more than trash. I wouldn’t be surprised if they get caught up in worse than the petty thieving they’ve been doing recently. The oldest one has a quirk that lets her powerup for short bursts of time. That’s how she was able to get away from your old man,” Endeavor laughed as he packed his kids into the family car.  

“Powerup? Like getting stronger and faster? Does she get bigger when she does that?” Shouto asked solemnly as he watched his sister cry. The girl she was playing with didn’t look like a bad guy. Neither did her older sister that his father criminalized.

“Her body glows like a lantern and the next thing you know, she’s able to break free from any type of restraint,” his dad elaborated for him.  

“So, what was it that she stole? What did she take that required you to be forceful?” Touya voiced, the grit in his tone made his questions sound as harsh as he intended them to.  

“...the um, store owner said she had taken some instant meals...”

“Way to go dad. I wonder what they ate for supper last night,” Natsuo added, taking Touya’s side.  

TEN YEARS LATER

Your younger sister died exactly one year ago, and you weren’t accepting it very well. A drug deal had gone wrong and you weren’t there to protect her. You still waited on the balcony of your apartment for her to twinkle her fingertip lights to let you know that her mission was a success, not the failure it had been.

One whole year you did this, waiting for her to shine her starlight beams to let you know that you weren’t alone. Every night you had perched there, desperately begging for her beautiful glow to brighten the blackness around you.  

You knew that wasn’t going to happen though. You remembered how cold she felt as her firefly soul burned away from her when you found her. You remembered, but you didn’t want to accept it.  

Now, you had only yourself to provide for. It was financially easier. Physically easier? No. Emotionally? Absolutely not. You had gotten sloppy after your sister’s death. As a result, you had gotten caught one too many times and now heroes were on your trail. You even had to relocate to a slummier place which was where you found yourself now, balancing on the balcony of the cheapest place you could find.  

No one recognized you here and if they did, you knew their own criminal records exceeded your own. Since you botched too many thefts, you now got money investing in drugs and worse— prostitution. Neither was something you were proud of, but at least you were surviving.  

Tonight was one of the sleezy ones. Usually, you’d find some businesspeople in their late fifties to mess around with. They always seemed to like how cute you were compared to the other options in the area. Just because you fucked your way through life didn’t mean that you didn’t take care of your looks. You wanted to be presentable in case you ever got a second chance at living a normal life.  

You were in your mid-twenties, so that dream of working as a schoolteacher was pretty much null. Still, you had aged gracefully. You could pull off as a ripe eighteen-year-old fresh out of high school if you ever decided to form a new identity.  

Your youthfulness is what helped you land some wealthy clients too. The uppity men liked your babyface. You sighed as you made your way out of your apartment and towards the now booming club down the street.  

Your eyes picked through the line outside the club in search of your next plaything. You were about to settle for a grey-haired man in a black suit when a lean figure slouching on a box in the back alley caught your attention.  

His startling blue eyes glanced over you as he lit the cigarette balancing between his scarred lips. You knew those eyes even if they were on a face hidden behind purple flesh and dyed, black hair. What had happened to him? What had happened to Endeavor’s son?

Before you even knew what you were doing, you were already slouching on a box opposite of him.  

“How much?” He asked, cyan eyes never leaving the cleavage you had poking free from your low-cut top.  

“Oh...I...really don’t need much...” you trailed, embarrassed that he had figured out your current profession. You weren’t planning on doing anything other than question him about why he was here and obviously damaged. You hoped he didn’t recognize you.  

He shrugged before he hopped down to lead you away. Soon, you were in his room that held a single bed, a nightstand, and an open suitcase.  

You were used to all types of sexual positions and appetites. Still, you weren’t prepared for this man’s roughness. Maybe it was the fact that you had known him when you were young teenagers and expected him to behave as one would.  

However, he wasn’t fifteen anymore. He was a decade older just like you. If his scarring was anything to go by, those ten years had been just as bad for him as it had been for you.  

Dabi knew what you wanted. He knew you came to him, seeing his youth as a nice break from the old creeps you were used to. He knew you assumed that he wouldn’t ask for your body, but you were stupid and naïve to think he wouldn’t. You were an idiot if you thought he would be gentle just because your little sisters had been friends.  

You were foolish if you thought you were going to get any form of intimacy from this interaction. He wanted to punish you for proving his father right. You were trash that had gotten involved in more than ‘petty thieving’ as his old man had phrased it. How you could do that? How you could prove that bastard right?

Touya was dead and so was his compassion. He burned your clothes off your shivering body and roughly bent you over facedown on the bed. He wouldn’t be able to punish you properly if your beautiful eyes looked at him.  

He took your hair into his fist and held your head down so that you couldn’t look back at him. You gasped into the mattress he smothered you in. His free hand didn’t even stimulate you before you felt his hardened cock force its way into your unprepared slit.  

He hoped his lack of care prevented you from getting off, that his unprecedented harshness left you bruised and unsatisfied. What he did not plan for was for you to twitch in pleasure and groan his fucking name out so casually.  

“Mmm, Touya,” you accidentally muttered as you felt your walls clench around his thrusting dick. You didn’t even know why you said it.  

He pulled out irritably to stop your orgasm. The hand that was tangled in your hair jerked your head to his cock. Your eyes widened at the size, unsure if you would be able to handle it without gagging. You weren’t ready, but he popped open your mouth with the tip of it as pre-cum dripped from it. Minutes later, he exploded and you felt the cum slide down your throat as you swallowed.  

You quickly pulled free, wiping your mouth. You pushed him away as the shame you felt filled you up fuller than his seed. You were in his bathroom now, examining the mascara that sloppily ran down your face thanks to the tears you were not able to hold back trickled down your cheeks.  

You washed your face, tied your hair up into a messy bun, and put on V-neck t-shirt and sweatpants you found on the floor. You waited a few minutes to gather whatever remained of your dignity before you reopened the door to his room.  

Fortunately, he wasn’t there. A wad of cash waited on the bed for you. Despite your wish to simply leave it there, you didn’t feel like going hungry that weekend.  

You took it and all but ran from the building, hoping to never see those ocean eyes again. Dabi watched your retreating form in slight regret. He had been touch-deprived for a long time and he knew you would have shown him the affection his broken soul craved. He didn’t have time be soft, though, and neither did you if you were going to make it in this crooked hero society.  

Still, he felt guilty for being so cruel, so he followed you. He watched your previously pouting face light up as you counted the amount he gave you. He had given you enough to pay rent and get enough food to last you a week. This meant that you could stay off your back (and knees and stomach for god’s sake) for a while!  

You wished your sister was here to celebrate the haul with you. You decided to splurge and buy her favorite type of strawberry cake. Little did you know that the man that had given you more than you expected was shadowing you as you talked to your deceased sister.  

Soon, you were back on your balcony and sitting in silent solitude. You lit the single candle to symbolize the one year she was gone as you stuffed it into the cake.  

“It’s been a miserable fucking year, sis. I hope you’re flying high. I hope you’re happier now that you don’t have to hurt anymore. I love and miss you,” you choked as you finally accepted her death. Tears fell freely as you pulled your knees up to your chest.  

Touya watched as you mourned your sister’s death. He thought of his own siblings and how he wished he could have been stronger for them. He wished he could forget who he was. Maybe he should have been kinder to you. He knew your routes, your dealers. He couldn’t fix his family, but he could try to undo the damage he inflicted on you.  Yes, he’d be much kinder next time.  

[vivalaezra]

Bar Room Blitz

He hit the floor, hard, bouncing off the stone like a child’s rubber ball minus the happiness and fun associated with playing with one. Instead he blinked away tears of pain as he watched his blade skid across the floor and outside the opened doors to the balcony beyond. It was out of reach... So far out of reach.

Frantically rising upon hands and knees he scrambled for his rapier but the roaring Elezen snatched his attention. Turning to face the charging drunkard, Ezra was frozen in place while he watched with wide eyes the man launch forward with a booted foot aimed right at his side. That. Was. Going. To. Hurt. ***Moments earlier** Ezra had wandered into the Sands, an establishment he had come to know quite well through out the years. Though it had been sometime since his last visited, he was happy to see that not much had changed. Drunkards guzzled their ale with reckless abandonment, while the froth of their brew collected around their mouths. Bards strummed stringed instruments, plucking away and filling the round stone establishment with the sweet melody of adventure. Merchants huddled around small tables, hammering out deals that would increase their wealth or leave them as poor as the refugees. Heroes alike looked to the posting board for open jobs to make quick gil or crowded around the bar, swarming poor Momodi with drink orders and additions quests she may have been privy to hear of. The “working” class was present as well, male and female chancing chaste glances towards the unexpecting... Or expecting, hoping to hook them in with the promise of a fun time. He missed it oddly. The strange and lively ecosystem of the Sands. But as much as he missed it, he wasn’t there to simply admire. He was there for work.

Ezra set his gaze upon a tall Elezen (weren’t they all tall?), who’s bronzed skin tone was complimented with a tuff of white hair. From age or simply dyed Ezra couldn’t tell. His nose was flat, and sat wide on his face and when coupled with his one blue left eye and eye patch which covered the right, there was no mistaking that the man Ezra looked at was the mage pictured in the parchment he held in his hand.

With a wiry grin playing across his thin lips, Ezra ambled over, his gaze shifting from the Elezen, a  Duskwight, to the trio who sat with him. The three were a mixed bunch, one lalafell, a bard, and two midlanders, merchants by the likes of it. They were all drawn in by the tale the Elezen was spinning for them.

“And there it was, frightening, powerful, and as massive as Titan himself... A mighty beast none the likes had even seen.” The Elezen said before taking up his tankard and sloshing it about. Despite the spillage that followed, he still had enough inside to manage a long throaty gulp. “And it’s teeth! Protruding from it’s skull, some as large as a mans arm!” He went on to say. “The Sahagin was known as the man eater... And...” He paused, the trio leaning forward eager to hear more. “Um... I appear to be empty... Might I trouble you lot for a refill... Perhaps a bite to eat as well?”

“Of course Master Lux!” One of the merchants was quick to say.

“Only if you finish your story of course.” Ezra said as he stepped up to the table. “It is your tale of course?”

“M... Master Lux do you know this man? Is this story not true?” The lalafell was next to speak, brow knitted in confusion. It was his duty to spread the tale of other heroes with song and dance... He had been invested in the elezens tale and the idea that it was faked was enough to show concern.

“How dare you make such a suggestion!” The drunken elezan blurted, tone heavy with a bubbling anger as he fixed his singular gaze upon Ezra. “Have you no clue who I am you half wit?”

Ezra feigned ignorance for a moment, reeling back and placing a hand over his chest as if he had been wounded by the words. And then he raised the wanted poster for all to see. “Aye... I think I do.” He prattled with the smugness his Sharlayan accent afforded him. “The supposed black mage who used the tales of another adventurers accomplishment to swindle money from a audience before he was found out and chose to cause a scene and utterly trash the Wench before escaping. You harmed two in the course of your escape and nearly killed a watchman as you pushed her aside and caused her to plunge over the railing to the waters below. Thankfully a fishing vessel was near enough to pluck her out from the waters... You’ve a bounty on your head and I intend to collect.” Ezra would look to the bard and fire a wink to the lalafell. “Now that’s a story is it not?” “You impudent fool! How dare you embarrass me in front of my friends!” Lux fired off. Ezra looked away from the Lalafell and back to Lux as he drew his rapier, the sound of the blade scraping along the scabbard rather audible despite the Sands being so rowdy that day. “You only embarrass yourself with your charades... Now come... We can do this the easy way or the-” Ezra never got to finish off his sentence. Instead he was blasted back by unfocused aether that stemmed from the tip of Lux’s staff which he had hidden from view beneath the table.

Though not truly elemental in origin, thus lacking the power of a fire spell, the unfocused aether was more then enough to blast the self proclaimed red mage back into the air. As if the heavens chose to look out for those standing around, the path before him parted and he luckily didn’t slam into anyone. He did bounce off the floor.

All eyes upon him, the patrons of the Sands watched as Ezra climbed to his hands and knees and attempted to reach the blade which had been knocked from his grasp only to witness the drunk Elezen rush forward. Lux intended on punting him like one would kick a ball and the blow would be shattering if Ezra didnn’t bring his arms to his side to cushion the blow. It worked... Sort of. It still hurt.

Ezra was lifted clear off the ground and sent flying through the doors of the Quicksand and would have landed in the fountain just outside if he had not taken control of the attack. He soften the blow, as much as he could any how, but his arms and side still ached and protested against how he twisted his body in air. Regaining a semblance of balance, Ezra landed upon the stone floor with booted heels and skidded to a stop right before falling into the fountain outside.

The grin he once wore was no longer present while stood in silence looking into the crowded establishment. Using the tip of his boot to hook under his rapiera light flick of his foot sent it up so he could pluck it from the air. His eyes twitched in anger and his lips thinned in rage as he readied himself for what came next.

Not a pretend mage then... The thought echoed in his mind as he stretched his limbs.

“Hard way it is...” Ezra finished his sentence and looked to the Elezen who went from having the upper hand to bearing a confused grin.

Ezra launched forward in a full sprint and all hell broke lose.

For someone who was willing to steal the stories of others and tell tall tales, Lux was surprising adept. Their dance around the Sands caused a ruckus, with tables being flipped over, drinks spilled, and entire dinner sets being knocked to the ground. Lux attempted short blasts of aether but Ezra was ready now, either dancing away or conjuring his own aetheric shields which easily stopped the force. It wasn’t before long someone bumped into another and other fights broke out.

Business partners wailed on each other, workings girls and boys scrambled out of the way of thrown tankards (some still filled with ale), and adventurers either joined in the melee or made feeble attempts to police those driven to a frenzy. A roe male ran around shirtless for some reason laughing like a mad man... The bards however, well they watched and recorded everything.

Dipping under a chair which was aimed for his head (thrown from parts unknown mind you) Ezra shot forward with the skill and grace born of years of practice and with needle like precision, used the tip of his sharpen rapier to slice as Lux’s hand.

The elezen cried out in pain and crimson stained the floor before him. Lux instinctively released his hold on his staff and brought his wounded hand to his chest, eye wide with terror. Ezra didn’t stop there however and instead cuffed the man on the side of his head, albeit he did have to job up slightly to meet the tall Elezen, before spinning about and calling forth his accelerator. Coupled with his sword, he conjured a bolt of lightning which crackled to life and seared a table in two, leaving it blacken and charred where the verthunder struck. It had the desired effect as the resulting clap of thunder boomed in a frightening staggering effect that reverberated off the stone walls and forced everyone inside to freeze.

Ezra stood there, looking confused as he sucked in breath after breath. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU LOT!” He fired off as he glared at everyone. Most stood silent, a few chuckled however, but all didn’t seem to know what to do next. Kneeling beside Lux’s crumbled form, he took it about himself to heal the mans bloody hand though ensured he remained unconscious.

“Did everyone have to act a fool?” He further questioned but was cut off from speaking  on as Momodi roared out at him.

“YOU ARE PAYING FOR THIS MESS!” She cried out from behind the bar, shaking with rage.

“Ah... Of course... Of course my lady... Let me just get this fool back to Limsa to claim his bounty... Many apologies...” He pleaded with Momodi before looking to the rest. “Oh you all should be ashamed of yourself... Now clean up...”

“Oi... And why should we?” A voice echoed out past the main floor somewhere around the side entrance.

Ezra couldn’t see who had spoken but it was setting the tone for others to argue so he decided to answer in kind.

His accelerator hovered at his side and for a moment his eyes flashed a brilliant blue, electricity dancing around them. “Because I am not in the business of asking twice.” Ezra growled.

A gasp sounded from behind him and Ezra, despite the serious moment, couldn’t help but look with curiosity to the lalafell bard who approached him with wide eyes.

“That’s it... I’ll call it the tale of the Lightning Count and the Bar Room Blitz!?”

[danseru-kun]

Ancient and Android Chapter 1- FFVII and DBH crossover fanfic (Aerith x Connor)

Ao3 link: Ancient and Android

Genre: Friendship, Drama, Romance (?)

Rating: Teens and Up

Chapters: 1/7 (tentative)

Summary: At first it bothered Aerith how humanlike Connor was in appearance. Were androids like him part of the Lifestream?

For the past five years as a flower peddler, Aerith had only seen two kinds of people: those that weren’t affiliated with Shinra and those that were. She was particularly wary of the latter, being her captors in her early childhood and responsible for her mother’s death. From the typical office employee proudly showing their uniform to top executives in their fancy branded watches; from conscripted grunts to the esteemed elite force known as Soldier - Aerith knew them all. 

“Real flowers for sale!” Aerith called out to potential customers, as usual, pretending not to eye an odd stranger at the opposite side of the street.

Wearing a dark blue denim jacket with a Shinra logo on his left breast, with a glowing blue band wrapped around his right arm, a man took a long way and crossed through the pedestrian lane when everyone else ignored it. His gaze met Aerith’s for too long before his eyes landed on something else. 

He walked in perfect posture at a relaxed pace, opposing the flow of busybodies scampering towards the train station. Aerith observed his direction, wondering what office or establishment he may go to. Didn’t enter the cafe. Didn’t enter the theater. Didn’t enter the restaurant. Instead, he passed through the same spot in Loveless Avenue thrice, and in those next instances, he didn’t look again at Aerith. 

Was he one of them? The men in dark suits that had followed her for years? Aerith sighed. One thing that had always worked was: never to let them know you’re actively avoiding them. Let them think she was clueless and an easy target, then send them empty-handed and humiliated. Aerith grinned and walked towards the person of interest. 

“If you’re wondering if it’s real, you can see it yourself.” Aerith gave her widest smile and handed one stalk to the brown-haired man. “I’ll give you three pieces for two hundred gil, how’s that?” the vendor winked.  

“Real and living...” He tilted his head slightly and accepted the flower reluctantly, eyes darting back to Aerith one more time as if asking for permission. Carefully he held the stalk between his fingers, twisting and turning it in all angles before he returned it to Aerith. “I do not wish to purchase. Thank you for your offer nonetheless,” his lips slightly curved and his deep, dark eyes were kind. 

A blue ring at the side of the man’s head glowed. “What are those spinning lights?” Aerith pointed to her own temple and drew circles with her finger. 

“It’s an LED to show my processing. It makes it easier for humans to identify that I am a machine. My name is Connor, I’m the android sent by Shinra.” He also pointed to a set of numbers printed to his jacket, the largest of which was RK800. 

“An android?” A robot, or a machine, a cyborg or whatever they were called. Aerith narrowed her eyes. She had seen some robots, trashed some, salvaged some, and sold them off, but she never saw anything looking so realistic. Most humanoids robots looked like mannequins with their perfect skin and plastic hair, their mouths opening and closing like rusty hinges. Connor looked nothing but human. His skin had freckles and moles, his jawline looked freshly shaved, his expression soft and calming. “They sent you for what?” 

“To detect and report defective power lines. I’m running scans on the area,” Connor clasped both his hands and rubbed his palms together, bending down to meet Aerith’s eye level.  “Do you have any concerns about our services? I can forward them to customer service right away and give you a special priority.” 

Aerith’s brows furrowed. Unbelievable. If Shinra really did send this guy to track her, she should commend them for something new. Should she play along?  “This is the first time I’ve seen an android act,” she said in a teasing manner. “Has it worked on other girls before?” Aerith twirled the edge of her curls, not breaking eye contact with Connor.

“Pardon? Are you implying that I’m pretending to be a machine?” The polite tone of his voice didn’t change, but his eyes were wide, inquisitive. 

“You can drop the act Connor, I swear I find it… amusing.” Aerith slouched and pouted. She would have played the game a little longer but she had better things to do. Besides, there had been worse weirdos. 

Connor was silent for a while. “Shinra designed me to look human and installed an advanced social integration program but we do not intend to deceive anyone. Apologies, I should have been clearer from the start.” He extended his hand to Aerith. From the tips of his fingers, his skin turned gel-like and retracted inside the white shell and joints that formed his hand. Aerith’s eyes widened as the skin continued to disappear up to Connor’s wrists and his neck, revealing metallic joints and glowing wires underneath. 

“You really are-” Aerith took a sharp breath, grasping her flower basket a little tighter against her body. She shook her head in disbelief as the marvel of technology unfolded before her. 

“I am indeed a machine, Miss…” Connor blinked and his LED ring glowed yellow, eyes twitched for a split second. “May I know your name?” 

Aerith paused and stared at the hand Connor offered. “My name’s Aerith,” she answered and accepted a cold, hard, and plastic handshake. 

Sometimes, when Aerith touched others, there was always this tiny spark. Humans, animals, and plants all felt different, but they all shared one thing - the flow of life she couldn’t quite describe in words. Connor had none. 

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

It was Connor’s most efficient day. Loveless Avenue’s hourly foot traffic allowed the android to exceed its three-day average volume by twenty-seven percent. From 5:06PM to 8:31PM, the android had added 638 faces in its memory and identified 453 individuals by cross-referencing their faces to Shinra’s database. 

IDENTIFICATION OF PERSONS OF INTEREST SUCCESSFUL…

RETRIEVING AVALANCHE DATABASE…

MATCH: 2

Two faces matched the list of suspected Avalanche operatives, fitting their described age, height and sex: Charlie Sheridan and Lee Suyin. Based on Midgar records the pair forged birth certificate documents and were granted driver’s licenses. Connor submitted the sighting to the Anti-Terror Task Force. 

MISSION SUCCESSFUL

Connor waited for a recommended action.

INVESTIGATION LAUNCHED. DO NOT MAKE CONTACT WITH AGENTS.  

MAINTAIN COVER AND COLLECT DATA. 

“Affirmative,” Connor replied as it assessed its first success in identification. Shinra intelligence had only profiled 32 members but the actual number worldwide was estimated to be a hundred or more. 

Connor considered moving on to the train station when hundreds of people exited the Loveless theatre. A larger crowd rushed in while a long queue extended to the streets. Half the audience were children and not relevant information. Many had dogs of different breeds. The android’s optics quickly zoomed in to a child holding a white flower. Connor had never seen lilies outside the pictures in his memory. 

The flower did not match anything in the catalogs of registered gift shops. Connor stared at the flower intensely, the stress on its lenses forced a blink mechanism. It approached to investigate, reconstructing the path via the paw-prints of the child’s rubber soles. On the opposite side of the street was the vendor in question, a woman with long brown hair and a pink dress who stared back at the android. 

FACE SCAN ACTIVATED

MATCH FOUND

RESULTS: 0

Connor ran through Shinra’s database again. 

M@T^H FOU&%!

RESULTS: 1

No information followed. A glitch? System error? Database compromised? Connor kept its search active while it modified its main objectives:

[ENCRYPTED]

Identify and report suspected Avalanche members

Search for information about Avalanche’s hideout

Collect data for Shinra profiling initiative

Investigate the flower peddler

The opportunity presented when the vendor offered her products: real, living flowers. The woman reacted in disbelief with the information that Connor was not a human. 

“I am indeed a machine,” Connor received a surge of delayed information from its searches: the flower seller’s face partially matched a picture of a child in the Shinra database. They had the same emerald eyes. “May I know your name?” 

“My name’s Aerith,” she accepted the handshake, giving Connor the opportunity to collect her handprint. While DNA would be far more informative, there was no socially acceptable way to obtain samples in that situation and the cover would be blown. 

Aerith matched seventy-six results in the Midgar database, with nine different surnames. Three were deceased. One transitioned into a man. Only one Aerith matched a woman in her twenties: Aerith Gainsborough. She submitted her name in the Sector 5 annual lotto a total of fifty-nine times. Six months ago, she won the jackpot of 3,000,000 Gil split between 312 winners. Other than that, she had no government identification, school records, or hospital admissions-

“Hey watch where you’re going! Are you blind?” Connor barely dodged the cyclist who continued to hurl insults. The android continued his search of Aerith’s face in the Shinra database until the Science Department blocked him.  

ACCESS DENIED

ACCESS DENIED

ACCESS DENIED

Connor’s program recommended obtaining permission from the management. The suggestion was moved further down the queued objectives until it was deleted from its command logs. Too inefficient. Information required immediately. 

INITIATING BYPASS...

The department had sufficient firewalls and servers, but Connor was more advanced in breaching security undetected. It needed information on Aerith Gainsborough as soon as possible. 

More than pictures, Connor was able to retrieve a video showing Aerith as a child behind a glass partition. The footage was of substandard quality with a timestamp, but Connor’s facial reconstruction and analysis software were still able to process the image, estimating she was six years old. Another woman in the footage was her biological mother or relative based on shared physical features. Without a DNA test, it would be inconclusive. Several voices discuss her health and mentioned tests to perform on her. Aerith laid her thin, pale hand against the glass, her eyes downcast before she looked directly at the camera. Connor stared back. 

[dablesretrospective]

2008 - Dables - Slacker Pop

This album should of never existed. I never planned for it to.   Towards the end of Closet Monster, in the Fall of 2008, I came home from work one day to my trailer that my cousin Kenny and I lived in off of White Horse Road in Greenville, and discovered that we had been robbed. They stole quite a lot of stuff from us.  They got pretty much every single piece of musical equipment I owned as well as lot of other stuff.  The only thing they left was my acoustic guitar (THANK GOD, because it was my first that was a gift from my Mom, and the one I learned how to play on), my drum machine, one effects pedal, and the cassette deck Tascam Portastudio which they didn’t steal because they thought it was just a tape player or something probably.  That was all that was left.  They got 3 guitars, my new Tascam 8 Track recorder, which had about 20 or so songs on it that are all gone now that I had only owned about 2 months, two amplifiers, my PS2, all the games, and tons of my roommate’s stuff. Not only were we robbed, but they TRASHED our place too. They took a tub of butter out of our fridge and spread it throughout the house for some reason.  The couches were smeared with butter. The walls, the floors, the carpet, my bed…Every single drawer was pulled out and its contents scattered. They tipped over our bookshelves and dvd cases and basically ran amuk throughout our house. We both worked third shift at the time, and we figured it was someone who lived nearby that noticed both our cars are gone 5 nights a week, from 11 PM-7AM, so we never recovered any of our stuff.

They didn’t get my laptop though because my room was so messy and it was buried under a pile of dirty clothes. THAT is the reason that Slacker Pop exists. Although I had been recording songs as Dables since 2005, I hadn’t “officially” released anything beyond a few random demos and mix cd’s that I gave out to friends, but nothing that I was comfortable with giving out to the general public just yet. But that didn’t mean that I wasn’t recording and writing like a madman still, trying to make something worthwhile that people outside of my personal group of friends would enjoy.  I was working on what would’ve been the first official Dables release, “Pretending To Be Asleep” as well as “Powerglove Bitchslap”, and I had made considerable progress but wasn’t quite finished when I had been robbed, thus bringing any music production or playing shows to a halt.  I sulked for a while and even considered just letting Dables end because I had been at it for 3 years and had made pretty much no real progress as a solo artist, especially since I no longer had any musical instruments and I was too poor to afford new ones.

But then I figured, since I still have my laptop, I have a ton of songs on it (some not quite finished or just demos) already done, the songs that would’ve composed Pretending To Be Asleep as well as several other albums, and I thought, well I could just make a compilation of sorts and put that out as Dables first album! So that’s what Slacker Pop is.  It is the songs that survived before the robbery, and it was finished and put online as my first official Dables CD, released on Christmas Day and was the third official release on Slackerpop Records, which at the time was still named EES Records (Everything Else Sucks), but obviously this album became the inspiration for the name change of the label that wouldn’t come for another year or two.

The title came to me when I was browsing through a local band from Charleston, Ko’s myspace. The band is now called Company, but they had under their ‘sounds like’ section: “strummy, jangly pop rock by lazy slackers”. Personally I don’t think that describes Company’s sound all that well but it made me realize that my music was essentially pop music by a slacker and for fellow slackers, hence a new genre that I dubbed Slacker Pop. A quick Google search showed there was no band or anything using the term and since it fit my sound so well, I decided to use it.  The cover of the album is a double joke that most people don’t get. Not only was it a stick figure drawing of me at the time, but it was supposed to resemble a lollipop. A slacker guy that looks like a lollipop. A slacker lolliPOP that looks like me and also describes the genre of the album.  I also made the cover just black on white because it used less ink to print out, so it was a little cheaper to make copies which I made roughly 100 of entirely by myself. Printed it at home, cut out the cover art with scissors so it would fit in a jewel case, and burned and labeled the CD-Rs one at a time. It took forever but it gave me merch to give away (I rarely tried to sell my hand made copies, I preferred to just give them away at shows and record stores or wherever for promotion).

I started saving my money, and thankfully since it was the end of the year a big tax return helped me to eventually buy all new guitars and recording equipment, and Dables got right back on track within a handful of months and in a weird way the robbery gave me the motivation to continue to pursue my music.

While I’m at it, I may as well answer the most commonly two asked questions about Dables. First off, it is pronounced “Day-bulls”. If it was different it would have two b’s in it like the actual word dabbles! Secondly, it is a portmanteau of the words “David’s Bullshit”…DAvids BULLShit…Get it? No? Ok…well in early 2005, for the very first time ever, I tried to record a few songs by myself using Sound Recorder, Free Wav Editor, and the truly crappy built-in microphone on my computer monitor. I had about 6 terrible, horribly basic, nonsensical “songs” that I burned on a CD-R. Not knowing what to call it, I just wrote “David’s Bullshit” on the CD with a sharpee. Gave a copy to maybe 3 or 4 friends just for a laugh. It wasn’t until my birthday on Nov 8 later that year (turned 19) that my then-girlfriend bought me my first cassette deck 4-Track Tascam Portastudio. Took me about a year to learn how to use it and by early 2007 I made my first demo called “I Want to Vomit on You” and I needed a name for the project so I thought it would be funny and oh-so-clever to combine the two words I wrote on the last CD-R I made, David’s Bullshit into one and spell it Dables. I made it official by then changing all my online usernames to Dables too lol. I remember really liking that it was a one word band name, both because I thought it could double as a stage-name for me and that it was a single word band name like a lot of my all-time favorite bands such as Ween, Primus, Devo, Gwar, Clutch, Tool, Nirvana…I loved that aspect of it so it stuck. I recorded an absolutely absurd amount of songs on that cassette tape 4-track and made so many demo albums but it wasn’t until Slacker Pop at the end of 2008 that I considered my music good enough for an official release. All the best stuff (and just as much god awful stuff too) from those cassette tapes made between 2005-2008 were eventually released to the public in 2018 as a 4 volume series called The Early Days. I’ll do a write up blog for those albums too eventually.

Either way I consider Slacker Pop the first official David’s Bullshit album...Or you can just call it Dables for short.

-------------------------- Released on December 1, 2008

Slackerpop Records 2008

All music written, performed, and recorded by David Walker Track #2 written by Ween Tracks #10 and #22 Alex Murray plays guitar

1.Welcome To The Record 2.Love Will Conquer All 3.Paint The Town Brown 4.What You Think I’ve Become 5.I’m Sleepy 6.Stardust Memories 7.Celebrity 8.Nightmare City 9.Everyone Loves God 10.Brain Vice 11.In My Dreams 12.Brown Eyed Angel 13.Yeah Ok 14.Livin’ in A Dream 15.Nothing Should Ever Be A Big Deal 16.I Still Love You 17.Szandora 18.Half Off Jesus Face 19.You Must First Understand Pain 20.Nothin’ But The House Rent 21.Who Are You? 22.Vodka Jam

Download this album for free at:

https://dables.bandcamp.com/album/slacker-pop

[earthbounddesign]

I didn’t mean for it to, but my early days I got known as a mantracker. Not that I was tracking men all too often, but you get my drift. Actually, you read the official Public Detection figures, most missing persons are men, but I can tell you that far-and-away most of my contracts back then were finding women. Runaways, abductees, the odd cult sacrifice deal. I guess that tells you the different with who calls Black Mask to report a disappearance and who actually wants to find someone and get them back. Maybe. That’s something else I’d say.

So it wasn’t my first contract, like I say, but the result was different. I get hired to find this young girl, she’s not come home for a couple days. Lived over in Aberetta district. Safe enough, my first thought. It’s not Erving, but it’s not Kesper either. Probably something about her then rather than a random thing y’know? Name was Laurelli. Married, not for long though. Hair was long, black as oil.

Young Laurelli came packaged with a couple of leads. First was she had plans for the night, but never arrived. Told her husband she was meeting casual friend ‘Ginette Somebody’ for a painting class over in Jerryville. Made the booking and everything, never showed up. I called the centre and they confirmed. Couldn’t find a clue as to who this Ginette was. Never did. Second lead was her phone. Not the device but the number, accounts and stuff. This far back was before everybody carried a hub, AR glasses, all that. Lots of folks didn’t even use a tablet really, just a phone and a home console maybe. They weren’t always on the net’ in the same way we are now. I’m not an electronics guy, never felt like the Global Network was a big part of this job. Maybe that’s why I got the people-work. I had a go-to hacker back then though, kid named Lowell, so I sent her details to him and see what he can dig up.

I remember I grilled the husband for a few hours more and let the sun go down. It was summer, so it’s late by that point, but that’s preferable to meeting the people you work with in daylight. Husband’s not the wealthiest guy, but proud of what he’s got. Parades around his house when you talk to him. Clenches his fists and talks loud if you ask a question he didn’t expect. I figure Laurelli would maybe be happier away from this guy, but the contract is find her so I don’t get much choice. You know about that. I meet Lowell in The Great Ring, coincidentally real close to Laurelli’s house anyway. He was a nice kid but I don’t think I ever saw him not drinking. I heard he was riding when that big train crashed a year or two after that, but he got out. Still working the circuit, I hear.

Lowell scored a bunch of hits off that phone. Train tickets at the metro nearest home. Exits in Elmer district, not Jerryville like was meant to. Uses phone to buy drink in a 24box, Lowell tells me it’s soy latte like that matters. Then she hails a cab. Lowell, who really wants a leg up in the game, then spiked the metropolitan taxi network, finds out that one stopped in the there and then, but picked up no fare. Trail on the phone goes cold and nothing shows from then ‘til now, 31 hours later. I pay Lowell and ride the rails over to the right stop in Elmer myself.

Girl in the 24box wasn’t cooperative. No, wasn’t her on shift yesterday evening. No, I couldn't review the camera footage myself. Yes, she was tired too. I bought a drink and tipped anyway. We both knew shit jobs.

I stepped out. It was that kind of hot, sticky night where everyone was sleepy right until they hit the bed. The air steamed in your lungs. The streets were empty and Elmer was always quiet at night. My shirt was half dough, half sandpaper. My head was fuzz. I clutched at the obvious trick. Strolled with my coffee away from the box and grabbed my own phone out my pocket. Dialled hers. If it was dead, then so was the trail this far.

It rang. Something rang. First, in my hand, my ear, and then further away. I heard a phone ringing in the hot drenched-cotton night. Close. Kept the call open and ran towards the sound. Dropped my coffee before it scalded my hand. In an alleyway between a closed bookshop and a Lebensmarkt the tone echoed. I dashed and prayed it would keep ringing. A pile of boxes formed a backboard, bounced the sound outwards, and I found the chirping block inside a thin black vinyl bag. It wasn’t alone. The phone was wet, and I grabbed a flashlight from my pocket to see where from. The wetness was red, sticky. Much of the bag was.

Asides from the phone, two shirts came out, both wet and red and stinking of burnt iron. One was fashionably shaped, fancy. A woman’s. The red was deepest on the left ribs, around a nasty tear. The other shirt had been white and square-cut. The breast bore the logo of Downriver Taxi Company.

I called Lowell, got him to chase the cab’s details, the one that had stopped. I rode the train back to Aberetta district so I could report to Husband. If she was dead, was a strong chance she was Public property by now, and even as a rookie I had rules about these things. Better to get the client to handle that side of the investigation. Lowell calls me back and says the cab was registered to one Ginette LaMet. I knew it was a fake before the other details, the lack of driver profile, pickup history. Lowell tells me the can only recorded a stop for ten seconds, and the traffic recorder in these things is harder to hack than the driver reg. I trust him on that.

Reaction from husband goes as well as I expect. First it’s confusion, then it’s anger, accusation, then grief. I promise I’m still on the case but recommend he calls Black Mask and enquires about the body, if it’s shown up. Sure wasn’t any sign of her in that alley. In the humidity all smells explode. The blood was strong, like I said. Reminded me of a teenage girlfriend. Trash too, but no guts or shit or all the other smells roll out when a body’s left in the hot for a day or more. I’m drowsy, leave my notes with him and go home to sleep. Rookie mistake for a rookie player.

Next morning, Husband calls me when I’m halfway through coffee. It’s cloudy, I remember. He’s called public, they want him to come down to morgue on Fargue district. All the central stuff is there. He’s nervous, wanted me to go with him. Big man afraid of Black Mask. I didn’t blame him. Against my better judgement, I agree. Down my coffee while it’s hot and head out. Journey takes nearly an hour. Traffic is bad, everyone has a headache.

When I get there, Black Mask is waiting outside. One of them, meaning the other is inside. I don’t understand, he said he was going to them. I approached and Public Detective raises his hand, visor lights up as he scans me, goes back to monochrome. Does anyone like these things? I know you find them as creepy as I do. I get a glimpse through the open door, into the house. Detective number two is standing over Husband. I can smell the blood from the street. Right hand is bashed in, broken. Hair is stained red. In his left hand are my paper notes. The ones that say Laurelli is probably dead, give the name of a taxi driver that doesn’t exist.

I stumble backwards but Black Mask on the street goes to follow me. I’m part of the case now. Public Property. Last thought before the incap dart hits me in the chest is to turn away, and I see her. A clean white shirt, hair cut short, but it’s her. That same black-as-oil slick back on her head. She’s stupid to hang around and watch but I’d guess if she moved she’d only run.

The air pressure breaks. I smell the rain on the hot tarmac before I feel it on my head, before my skull slams into the road and Black Mask grabs my arms and locks ‘em up as if I’d be dumb enough or able to resist with a dart in my chest. It hurts like hell, but the rain gives so much relief I feel like I can breath for the first time in weeks. You know the kind of rain I mean. And I see her, saw her sitting there with her eyes open, in a small crowd all staring at the blood coming out of my nose, blending with the raindrops, and I wonder when I’ll get to feel rain on my skin again.

[recentanimenews]

INTERVIEW: Keeping English Dubbing Alive In The Wake Of COVID-19

  With the state of emergency affecting the rate of production in Japan, the anime industry has taken steps to become operational once again, but under new safety guidelines. Part of those safety guidelines includes changing the setup for voice recordings. In Japan, voice actors will typically work in groups where they will all record an episode in the studio together, but that's not really an option right now in a COVID-19 world. Instead, Japanese voice actors have had to downsize when it comes to voice recordings, and are now recording multiple episodes one actor at a time. While this is a big change for the dubbing industry in Japan that will require some time to adjust to, this method of recording is actually the standard in the States. So, if Japanese voice actors are adjusting to the way English voice actors record anime, then how are English voice actors recording during the COVID-19 pandemic? The answer is ... remotely.

  Adapting To Remote Recordings

  At the time this article is written, other countries have slowly begun to open back up, however, some businesses and industries in the U.S. remain closed. Businesses like the dubbing industry have had to adapt to different methods in order to continue to operate. When it came time to conduct remote voiceover sessions, some voice actors found themselves ready — or at least somewhat ready. Like voice actress Faye Mata (Konosuba, The Rising of the Shield Hero). "I wasn't super prepared, but I had looked into recording remotely before we were all forced into that hikikomori (shut-in) life so I had a general idea of what I'd need. I guess it gave me a reason to finally take the leap." 

  Other voice actors, on the other hand, weren't as prepared for work-from-home life, as was the case for voice actress Laura Stahl (Welcome To Demon School Irumi-Kun, The Promised Neverland). "Oh, I was soooo not prepared!" says Stahl. "At the time I was working off of an 'all-in-one' monitor/computer, auditioning with a very basic USB mic. I had never had a remote record session before. Not to mention I didn't have the chance to go home and work on changing that situation for over a month into lockdown. I was staying with a friend for a little while. The whole thing was anxiety-inducing."

  Having to quickly adapt to the new workflow didn't just mean recording from home. It also meant voice actors having to create an environment in their living space that is optimal for voice overwork. Voice actor Chris Hackney, (Tower of God, Fire Emblem: Three Houses) explains, "When we had to stop going into studios, it was a mad dash to try and get a decent enough acoustic setup in my home so that I could hopefully be up to an acceptable standard to the studios."

Voice actors have the tough challenge of creating a space that could produce audio equivalent to that of audio produced in a sound studio. Depending on space and funds, for some actors that meant building/investing in a recording booth, for others, it meant soundproofing a space in their homes, such as closets! Voice actor Robbie Daymond, (Sailor Moon, The God of High School) took to Twitter to show fans a handcrafted recording booth complete with custom framework and ventilation system. 

  — Robbie Daymond (@robbiedaymond) August 10, 2020

  Mata explains, "I went through a breakup just before lockdown and went into full work mode, buying and upgrading my home studio and a streaming setup because I was determined to stay positive and be successful rather than stew in sad panda mode." In a YouTube video, Mata takes fans on a virtual tour of Porygon-Q, a prebuilt Studiobricks One Plus booth. "I used to record in my closet," says Mata. "But realizing how long we'd be out of studios, I didn't want to gamble anymore on neighbors taking random showers at like 4 PM (those SHHHHH water sounds are brutal). Also, I don't want them to think I'm murdering people all the time. My roommate has received texts from the neighbors asking if everything's alright because they heard screeching and yelling." Porygon-Q is equipped with various microphones for animation, video games, and commercials, "[Thick] squishy pads people stand on while washing dishes that genius moms probably invented so I don't get tired standing during long sessions, and a scented unlit candle so it always smells nice," explains Mata. 

    As previously mentioned, due to each actor's unique circumstance, every setup is different. "My recording space is in my bedroom," says Stahl. "I have a solid-state mini gaming pc mounted to the wall behind my desk, two monitors for ease of dubbing, carpets on the floor and foam on the ceiling to dampen noise — and I suppose the most unique thing about my space is that I ran a track in a U shape on my ceiling around my desk and hung sound blankets from them." This home studio sounds pretty original, and Stahl had a lot to think of when creating her space. "I considered using my closet, but it's not very large and would've been cramped and uncomfortable, which is a distraction for acting. I didn't want to use the common areas for ease of living for my housemates, and I didn't have an [exorbitant] amount of money or time to spend on something like a true booth. This seemed the most [efficient], and cost-effective solution."

  Creating a home space conducive for voice recordings was the first part of the remote recording process for actors. The next step would be working with studios on what is needed to conduct smooth recording sessions. Dubbing studios like Funimation gave fans a sneak peek into how they conduct their remote recordings with the release of My Hero Academia Episode 84. In a Twitter post, ADR director Colleen Clinkenbeard describes Funimation's remote process where special dub kits were sent to the cast. She also shows fans an iPad with the software to be used for the session which Clinkenbeard describes as a "mini little Pro Tools." When it comes time to actually record from home, "It gets easier the more you work with each production house," says Stahl. "They [studios] do each have their own particular way they want to do things — and the first session with a client since lockdown began is always a little nerve-wracking. Then you start to get into the groove of how you need to prepare for each session depending on who you're working with that day."

  — Funimation (@FUNimation) April 10, 2020

  SDI Media, the studio who dubbed DEVILMAN Crybaby, discusses workflow and tips for voice actors when setting up their recording space in a recently published article. With each studio taking a different approach, Chris Hackney finds that "Most studios are using some combination of Zoom/Skype/Etc to talk to me while I record and then there's various professional methods to stream the high-quality audio back to the studio. A bad Internet connection means you could also blow a perfect take, so it's a lot to think of. The other weird thing is sort of doing my own engineering, where I'll have to think 'Oh, this line is going to get kind of loud,' so I may have to manually control that so we don't blow a take. It's a brave new world for us all, but I'm happy to make it work." We can only imagine the extra level of difficulty added to each recording session now that voice actors need to become more cognizant of not only their performance but the technical results. While this must be difficult for the VAs, it does make sense seeing as everyone involved in the production of dubbing has to go the extra mile to continue to operate — including the audio engineers. "Bless the engineers right now," Hackney says. "Because they have the Herculean task of making all of us sound like we recorded in the same space."

  The Challenges Of Remote Recordings

Maybe you used to think recording anime voice-overs from your home seemed like a dream. But now we know it doesn't come without its challenges. Studios are specifically designed for conducting smooth and efficient recordings blocking out any and all noise from the outside, but every actor's remote space presents its own obstacles that need to be worked through. Dangers to a solid recording session can be cars passing by, aircrafts traveling overhead, unexpected maintenance work, or lawnmowers, just to name a few. For Chris Hackney, it's "Trash day and my kids! Myself — and I know many others — just don't have the kind of money or space to build something top-of-the-line like at a studio, so we're at the mercy of whatever the world has to throw at us. Trash day? Gotta wait for them to leave or schedule around it. My kids play a little too loud? Blown take. Everyone's doing their best to make this work, and I'm thankful for the patience."

    Remote recordings definitely present their fair share of challenges, but does working from home mean more work overall? "100 percent," says Mata. "As far as working in LA goes, eliminating the wait in traffic for two hours every session gave me more time in my day! ... to be even more of [a] workaholic." For others, the answer is a little more complicated because once again, every voice actor's situation is different. "Actually I try to limit how many sessions I put into a day, or at least space them out well because I share this living space," says Stahl. "I can't ask my roommates not to leave the house between the hours of 9-4 PM just because I live over the garage. Nor can I ask my roommate who works in the office by my room to whisper in all of his Zoom meetings and phone calls. And I don't want to leave my air conditioning off for 6-8 hours in August. I try to be [courteous] to my housemates."

  Is the Future of English Dubbing Remote?

With the prolonged closures, no one really knows when English dubbing will become fully operational at studios again. Because of the uncertainty surrounding the virus, and with actors and studios adjusting to this new way of dubbing, it begs the question if the dubbing industry will adopt remote recordings permanently. For Chris Hackney, the answer is, "Not at all. The current environment is a fine substitute for the time being, but having a studio full of talent and the creative team can't be beat."

But this doesn't mean all talent are anxious to get back in the studio. "I see a healthy mixture of both," says Mata. "Some people have been recording remotely for a long time. When the US gets its ship together and it's safe to record in the same studio again, that is honestly best for audio consistency as far as space + equipment goes ... but even then, it's possible to adapt." And Stahl? "I think it's going to be a mixture. I do think many projects will go back to in-person recording. But at the same time, the fact that many actors have improved their home setups for this situation widens the talent pool. If a show that's produced in LA really wants an actor who's living in Atlanta now — it's more feasible. Or perhaps, if there are some actors that wouldn't consider a supporting role because it may not be worth the commute from say the OC to Burbank to them — now maybe they can negotiate. Only time will tell."

  The COVID-19 virus has caused worry and disruption on a global scale. Many are unsure when things will return to normal, and even when they do, will businesses continue to operate under the safety guidelines implemented during the pandemic, or will they try to return to the same workflow as once before? As Stahl said, "Only time will tell." But until then, great job to all the voice actors, studio staff, and recording engineers who are working hard to keep bringing anime to the fans!

What are your thoughts on the English dubbing industry's remote recording process? Let us know in the comments!

      To keep up with their work, you can follow Laura Stahl, Chris Hackney, and Faye Mata on social media. 

  Pro hero Veronica Valencia is an anime-loving hot sauce enthusiast! You can follow more of her work as a host, writer, and producer on Twitter and Instagram.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com

[the-rust-knight]

Summer Rain

if you asked, people would say that it rains a lot in this city. I probably would, if you wanted a quick answer. Rain is de-rigueur, accepted, normal even. It is cold and unpleasant and we believe that to be the background to our days and weeks. The truth is that it rains a lot less than the public memory recalls. I know this because, every time it rains, I remember the girl who beat me.

The memory comes back in as clear as day, as it does with a lot of things. Vivid cross-sensory associations. The smell of cold coffee places me in my father’s bedroom, trying to wake him on the second day in a row. There’s a level on Halo 2 that overplays with the audio from the TV show my Mother was watching, in the next room. A man with a Caribbean accent is arguing over which drink was his, the main character is a woman who asks him to leave the bar. I don’t know the context, but I can’t replay the game without that line in the back of my head.

Not all rain carries the same memory, but I can tell you the exact kind. It was years ago. I wasn’t fresh out of the academy or anything so wet, but lets say I was new to the game by today’s standards. I still had to pay for advertising. Private Investigation wasn’t respectable career, but it was reliable and fair. Meritocratic, even. Reputation counted for more than anything else and poor results meant poor reputation. A skilled investigator got his card passed around and, for the really unlucky, repeat custom. It wasn’t enough just to show up at a broker’s office and wait for assignment.

 I didn’t mean for it to, but my early days I got known as a mantracker. Not that I was tracking men all too often, but you get my drift. Actually, you read the official Public Detection figures, most missing persons are men, but I can tell you that far-and-away most of my contracts back then were finding women. Runaways, abductees, the odd cult sacrifice deal. I guess that tells you the different with who calls Black Mask to report a disappearance and who actually wants to find someone and get them back. Maybe. That’s something else I’d say.

So it wasn’t my first contract, like I say, but the result was different. I get hired to find this young girl, she’s not come home for a couple days. Lived over in Aberetta district. Safe enough, my first thought. It’s not Erving, but it’s not Kesper either. Probably something about her then rather than a random thing y’know? Name was Laurelli. Married, not for long though. Hair was long, black as oil.

Young Laurelli came packaged with a couple of leads. First was she had plans for the night, but never arrived. Told her husband she was meeting casual friend ‘Ginette Somebody’ for a painting class over in Jerryville. Made the booking and everything, never showed up. I called the centre and they confirmed. Couldn’t find a clue as to who this Ginette was. Never did. Second lead was her phone. Not the device but the number, accounts and stuff. This far back was before everybody carried a hub, AR glasses, all that. Lots of folks didn’t even use a tablet really, just a phone and a home console maybe. They weren’t always on the net’ in the same way we are now. I’m not an electronics guy, never felt like the Global Network was a big part of this job. Maybe that’s why I got the people-work. I had a go-to hacker back then though, kid named Lowell, so I sent her details to him and see what he can dig up.

I remember I grilled the husband for a few hours more and let the sun go down. It was summer, so it’s late by that point, but that’s preferable to meeting the people you work with in daylight. Husband’s not the wealthiest guy, but proud of what he’s got. Parades around his house when you talk to him. Clenches his fists and talks loud if you ask a question he didn’t expect. I figure Laurelli would maybe be happier away from this guy, but the contract is find her so I don’t get much choice. You know about that. I meet Lowell in The Great Ring, coincidentally real close to Laurelli’s house anyway. He was a nice kid but I don’t think I ever saw him not drinking. I heard he was in that big train crash a year or two back, but he got out. Still working the circuit, I hear.

Lowell scored a bunch of hits off that phone. Train tickets at the metro nearest home. Exits in Elmer district, not Jerryville like was meant to. Uses phone to buy drink in a 24box, Lowell tells me it’s soy latte like that matters. Then she hails a cab. Lowell, who really wants a leg up in the game, then spiked the metropolitan taxi network, finds out that one stopped in the there and then, but picked up no fare. Trail on the phone goes cold and nothing shows from then ‘til now, 31 hours later. I pay Lowell and ride the rails over to the right stop in Elmer myself.

Girl in the 24box wasn’t cooperative. No, wasn’t her on shift yesterday evening. No, I couldn't review the camera footage myself. Yes, she was tired too. I bought a drink and tipped anyway. We both knew shit jobs.

I stepped out. It was that kind of hot, sticky night where everyone was sleepy right until they hit the bed. The air steamed in your lungs. The streets were empty and Elmer was always quiet at night. My shirt was half dough, half sandpaper. My head was fuzz. I clutched at the obvious trick. Strolled with my coffee away from the box and grabbed my own phone out my pocket. Dialled hers. If it was dead, then so was the trail this far.

It rang. Something rang. First, in my hand, my ear, and then further away. I heard a phone ringing in the hot drenched-cotton night. Close. Kept the call open and ran towards the sound. Dropped my coffee before it scalded my hand. In an alleyway between a closed bookshop and a Lebensmarkt the tone echoed. I dashed and prayed it would keep ringing. A pile of boxes formed a backboard, bounced the sound outwards, and I found the chirping block inside a thin black vinyl bag. It wasn’t alone. The phone was wet, and I grabbed a flashlight from my pocket to see where from. The wetness was red, sticky. Much of the bag was.

Asides from the phone, two shirts came out, both wet and red and stinking of burnt iron. One was fashionably shaped, fancy. A woman’s. The red was deepest on the left ribs, around a nasty tear. The other shirt had been white and square-cut. The breast bore the logo of Downriver Taxi Company. 

I called Lowell, ask him if he can chase the cab’s details, the one that had stopped. Easy, he says. I rode the train back to Aberetta district so I could report to Husband. If she was dead, was a strong chance she was Public property by now, and even as a rookie I had rules about these things. Better to get the client to handle that side of the investigation. Lowell calls me back and says the cab was registered to one Ginette LaMet. I knew it was a fake before the other details, the lack of driver profile, pickup history. Lowell tells me the can only recorded a stop for ten seconds, and the traffic recorder in these things is harder to hack than the driver reg. I trust him on that.

Reaction from husband goes as well as I expect. First it’s confusion, then it’s anger, accusation, then grief. I promise I’m still on the case but recommend he calls Black Mask and enquires about the body, if it’s shown up. Sure wasn’t any sign of her in that alley. In the humidity all smells explode. The blood was strong, like I said. Reminded me of a teenage girlfriend. Trash too, but no guts or shit or all the other smells roll out when a body’s left in the hot for a day or more. I’m drowsy, leave my notes with him and go home to sleep. Rookie mistake for a rookie player. 

Next morning, Husband calls me when I’m halfway through coffee. It’s cloudy, I remember. He’s called public, they want him to come down to morgue on Fargue district. All the central stuff is there. He’s nervous, wanted me to go with him. Big man afraid of Black Mask. I didn’t blame him. Against my better judgement, I agree. Down my coffee while it’s hot and head out. Journey takes nearly an hour. Traffic is bad, everyone has a headache.

When I get there, Black Mask is waiting outside. One of them, meaning the other is inside. I don’t understand, he said he was going to them. I approached and Public Detective raises his hand, visor lights up as he scans me, goes back to monochrome. Does anyone like these things? I know you find them as creepy as I do. I get a glimpse through the open door, into the house. Detective number two is standing over Husband. I can smell the blood from the street. Right hand is bashed in, broken. Hair is stained red. In his left hand are my paper notes. The ones that say Laurelli is probably dead, give the name of a taxi driver that doesn’t exist. 

I stumble backwards but Black Mask on the street goes to follow me. I’m part of the case now. Public Property. Last thought before the incap dart hits me in the chest is to turn away, and I see her. A clean white shirt, hair cut short, but it’s her. That same black-as-oil slick back on her head. She’s stupid to hang around and watch but I’d guess if she moved she’d only run.The air pressure breaks. I smell the rain on the hot tarmac before I feel it on my head, before my skull slams into the road and Black Mask grabs my arms and locks ‘em up as if I’d be dumb enough or able to resist with a dart in my chest. It hurts like hell, but the rain gives so much relief I feel like I can breath for the first time in weeks. You know the kind of weather I mean.

 And I see her, saw her sitting there with her eyes open, in a small crowd all staring at the blood coming out of my nose, blending with the raindrops, and I wonder when I’ll get to feel rain on my skin again.

[commanderyukidoesart]

“Insomnia is my home now, I’ve already fought to protect it and its people and I will gladly do so again” 

So a little while ago I got encouraged to make an FFXV OC and now I’ve fully embraced the trash, I am actually having fun with this however, I’ve started writing something too, chapter 1 will be under the cut.

Neither Embers nor Ashes

Chapter 1 – A Place to Call Home

-

“Libra Phoenix, a ‘refugee’ but no one knows where from, no family to speak of, nothing on record the kingdom over, you don’t think this sounds suspicious at all, Ulric?” the stern Titus Drautos asked Nyx with a concerned stare

“Drautos, she has nothing, I’ve seen it for myself, hell she risked her life defending civilians when those Nifs infiltrated the city, we take in people like her all the time just… give her a chance” Nyx pleaded

Drautos rested his head in his hand in contemplation then after a few seconds turned his gaze back to the Glaive sat before him waiting in anticipation “Alright, but the final decision is up to King Regis, I’ll arrange an audience, tell her we’ll be in touch”

-

As the doors began to swing open with what felt to her like a deafening screech Libra’s heart started to race, fear ran through her as the King of her new home, Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII sat ready to address her and her alone. The feeling could only be matched by that which she felt when she ran away from her former home a few years prior, it was daunting and weighed heavy on her, with only one chance to get this right there was no room for error, this was the final step to beginning a new life, one with meaning and purpose. She walked forward to the bottom of the stairs that lead to King Regis’s throne where he sat awaiting her and kneeled, before greeting him her head filled with panicked thoughts “crap crap that’s the king, how do you even address a king ahh um… oh just be as formal as you can Lib” trying not to let her nerves show she spoke “it’s an honour your Majesty, I thank you for taking this time to see me”

“You may stand Miss Phoenix, I am more than happy to spare the time for anyone willing to fight in my name, another one of my Glaives speaks very highly of you. I have been informed however that your origin is questionable, would you care to explain”

Libra always had a gift for reading people, when she stood and met eyes with the King she saw in him empathy, he was sympathetic towards her at that moment, this calmed her nerves and allowed her to think more clearly “of course your Majesty, a few years ago I was forced to leave everything behind, I got rid of anything that proved my existence, even my name wasn’t given to me at birth, I am aware it sounds dangerous but please understand I had no choice, and regardless Insomnia is my home now, I’ve already fought to protect it and its people and I will gladly do so again” she began to control her breathing as she waited anxiously for his response.

“I can see your heart is in the right place, I do believe the words you say ring true, however may I ask the reason for which you fled?”

She had to think of something in response that would convince King Regis but not elude to her true origin, a half-truth, and although it felt wrong it was for the good of everyone, including herself “Before I came here I lived only with my father, he… wasn’t a nice man, I fled for my own safety, I have no one else, I’m all alone”

The King sat in silence for a moment, Libra couldn’t tell what he was thinking she could only wait for what felt like an eternity until he finally spoke “ah… I see” and with no more than a small nod towards Drautos he granted her his magic, Libra held back tears as the King spoke one final thing to her “You have a duty to uphold now, I hope you bare it with pride”

“I will, your Majesty, I swear it… thank you, so much” and with that her life was set on the right track for the first time. She turned and exited the throne room, the weight had finally lifted and the fear had passed. Awaiting the result in the lobby outside the throne room was the man responsible for getting her this far and now her friend Nyx Ulric

“you look happy, guessing it went well” Without a word she propped herself up on the tips of her feet and hugged him

“thank you so much, Nyx” He was startled for a moment then after collecting himself returned the gesture

“Woah, hey! Don’t worry about it Lib, I owed you one for saving me that time remember, now we’re even” The pair set off, leaving the Citadel, with her new life finally on track Libra headed home for the day, eagerly awaiting whatever may lay ahead she was ready to fight, for hearth and home.

[judylicious]

And When He Smiles I Swear I Can’t Breathe

Alan Rubin x fem!Reader

Word count: 1,928

Fandom: Blues Brothers

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Blues Brothers characters or movies. This refers to Alan Rubin as a character in the movie, not the real Alan (although he obvsly played himself but you know what I mean)

I’d like to add that I made everyone of the band a few years younger (so the age gap between the reader and Alan isn’t that big), so he’s approx. in his early 30s.

Sophia & Lisa are two OCs created by two lovely people within the fandom.

Warnings: swearing, smut, mentions of violence

Chapter X

Sophia and Lisa noticed the two as well and were swift to react when they realised Charlotte was on her way out. “Woah! Where do you think you’re going?” Sophia blocked her way. “You ain’t running away again.” “I really don’t wanna see that.”, Charlotte tried to get passed her. “Get a grip on yourself!” Sophia grabbed her at both shoulders, shaking her. “This is your man! Go and get rid of that bitch, don’t let her push you around, mark your territory, whatever you wanna call it!” She turned Charlotte around and gave her an encouraging bottom smack. “Go and get him, girl!” 

Charlotte took a deep breath, before making her way towards Alan. “Hey honey!”, she said in a high-pitched voice and made a hold right between the two. She bend down, stroke his cheek and slowly turned his head towards her before giving him a wild and passionate kiss. “I loved seeing you play just for me. Your sound is so hot.” Alan felt quite surprised by Charlotte’s performance but was also amused and aroused by how sexy she could be, when she was self-confident. “Hey babe.”, he answered her with a smirk. “Glad you liked it.” Charlotte moved behind the handsome musician and stroke his shoulders, down to his chest, so she could start nibbling at his neck and ear. She looked Lari up and down. “Isn’t security supposed to keep the trash outside?” Alan had to stop himself from bursting into laughter. “Yeah, they’re doing a poor job. Think we should hire someone else.” Lari opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say so she quickly walked off in a huff. “You’re hot when you’re jealous, you know that?” “I hope I always look hot.”, Charlotte said playfully. “Mhmm, of course you do.”, he replied and gave her a kiss. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a call.” No, I’m sorry Alan, you see about moving out, there’s something you should know.” “What’s that?.. No wait, let’s go somewhere private.” He got up and grabbed her hand, leading her to a more quiet corner. “So?” “Well, you remember the scar at my left ankle? The last time I moved out, I was home one day, visiting mum. When I wanted to leave my father came back form work, pulling up the driveway. He ran into me, causing me to fall and then ran over my foot. I had to have two surgeries just so I could walk properly and had to move in with them again cos I couldn’t take care of myself and wasn’t able to access my flat on the fourth floor. Of course he claimed that it was an accident and he simply didn’t see me but after everything that happened, I don’t believe him. And since then I’m stuck at their house again… I’m afraid if I move out he will hurt me or do anything else, just to keep me under his roof.” Charlotte was close to tears but Alan pulled her in a tight hug. “It’s okay hun, you’ll be fine. I’ll make sure he’s not coming near you. But you have to get out of that house!” “I- I don’t know…” “You’re not alone this time! I promise everything will be fine. How about we go to your place tomorrow morning and pick up some of your things?” She gave him a questioning look. “Well don’t you think I’ll let you spend the night in that hell house on your own, you’re coming with me tonight.” “What did she want?” “Who?” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “You know who.” “Nothing.” “Yeah nothing my erse.” Alan sighed. “What do you wanna hear? She wanted me back, okay? But you don’t have to worry, I want no one but you!” “She had an appointment with my dad the other day and blackmailed me, she would tell him if I didn’t leave you alone. What, if my dad will harm you as well? At this point I believe he’s capable of everything!” “I can very well take care of myself, it’ll be fine.” And he gave her a reassuring kiss to the forehead.

After helping the band getting their stuff together, they spent the evening with the boys and their significant other in a near by bar, having a few drinks and laughs, making Charlotte feel more relaxed already. 

The next morning Alan and Charlotte drove to Charlotte’s place to pick up her things as they had agreed on last night. “Happy home!”, she mumbled sarcastically as she unlocked the front door. “Let’s make this quick while everyone’s still out.” And she quickly went upstairs to her room. Alan took a stroll through the living room and the kitchen, passing Frank’s home office before he joined her upstairs. While Charlotte went through her closet hastily, Alan browsed through her collection of records. She turned around to him. “Alan? Would you get me that short, grey pyjama from the second top drawer right in front of you?” “I don’t think you will need any pyjamas.”, he replied with a smirk. “Haha very funny.” She threw a pair of socks at him and Alan did as he was told. “Woah, what are these?!” “Huh?”, Charlotte asked absent minded. “These photos!” She turned around in a hurry. “No what are you doing? I said seconded top drawer not first! Give them to me!” And she tried to get a hand on the photos but Alan hold his hand up high and took a few steps away from her. “For whom did you take these?” “No one, give them back!” “I most certainly won’t, they’re coming with me.” “No they won’t.” “Answer me, for whom did you take these?” “For myself, you’re satisfied?” “You’re telling me you put on this red, silky neglige and this red thong with a nicely done bowknot about your butt for yourself? I mean it’s a hot thought, you getting all aroused looking at yourself in these photos…” “I don’t.”, she sighed. “I was feeling pretty low after seeing you and Lari and tried to get some confidence into me okay? It didn’t work though.” “You must be kidding? These are…”, he licked his lips. “Just throw them away, please.” “You still have that yarn?” “Yeah, I do.” Alan got close to her, putting his arms around her body. “Okay so how about we get rid of these photos and instead you take this red devilish thing with you and show it to me live?”, he whispered in her ear and started kissing her neck. “How could I ever say no to you.” “Funny you say that.”, he kept whispering and pushed his body tight to hers, causing Charlotte to bite her lip as she felt his erection against her crotch. “Alan… stop it.” “What was that?  I remember hearing you say “How could I ever say no to you”..?” “What if someone comes home.” “You said they’re all gone til noon.” And he slowly started unbuttoning her black blouse, his hand shifting away her bra, squeezing her breasts softly. He had crushed his lips on hers by now and they were wrapped up in a hot and wet kiss. He pushed her onto the bed and quickly got rid of her jeans. “Why is it always me who’s undressed first?” Alan grinned. “You’re too slow, that’s all.” Charlotte whirled him around and sat on top of him and ripped his shirt open, a few buttons flying off. “I’ll buy you a new one.”, she grinned. She kneeled to get better access to his pants and opened them only so far so that she could pull out his hardened manhood, giving it a few good pumps, before she started licking his tip and pushing his length all the way inside her mouth. He let out a deep groan and grabbed a fistful of her hair to set the pace, while she was bumping her head up and down. “You’re not gonna make me come into your mouth again, not this time.”, he mumbled under his heavy breath. With a quick motion he pulled her up and on all her fourth, while he was kneeling behind her. He pushed away her thong and wasted no time pushing deep into her pussy, causing both to moan. “Good girl, so wet for daddy already.” He started pounding into her, picking up the pace. “God Alan, yes… just like that.” She tried to turn her head to get a quick glimpse at him but he pressed her back into the mattress, and gave her butt cheeks a rough spank. “Touch yourself!”, he commanded. “Huh?.. Ouch!” He spanked her again. “I said touch yourself.” “Y-Yes Sir.” Charlotte obeyed and stroke her wet folds, before massaging her pink button. Alan’s move got more sloppier, signalising that he was close. After a few more thrusts a wave of sensation hit Charlotte, making herself come and feeling Alan hitting all the right spots sent her overwhelming pleasure. The air was filled with moans of both of them, Alan reaching his climax, filling Charlotte with his juice. As he got off of his high he began to tremble, so he quickly laid down and pulled Charlotte in his arms. Both smiling, catching their breath before Charlotte starting laughing. “Men get sexually aroused so easily.” “Well I won’t apologise.”, he replied with a smirk. The musician pulled her close and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“Did you hear that?”, Charlotte startled. “Very funny, hun.” “No I mean it!”, she sat up straight as a post. Alan moved to rest on his forearm. “The front door just-“ she was in interrupted by a male voice. “Charlotte are you home?” She looked at Alan with big eyes. “Quick get up!” “Calm down, we-“ “I’m serious. Get dressed for fucks sake.”, she whispered and threw his shirt at him. “Hurry up.” “Charlie, we should simply try and talk to-“ A knock at the door. Shiiiit. “Get behind the door.”, the girl whispered in panic. Alan looked at her reproachfully. “Please.” So Alan quickly grabbed his shirt and hide behind the door. “ “Charlotte?!” “Yes, dad, give me a moment!” She jumped into her jeans and threw on a worn t-shirt from the floor. Just in time before Frank came in, she reached the door and opened it halfway. “Hi dad, I’m sorry. I just got out of the shower and needed to get dressed.”, giving him a smile. “Are you alone?” “Of course I am.“ But he had already pushed the door wide open and made his way past Charlotte. Alan was now tightly pressed between the wall and the door, listening carefully. ”See? I told you dad.” Frank looked around her room, the bag of clothes catching his attention. “What the fuck is this?”, he yelled and picked up the bag, yanking out some of the items. “I- I want to go on a short trip with my girls… Not for long, 2 days or so. I would have told you before leaving…”, Charlotte explained, already taking a few steps back as she noticed her father coming closer. “You think I don’t know what this is? You wanna leave, for good. Again.” “No dad, I don’t. I’d never…”, her voice filled with fear. He came dangerously close but before he could lay hand on her, Alan came out of his hiding, pulling him away from her and stood between the two. “I swear to God, touch her one more time and you’re a dead man.”

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

[ozocho]

16/20 Wagonwheel gets Run Over

Jane sat crosslegged in the yard with her windbreaker puffed up around her while Wagonwheel paced around, reaching for the dead leaves being blown out of the treeline. He caught one, pressed it into a hundred pieces and sprinkled it over Jane's head. She knocked the grit out of her hair and pulled her hood up. She would have liked to jump up and shove him until he fell down, but she was busy smashing gravel with a hammer. Wagonwheel caught another and started crushing it up. Jane had her back turned to him. "You can't just give people names." He said.

"Course you can. Or nobody would have them." Jane set one pebble in the center of a big flat rock sticking out of the dirt and swung. There was a crack that hurt her ears and all that was left was a chalky powder.

"When do you name them then?"

"First chance you get."

"And it can't be changed?"

"Nope."

He stopped crushing up the leaf. "What if it's a bad name?"

Jane placed another pebble. "That's why you don't get people bad names. You think about it a lot first."

"People like all sorts of bad stuff they think about a lot."

Crack. Jane tilted forward and blew away the dust.

Wagonwheel moved a little closer. "Who named you?"

"Don't remember. I was too little."

"It had to be Bob."

"Maybe."

Wagonwheel timed it just right, to approach Jane right after she had brought the hammer down. He aimed and most of the pieces landed in a scallop the bunched up nylon made on top of her hood. Jane didn't notice. Wagonwheel smiled.

Jane had cleared all of the smashable gravel out of her immediate area and stilted herself up on her hands to shuffle backwards. Wagonwheel leapt away silently as he could. Most of the compost on her head remained. He had to say something to keep from laughing. "You think you have a good name?"

Jane heard it in his voice and spun herself around in the crabgrass. She was looking hard at him underneath a flap of the hood, and she started chopping at the dirt with the back of the hammer. None of the leaf spilled. Now he spun around to hide his face and acted like he was interested in a bottlecap he found pressed into the dirt.

"I like my name." Jane said.

"I don't."

And he could hear the chopping stop. "Better than your name."

"No, I mean I don't like my name."

"Who does?"

He turned and flung the bottlecap at her, inaccurately, but it caught the air and spun like a flying saucer and cut back in towards her face, snapping her on the cheek.

He was already in the process of escaping her when he heard the zip of the jacket fabric, and at full speed before he could look behind him. She came at him with the hammer cocked back so far that it was almost touching her shoulder blade and trailing crumbled leaf from the top of her head like a burning fuse. The fabric under her arms sounded like angry radio interference. Swishswishswishswish.

Once he was past the edge of the garage and saw that she was still chasing him, he knew that she wouldn't stop until she had either put the claw end into his leg or she went and told Bob and he'd scare Wagonwheel to within an inch of his life. He cut through the weeds and hooked around the tail of the old truck and aimed downhill, towards the ditches. He was gaining ground, and she knew it, and she started to do ridiculous lung-evacuating roars that made sure Bob knew that something was going on, no matter where Bob was. He jumped the first ditch and was approaching the second when the hammer came tumbling in and kicked off the ground to his right, bouncing away and into the bushes. She jumped the first ditch as he jumped the second.

On the other side of the second ditch was a slope of mud that was too steep to do anything but crawl up. Wagonwheel got the top of it right before Jane was squaring up her jump across, still yelling. Wagonwheel hissed down at her.

She could have ran a short way down the ditch and crossed over where the ground wasn't as steep, but she went for the jump and cleared the ditch and dug into the hillside. Wagonwheel knew if she got level with him she would grab him by the arm and windmill him down the slope, or just plain shove him down, on top of whatever else Bob did to him. So he kicked her under the chin. Her face went cross like she had been stung on the nose and she acted like whatever had stung her was chasing her back down the hillside. She stumbled right into the ditch standing up and the mud went up to her knees, and she screamed. Wagonwheel ran even further into the woods.

It took two days for him to get hungry enough to come out of hiding. He found out that Jane had been stuck in the mud for only a few minutes, but had lost Bob's only good hammer and both of her shoes, and was still under a kind of house arrest. As he came back across the yard, she spotted him first from her bedroom window and yelled for Bob. Wagonwheel considered turning right around, but his stomach refused to. He was walking up to the back door and looked up one more time and saw just her eyes shooting down at him over the edge of the window sill.

Bob always threatened to hit him, but Bob said that the only reason he didn't was that he would probably kill Wagonwheel or break something of his badly enough  that he could never live with himself. Instead he hit doorframes and chairbacks and the edge of the table six inches from Wagonwheel's face. Never Wagonwheel. Sometimes he would get close enough that Wagonwheel would swear that this would be the time when Bob would be just a little bit too tired or stressed out to control himself- but no, the threats always funneled down into the same punishment: being locked up in the garage, for however long it took for him to convince Bob that Wagonwheel would be sure to remember the punishment the next time he had the slimmest desire to do (wha t, he had usually forgot by that point), and he wouldn't do it again.

Of course, the big not-so-secret secret was that Wagonwheel had actually enjoyed being locked up in the garage. Bob would never stick him out there when it was too cold and even though five or six hours out of the day might be pretty miserable, what with still having to go out and do his chores and suffer the company of Bob while Bob worked in the garage that day, it was no more than what he would have been dealing with in the house, only now he had privacy at all other times. He would listen to the radio, search through cabinets he wasn't supposed to, sneak out the window at night just to blow raspberries underneath Jane's window. Gradually, Bob or Jane or both of them caught on to what he was doing. Dead batteries in the radio probably gave that one away, and now Bob removed it at the beginning of a sentence. Cabinets were locked, windows nailed shut. Wagonwheel would still find bits and pieces to occupy himself but when he was making games out of washers and sandpaper scraps it started to feel like a stretch to call it fun. It was hard to shake the idea that he was trying to convince himself he wasn't having a worse time in the garage then he would have had outside of it.

*

"He's having fun in there."

"Worry about yourself."

Bob was folding shirts at the foot of his bed. Jane was wrapped around the edge of the door frame, holding on with her hands while her tip toes were planted in her own room. She could just barely get her nose to clear if she stretched out all the way.

"He likes it when you put him in there. I bet he can still get out, no problem."

"Get back in your room."

"I am."

"Stop playing around."

"My feet are still-"

Bob threw down the empty wicker laundry basket and it crinkled when it bounced across the floorboards. He spun around. Jane shot back from the doorway.

"It's like he has his own house." She whined from the other room.

"Okay, switch with him."

"No!"

When he came out of his room, he leaned into hers. "Then sit there and think about why you have to get so angry all the time." He shut the door.

She thought about it, a lot, and the more that anger spun around the room without an outlet, the more it doubled back on itself and smoothed out into a silent, hunterlike calm of revenge. She canned up days worth of it before she was finally set free.

Wagonwheel will still locked up. In the late morning, while it was still cold, Bob went out to the garage and unlocked the door to let him out for chores. Today it was raking, and from the back of the house Jane watched as Bob handed Wagonwheel his tiny half-rake and tiny half-trashcan and gestured along the treeline. Bob didn't see her, but she had gone out ahead of them that morning and removed her bike from the shed.

Starting between the back steps of the house and the gravel edge of the driveway was the top end of a long, shallow wash that cut down the slope of the yard and squeezed between the shed and the pasture wall where it's grade dropped off suddenly. When it rained hard the wash turned into a rapid that carried all the water from the backyard into the ditches behind the garage, and sometimes when it came down hard enough Jane would go out afterwards and see a scale canyon carved down the center of it, as deep as her finger was long, and they would all have to help Bob fill it in. When it wasn't raining, it was a a shortcut from the backyard to the trees for people who didn't want to hop the pasture wall, mainly Bob, but also one of them if they happened to be lugging something, like a rake or trash cans.

After Bob had gone inside, Jane circled back with the bike and set the front tire as close to dead center at the top of the wash as she could reckon. Jane knew that the only time Wagonwheel was ever efficient about anything he was told to do was when he was serving out a sentence. He couldn't wait to get back inside the garage and do nothing, so instead of wasting time by riding the rake like a hobbyhorse or spearing old tires with it, his first can full of leaves would be coming back up the wash to throw on the fire pit in record time.

She watched the top of the shed. The first sign would be two bobbing ears, and she would have to time her launch based on that. For days she had worked out the dimensions. Nothing about the morning seemed to change any of that.

She actually heard the clattering of the trashcan first, and had waited long enough to consider it a false alarm before she saw the top of his head come into range. Her fingers went numb on the handlebars and she broke out into a sweat underneath her windbreaker. She pushed off and slammed down onto the raised right pedal. She picked up speed too fast, but fought against her urge to wheel back on the brakes, and instead stopped pedaling altogether while gravity took over. The shock of the wheel on the uneven bed of the wash clattered her teeth. She almost flipped herself when the wheel went in and out of one of those miniature canyons.

Jane could tell that Wagonwheel heard the bike coming because he suddenly stopped. There were second thoughts about her stopping too, but too late. She came around the side of the shed and hit the steep portion of the wash and impacted him trashcan first. The image of it made her sick. He was standing and then he wasn't, flipping back onto the ground as fast as something on spring might shoot up.