#its croc man and hes caught you off guard

[random-kido]

Before bed thoughts

Personal headcanon of mine is that if krok at any point had a croc alt he kept the mods that let him swim so anytime there's a water situation he jumps in and darts away

[biohazard-inevitable]

Thinking about autistic Mihawk…….

Thinking about how he masks his stims and maintains INTENSE eye contact with people because its considered “polite”

Thinking about maybe him getting comfortable around Crocodile and croc gifts him some fancy outfit and Mihawk grabs it but its immediately the wrong texture so he drops it and does really distressed hand flappies and croc is just “what- what was that?” And mihawk just gets all quiet and skittish and before he can explain anything croc is just, “i can get you a different one if you dont like it.”

Also thinking of mihawk when zoro and perona were around doing his hand flappies or trying really hard not to have a meltdown because he had a routine based around living alone but now there are people in places they shouldnt be.

He has a neutral expression all the time except very rarely when talking about his special interests. I think Zoro is definetly the first to see it and is like, caught off guard but leans into it a bit (also definetly headcanon that zoro is audhd and he often reflects other people’s energy so hes more expressive around luffy and then also post timeskip that explains why hes so stoic because hes spent 2 years with the most autistic man ever HES GONNA PICK THAT UP)

Also mihawk definetly has safe foods and started gardening and cooking because he couldnt trust foods to have the same recepie consistently so he just started making his own food out of frustration

Anyways hes my little autistic meow meow and i will project onto him

[sandpumpkin]

Hello fellow Croc enjoyer! I hope you’re doing well! 💜

For your Sun, Sea, Scares event, could I possibly request Crocodile with the prompt Museum, please? To decide the ending, I pick… Trick! Thank you for your time and I hope you have fun with the event as a whole! Take care! 💜

Hallo friend! Thank you for the request! I hope you like it!

Beholdth, the man of sand.♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

Sun, Sea, Scares

Crocodile - Museum - Trick

Crocodile was a businessman and that showed in all walks of his life. Even in the great city of Alabasta where he already held so much sway, he wanted to garner more influence. So he funded and built a large museum to showcase Alabasta’s rich and fruitful history. He did hope it would bring the legendary pluton or at least knowledge of its whereabouts to the surface. The museum was almost ready for opening. 

Crocodile lit a cigar as he strolled around the museum, inspecting its exhibits one last time before it was open to the public. There was a tank for bananawani and another for small less vicious creatures. He stopped in front of the bananawani tank for a little while, tapping on the glass with his hook. The dim light of the enclosure gave for a more underwater experience and made the room feel far cooler than the usual Alabasta heat. Leaving the bananawani, Crocodile carried on his way. The empty museum felt eerie but Crocodile didn’t pay any heed to such silly thoughts. He got to a room full of small replicas of some of the larger limestone sculptures in the vast deserts of the Kingdom. 

“Hm, the detail looks accurate.” Crocodile hummed, leaning in for a closer view of one of the sculptures. “It needs more sand.” Rising to his full height, he let his devil fruit powers rage and covered the room in an inch or so of sand. He nodded. “Better. Most atmospheric.” Crocodile moved towards the doorway to the next exhibit, when he stopped sharply. Something caught his attention out the corner of his eye. At the base of one of the statues was a rectangular hole one that had not been there a second ago. 

Crocodile walked over to it and tried to recover the hole with sand but the sand just slipped away into the hole and stranger still the hole had grown a few inches. He stepped back, deciding he would let someone else deal with it but as he moved something pulled him back. Glancing over his shoulder he saw nothing, he turned his full attention to the strange gap on the floor and he noticed grains of sand were being slowly sucked into it. Another pull this time stronger than before almost caught Crocodile off guard. 

The room was illuminated with a brillant and painfully bright light. You are the desert King. And this shall be your tomb. As you have made the desert a tomb for so many others.

The force from the hole whirled out of control, kicking up the sand in the process. Crocodile was caught in a powerful sand tornado akin to one he had unleashed countless times on the Kingdom of Alabasta. His devil fruit powers did nothing but serve to make the tornado spin faster. Crocodile felt his feet slide from under him and there was nothing but sand to grab onto with his one good hand, which slipped through his fingers. His angry screams were drowned out by the sandstorm. The hole expanded and swallowed Crocodile whole and the storm settled almost instantly. Sand settled on everything like snow after a blizzard. 

All that remained of Crocodile was a small effigy at the base of the statue, in poor likeness.

You shall be remembered by the rottenness of your soul not by the generous man you claimed to be. 

[guksthighs]

The Stakeout || jhs

Your long-time crush on Hoseok is reciprocated during a drug bust.

wordcount: 1.7k

genre: police!au, fluff, slight angst

“Why did we insist on completing this stakeout with no relief team again?” Hoseok leant back in his chair, continuing to bounce a ball of the crumbling beige wall that had suspicious browning stains splattered in clusters.

You turned to look at your partner, his black hair was pushed out of his forehead with a hairband and wondered if you could plead mental instability in the court when asked why you would kill your partner and boss of three years because he wouldn’t stop talking.

Glueing your gaze on the door of the opposite building and fixing the lens of the camera to stop it from being blurry, you wondered how much longer you would have to wait at the alleged drug pick up point before your superior, Jung Hoseok, would agree that you had been misinformed.

That was unlikely but still, you could dream.

“It’s not that I’m taking away from your star performance on the field Y/N, it’s just- I might have come to the conclusion that two weeks of being cooped up into a hotel room together is sanity-destroying.” Hoseok was on radio duty, flicking through the channels in case anyone radioed a meeting in, but the familiar static that you had grown attuned to was no longer audible and you knew he was busy stalling from actually working.

“Stop talking like I’m enjoying this,” you replied, frowning at how snappy you sounded and with a sigh you pulled your gaze away from the door to meet Hoseok’s intense stare.

Both of you stared at each for a few moments before Hoseok laughed and ran a hand through his hair, “how could you not enjoy being cooped up with someone as handsome and fun as me?”

He batted his eyes in an exaggerated fashion before pouting slightly, causing you to laugh and as you moved to stand up, he leant over and placed a hand on your thigh, “if you’re so bored, wanna have sex?”

Your eyes widened, heart racing as you prayed Hoseok was joking because although you had been crushing on your boss for as long as you’d known him, you were certain there was a clause in your contract that said there were to be no workplace relationships.

After an extended awkward silence that left you whiplashed with shock, Hoseok cleared his throat and caught your eye, a huge blush spread over his cheeks and dyed the tips of his ears a scarlet red, “I was just joking.”

But before you could answer he was beginning to rise from his chair, slowly raising a finger to point at the door you had both been watching, “fuck they’re here.”

And that was all it took for both of you to lose the bashful “first love” act and become serious, as you reached for the camera and began to set it up to record the meeting, both of you grabbed your guns and vests before sprinting out of the apartment.

Even so, you couldn’t help but hope that Hoseok hadn’t been joking and that for once his own emotions had caught him off-guard.

“We have a 10-78,” Hoseok was running down the stairs behind you, his voice echoing around the stairwell, cold and commanding and in front of him you were sprinting, pulling your bulletproof vest on whilst trying not to fall flat on your face.

There had been busts that were famous for losing the only lead and ruining cases and it would be over your dead body that you would be cooped up in a room with Hoseok for two weeks again knowing you had to maintain a work relationship with him.

“All units are needed!” Hoseok sounded frustrated and you decided now was not the time to point out you weren’t wearing your trainers but a pair of bright yellow crocs. Now was the time to make a bust and that was all.

Finally you reached the bottom floor, pulling your gun from its holster you looked at Hoseok waiting for his nod to signal you could leave, but instead you found yourself staring at the small crease in the middle of his forehead, eyebrows furrowed and lips pouting slightly as he waited for enough cover to attempt an arrest.

His shoulders rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath, and it was when you placed your gun back into the holster so you could lean forward and tighten the shoulder strap of his vest that Hoseok fell silent, and you felt the heat of his gaze burning into your scalp as you bit your lip and finished your action.

But before you could pull away Hoseok caught your hand in his and squeezed it, “stay safe detective,” with that he pulled you into his chest and pressed a kiss to your lips. And just as Hoseok began to pull back, you decided it was now or never.

Your hands moved from your sides to wrap around his waist, grabbed his waist so you could run your hands over Hoseok’s new undercut which had made your heart flutter since he’d first come in with his cut. He cleared his throat before glancing away to avoid your gaze and you don’t know if maybe he knew what was going to happen in that bust or if it was just luck that he managed to spout the words: “you know- I- I’ve liked you for awhile now. ”

You were so shocked you were sure your face was hotter than the surface of the sun and you laughed before pressing a kiss to Hoseok’s lips, grinning as you replied, “I’ve felt the same Sir.”

Hoseok pulled away, his entire face flushed red, “so don’t you fucking die,” he whispered against your lips in a hot pant, “my star detective.” and you tried not to smile as you licked your lips and tasted the residual spearmint of his tongue, before placing one last kiss to his lips.

The static of the radio reminded you both of your situation and you jumped out of his hold, with a shy smile to yourself you touched your lips with the thought of Hoseok actually reciprocating your feelings causing your stomach to bubble with joy.

But then you heard the familiar click of a handgun being loaded, and looked up to see Hoseok clicking the safety off his gun before nodding for you to do the same. Quickly you pulled your gun out of its holster and flicked it off safety before nodding at Hoseok, biting your lip and sending a quick prayer to any omniscient being to protect him if this got out of hand.

With a final smile, Hoseok placed his left hand on the door handle, slowly bending it down before nodding at you and pulling the door open in one smooth movement before pointing his gun at the dealer as you aimed at the buyer, “you’re surrounded, drop everything and put your hands up.”

Your eyes were trained on the woman who was smiling a little to large, a black case was tightly in her grip and you watched her nod at the seller who placed a wad of money on the floor. His hands were trembling as he raised them but you felt something cold run down your back and that was when trench coat moved slightly in the wind and you saw what looked like the black strap of a gun holster.

“Sir-“ you started, but Hoseok was busy greeting the other units, who were now arriving with sirens and flashing blue lights, with curt nods and you attempted to warn him again, “Sir’”

“Not now Detective,” he whispered before pointing his gun at the woman who had placed a hand on her hip and was still looking worryingly okay, “Miss hands up and drop the case.”

“Go to hell!” The woman said and your body was moving before you could say anything, and it was as if in slow motion as her manicured fingers wrapped around a small automatic gun before aiming at Hoseok. Then upon seeing the shocked look he was giving you, she smiled, “die you fucking pig.”

The bullet would have hit you in the head if another officer hadn’t tackled the woman by the waist and floored her, using her distraction to take her down and keep the number of causalities to one.

In fact, the bullet skimmed you shoulder and left you laying on your front covered in your own blood and it was only when you watched Hoseok shove other officers to get to you that you began to feel the pain bleed into your bones, “where was she shot?” His eyes were wide and from the amount of blood that covered you, it was unclear to where the wound actually was, “is she dying?” He locked eyes with you and grasped your hand, “don’t you dare fucking die.”

With a cough, you nodded before turning your head to look at the officers detaining both criminals and quickly a medic arrived on the scene, one that was familiar with having to treat you following big cases.

“Woah Y/N, you managed to get shot this time,” Jimin laughed and signalled to his partner to help move you onto your back which led to you biting your lip so hard it drew blood. The medics were quick to find the bullet wound and even though it wasn’t life threatening, the close proximity to the gun and the extent of your shock resulted in you being loaded into an ambulance with Hoseok holding your hand through the entire process.

It was only when you were placed on a hospital trolley that Hoseok noticed your footwear, his eyebrows furrowing before he began to laugh, “Did you seriously just catch a major drug dealer in crocs?”

+++

Jessnote: BROOKLYN NINE NINE SEASON 2 EPISODE 11 !!!!! i’m hopelessly obsessed with my boy jake peralta and also i admit i love a man in a uniform sooo i give you a policeman!au~~ all the terms were from b99 bless and there might be a smuttier part two if wanted?

+ PROMPT GAME:

181: “If you’re bored; wanna have sex?”

48: “I’ve liked you awhile now.”

> POSTS EVERY MONDAY, WEDNESDAY AND FRIDAY AT 11PM (UK TIME) <

[madlymiho]

Helloooo @9k8jt ! Thank you so much, you're so kind!!!

I went for a scenario here! Hope it will suit you, my dear! ~

Words : 1439

Crocodile scenario : meeting his future girlfriend who was a member of the Roger’s crew (read after the cut)

Crocodile looks at his drink, focus on the waves made by the brown liquid, lazily licking the transparent wall, while his mind is trapped somewhere else. Times flies cruelly, he thinks, his boring stare wandering a moment on his only and damaged hand. Cruel enough to slowly poison your body, taking your time without you even notice. What an odd and impetuous world. But then, Crocodile looks up, directly at the lady who’s drinking at the bar. She’s not so young as well, despite her gorgeous features and her silken hair, her body and shape body dressed with a refined scarlet dress. There are a few signs of time, as well, gently spreaded here and there on her face, creating soft and inviting wrinkles whenever she smiles at the bartender. Crocodile feels like he has already seen her before ; yet, he has met so many people since then that he can’t actually put a name on this face. He sighs and takes a swallow from his drink, cursing within his failing memory, while he’s ready to leave the bar ; business isn’t waiting, and he needs to get ready for a next meeting. Back on his feet, dominating almost everyone in the bar, Crocodile makes his way to the exist, walking near the bar and this mysterious woman he’s sure to know. She turns her head, furrowing her eyebrows, before she slams her glass on the wooden bar and crosses her arms around her chest.

“I thought you are called a Sir today, Crocodile,” she calls him, with a powerful and deep voice. “So rude coming from the gentleman you are.”

Crocodile, picks in his curiosity, immediately turns around to face this unknown woman. She now tilts her head, her stare playfully watching his unamused face.

“You grow saltier than I would expect.” She continues, taping the stool next to her to invite him.

Crocodile only offers one of his favorite insulting smirk, not even looking at her hand which is still patting the chair to invite him to join her.

“I don’t have time for you, madam.”

Always polite, yet harsh and severe, Crocodile knows how it could hurt a lady to be called “madam” when she desperately tries her best to still look young and fresh. He notices a spark of anger in the back of her eyes, and for moment, they just stare at each other without adding a word. But then, she offers him a bestial grin, enlightening her features with a sort of animal wrath. She turns her head, grabbing her drink with a firm grip, not even interested by him anymore.

“Still the same brat you were when he took this hand from you.” She simply says, drinking on her whisky.

Crocodile freezes, this time, truly mad at her, not entirely content to hear someone mentioning his past without any consequences. He takes a step forwards and pulls on the stool to make his way, sitting directly next to her while he puts his hook on the bar, somehow reminding her that this is not a subject she should joke about. Her smile grows even bigger as she clicks her fingers to call the bartender.

“Give him some bourbon, young man,” she says, ignoring Crocodile’s deadly stare on her features.

“I’m not drinking with you.” Crocodile answers severely, his voice so loud and patronizing that everyone in the room went silent for a second.

She snorts and nods at the bartender while the young man is still holding the bottle of bourbon in the air, not entirely sure that he wants to pour that drink.

“Quit your aggressive attitudes already, Croco-boy. It’s a reunion party.” She states, almost nostalgic, pushing Crocodile’s fresh drink in front of him.

“Cut the crap and just tell me who you are, so I can once again deny your invitation and handle my business without you annoying me.”

“I’m almost hurt that you don’t recognize me, Croc.”

Now that he’s closer, he feels that he’s entirely sure to know her, yet, his memory is failing him and he still can’t picture where, and most importantly, when he has already meet her. For a moment, he decides to analyze her features, lingering on her face until he notices a long scar crossing her eyelid, tracing a white line down, to the edge of her mouth. He knows her. He’s sure about it now. This scar, he has already seen it before.

Crocodile eventually grabs his drink, pointing at her face with one of his thick finger.

“I remember that.” He simply says with a husky voice, taking a swallow from his bourbon.

She gently skims her scar, her eyes focus on the numerous bottles hung behind the bar, before she turns her head and faces him.

“Of course you do, I got it from the same person who took your hand, back then,” she says while she smiles at him, almost with an intimate one. “Still, I was less stupid than you were.”

Crocodile raises a surprised eyebrow, more focus on her statement than her last insult. But then, as he still looks at her face, he suddenly remembers someone younger he used to know. A beautiful apprentice on the most famous pirate ship ever, with a well-known Pirate King at its head. Crocodile pinches his lips together, his gaze slightly darker than before. Roger wasn’t someone he used to appreciate, yet, he can’t say that he doesn’t respect his crew and their achievement in the New World, even today.

“Name LastName.” Crocodile eventually declares, an almost invisible grin blooming on his features. “What an unpleasant surprise indeed. I thought that Whitebeard has killed you, a long time ago.”

“Almost,” she smiles, her scar reflecting the softened lights of the room. “I must say that he was pretty good to handle his halberd, especially twenty years ago, when my captain and him were always fighting. He pelted me down in the sea, but I managed to survive.”

Crocodile remains silent for a second. Indeed, he was not so far when Roger’s crew and Whitebeard’s one were still at war. In those blurry years of their youth, no one was able to tell who was the strongest between those two enemies. The pirates war has been cruel and quite long, and many of them have been forever marked by their confrontation. Name was only 18 years old back then, and she was sailing with Roger, along with Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, becoming one the three apprentices of the Pirate King. Crocodile was already on his own back then, but he has always be known for having a grudge against Whitebeard for some obscure reasons, even if rumors has always said that it was because of his long scar across his face and his missing hand.

“You’ve aged well, despite your wounds.” She eventually says, her voice soft and tender, to the point that Crocodile feels caught off guard for once.

“You’re not too bad as well, for a pirate granny.”

She laughs and shakes her head, amused by Crocodile’s aggressivity and his lack of manners when it comes to bound with anyone.

“The pirate granny got a 700 000 000 berries bounty on her head, boy. And she hasn’t been defeated by some angry teenage rubber child.” She snaps back, gazing at Crocodile with a playful stare.

He sighs loudly, picked in his ego, but strangely amused by her behaviors. He remembers now, how she looks when she was just a 18 years old girl, playing the little pirate on Roger’s ship. Back then she was already a fierce girl, and a beautiful one. Yet, Crocodile must admit, time has been gentle with her, enough to transform this sweet young woman into a gorgeous mature lady.

“Do you care for another drink?” Crocodile eventually offers, far from his usual habits.

She raises an eyebrow, frankly surprised, but smiles softly and nods her head.

“I’m sure we have thousand stories to talk about, Croc,” she says before she finishes her drink and slams the glass on the bar. “Your treat, this time.”

[numeronubisexualhawkeye]

This One’s For You Steve Irwin

1818 words

(this is complete and utter nonsense but i had fun writing it lmao)

Clint wouldn’t lie and say he had been a little excited when Maria cleared them for this mission. At first he was going to pass it onto someone else or let Natasha handle it on her own this time. He had just come off a month long mission trying to take down an arms dealer in Benin, and was ready for some well deserved rest, but Maria knew how to reel him back in. At first she had just told him that it was in Australia, easy, would probably be up in a week, and he could stay in the country for however long he wanted until they called him back for another mission (the last part sounded too good to be true, but Clint had vacation days saved up and he would use them on the sunshine coast in a heartbeat).

That grabbed enough of his attention to ask just how “easy” this mission was supposed to be. When Maria told him that they had to discreetly take down someone who had been smuggling biological weapons through Australia Zoo, he actually laughed.

“Is the crime world so desperate they’re willing to smear Steve Irwin’s legacy for their evil plan?” he had asked.

Maria just shrugged. “I don’t know. But apparently, they’re doing a sloppy job, because Queensland Police have had multiple tips from staff and tourists reporting suspicious behavior.”

“Then why not let Queensland Police handle it?”

“Because it’s one of ours.” Maria said handing him the file with the mission report.

Clint vaguely remembered the face in the blurry security camera picture. Some cadet who had defected early into training, too tempted by the easy money of some crime lord one of his friends had been running with. Maybe this would be easy, Clint had trained him for a short while, and the young man, Jacob if he remembered correctly, was shrimpy, never ranked high in any of his physical tests. But apparently he was a good enough businessman to have a weapons deal running down under.

He accepted the mission, and three days later, he and Natasha boarded a painstakingly long twenty hour flight. When they finally got to their hotel, Clint sang the praises to every deity he could name off the top of his head.

“You gonna lounge around all day or are we gonna get to work?” Natasha said coyly, tossing a t-shirt on his head.

Clint had been spread out across the bed for several minutes while Natasha was coming out the bathroom from a shower. “Ugh, five more minutes. That flight was the devil.”

“This heat is about to be the devil. I can’t believe we have to stake out a zoo during Australia’s summer.” Natasha said as she brushed out her hair.

“Hey, look on the bright side, we can go to the Crocoseum when we’re done.”

“Hm, that's true.” Natasha laughed. “But seriously, let's get this over with. There's no way that skinny asshole can be that big of a problem.”

But as it turned out, that skinny asshole ended up being a complete problem. Since the calls had been coming in about suspicious behavior, security at the zoo had been tightened. They had to go in without weapons, which they most likely wouldn't have needed, but going in without at least a pistol made Clint feel naked in his khaki shorts and t shirt. The only sort of gear they took in was a radiation monitor that Natasha had smuggled in in her purse.

The tight security also made it that much harder to scope their target out without alerting any of the staff. Sure they were just moderately trained cops and staff, but Clint would have much rather preferred to not have their cover blown (that and he really wanted to see the croc feeding at four).

They didn't stay the entire day, only about two hours. It was crowded and with the security, all they could really do is scout out staff entrances and exists, and keep an eye out for Jacob's face in the crowd.

The second day was a bit more promising. In the crowded cafe, Natasha was able to pick up a reading on the radiation found in the weapon they were looking for.

“West side of the zoo,” she signed to him. He had his hearing aids in, but it was easier to talk about the mission this way.

“Oh goody, looks like we're going to Africa.” Clint signed back as he looked at the map to see where exactly they would be heading.

Once in the African enclosures of the zoo, the crowd had thinned out a little and the security was a little less dense. Clint walked with his arm around Natasha's shoulder, leaning a little too hard into their newlywed cover. But how could he not? The jovial energy of the zoo, the perfect weather, Natasha looking like an angel in her green sundress, ponytail, and New York Giants baseball cap she had nicked from him a few weeks back. It was painfully blissful, and here he was trying to chase down a defunct cadet instead of being able to fully enjoy it.

“I got it.” Natasha signed, walking out from under Clint's arm.

He sighed as the moment ended, duty was always calling. He followed her as she walked along the perimeter of the enclosure, passing rhinos and giraffes as he went. When she stopped and looked up, her gaze went inward to the animals.

“What the,” she started, “that can't be right.”

“What is it?” Clint asked.

Natasha didn't say anything, there was a security guard walking past them. Instead she passed him the monitor. The signal was strong alright, the blip on the radar binging like crazy. Clint looked in the direction the monitor was saying the radiation was strongest; the herd of rhinos.

“Wh-what?” Clint said perplexed.

Natasha nudged him in the ribs with her elbow, the guard passing them had turned around. She laced her fingers in his and faked a laugh, as if she was laughing at Clint's reaction to a bad joke she had just told. The guard turned and walked off.

“Let's go.” Natasha signed.

Back at the hotel, Clint finally blurted out his theory as to what was going on, “He's smuggling the weapons through the animals. Like some drug trafficking type shit.”

Natasha shook her head. “No that'd be too easy to find out. I doubt a rhino would be able to hold down an atomic bomb in its stomach for long.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Are you hinting at what I think you are?”

“It's so stupid it's almost amazing, isn't it?” Natasha said.

“Just to be sure, we are both thinking that the animals are the weapons right?”

“Yeah that's totally it.” Natasha answered. He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

That night, they donned their catsuits and gear and headed back to the zoo. Clint felt like he was going to hell for breaking into the zoo. Australia Zoo of all zoos to run a weapons ring, and in the animals themselves? It was already bad enough that it was animal abuse, but the things this would do to Steve Irwin's legacy if it got out? Clint made a note to kick Jacob's ass a little harder when they caught him.

First they took out the security cameras and set off a distraction in the food court. “Sonic arrow should do well enough for a couple minutes right?” Clint signed to Natasha.

They made their way back to the African enclosures but the monitor indicated that wherever the radiation had been coming from had moved.

“Shit, we're too late.” Natasha said.

“No, look over there.” Clint pointed to a small spot of light across the large field. The shape of the truck was almost impossible to make out in the darkness, but someone had left the light on inside.

“We gotta hurry. I really don't wanna disappoint any of the Peta freaks at work.” Natasha said.

They jumped the fence and sprinted across the field, Clint a little wary of the animals around them, but they took a wide path to avoid spooking the herd. But by the time they were halfway across the field, the truck driver had caught sight of them and started the engine.

“Shit. Clint,” Natasha hissed beside him.

“I'm on it!” He whipped an arrow out his quiver and took aim at the truck's tires, but the driver braked in front of them, narrowly avoiding running them over. A man stepped out the driver’s side, Jacob.

“Ha! I guess I finally popped up on Shield’s radar.” he said, sounding impressed, “Guess my little operation is going better than I thought.”

“Dude, you’re using rhinos for some fucked up weapons experiments.” Natasha, irritation dripping from her voice, “That’s not very honorable.”

“And at Steve Irwin’s zoo? The hell’s the matter with you?” Clint followed.

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Some jackass in Africa wants souped up baby rhinos, I’m gonna give him souped up baby rhi-” Jacob’s sentence was cut off by one of Clint’s trick shots piercing his shoulder and electrocuting him.

“G-d these guys just can’t pass up a chance to monologue.” he huffed.

Natasha went to apprehend Jacob while Clint went to the bed of the truck and found a baby rhino sedated in the bed. “Hey there fella,” he whispered, rubbing his hand along its side. “We’re gonna get you home to your mom safe and sound.”

The rest of the night went smoothly. They alerted zoo security, and told them about Jacob’s plan. Natasha assured them that all the animals sold through Jacob would be returned as soon as possible, she and Clint both knew it wouldn’t take much to get the young man to crack and tell where he had shipped the poor animals off to. When all was said and done, there was technically five days left in their mission, and Maria had said that Clint could spend however long he wanted in Australia until his next mission. The next morning at the hotel, Clint woke Natasha up early with soft kisses on her cheek.

“Good morning to you too.” she smiled. “Happy to see me?”

“Yes, but there’s also a croc feeding at noon, and I really wanna meet Terri Irwin.” Clint whispered. 

Natasha rolled over and hit him in the head with her pillow. “G-d you only took this mission to come to Australia Zoo, didn’t you?” 

“What? No. I took this mission to honor the late, great Steve Irwin, and go to Australia Zoo.” 

Natasha laughed, and got out of bed. The rest of their stay was as sweet and simple as their newlywed cover had been, and for the time being, Clint couldn’t think of a better job in the world to have. 

[everythingandeveryplace]

*Captain Boomerang X OC*

Thanks to @twilightsagadaily & @heartofdevastation for the gifs!

I just love Jai Courtney.

***************************************

“What exactly are we waiting on? First breath of fresh air in two years and the sun is burning my damn head.” Deadshot complained, tucking behind Croc and using his thick body as some form of defense, cautious to avoid touching the scaly skin squirming over the creatures body.

“I love it.” Harley sighed, ponytails flicking outward as she spun around hugging her arms to her body and wiggling her hips.

“What’s the matter with heat?” Diablo flicked his fingers, flames spouting from the tattooed digits.

Officer Flag sighed, running his hands over his face, already exhausted and the mission hadn’t even begun.

“Settle down.. were just having trouble securing one of the recruits..Rosie Tate is just..”

“Rosie?!” Harley squealed, effectively cutting off the agitated solider, clapping her hands and biting down hard on her overexcited grin. “No way! She was my bunkie a few years back in central prison Right before I got here! Oh my goodness how fun!” Her New York accent was thick with excitement.

“Reckon we’re gonna have to deal with another drongo going off.” Boomerang chuckled, Australian accent slurring his words together.

Harley whipped around, one hand propped on her bat and the other on her hip as she popped her bubblegum and raised an eyebrow at the scruffy man.

“No one can understand ya, you sound like you’re having a stroke.” She squinted and pouted matter of factly.

“She tried to slit a guards throat with a piece of her bed frame.” Flag looked down at the clipboard in his hand.

“Shit.” Deadshot chuckled. “ girl had to have a reason.” His eyes sparkling with unrestrained humor.

“He tried to grab my ass..I’m a lady.”

The brand new voice had everyone whipping around. standing there, cuffs tight around her wrists behind her back and long smooth blonde hair falling into her melted gold eyes... they were striking.. so clear and crystalline resembling the color of liquid honey. She was thin and petite, plain black workout shorts and a tight black racer back tank top exposing the curve of her breasts and waist. Boomerang had to physically dig his fingers into his palm to resist the urge to press his hands to her skin and trace the freckles on her bare arms.

“Sweet as god damn sugar. What a ripper.” Boomerang whispered, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze off of the honey blonde even when Harley ran at her, wrapping her arms around her friend.

“Rosie Posie!” Harley giggled wildly, gripping her cheeks and nuzzling her nose. A gentle smile lit up the new members face and almost as if it were a switch her light eyes darkened to a warm chocolate brown, tension easing from her shoulders slightly.

“Harley.” She mumbled warmly.

“You’ve been in the same building as me this whole time! Where ya been sugar!” She beamed.

“Caged up same as you.” The guard behind her uncuffed her wrists and pushed her forward roughly. Rosie stretched her wrists and looked back with a snarl.

“Alright then, let’s get going we’ve got a long plane ride ahead of us. Tate your knives are...” suddenly a sharp blade zipped directly past his ear and landed in the bed of a metal truck, directly in the middle of the utility truck. Flag popped back up eyes wide as he stared at the woman in front of him smiling innocently.

“Oops. It slipped.” She shrugged her shoulders, strapping the knives to her thigh and rolling her neck back.

Boomerang made his way beside her as they moved to board the private plane.

“Ya oughta try boomerangs luv. Least they always come back.” He grinned, digging into his coat pocket to reveal the curved metal boomerang tied with thick rope. Rosie’s eyes lingered on the weapon for a moment before they pulled up to his shiny blue eyes, she smiled gently.

“They don’t make boomerangs here in America.” She stepped into the plane dropping to the seat by the door and shifting so he could sit beside her.

“Ya ain’t never met a bloke who can make them.. the names Captain Boomerang..ya can call me digger.” He stuck out a dirt stained hand and was pleasantly surprised to find her hands that had thrown knives like a professional were soft and feminine against his own calloused and scarred skin. “Ya’n awfully pretty Sheila to be locked up with us scabs, what caught ya.?”

Her nose scrunched adorably at his Australian slang and she turned to look at the gold chain that hung from his neck.

“I just like pretty things.” Her fingers trailed over the fur of his coat, the muscles in his arms tensing at the contact. “Had a boyfriend who liked to take things from people.. I followed along.. some people don’t deserve nice things.” She whispered, something much more dangerous in her eyes as they faded back to melted gold.

“Yeah.. I get ya there luv. Steal from the rich, give to the poor.” He nodded, he wasn’t smiling anymore and neither was she there was something in the air a connection strong enough to buzz beneath their skin and burn from the inside. “Crikey.. your eyes..”

She quickly glanced away, eyes falling to the window.

Digger reached for her then, two fingers to her chin dragging her eyes back to his

“Ya ain’t got to hide from me luv. Beautiful is beautiful... gonna keep ya safe.. keep those eyes safe.” He smiled a crooked kind of smile, gold tooth glinting.

“I don’t need you to keep me safe.” She whispered back, eyelashes fluttering as the plane began its landing.

“Course ya don’t, that’s the best part. Gonna be out here a while.. be nice to have someone to keep me warm.” He teased, goofy grin on his handsome face.

“If you don’t die.” She teased back, her voice taking in a sing song quality her leg was bouncing with anticipation of a fight, eyes lighter than he’d seen.

“Can’t die yet luv. Got too much to look forward too.”

With one final smile he made his way out of the plane, Harley appeared at her side.. a knowing smirk under her messed up lipstick.

“Oh shutup.” Rosie blushed.

[lizard-hair]

The Angel of Gotham City

(or, lizardhair posts his fic on tumblr too because he likes attention...but you should really just read this on ao3)

“Yeah, I seen it. Well, it’s shadow, anyhow.” The woman took a drag off of her cigarette. “Those wings have gotta be giant. An' I’m telling ya now, that thing is dangerous. A criminal in the makin’.”

  *

  “Do I believe this being to be an angel? Absolutely.” The man nodded, solemn. “Yes, an answer to this city’s supplications, sent by our Heavenly Father.”

  *

  “Probably just some freak’s science experiment.” The man grinned lecherously before continuing. “Or a sex doll come to life.”

  *

  “A new Rogue, maybe? It scares me, whatever it is. Flying overhead like some kinda bird of prey. Ugh.”

  *

  “I think she’s super pretty! My mommy says I made it up, but I really did see the angel! I found one of her feathers, but daddy said it just fell off a bird. He threw it out ‘cause wild birds are dirty.”

    Waylon Jones scratched his scaly head as he turned the TV off. The signal had been as weak as usual--reception wasn’t great when you lived in the sewers--but at least he had managed to tune into the news.

  “An angel, huh?” Waylon said to himself. “Seems ‘bout as likely as anything else in Gotham.” He laughed. “Wish I could see her for myself, though.” Fishing out an old flip phone from his pants pocket, Waylon used the tip of his right index claw to type in his friend’s number. “Should really just put the guy on speed dial,” Waylon mumbled.

      Drury Walker had not, in fact, watched the 9 o’clock news, so he was glad to have gotten the story from Killer Croc. He held out a hand, allowing one of the many moths that fluttered around him to alight on his palm. He spoke to it, his voice barely a whisper.

  “A God-sent angel seems unlikely to me, 5502, but a metahuman...a metahuman is quite probable.” Drury’s faceted eyes glittered in the dim room. “I could use an assistant, you know.”

  Moth 5502 flapped its wings, rising once more into the air and rejoining its brothers and sisters. Drury watched the thousands of insects as they danced, his own wings quivering in response to their movements. It would be nice to have another Rogue with proper flight abilities. Firefly relies on his jetpack, and is a damned pyromaniac to boot. Man-Bat’s transformation is unpredictable, his wings weak and unwieldy.

  “But you, apparent angel, might be the answer to at least my prayers.”

   Killer Moth flew between Gotham’s skyscrapers, doing his best to ignore the light of the city’s nightlife. Up in the dark sky, he was near-invisible--and nigh-undefeatable. Not even the Bat’s grappling hooks could reach this far. Or so I hope, thought Drury.

  It was difficult to search for a being whose appearance was unfamiliar to him, save for the knowledge that she had wings...and was supposedly beautiful. Drury had no idea of this “angel’s” habits or hiding place, meaning that locating her would be dependent on luck.

  “And I have never been all that lucky,” said Drury. Nonetheless, regardless of the results of his quest, it was exquisite to be able to stretch his wings and feel the wind blowing through his antennae. He had been lurking landbound in his hideout for far too long, he realized. But so it went when absorbed by an experiment.

  An abrupt flash of white in the darkness below.

  “Feathers,” Killer Moth said, banking to his left and beginning his descent.

   Drury stood on the roof of an abandoned office building, a safe distance away from the decrepit wooden water tower in the roof’s center. Sorry lodgings for an angel, he laughed to himself.

  “Miss?” Drury called, his voice raspy. “Are you in there? I have no wish to harm you; I only want to talk.”

  A faint noise from within the tower. Movement, perhaps?

  “I believe you and I may have something in--” Drury suddenly became aware of a smell. It was the scent of garbage and rot. “--in common,” Drury finished. This may have been a mistake, he thought. The image of rotting bones picked half-clean of meat flickered in his mind’s eye, the sound of tearing flesh echoing wetly. But when the angel emerged from the water tower, Drury’s fear vanished as soon as it had appeared.

  She appeared very human, this angel. Nothing like Moth or Croc. The only abnormal features were the broad white wings and feathery, coal-grey hair. And the eyes. The angel’s eyes were visible even in the faint lights from the city below, yellow irises locked on the other metahuman.

  “Greetings,” said Drury. “I am he known as Killer Moth.” He took a small, non-threatening step forwards. “And you must be the angel I’ve been hearing about.”

  “I’m not a miss," said the angel. “I’m no angel, either.”

  Drury flicked an antenna. “Apologies...mister?”

  A nod. Then a pause. “You’re really...Killer Moth? The Rogue?”

  “I am indeed,” said Drury. The not-angel looked more relaxed now, though his wings still seemed ready to pop fully open at any moment.

  “What do you want with me?”

  “Let us start with your name, hmm?”

  Yellow eyes darted to the side, then back to Drury. “I’m Giovanni.”

  Giovanni? A large name for such a small creature, thought Drury. But out loud he said, “A fine name for a young gentleman. Italian, are you?”

  “My grandparents were.” A flash of those strange irises. “You really think Giovanni is a good name?”

  “Yes?” said Drury, caught off-guard by the odd question. Don’t tell me that this boy has an ego the size of Riddler’s, he thought.

  Then Giovanni smiled. It was wry and crooked, but there was genuine happiness, too. “Cool,” was all Giovanni said. He walked over to Drury-- past Drury, and plopped down on the edge of the roof. “Have a seat,” Giovanni said over his shoulder.

  Drury hesitated, then shrugged. He sat to the boy’s left, and the two both rearranged their wings as they looked out over Gotham.

  “It’s nice here,” Giovanni said.

  Drury couldn’t help but scoff. “Few would have such kind words about this city.”

  “It’s nicer than where I was. I’m from Bludhaven,” Giovanni said before Drury could ask. “It was all steel mills and fisheries. So much stinking fish...”

  “What prompted you to leave?”

  “I...just didn’t belong there. Bludhaven might have been where I grew up, where I lived, but I was never really... alive while I was in that place.”

  Though Drury was a poor judge of emotions, the young man he was sitting besides appeared sorrowful, yet angry. Drury sighed inwardly and decided to ignore it in order to keep the conversation moving. “And now you are in Gotham, residing in a water tower full of what I assume is your own garbage and leftovers.”

  “Yep,” said Giovanni. He turned to face Drury and winked. “But fuck, do I ever feel alive.”

  “...You are a peculiar young lad, Giovanni,” Drury said, feeling something akin to amusement.

  “They called me that a lot back in Bludhaven,” Giovanni said. “Just in more... impolite terms.” He got to his feet and yawned, then shot a grin at Drury. “Do you know what else they called me, Killer Moth?”

  Drury’s mouth formed something that could be considered a smile. “Pray tell, what else did they call you?”

  Giovanni snapped his white wings open, and Drury could now see that there was a line of ink-black on the very bottom of the secondary feathers, along with an obsidian patch at the tips of the primaries.

  “Seagull,” said Giovanni, and he dove off of the roof. He was out of Drury’s view for only a few seconds before shooting, with a great flap of his wings, into the night sky. Drury heard the boy let out a whoop of joy as he flew higher, then shot back down to the roof, a gust of wind heralding his landing.

  Drury nodded slowly, smile still pulling at his lips. “Gull,” he said. “A shorter alias for a new life, perhaps?”

  Giovanni laughed, and it was the cry of ocean birds. “If you’re asking me to team up with you and commit crimes, my answer is “hell yes.” I mean, this is Gotham, and I am one of those scary metahumans.”

  Drury stood and patted Giovanni’s bony shoulder. The young man obviously knew what he was getting into, and was not only willing, but enthusiastic . It was strange, but he felt almost proud of the boy. These younger folks are impressive. Evolution at its finest, I suppose, Drury thought. To Giovanni, he said,

  “Come now, I will show you to my laboratory. You are most welcome to take up accomodations there.” Drury paused. A Rogue he may be, but he wanted to make this clear. “However...if you follow me, there will be no going back to your civilian lifestyle.” With that, Drury stepped off the edge of the roof and into the warm air.

  Killer Moth caught an updraft and began gliding upwards; a moment later, he heard the sound of feathered wings flapping after him. My luck has finally changed, it should seem, he thought. Croc and my dear moths will be overjoyed.

  “I like the sound of it,” Giovanni said to the lights of Gotham City as they unfurled beneath him. “Gull.”

[sandflakedraws]

The attic AU looks amazing, cuz this is the first time I've seen it. Do you think you could summarize it? Because I went through the tag too, and I am still lost

AIGHT. HERE’S ATTIC AU IN A SHITTON OF BULLET POINTS

//shoots off of a breach of trust chapter 8

• reigen loses the knife fight, mogami murders tetsuo, possesses reig, uses the policeman cuffs to keep reigen bound up in the attic. 

• reigami is immune to the cuffs cause he’s a ghost/psychic type pokemon but reigen is made of regular human so he’s outta luck

• mogami depletes the rest of reigen’s funds and runs the rest of his credit deep in the red because ‘hey instead of hopping from vessel to vessel, i can just keep this one dude because he has no personal relationships’

• BAD TIEMS FOR A YEAR (mob’s goin on 5)

• mogami likes to prattle terrible advice for a living (dying ?) so he gives reigen advice about how he’s an awful person and how his savior complex killed tetsuo, and HEY ! i think you deserve to be in this attic because you used people and dont matter to anyone ever in ur life - the proof is that no one is looking for you

• cursed blender corpse as a roommate

• reigen also has to live with the knowledge that if he caught mogami off guard, he could have peed on his corpse. if he has to know this so do you.

• only mogami eats with reigen’s body in attic au, because he has a food fetish.

• all other necessary toiletries n shower stuff is handled with mogami awkwardly standing by because he doesn’t want his vessel to do anything, like dying, or the macarena, without permission.

• if you ever have a question about a thing, the answer is probably “cause mogami”

-why didn’t reigen scream for help ? cause mogami

-why is reigen so skinny ? cause mogami

-why does the attic smell like something up and died? cause mogami

• after some time, mogami gets more stupid and throws a loud, physical temper tantrum at mob, who also deserves none of this. its so loud that reigen can hear mob apologizing in the midst of the noise. now Reigen Knows 

• reigen’s too apathetic about himself to try ghost murder with only a .05% chance of it working, BUT WITH A KID INVOLVED, HOWEVER 

[neil breen voice] that’s just not right

• reigen shouts for mob to run, but mogami gets upset that reigen broke his ‘no screm’ policy and mcslices his neck as a visual metaphor to Shut The Hell Your Mouth. 

• mogami’s threat is null and void against HOLYSHITTHERE’SACHILDTHERE’SACHILDOHFUCKOHMYFUCK

• cue reigen sawing through the wood bedframe with his handcuff chain, pulling upon dusty knowledge of hack sigils

• reigen gambles his life on this moment, and because he’s had so much yikes this year, the universe cuts him a break. 

• mogami does the [dies but not for good] anime scream

• reigen stumbles downstairs looking for the kid. holy shit i have a duty and a reason to exist now! reigen thinks. he finds mob, and mob’s saying something but reigen is too focused on ‘we gotta get out of this house Right Now because i dont know if mogami is dead dead and i just seriously pissed him off’ 

• he hoists the kid in his arms to skedaddle

• unfortunately hoisting involves at least 100% shredding where mob is involved, and because the conduit sigil was drawn on his chest he gets an instant tattoo

• mob asks reigen how he got through the barrier, and rather than tell the kid that he didn’t and that he’s bleedy mcbleederson, reigen fumbles the excuse that he’s a barrier specialist and that police! are a thing! mob’s too emo to understand anything and cries himself to sleep. he deserves any and all naps.

• reigen’s still bleeding out however, and his walking skills are only lvl 1 cause mogami. he gets about 2-3 blocks, but u know who lives around there ?

• tetsuo’s ghost ex machina (he formed back a la dimple with his biggest concern being the spawn point : jun)

• since reigen’s wiping his feet on death’s doormat, he can see tets and explain the what the fuck is up. he also gives tetsuo the remote to his body because tetsuo’s better at call of duty than he is and the call of duty is HELP US PLEASE

• tetsuo’s trusted popo position helps the police/hospital staff believe that the sigils are needed, so no one else gets shreddy.

• tetsuo peaces out and reigen passes out

• when reigen wakes back up, he’s in a hospital and his ouchies are dealt with. the special case of Holy Shit its a Real Psychic Child Who Needs Help kinda blindsides the staff, so reigen isn’t looked at closely. 

• Mob’s still working on not shredding folks so Reigen is turned away from seeing him. Also money. To quote Letters : “Reigen left the building owning less than he’d had when he entered.” 

• there goes reigen’s reason for existing

• as would realistically happen, reigen’s been evicted, his workplace repurposed, and reigen doesn’t have enough bat bucks or pleasing body odor to make his case.

• fluorescent lights are a literal trigger for reigen, because that was reigami’s main hang out spot outside the attic. so now any department store is a 1000 square foot lesson in dissociation and trying not to look like you’re drunk

• it’s a miracle reigen even managed to shoplift the tent he sleeps in (i headcanon a clerk saw, took pity, and took one for the team for im)

• he spends about a month in the tent, asking for muns for noms

• tetsuo gets the credit for saving mob, because he’s prettier than reigen, and so is his wife. reigen’s jimmies remain unrustled with this

• cue mob wanting to show gratitude to the man who brought him in. he brings it up to the other social workers/therapists, to which they go ‘uhhhh we’ve never heard of the guy’ 

• the more everyone finds out, the more this gif plays in the back of their heads

• the kageyamas eventually follow the breadcrumbs back to the popo . isa gives them the only info they have on reigen arataka : which is that he’s been listed as an (either missing or dead, depending on the version) person for a while.

• ritsu finds him, for mob, via spirit hoarde network (because like in canon, once’s mogami’s “gone” all the little spirits come out to play. and gimcrack asks to slurp some of ritsu’s spirit juice if he can run him errands. except THIS TIME, the kageyama family has had their fill of evil spirits using them, so Ritsu keeps them the fuck in line)

• i have a joke where they send out the spirits to find “a thin, brown haired man with a scar on his face, possibly wearing a suit” and it leads to sakurai

• when they find reigen he’s got one foot in the darkness and the other in a rainbow croc

• he’s not all there

•the kageyamas aren’t about to let the man who helped bring their boy back die via crocs so they bring him home

• hurt/comfort hijinks ensue, including a Colorful Boi, a game of illegal Uno, Crying over Spilled Noodles, Fashion Upgrades, Waterbending, and There’s A Lack Of Context But Dimple Shows Up One Day

[dazzledbybooks]

A thief. An officer. A guardian. Three strangers, one shared destiny . . . When the Last Days came, the planet of Laterre promised hope. A new life for a wealthy French family and their descendants. But five hundred years later, it’s now a place where an extravagant elite class reigns supreme; where the clouds hide the stars and the poor starve in the streets; where a rebel group, long thought dead, is resurfacing. Whispers of revolution have begun—a revolution that hinges on three unlikely heroes… Chatine is a street-savvy thief who will do anything to escape the brutal Regime, including spy on Marcellus, the grandson of the most powerful man on the planet. Marcellus is an officer—and the son of a renowned traitor. In training to take command of the military, Marcellus begins to doubt the government he’s vowed to serve when his father dies and leaves behind a cryptic message that only one person can read: a girl named Alouette. Alouette is living in an underground refuge, where she guards and protects the last surviving library on the planet. But a shocking murder will bring Alouette to the surface for the first time in twelve years…and plunge Laterre into chaos. All three have a role to play in a dangerous game of revolution—and together they will shape the future of a planet. Power, romance, and destiny collide in this sweeping reimagining of Victor Hugo’s masterpiece, Les Misérables. Sky Without Stars (System Divine #1) by Jessica Brody & Joanne Rendell Publisher: Simon Pulse Release Date: March 26th 2019 Genre: Retellings, Young Adult, Science Fiction Review: Sky Without Stars by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell is fantastic. I am loving this book. If the cover doesn't grab you right away then the story will draw you in. As the reader you are introduced to three characters, Chatine, Marcellus, and Alouette. These three people couldn't be more different but they will all touch each others lives in a different way. Chatine is a thief. Chatine has lived a hard life. She is considered to be part of the lowest part of society, the third estate. No one cares about her or others like her. Obviously she doesn't have the best outlook on life.  Marcellus is the son of a renowned traitor. Marcellus wants to be the best solider that he can be but he just isn't cut out for it. He is so used to being alone that he really just wants to be loved by anyone. Alouette has a secret. She has lived underground her entire life. She grew up helping the sisters record history. Now she lives in a time that people don't remember the written word. Alouette wants nothing more than to go outside but once she is outside she discovers secrets about her past that she wasn't ready for.  I really enjoy these characters. Just as importantly, I enjoyed the world building. Brody and Rendell brought us a beautiful world that is so vivid. Even the drabby parts were described so beautifully. I really enjoyed this book. One thing I really appreciate is this book makes me feel like I am there and that I am part of the story. I have read Les Miserables and I have to say that this is a great retelling of Les Miserables but I feel like a lot of backstory is left out compared to the book it is based on. I think someone who has not read Les Miserables  won't have any issues with this story and they will probably breeze straight through it. Someone who has read it, will definitely notice the differences and the backstory that is missing. You should definitely check out this book. I really like it and I think it is worth your time to read. Plus there are so many good and fun things coming out about this book. Check it out because I don't think you will regret it. Favorite Quotes: High on a hill, the family built their Grand Palais under a vast climate-controlled dome. And in the flatlands below lived their chosen people.  Since the day she was born into this Regime, she was fated to die young. She would never see the stars. She would never feel the warmth of real Sol-light on her face. She would never escape. He had to prove to himself, once and for all, that he was not his father’s son. He was a loyal grandson and a proud member of the Second Estate. She was so sick of it. The secrets. The mysteries. The torn-out pages. The hidden boxes. She needed answers. And she needed them now.  The Map: Excerpt: Chapter One Chatine The rain was falling sideways in the Marsh. It was never a straight downpour. It was always crooked. Just like the people here. Con artists and hustlers and crocs, the lot of them. Anyone can be a saint until they’re hungry enough. Chatine Renard was perched high above it all, watching the stream of people churn through the busy marketplace like clotted blood through a vein. She was straddling an exposed metal beam that once connected the old freightship to its roof. At least, that’s what Chatine had been told—that the Frets were once titanic flying vessels that soared across the galaxy, bringing her ancestors to the planet of Laterre, the coldest and wettest of the twelve planets in the System Divine. But years of neglect and crooked rain had corroded the PermaSteel walls and ceilings, turning the staterooms in the passenger freightships into leaky, mold-ridden housing for the poor, and this cargo freightship into an open-air marketplace. Chatine pulled her hood farther down her forehead in an attempt to block her face. Much to her dismay, she’d noticed over the past few years that her eyelashes had grown longer, her chest had filled out, her cheekbones had become more pronounced, and her nose had slimmed to a dainty point, which she despised. She had streaked her face with mud before coming to the Marsh today, but every time she caught sight of her reflection in a puddle or the metal of a partially collapsed wall, she cringed at how much she still looked like a girl. So inconvenient. The Marsh was far more crowded today than usual. Chatine leaned forward and balanced on her stomach, hugging the beam to her chest as she scanned the countless faces that passed beneath her. They were always the same faces. Poor, downtrodden souls like her trying to find creative ways to stretch their weekly wages. Or con their neighbor out of a larg or two. Newcomers were rare to the Marsh. No one outside of the Third Estate bothered with the picked-over cabbages and mangy turnips for sale. With the exception of Inspecteur Limier and his army of Policier droids tasked with keeping the peace, the Frets and the marketplace in its center were normally avoided at all costs by anyone who didn’t live here. Which was why the man in the long coat immediately caught Chatine’s eye. His wealth was written all over his groomed black beard, matching hair, pressed clothes, and sparkling adornments. Second Estate, to be sure. She’d never known the First Estate to ever venture out of Ledôme. The climate-controlled biodome sat high on the hill just outside the capital city of Vallonay, shielding the First Estate from Laterre’s persistent downpours. And the slums below. Chatine’s eyes raked over the man, taking in every stitch and every button. Her gaze expertly landed on the gold medallion dangling like bait from his neck. She didn’t have to see it up close to know it was a relic from the Last Days, rescued from the burning embers of a dying planet. The Second Estate loved their First World relics. Five hundred largs easy, Chatine calculated in her head. Enough money to feed an entire Third Estate family for weeks. But it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the crocs in the Marsh spotted the treasure too and made their play. Which meant Chatine had to move fast. Gripping the beam with both hands, she swung her legs over the side and launched her body to the nearby catwalk, landing silently in a crouch. Directly underneath her, the man continued farther into the marketplace, weaving around the loose chickens that roamed the stalls searching for scraps. His gaze swept left and right as though taking mental inventory of the space. For a moment, Chatine wondered what he was doing here. Had he gotten lost on his way back up to Ledôme? Or was he here on some kind of business? But then she remembered the annual Ascension happening later today and reasoned he was probably a foreman of a fabrique, come to round up his workers who were skipping out on their shifts to get jacked up on weed wine, all the while hoping to win a new life. “Win a new life?” Chatine muttered to herself and let out a bitter laugh. Deluded fools, all of them. She crept across the grid of overhead walkways and ramps, skillfully ducking to avoid broken water pipes and leaping over giant chasms in the grated floor. All the while, she kept a close watch on the man, making sure she was never more than a few steps behind him. He finally slowed near Madame Dufour’s stall, pulled an apricot from his pocket, and took a large bite, the juice dripping into his beard. Chatine’s mouth started to water. She’d only ever tasted an apricot once, when a crate had fallen off the back of a cargo transporteur delivering fruit from the hothouses to Ledôme. Chatine watched Madame Dufour size the man up with sinister fascination. The old croc was practically licking her lips at the sight of such an easy mark. It was now or never. Ducking under the broken railing, Chatine grabbed onto the raised rim of the walkway floor and somersaulted over the edge. She whipped her body forward, fell three mètres down, and adeptly caught the beam below her. She circled around until it rested against her hips and she could balance there. She was now only a mètre above the man’s head. Yet with the buzz of the busy marketplace, no one even bothered to look up. “What a pitiful sight,” the man said, taking another bite of his apricot. He didn’t even bother to hide his disgust. The Second Estate rarely did. It was something about being stuck in the middle, Chatine had always noticed—not quite rulers and yet far from being one of the wretched like her—that gave the Second Estate their shameless sense of arrogance. They were almost more intolerable than the First Estate. Almost. Chatine’s gaze cut to the left, taking in the tower of empty crates stacked up next to Madame Dufour’s stall. She shimmied along the beam until she was directly above them. Then, she tipped forward, rotated around, and kicked both feet out in front of her. The crash was louder than she anticipated. The crates toppled to the ground, avalanching around the man as he fell to his knees with a grunt. Chatine moved quickly. Landing in a squat, she crawled through the wreckage until she found the man and graciously helped him back onto his feet. He was so busy brushing dust and cabbage leaves from his coat, he didn’t even feel the medallion being lifted from his neck. “Are you all right, Monsieur?” Chatine asked in her friendliest tone, slipping the pendant into her pocket. The man barely looked at her as he straightened his hat. “Quite all right, boy.” “You must be careful in the Marsh, Monsieur. It isn’t safe for someone of your rank.” “Merci,” he said dismissively as he tossed the apricot he’d been eating toward Chatine. She caught it and flashed him an appreciative smile. “Vive Laterre.” “Vive Laterre,” he echoed before turning away. Chatine grinned at the man’s back as she turned on her heels and slipped the half-eaten apricot into her pocket. It took all her strength not to consume the entire thing here and now. She knew the man would hardly even miss that gold medallion from his neck. He probably had ten just like it back in his manoir in Ledôme. But to her, it was everything. It would change everything. The wind picked up, howling through the stalls and biting viciously at Chatine’s skin. She pulled her tattered black coat tighter around her, trying in vain to stave off the chill. But the holes and ripped lining of her clothes weren’t the problem. It was the hunger—the ribs poking through her skin. There wasn’t a single shred of insulation left on her body. But after that score, she was finding it hard to care. As Chatine headed toward the south exit of the Marsh, weaving through stalls selling moldy potatoes, slimy leeks, and pungent seaweed dragged in from the nearby docks, there was a new lightness to her gait. A new hopefulness in her step. But just before passing through what used to be the old cargo ship’s loading bay, Chatine felt a large hand clamp down on her shoulder and she stopped dead in her tracks, a shiver running through her. “So nice of you to help out a member of the Second Estate,” a cold, robotic voice said. “I’ve never seen such chivalry from a Renard.” The emphasis he placed on her last name made Chatine squirm. She closed her eyes, mustering strength, and painted on a blithe smile. She slowly turned around. “Inspecteur Limier,” she said. “Always a pleasure.” His stony expression didn’t change. It hardly ever did. The circuitry implants on the left side of his face made it nearly impossible for the inspecteur to express any emotion. Chatine often wondered if the man was even capable of smiling. “I wish I could say the same for you, Théo.” His tone was flat. Only her parents called her Chatine. Everyone in the Frets knew her as Théo. It was the name she’d given herself ten years ago, when they’d first moved to the capital city of Vallonay and Chatine had decided that life as a boy would be much less complicated than life as a girl. Chatine clucked her tongue. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Inspecteur.” “What did you take from the kind monsieur?” Limier asked, his half-human, half-robot voice clicking on the hard consonants. Chatine refreshed her smile. “Whatever do you mean, Inspecteur? I know better than to steal from the hand that feeds me.” She nearly gagged on the words. But if they saved her from a one-way ticket to Bastille—the price you paid for stealing from an upper estate—then she could choke her way through them. Chatine held her breath as the inspecteur’s circuitry flickered on his face. He was computing the information, analyzing her words, searching for hints of perjury. Over the past ten years of living in the Frets, Chatine had learned how to lie. But lying to a human being was one thing. Lying to a cyborg inspecteur, programmed to seek the truth, was quite another. She waited, keeping her smile taut until the circuits stopped flashing. “Will that be all, Inspecteur?” Chatine asked, smiling sweetly while pressing her hands against her tattered black pants. Her palms were starting to sweat, and she didn’t want his heat sensors to pick up on it. Then, slowly, Chatine watched the inspecteur’s gloved hand extend toward her. With a soft touch that chilled her to the bone, he pushed up her black hood to reveal more of her face. His electric orange eye blinked to life, scanning her features. It seemed to linger a beat too long on her high, feminine cheekbones. Panic bloomed in her chest. Can it see who I really am? Chatine hastily took a step back, out of the inspecteur’s reach, and yanked her hood back down. “My maman is expecting me home,” she said. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll be going now.” “Of course,” the inspecteur replied. “Thank you, Inspecteur. Vive Laterre.” As Chatine turned to leave, she felt her entire body collapse with relief. She had done it. She had fooled his sensors. She was a better liar than even she had come to believe. “I’ll just need to check your pockets first.” Chatine froze. She quickly surveyed her surroundings. She spotted five Policier droids in her vicinity. More than usually roamed the Marsh, due to the annual Ascension ceremony today. The droids—or bashers as they were referred to around here—stood at almost twice the size of an average man and their slate-gray exoskeletons crunched and whirred as they walked. Chatine wasn’t afraid of them, though. She’d escaped Policier droids plenty of times. They were fast and stronger than ten men, but they still had their limitations. For instance, they couldn’t climb. Careful not to move her head, Chatine glanced up, thanking her lucky Sols that there was an old pipe running directly over her head. She refused to get flown off to Bastille. A neighbor was currently serving three years for stealing a measly sac of turnips. A First World relic lifted off a Second Estater? She’d be looking at ten years minimum. And hardly anyone lived that long on the moon. She slowly spun back around to face Limier. “Of course, Inspecteur. I have nothing to hide.” Flashing another smile, Chatine stuffed her hand into her pocket and felt the medallion cool and smooth against her skin. The inspecteur once again reached a hand in her direction. Then, before he could react, Chatine hurled the apricot the monsieur had given her straight at the inspecteur’s face. His circuitry sparked as his brain tried to make sense of the incoming object. Chatine bolted, scrambling onto a table full of fabric scraps before leaping toward the pipe. For a second, she was flying, soaring above the inspecteur, the shoppers in the Marsh, and the Policier droids who were just starting to take notice of the disturbance. As she caught the pipe, she used her momentum to circle her legs around until she was straddling the rusty, metal pole. “Paralyze him!” Inspecteur Limier shouted to his droids, peering up at Chatine. His circuitry was going haywire, like someone had hacked the signal. “Now!” The bashers maneuvered their bulky PermaSteel bodies around one another, assembling into attack formation. Chatine knew she had to move quickly. One rayonette pulse she could dodge, but five? That would be rough. The pipe was too narrow to walk on, so Chatine shimmied across it on her stomach, weighing her options. The north exit was out of the question. It backed up to the Vallonay Policier Precinct, where she would certainly run into more droids. There was a catwalk about three mètres ahead of her. If she could reach it without getting shot, she could crawl the rest of the way to the east exit, back near Madame Dufour’s stall. A split second later, she felt the heat of the first rayonette pulse whizz by the side of her face. She sucked in a sharp breath and shimmied faster. A second droid took aim below her, its shot perfectly aligned at her left knee. She braced herself for the impact. But just then, a group of drunk exploit workers stumbled through the fray, arguing about who among them had the most Ascension points stored up. One of them crashed right into the droid, and the pulse barely missed her leg. “Oh, excuse me, Monsieur,” the drunk worker slurred to the droid, bowing ceremoniously. His friends broke out into hoots of laughter while Chatine took the opportunity to slide the rest of the way across the rusted pipe. Thank the Sols for strong weed wine, she thought as she launched herself toward the catwalk. She caught the railing with both hands just as a third pulse was fired from below. This one glanced her left shoulder. It wasn’t a direct hit, but it was enough. The pain was instant. Like someone had scraped her skin with a blazing-hot knife. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. The sound would only improve the droids’ aim. Within seconds, her left arm started to lose sensation from the paralyzeur now pumping through her blood. She scrambled to swing her feet up over the ledge of the walkway but was unsuccessful. Now she was just dangling there, her feet paddling against the air. The droids shoved people aside as they zeroed in on her location. More rayonette pulses tore past her, rippling and bending the air. It was only a matter of time before another one found its target. Chatine knew she needed a distraction. She spotted a crate packed with chickens directly in front of her. She shook out her left arm, trying to chase away the numbness that was spreading toward her fingers, but it was no use. The paralyzeur was quickly working its way through her muscles. Favoring her right hand, she gripped the railing as tightly as she could and pumped her legs until she’d built up enough momentum to reach the crate. She arched her body and kicked her legs out hard. The crate crashed to the ground and busted open. The chickens squawked and tried to fly away, but their useless wings barely allowed them to get off the ground. The commotion was enough, though. People were screaming, the stall owner was desperately trying to wrangle the loose birds, and the Policier droids fought to barrel through it all. But their efforts only managed to rile up the birds even more. They fluttered about, scraping people with their sharp claws. The droids started firing with abandon. But with all the chaos below, their aim was poor. They hit more chickens than anything else. The birds absorbed the stun of the rayonettes and fell limp to the ground. They wouldn’t be able to move again for a few hours. With the droids distracted, Chatine was finally able to pull herself onto the catwalk and crawl, one-handed, across the rusty, metal plank before shimmying down a support beam next to Madame Dufour’s stall. She glanced back to see the bashers still trying to push their way through the crowd to reach her. But with the number of people in the Marsh today and the riled-up chickens, it wasn’t an easy task. Madame Dufour glared at Chatine, her wrinkled arms folded across her chest. “Like father, like son,” she said, making a tsk sound with her teeth. “Mark my words, boy, you’ll be rotting on the moon before the end of this year.” Chatine flashed her a goading grin before swiping a loaf of chou bread from one of Madame Dufour’s crates and darting toward the exit. “Arrête!” The old woman’s command sounded like a croak. “Get back here, you wretched croc!” “Thanks for breakfast!” Chatine called back in a singsong voice. And then, before the droids could track her or Madame Dufour could catch her, Chatine was gone. Once she’d put a good distance between herself and the marketplace, she slowed to a walk and massaged her dead arm with the opposite hand. It wasn’t the first time she’d been shot by a rayonette. And it probably wouldn’t be the last. The sensation would return soon enough. Chatine reached into her pocket and pulled out the pendant she had lifted from the Second Estater. She sucked off the sweet apricot juice and held the medallion in her open palm, studying it. For the first time, Chatine noticed the ornate golden Sol carved into the surface. It was unlike any of the three Sols that hung in the sky of the System Divine. This was a First World Sol. Its brilliant, fiery rays flared out to the edge of the medallion. Chatine reverently clasped the pendant around her neck, a rare genuine smile creeping across her face. She hadn’t seen the light of a Sol in nine years. This was definitely a sign of good things to come. Excerpted from Sky Without Stars by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell. Copyright © 2019 by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Book Links:  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34513785-sky-without-stars Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1534410635/ref=as_li_qf_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=theunoaddboof-20&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=1534410635&linkId=feb74b0ddbf635416ba2f226261deeed Bookdepository: https://www.bookdepository.com/Sky-Without-Stars-Jessica-Brody/9781534410633?ref=grid-view&qid=1549403509338&sr=1-1 B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sky-without-stars-jessica-brody/1128863849?ean=9781534410633&st=AFF&SID=www.barnesandnoble.com&2sid=Royal+Social+Media_7992605_NA&sourceId=AFFRoyal+Social+Media&cjevent=2866ff23299011e9829a01080a180514&dpid=tekz25v83 iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/sky-without-stars/id1431862368?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4 Google Books: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Jessica_Brody_Sky_Without_Stars?id=Yj1qDwAAQBAJ&hl=en Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ch/en/ebook/sky-without-stars-1 Pre-Order Campaign: Pre-order a hardcover of SKY WITHOUT STARS by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell from a participating indie bookstore* before March 26, 2019 and you’ll receive an exclusive Sky Without Stars Gift Pack, including the following: ·         A limited edition two-sided 12”x16” poster featuring the ONLY available colored version of the book’s world map ·         A Sky Without Stars bookplate, signed by both authors ·         A Sky Without Stars postcard ·         A Sky Without Stars bookmark The gift pack will be included with your book when it is shipped or picked up in store. *Click here for participating stores. About the Author: Jessica Brody Jessica Brody is the author of more than 15 books for teens, tweens, and adults including Addie Bell’s Shortcut to Growing Up, A Week of Mondays, Boys of Summer, 52 Reasons to Hate My Father, and the three books in the sci-fi Unremembered trilogy. She’s also the author of the Descendants: School of Secrets series, based on the hit Disney Channel original movie, Descendants. Her books have been translated and published in over 23 countries and Unremembered and 52 Reasons to Hate My Father are currently in development as major motion pictures. She lives with her husband and four dogs and splits her time between California and Colorado. Visit her online at JessicaBrody.com. Follow her on Twitter or Instagram @JessicaBrody Joanne Rendell Joanne Rendell is the author of three novels and holds a PhD in English literature. She teaches fiction writing to teens and kids and is a board member for the youth Shakespeare company, New Genesis Productions. With her husband and son, Joanne divides her time between New York City, and New Paltz, New York. Visit Joanne at JoanneRendell.com. Giveaway: Prize: Win a copy of SKY WITHOUT STARS by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell (US Only) Stars: 20th March 2019 Ends: 2nd April 2019 a Rafflecopter giveaway Tour Schedule: http://fantasticflyingbookclub.blogspot.com/2019/02/tour-schedule-sky-without-stars-system.html March 20th  The Unofficial Addiction Book Fan Club - Interview with Joanne Rendell March 21st NovelKnight - Guest Post Andi's ABCs - Book Spotlight L.M. Durand - Review Book Beach Bunny - Review + Dream Cast That Artsy Reader Girl - Interview with Jessica Brody March 22nd BookCrushin - Guest Post Hauntedbybooks - Review + Favourite Quotes Dazzled by Books - Review + Favourite Quotes The Mind of a Book Dragon - Review + Playlist March 23rd Wishful Endings - Interview Lisa Loves Literature - Review Moonlight Rendezvous - Review + Favourite Quotes everywhere and nowhere - Review March 24th Here's to Happy Endings - Review Malanie Loves Fiction - Review A Dream Within A Dream - Review Confessions of a YA Reader - Promotional Post March 25th Library of a Book Witch - Review Hopelessly Devoted Bibliophile - Review Adventures Thru Wonderland - Review Camillea Reads - Review + Favourite Quotes March 26th Book Slaying - Interview Bookwyrming Thoughts - Review It Starts at Midnight - Review In Between Book Pages - Review + Favourite Quotes

http://www.dazzledbybooks.com/2019/03/skywithoutstarsblogtour.html

[katrinawoz-blog]

I Won’t Say I Was “Under the Tuscan Sun” (Even Though I Was)

Okay! It’s that part of the day where I’m up at 3:30 a.m. rearing to go because my body is still in Italy thinking it’s time for cappuccino and sunshine. This is what flying from Europe to the United States means: doing laundry at 4 in the morning, feeling like the only one moving at this hour except for the raccoons outside calling it a night and the hookers on 8th Avenue thinking the same.

My 10 days in Italy flew, and there’s no effective way to capture all that I did, saw, ate, smelled, heard and overheard other than to list. As Diego Montoya says in The Princess Bride, “Let me explain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up.” Here we go:

– Nonnas everywhere: towns, cities, dirt country roads. And it’s good luck to catch a nonna. I caught one last year while standing on a train that was slowing down to the station. Our train lurched, and a nonna standing next to me lost her footing and just fell into my arms. It was *exactly* like that feeling of catching the ball in third grade and all your classmates cheering for you. This nonna regained her balance, squeezed my arm, and pronounced the longest “Grazie,” Italy had ever heard. It was like six syllables long and easily a full 10 seconds, that’s how grateful she was to have not fallen down. She wore a cardigan, skirt, and a beautiful scarf, and as I drove from Sestri Levante to Panzano to Siena this past week, I saw that all nonnas wore cardigans, skirts, and beautiful scarves. It’s their superhero costume. One even wore yellow Crocs. So always slow down for nonnas crossing the road, getting on/off trains, and better yet—catch one! She might even grant you three wishes.

– People keep making films in Tuscany and about Tuscany because Tuscany is probably what the Garden of Eden looked like, and we all crave to get back to what was green and good.

– Green shutters on all houses. It’s like a homeowners’ association thing, but nationwide.

– No one uses dryers. I love this about Italy (perhaps because my own dryer doesn’t work). This was my third visit, and I always saw people line-drying their clothes. Fuck dryers.

– Fat grapes heavy on the vine do indeed look sexy.

– I drove a little stick-shift Lancia from Florence to Sestri Levante to Panzano to Siena to Florence. I named him Pepe. He didn’t like uphill dirt roads but anything downhill turned him into Peter Pan. Also, driving Pepe into one-way city streets or markets in Florence while jet-lagged and with minor traces of Klonopin in your bloodstream may sound scary, but Italians appeared accustomed to this and simply moved aside while I made very public mistakes and got turned around. I even pulled up to Il Duomo and no one cared. This zigzagging and series of false turns is not in any guidebook but is a great way to see Florence.

– As my new friend Rose McAleese says, “Bugs are annoying in all countries.” Italy was beautiful, but its bugs are formidable. I saw bees that had actual muscle mass. I saw ants that could bench-press Skittles with ease. I also watched a yellow jacket take a piece of chicken (or was it pork?) off a spoon and fly off with it. I have an allergy to wasps and hornets, and while I’m not interested in wiping out any species, I don’t need to get close with bugs. I did two beautiful hikes with my EpiPen in tow and nothing happened. I’ve been fortunate to have not needed the EpiPen, and if there is an emergency stinging situation, I’m worried injecting an EpiPen will be like trying to remember how to properly use the kitchen fire extinguisher. Those are two situations you don’t want to screw up.

– I ate my body weight in mozzarella. I am both proud and slightly ashamed I did this without hesitation.

– I did not see the actual David in Florence, though saw its replicas everywhere. Honestly, I don’t mind missing David. I’m a fan of The Man, but David looks like a guy who lives in his head and he’s not well-endowed, so I didn’t feel motivated to pay museum admission to stand and admire a thinky dude with a small penis. I know that says a lot about me.

– I ate my first gluten-free ice cream cone in Sestri Levante. I’ll take this to the grave. The flavor was olive oil gelato, which was amazing and should be its own body scrub.

– Finding St. Catherine’s severed head was indeed a “Where’s Waldo” moment. You’d think a 700-year-old head would stand out, but we walked by it at least three or four times before realizing that waxy bulb behind the glass was the face of a 14th-century nun who had a relationship with Christ that would incite Jesus-envy among women and men alike. Not only did she suffer the Stigmata, but was said to have a ring made from Jesus’s foreskin that only she could see. Can you picture her showing off that bling? Once we did find her, me and my two companions, both Irish-Catholics, dropped to our knees and bowed in prayer. We may not be church-going regulars, but we know what to do when facing the mummified face of a saint.

– I hiked by olive trees that had inexplicably split. No one knows why they did this, but the olive trees kept growing and now look like hands raised in prayer. This seems to work because there are now more olives.

– The Bay of Silence lived up to its name. Go, especially late morning on a Wednesday when it’s just you, a few leathery-looking ladies, one nun, and the beach guard.

– You can get bad coffee in Italy. Anything that comes from an automated machine should not be trusted. You’re in Italy; treat yourself. Pay the three Euros and ask some handsome fella behind the barrista to razzle-dazzle the espresso machine and whip up something nice for you. You won’t regret it.

[footyplusau]

Maynard just part of a long MCG history

WHEN Collingwood defender Brayden Maynard lines up at the MCG on the Queen’s Birthday holiday for his 41st game, he’ll likely sneak a quick look at his wrist as a reminder of his family’s football history.

The signature of his grandfather, former Fitzroy footballer and coach, Graham Campbell, covers the veins on the inside of the 20-year-old Maynard’s left wrist.

Maynard is tough on the football field, like his grandfather, but quieter than him off it and he is emerging as a key member of Nathan Buckley’s next generation of Magpies, one with both a combative style and a neat left foot kick that pierces defensive 50.

His skills were on show when the Magpies’ return to respectability began in round nine in their post-quarter-time comeback against Hawthorn. His efforts after an ordinary first quarter drew praise after the game from the coach.

“He didn’t give it up. He kept fighting,” Buckley said.

That fighting has endeared him to Collingwood fans and made opposition supporters notice him. 

Maynard admits he suffers from an affliction common to many of the game’s best competitors.  

“You can call it white-line fever,” he told AFL.com.au.

On Monday, his brother, 25-year-old Corey, will be watching from the stands in the ‘frenemy’ camp, having joined Melbourne as a rookie at the end of last season after a basketball career that took him around the world.

Corey Maynard has played just five VFL games in his football comeback having missed three matches after North Melbourne forward Lindsay Thomas concussed him last month.

He is no stranger to elite sport, having played against future NBA players Cody Zeller, Yogi Ferrell and Victor Oladipo in front of 19,000 people in Indiana in the United States when he was a point guard for Bryant University, a small school in Rhode Island.

He also stared down the nerves that were charging off the charts when Bryant took on Delaware on a December night in 2013 at Madison Square Garden in New York, a highlight of his four years in the competitive American college basketball system.

“We had caught the bus there from our hotel in Manhattan. We pulled up and I was like, ‘Holy crap’. It didn’t feel real,” Corey said.

He watched Brayden’s AFL debut, against Hawthorn at the MCG in round 14, 2015, on a big screen in a hotel in Korea. He was there representing Australia in the World University Games, alongside Hugh Greenwood, now a rookie with Adelaide. 

On returning to Australia, Corey played for the Townsville Crocodiles in the NBL before a less-than-satisfying stint in Finland after the Crocs were disbanded. After some honest reflection, he realised he wanted to come home.

“The goal was always the OIympics and I saw that probably wasn’t going to happen. Realistically I had achieved everything I could in basketball,” he said.

“I always loved footy as much as I loved basketball.”

When AFL clubs heard he was interested in playing football again they came calling, with Melbourne landing him as a Category B rookie, much to the delight of his brother.

“I was stoked,” Brayden said.

His selection meant the family had another young man moving closer to following in the steps the boys’ grandfather first took 40 years before Brayden was born in 1996, when he made his debut for Fitzroy in June, 1956.

Campbell, who grew up as a Collingwood supporter that went to see the Magpies play every week, kicked one goal in a willing encounter as Fitzroy lost to Carlton, the first of his 151 games and 154 goals for the Lions.

He had already played in an under-19s flag with Fitzroy in 1955.

By the time he finished as Glenelg coach 28 years later, Campbell had an impressive resume playing and coaching across the country.

At Fitzroy he played a part in every flag the club won between its last VFL premiership in 1944 and the 1989 reserves flag under Robert Shaw: the under-19s win in 1955, the 1959 and 1978 night premierships and the 1974 reserves’ flag.

Throw in the 1975 WAFL premiership with West Perth and you can see how the strong, talkative man, who former teammate Bill Stephen joked could squeeze 100 words into a gap most could fit 10, commands such respect from those 60 years his junior.

“We all love him,” Brayden Maynard told AFL.com.au. 

“It’s been pretty hard lately. We show him love but I don’t think he understands as much as he used to, so that makes it hard.”

Campbell, 80, battles now to remember what he once did so effortlessly.

However, the physically strong octogenarian who lives in Adelaide with his wife Di, can still bring a smile to his grandsons’ faces when he reminds them over the phone they have not yet played a final on the MCG, as he did in his heyday.

Campbell played in three finals at the MCG in 1958 and 1960, losing two by less than a goal, including the 1960 preliminary final when the Lions fell to the Magpies by five points to miss a spot in the Grand Final against Melbourne.

It was his move to Glenelg however, on Campbell’s last senior coaching assignment in the early 1980s, that led to the genesis of a burgeoning football dynasty.

It was then that young Shepparton boy Peter Maynard, who had joined Glenelg in 1982 after eight games at Melbourne without a win under Ron Barassi and alongside colourful characters such as Mark Jackson, Peter ‘Crackers’ Keenan, Phil Carman, Brent Crosswell and Garry Baker, crossed paths with Campbell’s daughter Donna.

The young pair began dating. Peter laughs when asked by how he worked up the courage to break that news to Campbell.

He had guessed correctly that Campbell was not too fussed at the prospect, but he sensed Donna’s mum was a little wary of the young footballer.

“Di, the mother, being the protective one, was more the challenge given our age at the time,” Maynard said.

She had no need to worry.

The pair’s relationship flourished as Peter’s career in the SANFL took off and they eventually had two sons, Corey and Brayden, and a daughter, Karli, in the 1990s.

As the children grew up, Peter Maynard sat on the match committee at Adelaide in 1998, becoming the Crows’ runner as they won their second flag, before returning to Melbourne where he was the runner for Wayne Brittain and David Parkin at Carlton.

He also began to coach his boys at Hampton Rovers in Melbourne’s southern suburbs, in between the brothers having last-man standing battles under a basketball ring in the front yard of the family’s Brighton East home.

One day such battles might extend to the MCG.

But on Monday, Brayden will carry the footballing torch for an understated football family that has seen someone performing on the big stage as a player or coach in five of the past six decades.

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