#pentagon call my name

[maracllea]

WRAPPED 2022 videography | 24/101 | PENTAGON Call my name

[niteshade925]

April 13, Xi'an, China, Shaanxi Archaeology Museum/陕西考古博物馆 (Part 2 - Shang and Zhou dynasty):

A 1:1 replica of a Warring States period (476 - 221 BC) horse chariot that was unearthed in an ancient tomb in Gansu province. The original artifact was made of lacquered wood, decorated with gold, silver, bronze, turquoise, and other semi-precious stones; it's basically the "Lamborghini" of its time. This replica was just sitting in the hallway in between exhibition halls, and it's very big:

Another one of my favorites, which is also one of the stars of the museum. These are called xizun/牺尊, which are animal-shaped bronze wine vessels (notice the lid on its back). This particular pair is "deer-shaped", but also has patterns on the sides that look like bird wings and paws that look like those of predators. Ugh they are so cute...🥺

A Western Zhou dynasty (1046 - 771 BC) "lunch box" made of bronze, called a luxu/录盨. It was found inside of a Western Han dynasty (202 BC - 8 AD) tomb, indicating that even Chinese people from 2000 years ago had an interest in collecting artifacts from earlier times

More bronze food/wine vessels from Shang dynasty (1600 - 1046 BC) and Zhou dynasty (1046 - 256 BC). Top one is called a gui/簋, bottom left is a gu/觚, and bottom right is a jue/爵. The tall-footed wine vessels can be used to warm up wine before drinking, by heating it with a small flame placed between the feet.

This is what a complete set of bronze vessels from Shang/Zhou dynasties looks like. This particular set, called "fanjin and thirteen vessels"/柉禁十三器 (translated as "Altar Set") is currently at the Met. This diagram below gives the name of each vessel:

Bronze chariot decorations with turquoise inlays. The bronze would have looked golden back then

A little bronze dragon. Cute.

Late Western Zhou dynasty pendant made of jade and agate beads called a yupei/玉佩, and from what I can gather, this one should be part of a necklace, which would be one heavy necklace indeed. I feel like a lighter modern replica might go well with sweaters though:

Left: necklaces, bracelets, and armlets from Spring and Autumn period (770 - 476 BC). Right: another jade and agate yupei from Spring and Autumn period, but this one was probably supposed to be hung from the waist.

This one is known as the Rui Gong ding/芮公鼎 or "Cauldron of Duke Rui", which is a bronze tripod ritual vessel (known as ding/鼎). It is inscribed with the text "内(芮)公乍(作)铸口宫宝鼎，万年子孙永宝用", which roughly translates as "Duke Rui cast this treasured ding, may his descendants use it for ten thousand years to come".

More bronze vessels. The top two are ding/鼎 vessels. Sidenote: notice the right one......does it look familiar? I'm pretty sure the rectangular ding is one of the inspirations for the design of TotK's temple of time. Also note the design patterns...I'm fairly certain these are the inspiration for TotK's aesthetics. TotK's Zonai script is also clearly inspired by Seal script/篆书 (I do want to make a post on this but my hands are pretty full atm)

Gold decorations on accessories:

An (incomplete?) bianzhong/编钟 (bronze bell set) and bianqing/编磬 set. The pentagonal stone chimes on the bottom are part of the bianqing.

A paper that studied the oldest face cream found in China (link to the article on Nature for those who have access).

Wadang/瓦当 (decorative roof edges) from Warring States period featuring various animals and mythical creatures, and their moulds:

[mazikeenhyde]

Oh Baby, Pain is Pleasure - Part 3

POLY JUDGMENT DAY X READER (WRESTLER) 

Y/W/N – Your Wrestling Name 

Y/W/N/F – Your Wrestling Name Finisher

WARNING – THESE WARNINGS COVER ALL PARTS OF THIS FICTION- THEY MAY NOT BE SPECIFIC TO THIS PARTICULAR PART!- 

SMUT,  GIRL X GIRL, MAN X MAN, POLY RELATIONSHIPS/SEXUAL, BDSM, BLOOD, SPANKING, VIOLENT REFRENCES, INJURY, ABUSE (CONSENTUAL) CHEATING, STALKERS/ STALKING

I’m going to apologize to you all now, and prewarn you in advance, this is an absolute rollercoaster of a storyline! Shits about to get REAL messy! 

TAG LIST - @babybatlover

Oh Baby…Pain is Pleasure – Part 3

Late afternoon had seen the sun burn the remainder of the clouds from the sky, leaving a beautiful blue horizon view from across the backyard. Flocks of birds gathered as they headed over the break line, waving in and out of the smoke coming from our BBQ pit. 

I sat, gently rocking my feet back and forth on the chair egg swing we had attached to one of the older grand oak trees in our yard. It was all I had wanted when we moved in, somewhere calm and content where I could just exist. Enjoy my time, enjoy my life, and admire the world around me. Ponder life’s big questions… 

‘LOCKER WITNESSES’ 

I re read that message repeatedly in my mind, who was it from? witnessed what? 

I had deleted the other text from my phone, I wasn’t going down that road. 

The sounds of two men’s deep voices bought me back, looking over to my lovers I could see Finn & Damien adorned in their matching ‘TOP CHEF’ aprons and cooking utensils with a beer in hand, either chatting away or debating about how best to cook the chicken. 

Whilst further down on the sun loungers, Rhea had stripped down to one of her thin black bikinis with the metal skull clip fastenings, she was catching the last of the sunrays to her already perfect Sunkissed skin.  Christ, how did I get so lucky as to be a part of this incredible love…. Pentagon? It’s a five-way love triangle, let’s leave it at that.

When we had been initially searching for a house to buy, one to really call home that is; we had all had something in mind we desperately wanted as a feature. We knew it needed to be a big house, one with a master bedroom where we could assemble out two King size beds that had been custom made to attach in the middle, I cannot begin to tell you how comfortable and comforting it is being held close and safe by the four people you love more than anything in the world. 

The guilt though…

Still, obviously Rhea & Finn were dead set on having a large garage/ open internal space to set up the home gym. Of course, whilst on the road we still used a lot of public gyms and one-off hotel workout rooms here and there, but when we are at home, in each other’s company, away from the world, the fans, all that attention. It is so lovely knowing we don’t have to leave our little safe haven.

Damian had specifically made it clear he wanted a huge kitchen, open planned that backed into a dinning area. When we moved in, he had taken the time to build up a barista style coffee corner and a breakfast station on the central island. Then with Finn’s help, they worked on a D.I.Y project together to design and create a full bar set up next to the table and chairs where we ate. They had eventually given in and allowed Dom to help with the painting of the bar, because he wanted to be a ‘DIY Man’ too. 

The boys always referred to it as the lad’s corner, a custom-built wooden bar that was painted a deep tranquil green and black with illuminated LED letters on the wall; ‘ALL RISE, ALL DRINK’.   That however did not stop Rhea and I from emptying some of those back bar bottles on one of many messy nights! For some reason, whenever Rhea breaks out the Tequila, we always end up playing strip twister… Odd. 

Dominick, of course… wanted a gaming room. Not just any gaming room mind you, a ‘Mens” gaming room. 

*Sigh* 

Problem is he is just so adorable at times, and we all give in, he had been granted his request of course! Although Priest put his foot down when Dom had asked for an indoor arcade style basketball hoop game, he was allowed a hoop outside but that was it. We had all seen enough broken windows during the season when Finn had tried to teach Damien and Dominick how to play golf. 

It still makes me laugh when the boys talk about how they would feel guilty that they were off spending time together, while Rhea and I would miss out? Ha. Little did they know when they buggered off to do ‘man’s stuff’ we girls would high tail it upstairs to the family bathroom and strip off into the bathtub for some… girl’s time. *Wink Wink* 

I remember one morning; Rhea and I were standing in the arched doorway at the crack of dawn waving the boys off as they set out on an early start to play a full days Golf. Leaning into her chest I rubbed the sleepiness from my eyes as she bent her head down and nuzzled her lips into the crook of my neck. 

“I tell you now Y/N, I would rather run the risk of drowning when we get in that bathtub, and I bury my face deep in your pussy… then stand in a damp field hitting a stick at a ball.” Her teeth nipped at the skin of my ear lobe and my entire body melted at her touch. 

Christ the things that woman does to me. 

A loud crash had bought me back to reality, Dom had been trying to carry a tray of drinks out to the garden for us all but had tripped over some excess weigh plates we had left outside, sending the poor lad flying arse over tit. 

“Shit! God damn it, ow fuck!” Dom pulled himself up to his knees, swiping the drinks tray away in frustration before noticing blood trickling down his arm from the glasses that he had smashed across the decking. He was quick to freeze, unable to process what to do next or how to stand up safely. 

Rhea was quick to make her way over to him from the sun lounger, followed by Damian who handed Finn his spatula and beer before rushing over to help the poor lad. 

I know, I know I should have been focused on the fact that the boy I loved so much needed some help, some TLC, compassion, and support… 

But I am only human. 

And Rhea Bloody Ripley…. 

Running….

In a mini black laced bikini…

Slightly wet from the heat of the sun touching her skin, God how she glistened. How she got my motor running and…

Finn had noticed my distraction and whistled loudly, gathering my attention. 

“Aye! Lass, enough of that! Go... Take a lap!” He gestured, pointing to the end of the field in our garden. The yard stretched about 1/4 of a mile down and was cut off by the woodland. One of my favorite things about this house was the nature that came with it. It all felt so…natural and back down to earth compared to the chaos and mayhem at WWE. 

Pointing his BBQ tongs and Damian’s spatula at me, Finn raised his eyebrow. 

“No distractions, ya hear!” 

I tried not to laugh at his remark, turning my face away to hide my snicker and rolling my eyes. I was still wearing my gym gear from before; except I had nabbed one of Dominick’s merch shirts on the way to the garden from the drying rack, I was self-conscious about my stomach, and I liked to hide my body where I could. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?!” Finn sternly questioned me as he put the utensils down. 

At this point Rhea was taking Dom inside through the double doors, whilst Damian stood back up and turned in my direction. 

Fuck… they are hot when they get all dominant. 

“Mi Vida, did you roll your eyes?” Damian’s words were colder, flat, and prominent. I could tell he was almost looking for a reason to get me upstairs into the bedroom. Christ I was half tempted to give him a solid reason. 

Put me across your lap Papa Priest, let me feel the strength between your thighs and lay it into me Goddamn it! 

The devil on my shoulder sang its heart out at the idea, but I remembered earlier when Finn has spun the actions back against me. Leaving me alone and sexually frustrated I thought better of the situation. 

“Me? I would never…” I said quite obnoxious/sarcastically and smiled that cheeky brat look at them before hopping up off the tree swing. I could see Damian trying not to break or give in… but a slight smirk crept into the corner of his lips.  

“I’m going to take a lap!” I stated and grinned before making a run for it, heading down and out of sight from the lads. I had a much better plan in mind to deal with my frustrations when I got in the shower later anyway. 

I was out of breath by the time I got back towards our street, less than a ¼ mile to go! I had decided to go for a proper run to clear my mind. A good few miles should do the trick, that’s what Rhea always said! With my headphones in and a decent playlist on, nothing was going to stop me! 

One foot after another I pressed on, sweat dripping down my neck I desperately tried to Shake off all that nervous energy I had built up now that WrestleMania was less than 2 weeks away. I had been on edge at times, and it showed when I trained in the ring with Rhea and Dom. Running back-to-back moves, counters, pins, and submissions, it was like every time I thought I had learnt it someone would come along and wipe my slate clean, and I knew nothing again. 

Maybe I wasn’t ready to be a champion? 

Maybe I was out of my depth? 

Rhea should be in this match not me. 

Me? Y/W/N? Was I really cut out to be a champion? 

I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket as I continued running. I tried looking at my smart watch as I ran, though it was tricky to focus on a smaller screen. 

I could see a couple messages from Finn stating the food was ready, one from Damian also telling me the food was ready, one from Dom telling me he was going to eat my hot dog if I didn’t hurry up and one from Rhea telling me she wasn’t going to let Dom touch my food. 

Honestly this lot, I love them so much. 

Turning into our street I could see our house gate entrance just up the hill, with a little spring in my step I pushed on feeling like I was picking up speed. I felt energized, I felt incredible, maybe I could do this after all! 

With the gate just in reach and the sweet smokey smell of the BBQ lingering in the air I put my head down to push those least few feet… 

But within a split second I felt something behind me. 

The music cut out as my headphones were launched to the floor and my arms locked in tight by a strength I hadn’t ever had to match. Kicking my legs out I felt them rise off the floor and before I could even fathom the mental capacity to make a sound the feeling of sticky back plastic tape suckered its way in across my lips. My eyes pooled up as the bag went over my head and my vision became darkness. A hard and cold metal floor was met with my body weight as I was hurled inside, my heart beating out of my chest the fear became all too real as I felt the ground under move away at speed. 

A hot breath came down my neck, raising every last hair on my skin to react. The voice was muffled, as if speaking through a mask. 

“You did this Y/N…” 

“You did this… and now you cannot handle the monster you created.” 

The silence in between each word was deafening, but it was the next voice that bought the fear of God into my soul. 

“ Told you I’d find you...miss me?” 

TO BE CONTINUED

[writers-potion]

How to raise animals and plants?

Hmmmm I've never had a pet and I've basically killed every plant that has ever set foot in my life?? Should ask a gardening blog -

Okay just joking, I can adress that question in two ways:

"raising" animals and plant like how you'd raise a demon

raising magical/fiction animals and plants

Summoning Animals and Plants

I don't imagine raising animals and plants being too different from summoning anything magically. It could be as simple as:

Setting up a magic system that allows magic practitioners to conjure plants and animals out of thin air

A pentagon-and-candle style ritual that would summon animals/plants in the middle once the right spells have been executed.

A magical instrument (like a horn, flute) that would call out to animals and plants nearby to you

Some ideas for summoning spells/rituals:

You need to call the animal/plant's "true name" to get their attention.

Once summoned, you are stuck with them for life.

You can summon powerful animals/plants, but you'll need to share you "life force" with them, eating into you own lifespan.

You can only summon the animal when you have a piece of their body - like a tooth, feather, or droplets of saliva.

When you summon a young animal, it will imeediately consider you to be their "mother". Good luck raising them.

Humans and animal/plant have a contractual relationship where a mother would send their young to a human to be trained after a certain age.

Plants cannot be uprooted from the exact locations they've been raised. Even if it's your bed or toliet.

Nurturing Fantasy Animals and Plants

There are a few ways in which raising fantasy pets can be different:

What they eat: metal? human blood? a horribly large amount of paper? Would it be troublesome for the owner to feed them?

Their size: The fantasy animal may switch from one form to another, with drastic difference in size. Or they can be so small/ so large that it's hard to maintain them.

Level of intelligence: either very low or very high would be interesting

Capacity for language:/communication Give them an interesting way to communicate. Perhaps

Lifespan: would they live longer than you? Perhaps for centuries?

Capacity for empathy: do they understand emotion? would they snuggle up to comfort you during long, cold nights?

Mode of regeneration: how do they reproduce? Do their younglings look different from their adult form?

For plants, especially:

How they move around/do they move at all. Maybe you'll have to stuff them in a handbag and carry it around?

Carnivorous?

Can you define whether they are male/female?

Hope this helps! :) Happy writing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! Also, join my Tumblr writing community for some more fun.

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

[mortimermcmirestinks]

a complete list

so we got the following already:

AFAB = assigned female at birth

AMAB = samesies but for the bros

ACAB = fuck them pigs

AHAB = guy who wants to fuck and/or kill a sperm whale

so I'm gonna give you the other 22. ready? let's go

AAAB: the muuuscle in your miiidseeection

ABAB: 🔥🔥swedish band typo🔥🔥

ACAB: fuck them pigs

ADAB: world's most rad dance move

AEAB: assigned evil at birth

AFAB: doctor said you were a dame right when you slunk out the pusspuss

AGAB: what the doctor said you was when you slopped on outta the verjubit

AHAB: from hell's heart I tap that cetacean or whatever I never read it

AIAB: all investigators are bisexual

AJAB: a friendly poke

AKAB: all kops are bastardz

ALAB: like asexual but for science experiments instead of sexual attraction. short for "alaboratory"

AMAB: doctor said you were a bloke the second you shot out of the ol' utero cannon

ANAB: someone very sneakily trying to name their D&D character after a banana. don't let them get away with it

AOAB: desperately trying to remember the official Maori name for New Zealand but I'm so so bad at spelling

APAB: assigned pussy magnet at birth

AQAB: the guy from the new GAY version of Moby Dick. this version's called Moby Pronouns. the woke agenda has gone too far!!!!!

ARAB: an ethnic group mainly inhabiting the ARAB world in West Asia and North Africa. A significant ARAB diaspora is present in various parts of the world. Arabs have been in the Fertile Crescent for thousands of years. In the 9th century BCE, the As

ASAB: ahh!! stinkyyy!!! aww, baby

ATAB: the thing you start at a bar when you don't want to pay up right away. ALTERNATE JOKE: the thing you hit to go to the next cell in Excel

AUAB: sound a turtle makes when it's ramming ham

AVAB: only known word to be a perfect anagram of both "balaclava" AND "baklava"

AWAB: assigned weeb at boston

AXAB: amnestic XK-class anomalous being

AYAB: alla youse are bullshit

AZAB: mystery option. nobody knows what this one is. if you know what this one is, send your knowledge to the Pentagon and they will send you a shiny American penny.

glad to help out!! just playing my small role in the queer community. fuck cops also

[birdofmay]

I just saw one of those "autism isn't linear, it's a spectrum" posts again and one picture was that how much the traits are pronounced could look like this:

[ID: two golden circles filled with the spectral colours. There are five white dots in each circle, each for one of the five categories: "sensory", "language", "executive function", "motor skills", and "perception". One dot is connected with its neighbouring dot by a black line, making it a simple polygon. In the first circle, it's almost a triangle, in the second circle it's a pentagon. Unfortunately my maths isn't good enough to tell you the name of the pentagon, but the bottom and the right side appear to be of equal length. /end ID]

And yeah, exactly, to use the outdated terms "high functioning" and "low functioning" - this individual here would be considered high functioning. Some traits are very pronounced and in fact very disabling. That's why "high functioning" dismisses the struggles of those autistics.

But they are considered high functioning because there are many traits that aren't that pronounced.

To illustrate that, this here would be someone considered low functioning:

[ID: The circle from above, but now there's a black line subsequently drawn within the circle, almost bordering the golden line. There are no white dots, but just imagine that the dots are on the outer edges, meaning that the traits are very pronounced. /end ID]

And you do see the difference, right? Every trait is very pronounced, very disabling, there's nothing that's not on the outer edges.

Sure, low functioning doesn't make sense when it's applied casually to every autistic with intellectual disability, or when it's applied to everyone who has some traits that aren't very pronounced - and unfortunately that was the case way too often.

But I just wanted to illustrate "severity" to you.

This is why I was diagnosed with "severe autism", because none of my traits are "weak" enough to compensate for the pronounced traits.

I don't like functioning labels either, I especially think that high functioning is very harmful if it's applied to an individual by others because it ignores that many of those autistics still have needs that need to be met and still struggle and (often) still in fact are disabled.

But you do see the difference, right?

My language skills got better over time (as you can read), but I still can't speak. My motor skills got better over time, but I still need people to help me with BADLs. My perception got better recently - I now sometimes hear when people call my name. But everything else? My perception is still shit.

That's the difference. That's why "high functioning" dismisses struggles but at the same time definitely is different from people diagnosed with severe autism. You can't even compare your bad days with our good days. Our life is completely different because we don't have those "weak traits" in the circle that you have.

Right.

And we definitely need to talk about the "neither nor" category of medium functioning and medium support needs, but that's for another day. This autism acceptance month maybe 😁

[melhindips]

Day 353

Lebanon:

‼️ Biggest Israeli bombings of Lebanon since 1980s massacre 492 people incl. 35+ kids & injure 1,645+ in south & east Lebanon today. Israel prepares for “next phases” possibly ground invasion

🇱🇧 Hezbollah attacks IOF bases, fires 180+ rockets at Haifa, Tel Aviv & West Bank colonies, causing casualties & striking Iron Dome facility

📳 80,000+ Israeli “psychological warfare” evacuation calls to residents as Israel demands depopulation of Bekaa Valley

🏫 All Lebanon schools shut, impacting 1.5 mil students

🔻 Hamas commander Hussein al-Nader killed by strike on Lebanon

🇺🇸 Biden-Harris admin’s Pentagon backs Israeli “right to defend itself”, prepares to send troops to Middle East in addition to 40k+ stationed

Palestine:

‼️ Israeli cabinet considers plan to fully ethnically cleanse north Gaza, make closed military zone

🇵🇸 IOF attacks on Gaza kill 24+ today

🚜 Israel demolishes same Palestinian Bedouin village in Naqab Desert for 230th time

🇵🇸 Deir al-Balah (central): IOF strike on home kills mom & 4 kids. 2 people killed, several injured in IOF bombing of vehicle

🇵🇸 South: IOF drone kills a Palestinian, wounds dozens in Khuza’a. Bombing of Khan Younis family home kills 4

(🗳️ Vote in the above poll + let us know what you want from us on Lebanon)

[oddballwriter]

The Second

Summary: After going on an unplanned adventure with your best friend and crush, his host, and his host's wife to stop the end of the world, and ending up in an accidental love triangle... square...whatever shape it is, you go back to your hometown to clear your mind. It's a great success for you, helping you reconnect with your childhood friend and even bring him back to continue the fun and show him your life in London. But unbeknownst to you, it seems like it might just cause a rift that is born on one side of the triangle.

Warnings: Love triangle and unrequited feelings. The reader is referred to using she/her. Angst, it's soft but it's there. Third-wheeling. I can't think of anything else but I feel like there's more, if there is just tell me. 

Author’s Snip: This is sort of a pilot for a series idea that I have that involves all kinds of love shape situations, rivalry, and dragging friends into all kinds of avatar shenanigans on accident. So if you guys like this, let me know so that I can prep and have it ready for writing and planning.

Notes: This is not proofread before posting, if there are errors blame Grammarly for not catching it. I might fix them later.  

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 2,892

Tag List: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

What an adventure you just went on. It all feels so unreal when you even try and think about it. Even as you stare up at the ceiling above your bed you find it hard to really digest fully.

Your good friend Steven turned out to be an alter for a person with DID who's named Marc Spector, whom you had not met, ever, throughout you and Steven's close friendship. In which Marc is the avatar and fist of justice for the Egyptian god Khonshu and was living his life while Steven was not fronting, unbeknownst to Steven, and has been playing a game of keep-away with a cult and their leader for a scarab. And you ended up finding all that out when some members of the cult kidnapped you to intimidate Steven and Marc. By the way, Marc is married and has been married, to a woman named Layla. And so you had to go on this whole adventure with all three of them to stop the end of the world, or something, nearly dying on several occasions, and now it's done apparently. Crisis averted. Also, there is a fucking third one.

You're sure that if you told someone outside of your journal and your new group of friends about this, then you would be thrown into a psychiatric hospital in record time.

And that isn't even mentioning all the complicated feelings you're having right now about the love triangle, that only you are aware of. Because of course, you're in a love triangle that the two other people have no idea exists. It's complicated. It was a little complicated at the start, and now it's so much more complicated because now there's another person involved.

Scratch that, four people involved. This is a love square.

Fuck it, now that Jake's here it might actually be a love pentagon now!

Either way, it all has to do with your feelings towards Steven. You had developed them pretty early on in your friendship with Steven because you just so happened to fall into your type. Dork, sweet, funny, and polite guys were your weakness. You tried to fight them off, not wanting to ruin the friendship that you honestly valued with Steven. But he just had this aura and energy that had your heart like a moth to a flame. Some might call it a slow burn. You'd say that it all was fast. But the warmth went to heat that got painful when you found out about Marc and Layla, and thus Steven and Layla.

You're not mad at Layla. Of course not! Why would you? She was there first, technically. It feels bad to say that. Both because you'd have to try and snuff out the feelings that you have, but also because it sounds wrong. It sounds like Steven's an object to be won instead of a person with his own thoughts and feelings. And you never once saw him like that. He was Steven. Nice, sweet, funny Steven.

You knew you needed to move on, even if it hurt. You know you don't have the guts and nerve to be 'the other person' even if you got the chance to be. It would be disrespectful to Layla, and Layla's a great woman. You settle on going back home, to your hometown, to see family and friends in hopes that it'll distract you, maybe even help you get over it if you're lucky. You call up your family who gladly accept the idea and will set up the room that you'll stay in by the time you get there. With that, you pack your bags, get ready for the trip, and head off.

You don't tell Steven that you're leaving to anywhere at first until you're just about to leave, figuring that if he tries to visit you and you're not there he'll assume someone else has kidnapped you and panic. You just send him a simple "As a heads up I'll be out of town for a while. I need a break.", at some point in your trip heading towards your hometown he texts you back with a single "Okay. Sounds nice.".

As it turns out, going around old loved ones really does help your blues. Matter of fact it seems like everyone from your life here heard the news that you'd be spending a few weeks in town and all got together to see you. Your uncle and dad actually threw a little family cookout so that everyone can come say hi to you.

Everyone had questions for you. What's London like? What have you been doing? How's life going over there?

Of course, you can't tell them about all the recent events and you also don't want to ruin your good mood by talking about Steven like you probably would have if this were a trip not spawned from him, in a sense. Overall, everyone's just happy you're back regardless.

You meet a really old face amidst the crowd of family and friends who've assembled. Samson. Sammy. God, you'd know his face anywhere and you know he'd know yours too. You and Sammy have been best friends since diapers. Your moms were friends. Apparently, the story goes that your mom and dad were at the courthouse waiting in line to sign the marriage papers and so were Sammy's mom and dad. Your mothers started talking and it turns out they have a lot in common. By the time both parties left the courthouse, they were in each other's weddings, to which they then found out that they both would be moving into the same area to settle down. Your moms swear that you and Sammy being close in age was just a coincidence but you always joked that it wasn't.

Sammy is hard to put into words. How do you describe the person who's been your best friend since both of you were coloring with crayons and all the way to high school graduations and beyond? The number one person you would talk to about things outside of your parents and through all of the other friends you've both had throughout your lives, the one that has always been the same. Sammy is just Sammy to you, in the most sincere way possible.

After seeing each other at the cookout you catch up on just about everything. What you've been up to, any life milestones you've gotten to while apart. You tell him about London and he tells you about his life here in town. Sammy's gotten up to a few things, had a few girlfriends, and apparently, he's developed his own business. Turns out he's a handyman and locksmith now and makes great money. Gets to make his own hours, so he says. Sammy teases you a bit and asks if you've been collecting British boyfriends. You know it's just a tease but it plucks at the still tender parts of your heart a little. You brush it off and say no.

"No?" Sammy questions, "Come on. Someone like you over there? You're kidding me. You've got to have some guys waiting like a dog for you to come back." he says. You decide to play along in the banter.

"Maybe I do. What of it, Sam-I-Am." you shrug, pretending like he's trying to compete and also pulling out old childhood nicknames. Sammy cringes and the nickname, "Oof, not the Sam-I-Am from kindergarten. You know only my dad called me that until you said it in class. Then everyone started calling me that till fifth grade." Sammy laughs. "Not you doing your shitty British accents when I said I had a thing for British boys back in seventh grade." you reference and make a call back of your own. "It made you laugh and that was my goal." Sammy playfully defended.

For a good half of your stay, Sammy was there, like always, and you would be talking about the old days. Referencing various moments and laughing or cringing together. It felt so nostalgic and good to just feel that bond again, have someone who knows all your little inside jokes and references because they were there when it was formed, and you both didn't want it to stop.

So when the day that you were to go back to London you threw out the idea that Sammy come back with you and continue the fun there. Show him what you've been doing and show him the little life you've created there.

Even though you live in a one-bedroom apartment you managed to accommodate your guest pretty well. You always knew that the pull-out bed extension of your couch that you bought second-hand would have a use someday. You two settled on rules and bases, along with where various things are in case they're needed.

After that, it was just more talking that made the time go by so fast and other things seem so minuscule. You hadn't really paid attention to the fact that you had a brief text conversation with Steven when you got back basically just telling him that you were back and what you're up to right now. It wasn't until he texted you something that sort of snapped you out of it.

You: I'm not really doing anything but my friend came back with me and will be here for a bit.

Steven: Oh that's nice

Steven: Can I meet them maybe?

You weren't sure how long you spent looking at that message, but it was long enough that Sammy noticed. "Something wrong?" he asks. "No," you reply, "Just one of my friends. He says he wants to meet you... if you're okay with that," you explain but hesitate slightly at the end, not really liking the sound of having Steven over right now after being able to get him off your mind. "Sure! I'd love to meet one of your friends here." Sammy responds, "If that's alright with you of course." he adds.

You take a second to weigh it out in your mind. On one hand, having the guy that you have feelings for over after you went on a whole vacation partially because he doesn't feel that way towards you doesn't sound like the best idea. But maybe having Sammy here will reduce that feeling of awkwardness since it can just be having your friends meet each other.

Taking the gamble, you tell Steven that he's good to come over.

The next few minutes are spent continuing to talk to Sammy, making jokes and having banter. When you hear the knock at your door you and a text from Steven that announces that he's arrived. You get up from the couch and make your way to the door, unlocking it and opening it up. And there he is, smiling at you and giving you his usual polite little "hello". You greet him back before stepping out of the way so that he can come in.

Sammy gets up from his seat on the couch and comes to shake Steven's hand. You see Steven hesitate briefly and sort of freeze up before taking the hand shake. You step in between them.

"Steven, this is my childhood friend, Samson. Samson, this is my friend Steven." you introduce them to each other and gesture to them respectively. "Nice to meet you!" Sammy comments. "Likewise," Steven responds.

You all take a seat, you and Sammy back on the couch while Steven takes a chair from your little dining table set. Sammy and Steven have some good small talk back and forth, talking the usual stuff when you meet new people. You can see Steven being a little fidgety, picking at his sweater sleeve, nodding along but having a small crease between his brows. All things that he does when he's nervous or concerned with something, you take it as Steven being shy about meeting and talking to new people like he usually is. You take it upon yourself to sort of help him by bringing up subjects that you know he's good at talking about.

"Steven loves Ancient Egypt and mythos. He knows pretty much everything," you mention. Sammy raises his brows in interest, "Really?" he questions. "Oh yeah," Steven confirms, "I would have made a bloody good tour guide if my superior wasn't out to get me." Steven remarks. You see Sammy hold back a laugh in the corner of your vision, you turn to him and light-heartedly scold him with a "Stop it.". Sammy looks towards you, his smile growing to a shit-eating grin. "Stop it," you repeat, "Behave. I told you not to laugh," you say as you struggle to keep your own laughter in. "He said the thing." Sammy squeaks out before letting a few laughs leave him. You lean in and bap him on the shoulder playfully, "Stop," you warn as you give him a few baps.

Steven lets out a small laugh that only you can tell is his fake trying-to-pretend-I-get-it laugh. "I'm sorry, Steven." you apologize, "Not even 24 hours in and he doesn't know how to act," you say as you look back to Sammy and give him a playful shake. "I'm sorry." Sammy says to Steven, "There's an inside joke to it I swear." he says.

"What's the joke?" Steven inquires. Your face drops, knowing what Sammy is going to say. "Don't you dare," you warn Sammy as you try to cover his mouth, but Sammy already knew that you are going to stop him and is ready to block your hand. You both spend a few seconds lightly wrestling as you try to cover his mouth and he blocks you in some way. "It has something to do with her-" Sammy says before you interrupt him with a "No!" in objection, "British boyfriend!" Sammy announces. "I don't have a British boyfriend!" you object through laughs as you hit him with a couch pillow. You both spend a few moments laughing. When you finally calm down you find Steven looking at the two of you like you've grown and extra head.

You sigh and look to Sammy, "Why don't you explain 'British boyfriend' to him since you want to talk about it so much?". "Okay, okay," Sammy submits. "This one," Sammy says pointing at you, "Had a thing for this one kid who was visiting family for the summer in our home neighborhood back in seventh grade, or seventh year, whatever it's called here. And so we have this joke that he was her British boyfriend. And I used to do a really bad accent to make her laugh and get all embarrassed.", Sammy looks at you and reassures, "I'm not going to do it, don't worry.".

The conversation goes on but you and Sammy can't help but say more jokes that you then need to explain to Steven, which leads to other stories and laughing fits between the two of you. You try to do the same with Steven in case he references something between the two of you, but you find that Steven just seems to sit there and listen, nodding along. You want to try and prompt something but at some point, you're able to sense this weird tension in the air whenever you do.

You aren't too sure what to do. You don't want to shoo Steven out since you've always said that Steven was always welcomed at your place, but the atmosphere is strange between the two of you for some reason. It isn't until Sammy gives something that would get the job done.

"You know, it's really nice to meet you, Steven. But I think the traveling is starting to catch up with me." Sammy says as he stretches his arms out. "Oh, no worry. I was actually thinking of getting out of your hair. You know..." Steven responds, "Since you guys probably had to get out early to get back here." he clarifies. Steven was already getting up to leave by the time he even started talking.

Sammy and you get up also, and you go in for the usual goodbye hug that you and Steven do when parting ways, Sammy shakes Steven's hand again and says his goodbyes.

Once Steven leaves, you and Sammy set up the couch so that Sammy can nap for a bit. You head to your room so that you can take one for yourself and reflect on the meeting. You still have a bit of that feeling of weird tension but figure that maybe Steven wasn't prepared for all the energy that you and Sammy created and all the inside jokes. Maybe a second get-together could help with that. After all, it might be great to have two best friends also be best friends with each other.

Meanwhile, Steven walks back, sitting in his thoughts quietly as he walks until Marc appears in a reflection along the walk. "What's with the long face?" Marc asks. Steven glances at Marc for a moment, "Nothing, it's just that..." Steven opens up with, "I felt like a bit of a third wheel over there." he admits. Marc shrugs, "Well it is her friend from her hometown, isn't it? I'm sure they'd be all chatty with each other.".

"Yeah, I suppose so." Steven replies, "It just felt a bit... off." Steven remarks.

[amagi2000]

Todd: Hello. Operator. Listen to me -- I can’t speak very loud. This is an emergency. I’m a passenger on a United flight to San Francisco. We have a situation here. Our plane has been hijacked. Can you understand me?

Lisa: (exhaling a deep breath to herself) I understand. Can the hijackers see you talking on the phone?

Todd: No.

Lisa: Can you tell me how many hijackers are on the plane?

Todd: There are three that we know of.

Lisa: Can you see any weapons? What kind of weapons do they have?

Todd: Yes. They don’t have guns. They have knives – they took over the plane with knives.

Lisa: Do you mean -- like steak knives?

Todd: No, these are razor knives -- like box cutters.

Lisa: Can you tell what country these people are from?

Todd: No -- I don’t know. They sound like they’re from the mid-east.

Lisa: Have they said what they want?

Todd: Someone announced from the cockpit that there was a bomb on board. He said he was the captain and to stay in our seats and stay quiet.

He said that they were meeting these men’s demands and returning to the airport. It was very broken English, and...I’m telling you...it sounded fake!

Lisa: Ok sir, please give me your name.

Todd: My name is Todd Beamer.

Lisa: Ok Todd, my name is Lisa. Do you know your flight number? If you can’t remember, it’s on your ticket.

Todd: It’s United Flight 93.

Lisa: Now Todd, can you try to tell me exactly what happened?

Todd: Two of the hijackers were sitting in first class near the cockpit. A third one was sitting near the back of the coach section. The two up front got into the cockpit somehow; there was shouting. The third hijacker said he had a bomb. It looks like a bomb. He’s got it tied to his waist with a red belt of some kind.

Lisa: So is the door to the cockpit open?

Todd: No, the hijackers shut it behind them.

Lisa: Has anyone been injured?

Todd: Yes, they…they killed one passenger sitting in first class. There’s been lots of shouting. We don’t know if the pilots are dead or alive. A flight attendant told me that the pilot and copilot had been forced from the cockpit and may have been wounded.

Lisa: Where is the 3rd hijacker now Todd?

Todd: He’s near the back of the plane. They forced most of the passengers into first class. There are fourteen of us here in the back. Five are flight attendants. He hasn’t noticed that I slipped into this pantry to get the phone. The guy with the bomb ordered us to sit on the floor in the rear of the plane...oh Jesus...HELP!

Lisa: Todd, are you ok? Tell me what’s happening!

Todd: Hello. We’re going down. I think we’re going to crash. Wait – wait a minute. No, we’re leveling off...we’re ok. I think we may be turning around. That’s it – we changed directions. Do you hear me? We’re flying east again.

Lisa: Ok Todd, what’s going on with the other passengers?

Todd: Everyone is really scared. A few passengers with cell phones have made calls to relatives. A guy, Jeremy, was talking to his wife just before the hijacking started. She told him that hijackers had crashed two planes into the World Trade Center. Lisa is that true??

Lisa: Todd, I have to tell you the truth. It’s very bad. The World Trade Center is gone. Both of the towers have been destroyed.

Todd: Oh God -- help us!

Lisa: A third plane was taken over by terrorists. It crashed into the Pentagon in Washington DC. Our country is under attack, and I’m afraid that your plane may be part of their plan.

Todd: Oh dear God. Dear God... Lisa, will you do something for me?

Lisa: I’ll try if I can. Yes.

Todd: I want you to call my wife and my kids for me and tell them what’s happened. Promise me you’ll call..

Lisa: I promise – I’ll call.

Todd: Our home number is XXX-XXX-1073. You have the same name as my wife. Lisa. We’ve been married for 10 years. She’s pregnant with our 3rd child. Tell her that I love her (choking up) I’ll always love her..(clearing throat) We have two boys. David, he’s 3 and Andrew, he’s 1. Tell them (choking) tell them that their daddy loves them and that he is so proud of them. (clearing throat again) Our baby is due January 12th. I saw an ultra sound. It was great. We still don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy ... ... ... Lisa?

Lisa: (barely able to speak) I’ll tell them, I promise Todd.

Todd: I’m going back to the group -- if I can get back I will...

Lisa: Todd, leave this line open...are you still there?

Lisa: (dials the phone) Hello, FBI, my name is Lisa Jefferson, I’m a telephone supervisor for GTE. I need to report a terrorist hijacking of a United Airlines Flight 93...Yes I’ll hold.

Goodwin: Hello, this is Agent Goodwin. I understand you have a hijacking situation?

Lisa: Yes sir, I’ve been talking with a passenger, a Todd Beamer, on Flight 93 who managed to get to an air phone unnoticed.

Goodwin: Where did this flight originate, and what was its destination?

Lisa: The flight left Newark New Jersey at 8 A.M. departing for San Francisco. The hijackers took over the plane shortly after takeoff, and several minutes later the plane changed course -- it is now flying east.

Goodwin: Ms. Jefferson, I need to talk to someone aboard that plane. Can you get me thru to the planes phone?

Lisa: I still have that line open sir, I can patch you through on a conference call. Hold a mo...

Todd: Hello Lisa, Lisa are you there?

Lisa: Yes, I’m here. Todd, I made a call to the FBI, Agent Goodwin is on the line and will be talking to you as well.

Todd: The others all know that this isn’t your normal hijacking. Jeremy called his wife again on his cell phone. She told him more about the World Trade Center and all.

Goodwin: Hello Todd. This is Agent Goodwin with the FBI. We have been monitoring your flight. Your plane is on a course for Washington, DC. These terrorists sent two planes into the World Trade Center and one plane into the Pentagon. Our best guess is that they plan to fly your plane into either the White House or the United States Capital Building.

Todd: I understand. Hold on...I’ll...I’ll be back..

Lisa: Mr. Goodwin, how much time do they have before they get to Washington?

Goodwin: Not long ma’am. They changed course over Cleveland; they’re approaching Pittsburgh now. Washington may be twenty minutes away.

Todd: (breathing a little heavier) The plane seems to be changing directions just a little. It’s getting pretty rough up here. The plane is flying real erratic. We’re not going to make it out of here. Listen to me. I want you to hear this. I have talked with the others -- we have decided we would not be pawns in these hijackers suicidal plot.

Lisa: Todd, what are you going to do?

Todd: We’ve hatched a plan. Four of us are going to rush the hijacker with the bomb. After we take him out, we’ll break into the cockpit. A stewardess is getting some boiling water to throw on the hijackers at the controls. We’ll get them and we’ll take them out. Lisa, will you do one last thing for me?

Lisa: Yes. What is it?

Todd: Would you pray with me?

They pray

Todd: (softer) God help me...Jesus help me...(clears throat and louder)

Todd: Are you guys ready?

Todd Morgan Beamer: Let’s Roll...

(H/T: Salena Zito)

[suite-purgatory-a-hh-what-if]

The Overlords in my rewrite

For the first lore dump of my AU is the Overlords!!! :D

So I will be going through a few details in this AU, Discussing a short overview of what the Overlords are, how many are there (as of season 1/ maybe season 2), what are some up and upcoming overlords, what areas they control and what are their respected… well overlord titles.

What Are Overlords?

Simply put, in hell the Overlords are Powerful sinner demons in hell/Pride ring, who have managed to control or grow their Powers/abilities and can make contracts to sinners when their power has been at their absolute peak. They also run districts/territories in Pentagram City That they claim by going into brawls and turf battles after every extermination to get more open land for themselves and to spread their businesses.

How many are there?

There used to be over 500 overlords over the past centuries but most of them have either:

A: died due to being stuck outside for extermination day and killed by an exorcist.

B: Killed with Angelic Weapon Slivers by either Sinners/Hellborn/Others.

C: Or had their Souls being drained(A trait that only Alastor can do)

How can you tell when someone is a overlord?

One simple detail to tell if someone is an overlord is with their sclera, Red sclera is one hell of a tale-tell sign that someone is an overlord some examples of some overlords with the sclera:

However, there are a couple of overlords with some exceptions to these rules (Zelestial, who is the main head of hell archival history, overwatches the current overlords and has to report to Lucifer around 4-12 times a year about their duties to make sure they're staying in line and oversees their districts. And Rosie a Cannibal overlord who owns a small county like town in Pentagram City called Cannibal District)

((No pictures of these two overlords yet.))

How many are there in total(As of the story's current set)?

Simply put there's a total current of 13 overlords(with only two half overlords those being Carmilla's adopted daughters) While mentioned earlier there were hundreds in the past but as of now most sinners in hell(or well those who have their souls not in a contract) aren’t patient enough to develop their powers to try and become overlords and there are those who are too afraid to defeat an overlord to even try.

As of now here a small list of the current amount of overlords:

Zelestial: The overlord who is also a right-hand sinner demon of Lucifer

Carmilla Carmine: The overlord of Ironworks, she created and distributes iron all over Pride and the other rings, she also hosts a bi-yearly underground weapons auction event that tends to sell weapons that cannot just kill sinners but also higher-ranked demons, although Zelestial tends to keep those meetings out of his reports…

VeeCorp: VeeCorp is a conglomerate of three overlords who have Vs in their names and they tend to run the media of Pride

Vox: He is the overlord of television, he runs at least 80% of all television channels and sells his tech products also used to have some sort of beef with another overlord in the past by the name of Alastor.

Valentino: He well, the overlord of pornography in the pride district, runs all types of pornography films and runs a few successful brothels in Pentagon City; as of right now he is very furious over the actions of a certain star in his contracts, one who goes by the name of Angel dust.

Lastly Velvette: Is the Social Media overlord, She is what Vox and Val consider the backbone of the trio itself; she posts pictures on social media, participates in trends, and participates in interviews hosted by Voxnews, and she is even working on her cosmetic brand, while people may think shes the weakest due to her powers not being all that stronger compared to her two male companions… it's her brain that is her true power.

Lastly as of now there Alastor: The radio demon, is considered to be one of the most deadly overlords due to going on a draining spree 8 decades ago draining and surpassing many overlords and becoming more powerful(he is only 4th strongest He’s behind in order Zelestial, Carmilla Carmine, and Vox) he also continues to host a radio show where he use to broadcast screams of all kinds of victims of his in the past. Lately, he's been MIA in the past 7 years with people thinking he had been either killed by Vox, or an extermination angel but now he's back and working for Lucifers wacky princess daughter

Wannabe Overlords:

Wannabe overlords are a simple definition they are sinner who are slowly growing their powers but are not yet overlords; and example of one of these is a spunky died around the 80’s explosive maianc who goes by the name Cherri Bomb, wannabe overlods tend to have a mix of their normal sclera(which is either yellow, green or lilac) being faded away with the red coming in. (example shown with cherri bomb) As for the current number their are many wannabes but an estimate as of now is around 50-100

(Right here is an example of what your eye would kinda look like if your a wannabe overlord)

What would happen if someone were to overpower/kill an Overlord?

If you were successful in Killing an Overlord; then you simply get the Overlord's area and of course all the resources they have(like Money for example). Soul contracts wouldn't be one of them; If an overlord were to die their soul contracts would be set free.

What areas do some of these overlords run:

Nearly every single overlord tends to run a certain area of pentagram,(The map here will show only a few select areas where overlords live and where their work is located ((map will be updated in the future)))

(Some more info will be updated In The future.

[delusional-fantasising]

Kai Anderson headcannons (Random stuff on the top of my mind)

Sfw

- Got a pet dog for therapy reasons after his parents died

- Stuck a few marbles in his nose as a kid

- I wholeheartingly believe that Kai has detached himself from reality completely like a disconnected

- He hated when he shaved his hair and regretted it

-He internally folds when someone or anyone cooks for him because he can't cook for the life of him. Like it's either burnt af or undercooked

- He owns way too many books about cults and I feel like he craved it as a intrusive thought but went through with it after his parent's death

- Major lactose intolerant like he blows up the toilet like the fourth of July if he forgets to take Lactaid pills and he eats just like a sliver of cheese

- Despite being lactose intolerant he eats a shit ton of dairy

- He doesn't like labels because all his life of the torment of his father calling him names causing him to resent the name calling if its direct towards him

- He found out he liked men by accident when he was in his early years in the military when he saw one of his close comrades in the communal showers

Nsfw

- Has no issues jerking off in front of anyone and everyone, takes pride in it as well if someone watches. I just think he likes to be watched and doted over

- Refuses to allow anyone to stick anything near his ass

- When he's super angry it translates into his sex drive and pace, like its vicious hate sex unless he's jealous and will make sure no one can think of anyone besides him

- Likes getting sharpies and writing shit on people's body when he's pissed as a way to mark them without actually afflicting pain or doing something physical

- Secretly wants to be a bottom but he thinks that if he does he isn't in charge at all and he hates that thought of that

- Also has a fantasy when he became president he would want to get a blow job in the center of the Pentagon specifically. Doesn't know who to do it with but wants that to happen so badly

- He wants to try a certain type of swing once in his lifetime

[dotcie]

— BAD DOG. [2]

》 PAIRING: simon 'ghost' riley x f!oc 》 NOTES: taglist is open! please let me know if you want to be added or removed. if you don't care about my OC, you can skip her backstory on ao3. 》 WARNINGS: 18+ | MDNI | hair pulling 》 CHAPTER: 3.9k | 2/? [masterlist] | AO3

Before she met Laswell, Jane did media monitoring for the DISA. 

It paid well for a job straight out of undergrad. Had reasonable hours, pleasant enough colleagues. She commuted the twenty minutes from her shitty apartment in Kingman Park to the Pentagon—arrived at seven forty-five with a cream cheese bagel and a skim milk latte. Wrote reports, emails, and memos. Hours and hours of political speeches, barking rifles, and screaming civilians ingrained in her brain. 

''Like a fucked up collage of the human greed for oil and retribution,'' she once called it over an almost empty espresso martini. Condensation pearled off the glass's rim and pooled on the table of an overpriced speakeasy bar, so unimpressive it was not worth remembering its name. Her questionable Tinder date had been late, his small-talk rather boring; No, she didn't like her job. Who ever did? But rent was expensive in DC, and Jane had student loans, expensive taste, and maybe eight hundred dollars in her checking account. 

She covered newsstreams out of Egypt, Lebanon, and Jordan. Iraq, and Yemen. Algeria. Libya.

Ate lunch at her desk—usually a salad and a protein bar, four busy screens in front of her. 

Had meetings with Cairo, Beirut, Amman, Baghdad, Sana'a, Algiers, and Tripoli.

She joined the white-collar crowd on their evening run around the Mall after work. From the Capitol steps to the Lincoln Memorial, around the reflecting pool. Two times, sometimes three. Always depending on the restlessness that hummed in her bones and tingled in her fingertips. 

Jane shoved her damp hair up with a clip and hopped on the blue metro line afterwards; sweaty and breathless, body humming with spent energy. She stopped at Whole Foods on her way home; bought dinner-for-one and a four-pack of sugar free Redbull. Put on noise canceling headphones without listening to anything on her way home—spying into warm lit windows and other people's lives. 

She ate in bed, crouched over her Macbook, the TV always set to CNN. She practiced Arabic. Scrolled through subreddits about zero-day exploits, but never commented on them. Went to bed late, woke up early. Got up the next day and did it all over again. 

Washington is a big city, in a big country, in a big world, and nothing ever changed. Jane just sat in her gunny-covered cubicle and watched whole cities crumble to dust like sandcastles. The local newspapers only covered a watered-down version of the turmoil overseas, but the mental images were always in the back of her head—no matter how loud she turned the TV. 

It's all part of a grand plan, she told herself. Just another rung on the ladder, an essential middle-step in her career. It was comfortable and disturbing. Exciting enough, but nothing impactful.

Nothing with an edge. 

The job had a sky-high turnover; a bad impact on employees. Turns out, swallowing the documentation of invasions, and civil wars, and an endless flow of American exceptionalism was only manageable for a couple of months. Jane became miserable and angry. Tired and strung-out. When handing in her two-weeks notice without a back-up plan, her supervisor accepted the neatly printed note with tired eyes and an annoyed flick of the wrist. 

Her therapist blamed her sense of weightlessness for everything she did afterwards: the thrill-seeking, the risk-taking. All her screw-ups in pursuit of sticking her fingers in better pies. When the agency sent her to the embassy in Urzikstan, Jane canceled her rent-controlled apartment lease early and donated most of her belongings to the Habitat For Humanity in Capitol Hill. Burning the boats, she called it. 

For months, no one could get a hold of her. 

Analyst positions for counter-terrorism overseas will chew you up and spit out your bones, a friend in the IOC had warned her. Jane was up for it anyway—of course she was. She had witnessed a few horrendous things through screens in Washington, but nothing compared to the situation in Sakhra. Like most soul-crushing things in life, it all wasn't real until it was. 

The first time she experienced the ruthlessness of the real world, a local contractor whose family was killed by American soldiers blew up half a base with some DIY C4. 12 soldiers dead, 24 injured. If not for Laswell yanking her into the shadows behind a M1A2 when panic erupted, she would have been trampled to death under the burning afternoon sun. 

Instead, Jane heaved, and coughed, then sank to the dusty ground with ringing ears. Kate towered over her with a drawn P890, yelling all-too-calmly over the wailing of sirens: You have twenty seconds to get it together.

They made her take time off two years later, after a black site she was stationed at suffered another, similar attack. Jane was resentful of it, but she wanted to keep her clearance, so she left with the next supply plane and said what she needed to say to pass the psych evaluation. 

She considered moving back into her grandparents ranch in Arizona. Maybe traveling through Europe, starting a new hobby (rock climbing, pottery, crocheting); but there was no real drive or push behind it. Instead, she bled in secret. Fucked strangers on her frameless king-size mattress and worked out too much in her unfurnished apartment. She got offers; a few private-sector contracts she knew she couldn't entertain. Jane wanted to stick it out with the agency—and Laswell. Especially with Laswell. 

The first question Shepherd asked her when she stepped into his office was if she had any family; a partner, kids, siblings. Parents to take care of. The General asked bluntly, but Jane was used to force as the most efficient method to get answers. 

She had spent three years interrogating Al-Qatala members and contacts. Trading money, safety, and threats for intelligence. Sleeping through the sound of gunfire, bystanding interrogations, interpreting intelligence, and snooping in places Americans aren't supposed to. Jane had left her old life behind and dove head-first into a tunnel vision.

No. She had no one. 

When saying it out loud she almost sounded proud. 

Working for the General is different. Non-official cover work for SAD intel suits her better—scratches a certain itch, too. Like finally tasting blood after biting your tongue for years. 

Laswell has been helpful, the additional training too; but nothing ever prepared her for the void between long-term missions. When the work is done and restlessness returns in weird jet-lagged hours of the fading days. When there are no objectives to sink her teeth into. No foreign streets to roam under false identities. No predictions to be made, no strings to pull. 

She's stuck in Iceland now, attending debrief after debrief. Her target is dead, the missile prototypes returned to the lab, but that isn't enough. They want to know everything. First the higher-ups at the Headquarters, then the Senate Intelligence Committee. They want the process. The months of searching, the people involved, the rules she broke. 

She did a good job, she got what she wanted, but she is part of Shepherd's system now, and he didn't approve of her moving forward with the operation. 

Since she returned to the lab, he hadn't answered any of her calls. 

Ghost is nothing but a silhouette in the low light of the crescent moon; sitting against a weathered wall of heavy concrete, a half-burned cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Insects batter against a naked lightbulb overhead—the light orange and warm against the dark of night, casting long, unproportionate shadows over the smoking area. 

The sky hangs bruised and stormy over Vatnajökull, a million stars dotting the night. It's quarter to one, and the grounds of 102 are deadly still—so still, that the sound of a nearby metal door opening and closing shut remind him of gunshots piercing through the air. 

Years ago, he would have flinched at the sound, but there is not much left that startles Simon Riley anymore. 

Jane tips her head back in annoyance as she steps outside, cradling her phone between ear and shoulder. ''Listen—,'' she scolds into it, patting the outside of her clothes for the pack of cigarettes she bought from one of the kitchen workers yesterday. ''Louise, right? Louise, with all due respect—'' 

She takes a deep breath of restraint when she finds nothing but a crumbled straw wrapper in the pockets of her leather jacket. Sharp words spill on the other end of the line, and she squeezes her eyes shut, pinches the bridge of her nose. ''I'm not going to argue with some mid-level bureaucrat, get him on the phone— No, no, you listen! I need a black passport, don't— Fuck—'' 

Jane's grip on the iPhone loosens with the sound of a disconnected call echoing blatantly against her ear. Simon can hear her mutter a spool of curses, the sound of gravel screeching under her feet, and how all sound seizes as she pauses at the sight of him. 

The smoking area is dimly lit, but there's no mistaking the broad-shouldered figure with the cramped up skull mask looming in the corner of the building. Simon appeared in her sight so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that Jane would not be surprised if he materialized out of thin air. It would suit him; Ghost that he is.

Smoke pools out of the soldier's mouth, the balaclava pulled up to his nose; exposing a sharp chin with a shadow of stubble forming its way up a jaw set tight. He is hunched over, his elbows digging into his thighs. He doesn't look up to see that the expression on her face is one of mute surprise, or that her eyes narrow at the sight of him. 

''Thought you'd be gone already,'' she calls over, lounging near the door she slipped out of. 

''Change of plans,'' he returns easy and low, eyes glued to the book in his calloused hands. 

It's only been a few days, but his voice is as deep and as resonant as Jane remembers; it fills the air and makes her blood rush with the mental images of his fingertips digging into her skin. 

There's always a certain quietness after she's been fucked good—the world stands still for a moment, and it helps to quench the thirst, to fill the void.

Jane needs to hold something in her arms sometimes. Something unattainable and distant. Something unwise. Something like him. 

''Mind if I bum one?'' She nods to the lit cigarette between his scarred fingers, stepping closer.

For a split second, she thinks he's going to ignore her—then he dog-ears the page he was reading and abandons the book onto his lap. 

Simon looks up all casually and unfazed, shakes his head. 

''Last one,'' he says, half-lidded stare fixed on her in that particular Ghost sort-of-way. The way he always gets when you rip out the half-assed social niceties and expose the weirdo underneath. 

Jane exhales through her nose, leaning against a pole holding up the roof. The urge for frustration refuses to be ignored, so she buckles, comments: ''Of course,'' like she's taking notes on the irony of it all. 

''Stop pondering, will ya?'' Inhaling another mouthful of tar, Simon stretches out along the bench, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. The set of dog tags around his neck clink together when he scratches the underside of his chin. "No point in gettin' all antsy." 

She shoots him a cold, hard look for it—the one that makes his blood sing, makes him remember the expression in her eyes when she told him she wanted her target dead. 

''Thank you, Simon, for your unsolicited wisdom.'' 

The subtle fuck you isn't boarded in her voice, but it throbs under every word of hers. He doesn't bother scolding her for saying his name again, but the bitter taste of disapproval sure does coat his tongue. He's not foolish enough to argue with her when she's like this; all gutted and pent-up. Ready to hiss, bite, and lunge at his throat. 

The familiarity of it all stirs something up in him. For a moment, Ghost almost believes that it's sympathy, maybe—or at least a pinch of pity. A distant part of his mind remembers the dogged woman he faced when they first met; working out of a one-room shithole in a broken-down, brutalist apartment building somewhere in the Balkans. Reviewing surveillance logs, transcripts, and maps in shorts and a sports bra because the AC was utter rubbish. He recalls her hunched figure and unwashed hair as she worked out of the tiny living room—the space a mess of cables and empty microwave meals, her tech always charging. Her curtains always closed, dust dancing in the beams of light that crept their way inside.

Two days after the exfil, he barely recognized her anymore; with fresh clothes, twelve-hours of sleep, and hair neatly cut to a shoulder-length. It was like meeting a stranger, a whole different woman. He was certain, then, that the only way out for her was the same as his: leaving rotten and zipped up in a body bag.

Simon holds his half-smoked cigarette out to her, and she lets her head roll to consider the silent peace-offer. Her expression bleeds into something less angry in the face of him, and she hates that it makes him snort in response. 

Jane gives him the illusion of thinking it over before breaking away from her frozen stance and closing the distance between them. She takes the stub, and sinks onto the wooden bench next to him.

''Thanks.'' — ''Mhmh.''

Even with some distance between them, Simon towers over her. He doesn't make a sound, doesn't attempt to embarrass himself with comforting words and distracting small-talk. He's quiet—a man of few words and fewer smiles—but that's what drew her to him in the first place. There's caution behind his eyes, and his words are always cleaved off at the knee. A person weathered and hardy. A man who, just like her, has seen things most wouldn't even believe.

They both fall quiet passing the cigarette back and forth, and for a moment he thinks that the conversation has faded out completely. Simon's eyes return to the book in his lap, trying to find the spot where he left off before she interrupted him, but— 

''Do you think I went too far?'' Jane keeps her eyes forward, burying her free hand in the left pocket of her jacket. 

Simon hums in response, dark and low. ''Doesn't matter what I think,'' he says in a way that makes it clear he believes it, too.

''But you are somewhat capable of forming opinions, yeah?'' 

It coaxes a half-huff, half-laugh from him. He gets it. Logically, he gets it. Everybody is somebody's dog, hanging onto a leash; but he's military, and he much prefers to not comment on any of it. 

''You ignored authority,'' he starts, then pauses. ''Whether or not it was worth it, all y'can do now is handle the repercussions.'' 

''That's not an answer.'' Two dimples appear on either side of Jane's frown as she tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ears and leans forward. ''Forget I even—''

''I think," he interrupts calmly, but stern, ''that your self-doubt won't help you.''

Jane keeps her gaze flat, level. Perhaps if she mimics the face of apathy, Simon won't be able to see that she's hanging onto every word of his. What he says resonates; a quiet truth echoing through the air between them. The regret in her chest strikes like a bomb and for a moment, she fears the possibility of Shepherd cutting her TS/SCI clearance once and for all. She's been ignoring the thought, avoiding any evidence of worry that could shape her suspicions into something tangible, something real.

''Just thinking ahead'' she says quietly, scuffing her boot against the pavement below. "Little catastrophizing, worst-case-scenario planning." 

"Doomsday prepping?" He offers and gets a little smile for that. 

His chest tightens at the sight, an aching warmth interweaving his thoughts with sympathy. He looks away then, trying to collect himself. Seeking control, reaching for reason. Better judgment. Something else.

Jane studies his side profile for a moment, and Simon suddenly feels like she's too close, too comfortable in his presence. It's only a split second, the length of a heartbeat, but it's enough for Jane to take in the way he blinks his intrusive thoughts away. 

''Why are you still here, anyway?'' She asks in a change of tone, plucking the cigarette from his fingers.

''Taking a break,'' he drawls, words dripping slowly as molasses from his mouth. There is no further explanation offered, no words wasted on reasons or truths. Simon blinks languidly, his lips pressing together as he closes his book for good. 

''Because of Soap?'' There's an off-tone in her voice. ''I thought he is getting better already?"

Simon exhales roughly. ''No,'' he says with a lazy shrug. ''Yes.'' 

It's short and curt, but she doesn't let his vague hostility deter her. Jane just stares at him, impatience reflecting in her eyes, and he's not used to it; all the questions, the curiosity. 

''Do you know,'' he continues slowly, taking the cigarette back to keep his hands busy, ''the number of classifications and regulations I'd have to ignore to tell you shite like this?'' 

It's easier than admitting that he failed his psych evaluation for a second time in three years. 

Price is doing the paperwork for him, because they apparently want to negotiate some kind of terms for him. No rumors, no records, no further questions asked. Simon would be mad about it, if he wasn't so bloody tired. 

It's been years of regaining control and gripping bloody bathroom sinks. Endless hours of running, shooting, yelling over comms, and saving Johnny from the stupid, stupid shit he gets up to when nobody's there to keep an eye out for him. Simon is not a reckless man—at least not when he doesn't let his rage blind him—but you can't teach an old dog new tricks. 

He's not sure why he hasn't been able to admit to himself that his life has been nothing but fear, rage, vigilance, wanting, and searching, wanting, and never finding what eases the pain. 

He knows that Price goes back to a Rosewood desk with whisky and cigars in the upper right drawer, before driving home to a house and a woman that were once his. Laswell has a wife named June and a flourishing garden waiting at home. Gaz goes back to a two-bedroom flat in London, decorated by a girl he met during the siege of the U.S. embassy in Urzikstan. Simon doesn't have anywhere to be—nobody's waiting for him—so he stays. For Soap, he tells himself, and everyone who's paid to listen. 

The Scot's injuries happened under his watch, so he might as well play messenger for his moms, sisters and one-thousand nephews until he can travel back home. It's what a good Lieutenant does. It's what Price would do. 

''Alright,'' Jane says cold, flatly. ''It's none of my business anyway.'' 

She declines the last drag of the cigarette when Simon offers it to her, and he can't help but feel like he's been rude; like he just ruined something delicate. A particular flavor of guilt clings to the underside of his tongue, and he's willing to answer whatever her next question might be in order to make it up to her. 

He stubs out the cigarette, and it takes a moment or two before he realizes that his guilt is the reason she gave in so quickly in the first place.

''I'm not gonna tell ya,'' he says, prompting a smile to tug at the corners of her mouth; like she doesn't fully believe it, but is willing to play along. 

He is too exhausted to not condemn her for it, so he covers himself in heavy silence. Simon doesn't break eye contact, doesn't move—his dark glance intervenes with the amusement in her eyes, and when the quiet stretches on for too long, her eyes dart to his exposed lips shamelessly. 

''Anyone ever tell ya' to mind yer' own business, Spade?''

It coaxes a genuine laugh out of her. Simon is not sure he's ever heard her laugh before; the way the sound bubbles out of her throat, limpid and clear, and then almost turns into a snort. 

''I like you,'' she says pointedly, with purpose. 

"You're just bored.'' — ''And you aren't?" 

Simon remains silent, and the glint in her glance grows bright, pinning. Like she just learned a secret; an inside joke. 

It's unhealthy, this habit she's developed of digging her fingers in his wounds. She feels like a parasite trying to crawl under his skin, and she should probably feel far more ashamed of how much she enjoys the thrill of it. 

She has heard the stories, of course. The legends about the masked, faceless man; the perfect soldier, the silent killer. Everyone affiliated with Shepherd or Shadow Company in the slightest is aware of Ghosts' reputation, and Jane had been curious to meet the man. Dead-eyed, mass of muscle. A walking depiction of death. 

The warning signs about him are written in blood, telltale stories, and that half-lidded stare of his; Stay away, they say. Keep your distance. 

''Don't—,'' he starts with the exhaustive sort of contempt: the kind that says he is tired and bored of this tedious game. ''Don't look at me like that.''

Jane bats her eyelashes at him. ''Like what?''

 ''Like you want something from me.''

''Maybe I do—''

"You don't,'' he interrupts, tongue like a blade. ''All bark no bite, last time I fucked you.'' 

In some twisted ways, his fury excites her. The insistence on his dominance, too, and Jane laughs out loud at words that don't sting. She's practiced; chin tipped up, meeting his disapproving stare with a smirk.

''You ever let anyone kiss you, Lieutenant?''

He looks away, hisses through his teeth in frustration. ''That what you want?''

''I think,'' Jane retorts in a tone both cruel and tender, ''you want it, too.''

The hard look in his eyes lets something uncurl in her. Something satisfied, something real. 

''You do,'' she says again, and then he's on her; hand tangled in her hair, pulling her close. His grip on her scalp is not gentle, nothing about him is, and she smiles—shows teeth—at the broad display of it. 

Simon stares at her for a long moment, a frustrated hum forming at the back of his throat. She can feel his breath on her face. Almost hears the whir of the wheels turning in his head; calculating, calibrating. 

''You don't know what you're getting yourself into,'' he finally says, loosening his grip. 

''I've done worse,'' she spits out, pulling away. 

It happens somewhere between her leaning back and him not wanting her to. It happens and it's familiar, and new all at once; the way he stops her from turning away, pulls her closer by a fist of hair. He kisses her like he does everything else: a little cocky, a little mean. Their teeth clack together, and Simon kisses Jane long and searching—like he was waiting for it to happen.

Like he means it. 

》 Previous Part | Next Part 》 Masterlist.

》 Tag-list: @devcica @glitterypirateduck @queen-ilmaree @widemiffyhappy @cathnoneofyourbusiness

[zkylearnstherope]

AvGeometry [An Analysis]

Disclaimer: This is a very short Analysis for Animation vs. Geometry by Alan Becker. I am not a geometer, (according to Merriam-Webster, a person who specializes in geometry) this purely for fun.

First of all, I will NOT explain everything in the video. I will just focus on answering a few questions to which I found the answer for. I also have some conclusions at the end.

I will leave the in-depth explanations of everything to those YouTubers. Also, I have linked my sources using hyperlinks.

So, let's get into it- shall we?

Let's start with-

Which version of TSC is the main character for this one?

If you read my AvPhysics Analysis, you would realize that I named the TSC with the cowboy hat TSC_0 of Universe D.

Since the start of the AvGeometry video, I immediately realized that this is NOT the same guy from AvMath, since he didn't show signs of aggressiveness with phi Φ.

He's more curious versus the guy in AvMath who attacked Euler's Identity immediately. This is also the same guy who spawned in AvPhysics, TSC_0.

I think this MC is a TSC from a different Universe. I will call him TSC_0 of the AvG Universe.

Now you might ask yourself, why did I gave him the 0 designation?

Because the video ended with another TSC knocking at the point.

Now, you might argue, that this is not a perfect loop because there is a line below the point. While the start of the video, doesn't have that line.

You are right. Again, if you read my AvPhysics Analysis, I said that the TSCs in there are not stuck in a time loop.

It's just an infinite cycle that happens to different versions of them. Everyone spends only a short amount of time inside the singularity.

So the next TSC to arrive will not be TSC_0 but TSC_1.

How did TSC and phi Φ beat that Boss?

To start, let's define a few things. Click the hyperlinks to view my source.

Polyhedron - is any three-dimensional figure with flat faces that are polygons. They intersect at straight, linear edges. The edges themselves intersect at points called vertices.

Tetrakis Hexahedron - It is a Catalan Solid with 24 isosceles triangle faces and 14 vertices. It is the d24 die. It is also a 3-dimensional polyhedron, not 4D.

Now, first of all, the Boss is not 4D. It is two Tetrakis Hexahedrons overlapping each other and rotates at different speeds.

Platonic Solids - a convex polyhedron that is regular, in the sense of a regular polygon. These are also 3D shapes. There are Five Platonic Solids

Note that this not the original image from the website, but I rearranged the rows to highlight my points. I also added the dice names, incase you're more familiar with DnD.

In fighting the Boss, TSC and phi Φ started with lines that has 2 vertices or points. Then they slowly moved to the Platonic Solids, eventually defeating the Boss using a dodecahedron.

The Boss had 14 vertices vs the dodecahedron that had 20.

Now, I can't really say why more vertices is superior. It could be structural integrity, or the idea that the universe's topology and shape, references the shape of dodecahedron.

Or, that the golden ratio is the length from the vertex to the center of the dodecahedron, and is also the ratio of the diagonal of the pentagonal face as demonstrated in the video.

The Hyperdodecahedron and Singularity

Hyperdodecahedron aka 120-cell is the convex regular 4-polytope (four-dimensional analogue of a Platonic solid.) It is the 4-dimensional analogue of the regular dodecahedron. It has 720 pentagonal faces and 600 vertices.

It's basically 4D dodecahedron.

According to ChatGPT, in higher-dimensional geometry and theoretical physics, singularities often refer to points or regions where certain physical quantities become infinite or undefined.

Here's how I see it. If that yellow dot is indeed a singularity, the only explanation I could come up with, is at some point, the hyperdodecahedron's infinite insides would shrink to a single point in its 4-dimensional space.

Fractals

Now I think these are fractals by I cannot be sure. Also, I couldn't get a definite answer as to how fractals would be relevant to singularities.

What I got from ChatGPT were related to the event horizon instead.

That irregularities of the event horizon might have fractal patterns or exhibit fractal characteristics in its shape when examined at a different (smaller) scale.

The visual and structural complexity of the event horizon evoke fractal-like qualities.

Now, this Analysis is a lot shorter, and also inconclusive. I did try my best. My brain is now mush.

[honkytonk-hangman]

Goodness! Gracious!

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You wouldn't say you were trying to give your 'Uncle' Mav a taste of his own medicine, after all, it was him who introduced you to Rooster in the first place, but you weren't exactly trying to spare the man, either.

Notes: Reader is named Grace for ease of writing, and is Charlie Blackwood's daughter. I headcanon Charlie as a lesbian like her actress, but have not described reader with any traits aside curly hair. this is just a little thing that has been on my mind, idk yet if i'll write more, but let me know!

I would love to hear any feedback!!! <3

Masterlist

“Hello? Anyone home?” you call out, slipping your sunglasses off to better see inside the slightly dishevelled space in front of you, also taking a moment to remove the scarf from your head, and place both items in your purse. A sound that could only belong to a heavy tool as it clatters to the ground somewhere further inside the building, followed by a sharp scraping noise on the bare concrete flooring, like a stool being kicked out of place hurriedly at the sudden appearance of visitors. You straighten up, giving your head a much-practised gentle little shake that you know  tousles your curls perfectly every time.

You take a few steps further into the open hangar bay door, the soft echo of the approaching footsteps making you turn, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning with genuinely excitement at the sight of the man who steps out from behind one of several tall crates, looking around curiously as he wipes an already blackened cloth over his hands, however he falters when he spots you, the rag quickly tossed to the nearest surface as his own face lights up in a wide smile.

“Grace?!” Maverick exclaims in a mixture of surprise and disbelief, not only at your impromptu stop by at his Hangar, but at your presence on the West Coast as a whole. Regardless of any confusion though, he hurries toward you, wrapping you up in a warm hug that you more than happily return, holding onto Mav tightly for a few seconds before you break away again.

“What are you doing here?” Mav asks, his hands holding your shoulders now as if he was getting a good look at you for the first time in years, despite the fact that you were in regular contact. “I thought your Mom said something about you being North of the border until after Christmas!?” he goes on to add, his brows furrowing in concern. You roll your eyes playfully, and flick your hair.

“How that woman works for the bloody Pentagon mystifies me sometimes,” you chortle, and shake your head again. “No, I was asked to take the lead on a project up at the headquarters in Canada, but… I… I actually quit,” you reveal the truth like ripping a bandaid off, although you know telling Maverick the news was never going to be the hardest part.

His face converts briefly into shock before it deepens once more into concerns, his hands squeeze your shoulders firmly, and he takes half a step closer to you as if to conceal your conversation from the prying ears of his various boxes and crates.

“What happened, are you alright?” he sounds a little flustered as he asks, unsure what to even begin asking, but you quickly raise a hand to rest on one of his own outstretched ones and give it a warm pat and a reassuring smile.

“Everything’s fine, Mav, I know it’s kinda outta the blue, but it’s not for any bad reason…” you trail off realising although Maverick was the easier person to admit your truth to, explaining the whys seemed to suddenly become much harder.

Maverick nods carefully, but adjusts his tone and expression to match your own calm. You shrug, briefly looking away from him and toward the Cessna you can now see is tucked toward the back of the left side of the hangar. You squint at it, but force yourself to look back at Mav before speaking again.

“I don’t know how to explain it to you, or mom. I just realised I wasn’t happy anymore…” you swallow shakily and shrug your shoulders as best you can with Mav’s hands still holding them. You see his eyes searching your features but something very quickly in his demeanour relents and he softens.

“Hey, you don’t need to explain anything. Knowing that you weren’t happy is more than enough for me,” he tells you, and it’s almost embarrassing how immediately your heart becomes lighter.

“All my life I never had to worry about what I was going to do,”

“Your mom’s used to love it when you’d get asked what you wanted to be when you got older, and you’d confidently shout ‘Aeronautical Engineer’.” Mav chuckles warmly, and you can;t help but share his smile.

“Except for that one year-long period I wanted to be a Naval Aviator, like you,” you remind him, making him nod in vague remembrance.

“Remind me, was it the Cessna 172 flight I took you on that changed your mind?” he asks, earning an immediate embarrassed groan from you.

“God, you’d think at sixteen I’d have given more thought to what flying was actually like…” you roll your eyes, but you both share another laugh at the memory of you begging Mav not to tell your Mom’s how much you’d hated the surprise they’d organised for you, though you’d missed the knowing look the three adults had shared over lunch later.

Mav gives you a final little check-over as the laughter softens, and he squeezes your shoulders once more, before finally dropping his hands.

“I’m guessing the reason I haven’t already heard about this from your mom is because she doesn’t know…?” Maverick ventures, knowing Charlie would have forgone her usual email, and gone straight for a video-call to share news like this.

“... I know I need to tell her, but I just wanted to have something else figured out first, or a plan, or a…” you trail off knowing you had no real reason good enough for not telling her. “... I don’t want her to be disappointed in me…”

Maverick gives you a soft ‘tsk’ as he shakes his head, but his expression remains soft and he reaches out to take one of your fidgeting hands.

“Grace, believe me when I say I know how you feel. When your mom believes in you, it feels like that's all you could ever need to succeed, but as hard as it can be to feel like you’re going to let her down, if I’ve learned anything in the past thirty-something years, it’s that there's no such thing as disappointing Charlie Blackwood.”

You stare at him, feeling a little disbelief at his sentiments, but knowing for a fact that he of all people wouldn’t lie to you about this. You open your mouth to try and say something, anything, but before you can, he tightens his grip on your joined hands and gives you a knowing little smile.

“I know you have to learn that for yourself, but don’t sell her short, alright?” he asks, making your mouth shut tightly, but after a few moments you give him a short smile. He squeezes your fingers a final time before releasing you and placing his hands on his hips.

“So you planning on hiding out on the West Coast, then?” Mav asks lightly, as if you hadn’t just had a day-altering conversation with him. You nod a few times to clear your head, and cough away the tightness in your throat.

“I was actually hoping I could convince you to give me the keys to Mom’s chalet… at least until I find somewhere to stay,” you tell him.

Maverick’s eyebrows shoot up slightly, but he nods.

“You’re planning on staying out here a while then?” he asks, and you shrug, but relent your coyness quickly.

“I’ve got a job here in San Diego. How about I tell you and Penny about it over dinner soon?” you offer, feeling an edge of excitement fill your voice again. Maverick considers you for a few seconds, before dropping his hands from his hips as he nods.

“That sounds great. You know, you’re welcome to stay with Penny and I, but I think the chalet is probably more ideal while you get back on your feet.” he says in that way that tells you he really did understand you on a level many people just didn’t.

You open your mouth to reply something about living with newlyweds when you’re cut off by the sudden slamming of a car door behind you, the approach of another car going entirely unnoticed by the both of you in the midst of your heart-to-heart, but there’s mistaking the voice that immediately follows arrival.

“Mav?” this time the voice is closer, letting you make out the deepness and slight rasp this time. You turn to the open hangar door that you’d entered only minutes prior, where the silhouette of a tall, seemingly very fit man stands admiring your ride, and mimicking the way Maverick had just been stood with his hands on his hips, the man gets a good eyeful of your baby and lets out an impressed whistle.

The newcomer is only just pulling himself away from admiring your car when Maverick steps past you, holding a hand out to make introductions. Immediately once the taller man has stepped past the threshold, you take note of the way his eyes barely touch on Mav at all, instead snapping straight to your figure. You’re glad you decided to put a little more time into your appearance today, glad you’d bothered securing your hair with a scarf.

The stranger is both very tall and extremely fit, like you’d glimpsed from his shadow, but now that he nears and removes his sunglasses, you’re treated to the rest of his handsome features, strong and confident, his honey brown hair short but curling in slight waves where it’s been allowed to grow a little longer. His face is clean shaven except for a thick, dark moustache that he honestly pulls off more than you think he has any right to.

He seems vaguely familiar, you think, and briefly before Maverick speaks again, you see him come to the same thought.

“Rooster, you remember Grace Blackwood, don’t you? Charlie’s daughter?” Mav asks just as the man, Rooster comes to a stop in front of you.

“I think you were still a kid last time you saw each other,” Mav says mostly to you, but your memory has already been jogged, though you’re most familiar with Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw from name alone, hearing about the fallout between he and Mav from your mother more than anything.

“Right, the future aerospace engineer, right?” Rooster asks, lips quirked up as he clearly gives you another once-over, though this time attempting to be more subtle about it. “You get around to building that mega-sonic jet yet?” he asks, making your eyebrows tilt up into your hairline.

“I’m surprised you remember that,” you tell him truthfully with a laugh, but don’t bother to let yourself be embarrassed. “But no, mega-sonic technology has yet to be harnessed. But you’ll be one of the first to hear about it once it is,” you add warmly.

You recall then the time you had discovered that the older boy harboured dreams of being a Naval Aviator like Uncle Mav, and had subsequently cornered him for the afternoon, insisting that he take a look through your portfolio of various jet plane designs complete with detailed notes. To his credit, you remembered that he had spent an acceptable amount of time looking over each design, and had even asked you questions your mom’s or Mav hadn’t thought of.

“Do you prefer Rooster or Bradley these days?” You ask when the memory has passed you by, noticing how he seems to jump at your words, seemingly distracted completely. Your smile widens more and you cock your head.

“Rooster, Rooster is fine,” he tells you, shaking your hand firmly when you offer your own, his eyes locked on yours.

“Still go by Gracie?” he prompts after a moment's silence, neither of you seeming to realise that although having completed your handshake, you now simply stood with entwined hands. You wonder if it’s a coincidence that his gaze dips at the same moment your skin prickles with goosebumps, brought on solely by your name on his lips.

“Definitely,” you tell him. No reason occurs to you in that moment to tell him that you hadn’t allowed anybody to call you ‘Gracie’ since you were about thirteen, not even the men you’d dated since.

Maverick clears his throat loudly, and both you and Rooster tear your eyes apart, followed quickly by your hands. The older man looks between the two of you with as much evenness as he can seemingly muster, though you notice he gives Rooster a longer, sharper gaze.

“I’ll grab those keys for you Grace,” Mav tells you, his eyes swinging back to you and you blink at the slightly narrowed look of warning you find there. Unable to do anything but blink innocently, he seems to hesitate before stepping away, back toward the trailer in the back.

You watch Maverick jog back to his trailer, before shifting your gaze to the man in front of you. To your amusement you find him also following Mav’s retreat, though his eyes snap down to yours quickly as if sensing them on him.

“You’re hanging around San Diego?” he asks simply, making you wonder how much he’d heard about you since he and Mav had made up.

“That’s the plan. I start a new job next week,” you inform him, earning a frown of curiosity from him, and he cocks his head.

“Mav said something about you making it big with Lockheed–”

“–Changed my mind,” you cut him off quickly, feeling anxiety beat loudly against your chest, but it’s silenced almost immediately when Rooster swivels his eyes away from you, nodding as he does.

“Fair enough,” he replies after a moment, still not looking back at you, almost as if he could sense your nervousness. Clearing your throat and tousling your hair for your own confidence alone, you straighten and let a coolness enter your demeanour once more. Rooster looks back then, eyes studying you lightly.

“It’s still kinda new… so who knows how it’ll go…” you tell him, shrugging. He shrugs back, but nods once.

“Least you’re going for it. Most people would rather stay comfortable than take a chance on the unknown… Even if things don’t go how you plan, I doubt you’ll look back in ten years time and regret trying.”

You blink in surprise at Rooster’s words, and for the first time during this entire re-introduction, you get a real sense of the man he’d become in the years since you’d seen him last, and if anything, you find yourself drawn in even more by that than all his tender gazes and unsubtle flirting combined.

“Thank you, Bradley,” you say softly, ducking your head briefly before meeting his eye again. “I needed that.”

You see him smile, before his eyes flicker to movement over your shoulder and he clears his throat, adjusting to point back at your car parked in plain view.

“You sure you won’t let me take her for a spin?” He says loudly, almost confusing you before you hear Mav’s trailer door shut behind you. Placing your hands on your hips you shake your head, playing along.

“Look, I only just convinced mom to give her to me, and I’m not risking her just cause some  flyboy pilot bats his eyelashes at me!” you reply, earning an amused side glance from the flyboy in question.

“Well if your heart ever thaws some…” Rooster trails off just as Maverick joins you once more, appearing convinced by the faux-argument.

“Rooster, I wouldn’t set your heart on it,” Maverick tells him, handing you the keys to your Mom’s North Island chalet. You spin them showily, and can’t help yourself from sending the other man a wink.

“But hey, maybe if you ask nicely, one day I’ll take you for a ride,” you say innocently, watching as Rooster blinks down at you, eyes widening slightly as he processes your double entendre, just as Mav coughs and claps his hands together.

“Don’t let us hold you up any longer, Grace, I’m sure you’ve got lots to do,” Mav suggests, making you roll your eyes, but you take his dismissal easily, leaning in to give him a brief, tight hug. When you pull away, Rooster makes no move other than to shove his hands in his pockets and give you a seemingly friendly nod.

“Don’t hesitate to ask if you need any help settling in,” he says, sounding flippant enough, though his eyes tell you a different story.

You bid both men goodbye and saunter purposefully toward your baby, making a show of climbing in, fixing your scarf over your curls, and lastly, slipping your shades back over your eyes. You can see Rooster still in place, hands on his hips again as he watches you start the engine, only turning away from you when something from behind him causes him to jump. Your amused grin is the last thing he must see as he turns away from you, and you can’t help but wear it the entire way home.

[kissorkill16]

Typical Ivan Behavior: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Ivan is back, but he's acting stranger than usual.

Nicky was walking down the sidewalk, lost in his own head. Those pills he's been taking have been messing him up pretty good, and he was a little more tired than usual.

It's not that he didn't sleep, it's because they always made him less energetic.

Nicky was pulled back to reality when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around, expecting to see Trinity, or Delroy since he liked to sneak up on people, but when he saw who it was, he nearly fainted.

Ivan.

He's been missing for weeks, and here he was, in the flesh.

"Hello, Nicky."

Nicky jumped on his friend, wrapping his arms tightly around him, tears of joy coming out of the corner of his eyes.

"Ivan! Oh my God! You're okay!", he said. "Where were you?! We were so worried! Oh just wait until the others hear about this, they'll be so happy to see you!"

Ivan gently pushed Nicky away, "I didn't mean to scare anyone with my disappearance, I've just been so busy trying to get some stuff together."

Nicky's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "About what?"

"Let's walk and talk."

Ivan put an arm around Nicky's shoulder, and they walked and talked.

"There's this little brass and emerald pentagon. It's shiny, and I kind of lost it. Do you know where it is? It's really valuable and it's very important that I find it.", said Ivan.

Nicky tapped his chin, remembering the little pentagon he picked up one night in the woods with Aaron, Mya, and Lucy. "I think I know what that is.", he said.

"Do you have it?"

Nicky turned to look at Ivan, and for some reason, he didn't like what he saw.

His eyes were a light red, and they barely contained anything other than disgust and deceit.

This wasn't Ivan. He was only 50% sure, there was only one way to be 100% sure.

"Why do you even need the thing in the first place?", he asked.

"That's none of your concern, Nicholas. All that matters to me right now is that I have it back. I need it, it's very important."

Now Nicky was 60% sure this wasn't Ivan. Ivan never called him by his full name before, he just called him Nicky like everyone else.

"Ivan, there's something you need to know about that little pentagon.", said Nicky. "A year back, when I was in the woods with my past friends, I saw someone holding that thing. It was glowing, and when it glowed, it started raining.", he pried the arm away from his shoulder. "That thing is dangerous, Ivan. I don't think you should be looking for it."

"I'm aware of what it does, Nicholas. But despite its abilities, I really need the device."

"Why? So you can control the weather? Yeah, fat chance."

Nicky was about to leave, but Ivan latched a hand around his arm and pulled him back. He made Nicky look at him directly in his eyes, and poor Nicky was frozen with fear.

Now he was 100% sure this wasn't the real Ivan.

"Nicholas, for the last time, I need that device. I don't have time for whatever you're trying to pull. So are you going to tell me where it is, or are you going to be a brat?"

Nicky unfroze and did something he didn't even know he had the strength in him to do. He pulled his hand out of Ivan's grip, and kicked him in the stomach, making him fall to the ground.

"Even if I did have the device, I wouldn't give it to you. I don't know what you're trying to pull, but you're NOT Ivan. The Ivan I know is more nice than whatever the hell you're trying to be, and he wouldn't threaten me to tell the truth, you imbecile. So I suggest that you back off before things get ugly."

And with that, he walked away.

Nicky was lying. He did have the device, in his bedside drawer with a bunch of other forgotten parts of torn up gadgets. He would've given it to Ivan, if he was the real Ivan.

Ivan got up and dusted himself off, his shiny red eyes burning holes in the back of Nicky's head.

"Oh don't worry, Nicholas.", he said, his voice growing deeper. "Things will get ugly really, really fast."