#shut the fuck up city slickers

[lasesmed]

You know, I never imagined that 'sexually harassing people on grindr is bad' would be a wedge issue

There's a post series going around about the fact that you shouldn't send people unwanted dick pics and a bunch of people are apparently immediately reacting by saying that grindr is a hookup app, people should find another app, etc etc

Like, one, I go on grindr to find other trans people, because literally no other widely known apps for queer people exist here

Two, even if sending people explicit sexual images unprompted was fine, there is an option on grindr that says "don't send me explicit sexual images", and even with that turned on, I still get dozens of dickpics a day when I'm active on there, which is fucking bullshit

"Just block them" I DONT WANT TO SEE DICK PICS IN THE FIRST PLACE. it shouldn't be my fucking responsibility to block the hundreds of people going into my dms to show me their genitals, they shouldn't be sending them to me in the first place

If you go up to someone in real life and sexually harass them, are you gonna be surprised when you get pepper sprayed?

[hickeygender]

there's currently a fucking squirrel in my wall (again. i think it's the spawn of scratchy the first) bc i live in an older house and it literally burrowed into the siding. i've been periodically knocking to get the little shit to stop burrowing bc i do NOT want a squirrel in my room. i've been laying here for abt five mins since last getting up to knock on the wall, and i swear to everything holy i just heard the fucker knock back

[bedcorpse]

"omg the scary creatures of the appalachian mountains-" first of all white person appropriating native american folklore for clicks, second of all this is a text post and i know this hypothetical yankee ass pronounced it "app-a-LAY-SHUN" when it's "app-a-latch-in" like there's a whole fucking school say it right, and third the scariest threat you actually experience in the rural mountains are the racist dipshits.

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

City Slicker (m, allergies)

I present to you all: p0rn lmao. This is my first allergy fic in YEARS and it is literally just 2k of Elijah sneezing himself silly. It's a little messy, just fair warning. Hope you all (especially my allergy-hungry friends in my ask box) enjoy this - I certainly enjoyed writing it lmao.

cw: male snz, MESS

City Slicker

“What’s your favorite animal?”

“Greyson. I really am not in the mood to play twenty questions right now.”

“But I’m bored.”

Elijah sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other held firmly on the steering wheel of the van. “What are you, a toddler?” he asked, replacing his hand so both were white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Play on your phone or something.”

“I’ve reached the end of the internet. Can we stop and get Starbucks?”

“Greyson, we’re in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere. What do you want me to do, conjure up a Starbucks? You should’ve asked before we were out of the city.”

Greyson groaned loudly, living up to the toddler label his boss had bestowed upon him. “Great, so now I get to be bored and uncaffeinated.”

“I’m sure they’ll have some shitty folger’s or something when we get there,” Elijah said, prompting a loud, fake gag from Greyson. Elijah took a deep, calming breath in through his nose. “We’re almost there, you fucking brat.”

The event this weekend wasn’t one Elijah would have normally said yes to; it was a Farmhouse Retreat out in a rural part of New York State, and any town with fewer than a million people living in it tended to give him hives. Not to mention his irrational fear of farm animals – not that he’d ever actually seen one in person; the thought alone of a pig looking him in the eye was too disgusting for him to put into words. But, it was a paid event which was incredibly rare, and it was a celebrity getaway which meant buzz for the restaurant. Those were two difficult things to say no to.

Elijah’s phone signaled them to turn right, and when he did he and Greyson gasped in unison – this was no Podunk farmhouse getaway. The house itself was more of a farm mansion, twice the size of even the largest house Elijah had seen out in the Hampton's. The agriculture was meticulously kept, and the animals were grazing out in the tall grass – far enough away to escape any fear, but close enough to give the entire place a Fisher-Price-esque charm. Greyson whistled long and low as they parked next to the line of other caterer’s cars.

“Not in Kansas anymore, eh Dorothy?” the chef asked, yanking open the passenger side door and stepping out to stretch. Elijah couldn’t help but huff out a laugh as he opened his own door.

“Guess no – HTSCH!” Elijah wrenched to the side as he stepped out of the car. Clearly the air out here was too clean for his city-boy sensibilities. Greyson barked out a laugh from the other side of the van.

“Bless,” he called, pulling open the two trunk doors to start unloading their things. “I figured your systems would all start shutting down the moment you breathed in air that didn’t smell like piss.”

“Oh, like you’re any better,” Elijah said, starting towards the trunk to help his friend. “When’s the last time you chose to take a trip somewhere with no bar or coffee shop?”

“Obviously never, but I grew up in a shitty one-horse town,” Greyson said. “You’ve probably never even seen a cow in real life.”

Elijah’s face flamed, and Greyson howled. “Shut the fuck up,” Elijah grumbled, elbowing Greyson in the stomach and grabbing the decorations for their booth. Greyson doubled over with laughter, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted into the quiet farm air.

“CITY SLICKER! WE GOT OURSELVES A CITY SLICKER!”

“Greyson, shut up,” Elijah called, turning to face the chef. “People are paying to stay here, you fucking dickhead.”

“Alright, alright, sorry boss,” Greyson lamented. He pulled a few chafing dishes out of the back and hoisted them onto his shoulder. “Not my fault that it’s hilarious that your body hates fresh air.”

“It doesn’t – hhITZCH! TSHH! HTSH!” Elijah crushed his nose into his shoulder to sneeze this time, prompting another round of laughter from Greyson.

“Sure it doesn’t,” Greyson said, passing his boss to head towards the sign directing the purveyors to the massive yard of the farmhouse. “City slicker.”

***

Something was happening – he didn’t know what it was, but he did not like it.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Like, I know I was making fun of you before, but are you sick?” Greyson asked as Elijah buried his face in his arm for the fiftieth time that hour.

“HTSHH! Hh-ITZCHH! HRSHH!” Elijah wiped his running nose on his sleeve and cringed. He used his hand to attempt to wipe the sleeve of the watery mucus he’d left behind to no avail. “I’m not sick, I feel fine,” he said. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me – HTSHH!”

Greyson slowly raised an eyebrow, covered his finished food so it would stay fresh for the first guests’ arrival in thirty minutes, and leaned against their booth. “Lij, I’ve spent a lot of time around you – you literally never sneeze this much unless you’re sick.”

“Grey, I’ve been completely fine up until we got here, are you saying the fucking fresh air made me sick? Do you think I’m some sort of nega-Victorian child, instead of needing the fresh air to clear up my scarlet fever I need the sweet smell of street hotdogs and sewage? Hhuhh’ITSCHH-ue! TSHH! ITZCHUE! Fucking hell.” Elijah covered his face with a hand and looked desperately around for something to wipe it with. Grudgingly, Greyson handed him one of his kitchen towels. “Thanks,” Elijah muttered, blowing his nose.

“Y’know,” Greyson said, “normally I would say that yes, you are the nega-Victorian child, but I don’t think you’re lying.”

“Thanks,” Elijah said, rolling his eyes from behind the towel.

“For once.”

Elijah flipped the chef off.

Greyson laughed. “Seriously, though, have you ever been on a farm before?”

Elijah threw his hands into the air, annoyed. “No, Greyson, I’ve never been on a farm. Happy? Yes, I’m a fuckin’ liberal-elite city-slicking dickhead. Happy?” He sniffled lightly, post-tirade, his nose already itching again with the need to – to -

“HTSHH! HRSHH! Huh! TSHHH! HRSHH-uh! ITZCHH-ue! Huh!” Elijah pressed the back of his hand hard into his nose to stop the stream of sneezes – the other caterers had to be staring at him. He was sure of it.

Greyson bit his cheek to keep from laughing. “Lij,” he said, placing a careful hand on his boss’s shoulder. “I think you’re allergic to this farm.”

Elijah blinked back itchy tears. He rubbed his nose on the towel, sniffled lightly, and looked around him – at the animals he’d never been near before, the grass he’d only been around when it was perfectly manicured for a lawn or fake, the trees with their yellow pollen floating in the wind. “Oh,” he said. “I�� I mean, I’m not allergic to anything.”

“Not allergic to anything you’ve been around before,” Greyson corrected, a shit-eating grin slapped across his face.

Elijah pressed two fingers into his itching, swelling right eye. “Yeah,” he said, taking in the allergen-ladled scenery. “I guess you’re right.”

Greyson motioned towards the back doors of the farmhouse, where throngs of people were beginning to head towards the booths of food. “I’d offer to ask the host for an antihistamine,” he said, “but I think it might be showtime.”

Elijah watched the crowd with a mix of anxiety and abject horror. This walk-around event was two hours long, and he couldn’t go two minutes without sneezing. “Fuck me,” he muttered, shoving the towel behind their booth and sniffling. “Hhh-! HTSSHH! HRRISHH!”

“Get it together, man,” Greyson said, unwrapping his food and setting out tiny plates. “It’s showtime.”

***

By the time the event was over and the guests had filed back into the farmhouse for whatever rich person activity they had planned for the evening, Elijah had quite literally sneezed himself hoarse.

“Dude,” Greyson said as he piled their things back into the containers they’d brought with them, “maybe you should go sit down for awhile.”

Elijah turned to the chef, rubbing his nearly-swollen-shut eye, and gave him the dirtiest look he could muster. “Sit where, Chef? In the grass that’s trying to kill me, or under the tree that’s trying to kill mehhh – ETSCHH-ue! ESHHH! HRTSHH-uhh! HTSHH! TSHH! ITZCH-ue! Guhh…” Elijah had given up the facade and moved from sneezing helplessly into his sleeve to sneezing directly onto the ground, hands braced on his knees so as not to pass out from dizziness. Greyson cringed as his boss wiped a string of snot from his nose with the back of his hand – this was about to be a long drive back to the city.

“I meant in the car, Lij,” Greyson said, not-so-subtly handing Elijah his last clean kitchen towel. The GM took it, grateful, and wiped his nose, which seemingly subconsciously turned into a long, congested nose blow.

“Fuck, sorry, my brain isn’t fucking working,” Elijah muttered, clearing his throat. “I can’t fucking stop – HRRSHH-ue! Snee – HTSH! HRSSH! ITZSSCHUE! Hhh!” Elijah cringed into the now-soiled kitchen towel, delicately wiped his nose, and folded it up. “You don’t have another one of those by chance, do you?” he asked, breath already hitching once again.

“Sorry, boss,” Greyson winced. “Last one.”

Elijah nodded, somber. “Yeah, I’ll go waii – huh… snf. Wait in the cah – HUHHITSZHH-ue! ITSSZHH-uh! Huh! HTSHH! HuhhhITSZZHH-ue!” Elijah once again turned away from Greyson to sneeze towards the ground. Each one sounded more desperate, more painful than the last. Greyson had literally never seen his boss so… well… affected.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” a voice from behind the both of them said. Greyson whipped around as Elijah attended to his nose. It was one of the other chefs, smiling in sympathy and holding a pink package. “I wanted to see if he needed some Benadryl. I mean, it’s not non-drowsy, but since the event is over I figured -”

“Yes,” Greyson said without consulting Elijah. “Yes, one million percent.” He took the Benadryl out of the other man’s hand and placed a grateful hand on his shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

The other chef laughed in earnest, took a peek over at Elijah, then regarded Greyson again. “I remember my first farm trip,” he said. Greyson bit back a laugh.

“Something similar?”

“You could say that.”

Greyson smiled and patted the man’s shoulder. “Thank you again. Seriously, here’s my card – stop by anytime for dinner on me. You just saved me from five hours of breathing in his fuckin’ mucus.”

The man laughed again. “Anytime,” he said, taking the card from Greyson’s hand. “And I think I’ll take you up on that. You guys in the city?”

“Lucky guess,” Greyson said. The other chef smiled.

“See you around,” he said, heading towards his truck. Greyson popped a pink pill out of its packaging and placed a rough hand on his boss’s shoulder. Elijah, obviously gearing up for another fit of sneezes, turned and saw, almost instinctively, the pill in Greyson’s hand.

“Oh thank god,” Elijah gasped, snatching the Benadryl and choking it down dry. Greyson snorted out a laugh.

“Now you really need to go sit in the car,” he said as Elijah wiped his raw nose for the millionth time.

“Wha - ? Why, what was that?”

“Benadryl, you pill-fiend,” Greyson said, showing his boss the packaging. “Can’t sneeze if you’re passed out.”

“At this point I would’ve taken a lobotomy if it stopped the snee – sneezi – HUTSHHH-ue! HRSH! HRSHHH! HTSHH! Hhuhhh… hh, hhh… huhhITSSZZH-ue!” Elijah, clearly too exhausted to even cover his mouth, just turned away and allowed the fit to happen, sneezes sprayed into the open, pollen-heavy air. He groaned and held a hand up to his streaming nose. Greyson sighed, took off his chef’s coat so he was just in a white cotton t-shirt, and handed it woefully to his boss.

“You owe me a new coat,” he said as Elijah, too exhausted to even feel shame, took the garment and held it to his face. “Now go to the car and go to sleep.”

“Yes, Cheehh – HRRTSHH-ue!”

[seraphfighter]

Hey! 19 for that soft otp prompts :3

Hey look, I actually got to this (1 month later 😅).

From this: 19. Write your ship going on a casual date.

This hadn’t gone to plan. 

V and Johnny had driven up to their favorite lookout spot in the Badlands. Perched at the top of a rock face, it provides the perfect view of Night City’s skyline. They’d discovered it one day after returning to the city from their time with the Aldecaldos, and in the months following her treatments, it’s become sort of a tradition for them to spend an evening there. 

Tonight was no different. V hasn’t been able to spend much time with Johnny lately. Between a migraine that knocked her down for a few days and their work at the Afterlife, it had started to feel like they hadn’t had a moment to simply enjoy each other’s company. So, when Johnny arrived at the Afterlife to drag her out of there, she hadn’t protested. 

They stopped and got some greasy burgers and fries, picked up a bottle of Centzon to share, and took the Thorton out to the Badlands. They made the small trek up the hill to their spot and that’s where they’ve spent the last few hours. Johnny’d been playing his guitar and she’d had her head on his thigh, eyes closed and listening to the sound of his playing and low humming. 

That’s when the rain started. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Johnny, did you not check the weather?!” V snaps, her foot almost slipping on the slick rocks as they scramble to make it back to the truck. It’s a downpour–she’s already soaked to the bone. 

“Why would I have checked the weather? The fuckin’ sky was clear!” Despite the irritation in his voice, Johnny catches her bicep in his chrome hand to steady her. 

“Maybe because it can change?” Usually, the walk down to the car was easy but with the rain and the slick rocks and dirt, it was taking twice as long. And as annoyed as she is by the rain soaking through her clothes, she’s not looking to twist her ankle. 

“Maybe you should check the weather next time,” he retorts. Behind her, he slips and she barely throws her arm out in time to catch him before he sends them both tumbling down the slope. “Goddamn it!” 

“Now you sound like a child.” V grasps his hand tight in hers, hoping their grip on each other will help them avoid any unwanted accidents. They didn’t need this date to end in a trip to Vik’s. “You trying to send us both flying down?” 

“Not on fuckin’ purpose,” he grumbles. “Ground’s slicker than shit.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

Finally, they make it to even ground and sprint the short distance to the Thorton. They throw themselves into the backseat, the force of the doors shutting shaking the truck.

“Fuck.” V pushes her wet hair out of her eyes, tensing her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering as Johnny leans forward to deposit his guitar in the front seat and turn on the vehicle’s heater. She goes to wipe her face on the sleeve of Johnny’s jacket that she’s wearing, but the sleeve is soaked through. Huffing, she crosses her arms over her chest and slumps against the seat. 

Johnny pushes his rain-slicked hair back from his face. “At least it ain’t acid rain.” He digs in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, only to find the carton soaked. He scowls and tosses it away with a curse. 

“Thank god for that.” V digs her own cigarettes out of her pocket, protected from the rain by Evelyn’s case, and scoots across the seat to press against Johnny’s side. She pulls a smoke out and lights it, taking a drag for herself before passing it to Johnny. 

“Thanks,” he grunts. 

Passing the cigarette between them in silence and listen to the rain hitting the truck. Johnny throws his arm around V’s shoulders and she curls up against him, some of the chill finally being chased out of her bones between the heater blasting and Johnny’s own body heat. 

“Y’know what this reminds me of?” Johnny asks after a few moments, giving V the cigarette for the final drag. 

She accepts it and drops it on the floor of the truck and smothers it with her boot. She’ll worry about the cleanup later. “Is it going to be some old reference I don’t understand again?” Smoke blows out from her parted lips as she asks the question. 

“Funny,” he says drily. “But no, I was just thinkin’ of the first time we kissed.” 

“Shit.” That feels like a lifetime ago. Technically for her, it was. “We got caught in the rain coming back from that shitty little taco cart. I think we were as soaked then as we are now.” Seeing the glint in his eye, she interjects before he can say anything, “Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” He smirks. “Say you were soaked for more than one reason that night?” 

V’s cheeks heat and she tilts her head back against the seat and covers her face with her hands. “God, I fuckin’ hate you,” she groans. 

“No, you don’t.” Tugging on her wrists, V drops her hands to find Johnny staring at her, his eyes fond in a way he reserves for her. His ‘ganic thumb brushes against the back of her hand. 

She wrinkles her nose at him. “You’re right. Unfortunately, I love you.”

“Because that’s such a fuckin’ burden.” 

“It is, you’re a pain in my ass.” 

He snorts, a smile tugging at his lips, one she can’t help but mirror. V cards her fingers through his beard along his jaw. It scratches against her hand when he turns his hand to press a kiss to her palm. She recognizes it for what it is–one of his many silent ways of saying he loves her in return. Even though he doesn’t say it as often as she does, V knows he loves her. 

“We’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we?” Johnny says quietly. 

“We have,” she agrees. “And I wouldn’t change a damn thing.” Even all the hardships and pain. As difficult as some moments were, they’re the reason they’re at where they are right now.

“Fuckin’ sap.” He pushes her shoulder and she follows the gentle pressure to lie down on the seat, Johnny climbing over her. 

“Says you.” She wraps her arms around his neck and threads her fingers at the back of his head. A shaky sigh leaves her lips as Johnny leans down and presses his lips to her neck. 

“I’ll show you a sap,” he murmurs against her skin, voice full of promise. “Why don’t we repeat the events of that night?” 

V tugs on his hair so she can lean up and kiss him. “Show me what you got, Rockerboy.”

[stardustedknuckles]

My whole life has been under the misguidance that roosters crow at dawn and then shut the fuck up. The business owner I transcribe for has been staying in the Virgin Islands for a week and all of his transcriptions include a rooster in the background fully screaming every ten seconds and my meds have not kicked in yet and I am ready to reach through my computer and wring its neck. My grandma kept chickens but never roosters, so it's less "haha city slicker" and more "maybe grandma did have a rooster once and SHE killed it and fowl murder runs in my DNA because holy shit I would." It's not even the waking me up part that would bother me so much as it turns out that they just keep yelling.

[noblesixofhalo]

Fallout Bebop Chapter 3.

I really wished that I was able to get out the next chapter on AO3 but sadly it probably won't be until late Sunday or Monday since I'll be gone on Saturday and into Sunday morning. Who knows, maybe I'll pull a hail mary and get something out by tomorrow night. Any here's the next part.

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

*Goodsprings, Mojave Desert, late spring 2271*

After the short walk from the Bebop to the town of Goodsprings and after a hearing Faye and Spike argue over stupid petty shit, the three human being disasters arrived at the town to begin asking questions around about the whereabouts of Marcos the killer ghoul.

"Really Jet, a saloon?" "How fucking cliched can you get?"

"Shut up and start asking around."

Jet grumbled at Faye as they arrived a saloon known in the prewar era as the Prospector Saloon. Much to Spikes chagrin, a large dog began barking before he was quieted down by the owner.

"Cheyenne, that's enough. Sorry about that, she won't attack unless you give me a reason to."

A young woman chuckled as she ordered the large Australian Cattle Dog who had heterochromia, a condition in which an animal or a person has more than one eye color, away from the three would-be cowboys.

Spike muttered, "Great more animals".

"I'm sorry, I don't think we had a chance to meet, I'm Sunny. Sunny Smiles."

"Pleasure to meet you Sunny, I'm Jet Black and these two washed up degenerates are Spike Spiegel and Faye Valentine. We are here because we are pursuing a killer who has been responsible for multiple murders of settlers. His name is Marcos, a ghoul."

"I have heard of him but if you are bounty hunters working for the New California Republic, I'm sorry but I don't get involved in the politics of the NCR or any faction out here in the Mojave. The NCR only claims to care about law and order and making the roads safe but honestly that's only to protect NCR settlers, nothing against you guys."

"We don't work for the NCR, we are independent contractors you could say."

Jet said to the young woman as she glanced at the three further before continuing on.

"Well, you are more than free to look around and ask people about your killer, as for me I'm the town guard and the local trapper for this town. I mostly hunt geckos that are known to injure or kill any folks out here."

"Do you know if there are any folks out here that might know about Marcos?"

"Like I said before Mr. Black I'm only concerned for the wellbeing of Goodsprings, if you want to talk to the other residents here, by all means do whatever, I need to keep tabs on the town and one of those things is hunting wildlife that could pose a threat to the townsfolk here. If you need any supplies flag down Chet, otherwise Doc Mitchell, the local town doctor could possibly help. Good hunting."

Sunny bid the three farewell and took her dog outside closing the door behind them leaving the three now figuring out another plan in pursue of the killer ghoul. Faye huffed in slight annoyance that no leads could be made.

"Well that was a complete waste of time."

"As if you would have done any better Romani."

"Fuck off Spike, I would have so done better, ugh this sucks."

"Both of you quit whining and keep asking around, clearly Sunny doesn't know anything about our lead, but she mentioned Chet and Doc Mitchell might be able to help us so quit your arguing and keep asking around."

"Fine, Spike you go look for Chet I'll look for this Doc Mitchell guy."

"Why am I looking for him shouldn't we just stick together and work together you know, something that you suck at all the time?"

"Ugh men...."

"Women."

"I heard that!"

"Good for you!"

Spike hollered out at Faye as they continued their search for their head guy. Despite that little argument, they ended up sticking together asking one of the vendors at Goodsprings."

"If you city slickers are looking for supplies, I'm here for that."

"We're not city slickers, we're here because we were given some lead on a killer that must be brought to justice."

"Well if you're with the NCR, I'm not interested in helping ya out. We have enough problems as it is, last thing we need is some NCR hired bounty hunters causing trouble. That along with raider gangs and further out in the wastes, Caesar's Legion."

"Don't you mean "Seezures" Legion"?

"They pronounce it as "Kaizar's" Legion, I didn't invent the group so don't ask me."

"You must be Chet." Jet replied finishing up the conversation about the various factions vying for control of the Mojave Wasteland.

"Correct."

"Well Chet, my name is Jet Black, these two are Spike and Faye and I'll rest assure you and everyone here at Goodsprings that we are not part of the NCR or any of those groups in the Mojave wastes, we a private contractor and we have been tasked with hunting down a ghoul by the name of Marcos, have you heard of him?"

"Funny you ask, he was just here a few days ago, he was with a bunch of armed ghouls, no Khans or anything like that."

"Who are the Khans?" Faye asked Chet.

"Khans are tough mean sons of bitches, they mostly leave outsiders alone unless you got some chems they want. They aren't like most raiders who kill for the thrill of it, still I wouldn't fuck around with them."

"Do you know who Marcos was traveling with?"

"I'm afraid I don't know the name of the group Jet, that he was traveling with, he mostly passed by talking about 'getting vengeance against the smoothskins that did him rotten' and just carried on."

"Ugh enough talking around, where did he go?!"

"Jesus Faye, keep your shirt on, though that would be pretty hot if you...."

Whack! Faye angrily smacked Spike with the tall lanky cowboy taken a bit back from what just happened. Did she seriously smacked him in front of everyone in this strange town?

"Men are such idiots".

"He was moving north I think away from New Vegas and out away from the NCR border. I think he's going to that Ghoul sanctuary called Gecko? That's way far from here though, otherwise just keep going north. Do you have a photo of him?"

"Yeah right here, right from my terminal."

"Yeah that's the guy you would be looking for."

"Thank you Chet." Jet said politely to the merchant. Chet responded in kind.

"If you need any supplies feel free to take a look."

"Will do thank you."

"Alright let's regroup back at the Bebop and start searching northward from here. The fact that he was in Goodsprings just recently means he couldn't have gotten too far from here."

They bid farewell to the merchant and the folks of Goodsprings and began their quick trip back to the Bebop. Along the way, they encountered giant mutated praying mantises which both were quickly dispatched with Faye of course expressing her disgust for the giant bugs. Jet rolled his eyes telling her that this is what they will encounter on Earth compared to life elsewhere in the Solar System.

See you space cowboy.

[shysideho]

Man this city slicker website has never seen a normal deer. "Forest deity" "old gods" shut the fuck up its a normal buck.

[seat-safety-switch]

Recently, I was standing near a television that was turned on. This television was displaying a “house hunting” show, about a putatively normal couple that desired to own a farm. What’s more, they wanted to live on the farm. I was enraptured from the start, and kept peering behind whoever was talking to try and make out what shitboxes they were planning on storing on that farm.

Tragically, no shitboxes were detected that day. They didn’t intend to fill that farming area with glorious old cars, but instead a bunch of boring livestock, children, and crops. This kind of thing is happening more and more, according to a report just issued by the Seat Safety Switch Institute for Convincing People To Do What I Want. As our society collapses, one of the ways in which it manifests is that normal, everyday, people are letting farms go to waste.

Sure, you might think that this is okay. There’s a lot of farmland out there, only some of it is actually farmable thanks to the topsoil crisis, so why not let these city slickers cosplay as real fruit-of-the-earth kinds? Who can it hurt? You go ahead and keep that sentence in your mouth when you drive to your next rural shitbox auction and find out that a ‘61 F100 is now a $7,000 truck.

Yeah, you’re not gonna use that for mud-bogging, much less trailer pulls or even plowing your driveway. It’s simply too valuable, driven up by all the folks who have bought a farm, found out they hate farming, and quickly attempt to adopt the accoutrements and mannerisms of true farmers in order to seal the yawning void at the core of their self. Freud would call it “fucked,” and for once I agree.

So that’s why I’m writing my provincial representatives, demanding a maximum property value regulation. If you make farmland too nice, your ass is going back downtown. You own a Lexus, for fuck’s sake. Go have champagne and masked Eyes Wide Shut cult sex without interfering with my ability to peruse fields full of rotting Plymouths.

[ranvieranvieranvier]

RANVIER: EHEHEHHEEHHEEE ANY MINUTE NOW

*knock knock*!

RANVIER: HORRIBLE GREETINGS GAMBLE HAVE YOU COME HERE TO WASTE YOUR LIFE OR WASTE YOUR LIFE WITH ME

RANVIER: H-HEY! WHAT WAS THAT FOR, ASSHOLE

???: Oh? Are you questioning a guest? Really, now, partner. In this slum of the plane?

RANVIER: JUST BECAUSE YOU'VE GOT WINNINGS TO YOUR NAME DOESN'T MEAN YOUR ROOTIN-TOOTIN' SELF CAN JUST MOSEY ON DOWN HERE AND FUCK EVERYTHING UP! DO YOU HEAR ME?

???: Ransy. I'm the guest. And the guest knows best. 'Sides, I've ain't never been one for proper city slicker pleasantries.

???: So, partner. How's about we cut ourselves the extra deep dish'a slack and get down to business. You know what I'm here for.

GAMBLING MAN: Come on. Shut yer piehole and sit yourself aside. I got some cheap games with me. Let's play.

Like old time's sake.

[luthorao3]

you know the more i think about it actually i love the idea of disenfranchised ex-copper lisa swain abandoning her career and her life on the fancy city-slicker-esque floating human citadel in space (after losing her wife and being cock-blocked at every turn into her investigation into her death, until she’s straight up warned that if she doesn’t shut the fuck up and stop poking her nose in where it isn’t wanted, betsy will lose her other mother, too), taking her daughter down to the more lawless, not-quite-slums on the nearby populated planet, where she’s just getting by taking up odd freelance PI jobs (doing too many favours for women in trouble), only to be tracked down by an old acquaintance (if she can even call her that: took her case, years back, was practically the only person who believed her), carla connor, claiming that she’s in desperate need of help and she’ll only accept it from somebody she trusts. sci-fi film noir type shit, perhaps. and obviously it will all come full circle and come right back to becky’s death, the cover up, the people responsible now gunning for carla (she has a big gob).

i’m in the mood to read/write the most self indulgent sci-fi swarla au. underworld as a ship, part of a greater human flotilla, carla at its helm. lisa with her own tiny cruiser, which she spends more nights in than she does back at her apartment on the greater populated ship (too many memories). perfect mental image in my head of betsy tearing up and customising her fleet-issued standard citizen uniform so that her belly’s showing. plot? unrealised, just let me enjoy the aesthetic. 🥹

[ragingbookdragon]

Bring On The Wonder, We Got It All Wrong, We Pushed Us Down Deep In Our Souls, So Hang On

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 2.6K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: This is a direct continuation of this piece right here that everyone got mad at me for because I made it angsty :) Enjoy! -Thorne

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

“Will you slow down?” Bruce complained, reaching her in a few steps. “Your ankle is sprained and you’re going to—”

She turned on him, slapping his hand away from where it was reaching for her. “I don’t wanna look or talk to you or anybody else right now.” She spat. “Take the hostages to GCPD and leave me the fuck alone.”

“He wasn’t going to kill you.” Bruce said and she scowled.

“It doesn’t matter what he was or wasn’t going to do.” She pointed to herself. “I thought he was going to. That’s what matters to me.” She turned and took a step, though her leg faltered, and she went to her knees, reaching to hold her ankle. “Fuck,” she hissed. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“(Y/N),” he murmured, bending down beside her and she reached up, yanking the cowl off.

“Everything hurts,” she cried, anger and pain lacing her voice. “My back hurts. My chest hurts. Everything fucking hurts.” She reached up to wipe the blood still leaking from her busted nose and split eyebrow. “And I’m bleeding.” (Y/N) licked her lips, feeling the sting from the broken skin of her bottom one.

Bruce’s hand went to his utility belt, unclipping one of the pockets, and he pulled out a rag; he gently raised it to her eyebrow, dabbing at the blood as he quietly stated, “Your eyebrow’s already in hemostasis. Though it’s going to need stitches.” His hand briefly stilled near her swollen eye, then he continued to her nose where he gently held it.

She whimpered, trying to recoil but he held on. “That hurts.”

“You need to stop the bleeding,” he advised, then grabbed her hand and placed it over his, forcing her to take it.

“What are you doing?”

Bruce didn’t answer her, one arm curling under her knees, the other her back and he hefted her up into his arms. “I’ll take you back to your penthouse.”

(Y/N) wanted to cry, and she was helpless to stop the tears that gathered in her eyes; she turned, burying her face in the plate of her brother’s shoulder pad, breathing deeply to keep her sobs at bay.

“I don’t know what’s going to come after this,” he explained softly, careful to take even steps to avoid jostling her. “But I know that you’re the only one who gets to choose what happens between you and him.” He rested his chin on her head. “And if you choose to take a leave for a while, then I’ll support that.”

She let out a shuddering breath. “I just want to crawl in a hole.”

“Want me to get my shovel and dig you one?”

A watery laugh passed her lips, though it dissolved into a sob and with her free hand, she reached over and grabbed Bruce’s opposite shoulder, squeezing tightly as she shook against him.

He inhaled deeply, catching Ghost-Maker from the corner of his eye leading the hostages out. “We’re going to be okay, (Y/N).”

***

Turns out that the leave of absence seemed like the best choice for her, and she’d hunkered down in a safe-house about three hundred miles outside of the state on the edges of the McIntyre Wild Area in Pennsylvania. Bruce and she had bought it years ago as a last-ditch effort if they needed to get out of Gotham and it’d taken the two of them, plus Clark to clear it out and build. Half of the time was having Clark laugh at the two siblings and call them “city-slickers trying to be country folk” as he watched them struggle to tame the land.

But in the end, it had been effective, and they’d built a rather cozy safe-house that looked inconspicuously like Ma and Pa Kent’s home in Smallville. It was stocked with everything they needed, a built-in basement for safe measures. She was alone and secure in the small cabin and that’s how she wanted to be. Since leaving some few days ago, she’d messaged each nephew and niece telling them that while she loved them dearly, she needed to be alone for some time and that she’d be back as soon as she could be.

They’d flooded her phone with messages and concerns, but she’d left the device in her penthouse before leaving, resting assured that Bruce would explain in her absence. She felt like a failure and more so, weak for leaving her brother with the job of explaining, but the last thing she wanted to do was explain the situation herself.

She sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, gazing absentmindedly as the flames cast light that flickered around the darkened room. The entire room was open, living room and fireplace in the center, bedroom in one corner, kitchen in the other, a closed bathroom in another. It all smelled like pine. Fresh air and the ingraining scent of pine. But it’s what she needed. Gotham City overwhelmed the olfactory senses with blood and smog and on especially bad days, the rotting scent of fish and death. Everyone needed a break from it at some point in their life; to remember how to breathe in air that wasn’t contaminated.

The only thing she didn’t like was how quiet it was. (Y/N) was used to the distant sounds of traffic, gunshots, and sirens. Here it was the sound of her breathing and the wind whistling through the trees, wildlife scratching and hunting away in the underbrush. She swore she could hear her blood flowing through her brain. If there was any consolation, it did help to hone the senses on what she wanted to hear. And what she didn’t want to hear was knocking at the front door.

Quietly she rose from the couch and walked to the side of her bed, grabbing the loaded twelve gauge; she cocked it and stepped up to the door, warning, “If you’re not park rangers, I suggest you leave now. I’m armed and I will shoot you.”

A muffled chuckle sounded from the other side. “Well, that’s not the way I figured you’d greet me.”

“Oh, so you were expecting the shotgun blast then?” she answered aiming at the door and she pulled the trigger, blasting a large hole in the center of the wooden door. (Y/N) waited until the smoke cleared before she walked up and bent down, peeking through to see him flat on the ground, unharmed, reflexive as ever.

“Damn,” she griped. “I really thought I was going to beat you that time, K.”

Ghost-Maker cocked his head up and she was sure he was glaring at her from beneath the mask. “You crazy—”

“Bitch?” (Y/N) finished. “Tell me about it.” She set the gun next to the door and stood up, flipping the lock before pulling it open. “What do you want.”

“Well, I was coming to see you,” he said, picking himself off the ground; dusting himself off, he added, “You wouldn’t answer me.”

“Huh, I wonder why?” (Y/N) questioned, pressing her finger to her chin in mock thought, then her face lit up and she exclaimed, “Maybe it was because you tried to kill me a week ago!”

“I wasn’t going to kill you.” He griped. “You know I wasn’t going to.”

“Noted. What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you and if you’re smart, you’ll leave before I decide to reload the gun.”

Ghost-Maker sighed, gazing at her. “I was using Kyusho Jitsu to slow you down until Bruce arrived.”

(Y/N) wanted to scream, but she kept her voice level. “And that somehow justifies splitting both lips, one eyebrow, busting my nose, and throwing me into an electric fence?”

“…No,” he murmured. “No, it doesn’t.” He looked at her. “But I was concerned that if I didn’t make it look like we were really trying to kill one another, Riddler was going to kill the hostages.”

She merely stared at him for a long moment. “You know, I used to think I knew when you were telling the truth, but now that I really think about it, I don’t know when you’re lying to me either.”

He stood to his full height, jaw tightening as he said, “I’m many things, but I’m not a liar, (Y/N). And I’d never lie to you.”

“I don’t believe you,” she shot back, face pinching as she finished with, “And you can sleep outside.”

She shut the door and turned around, walking to the bed in the corner and he looked through the hole in the middle. “You know I can just come inside if I want?”

(Y/N) laughed, stripping the shorts and long shirt she had on before climbing into the bed. “You take one step in here and I’ll cut your penis off and nail it to your forehead.”

“Hmm…have it your way,” he decided, turning around and she had as she tried, she couldn’t block out the sound of him setting up his blanket and bedding on the porch.

Hopefully, he’d be gone in the morning.

***

A crack of thunder startled her awake and she sat up in the bed, looking out the window to see the rain beating down. Her eyes drifted to the hole in the door and for a moment, she wanted to get up and see if he was okay, but she felt a bolt of irritation flash through her and she huffed, flopping back down into the bed, yanking the covers over her head.

She laid there for a few minutes, listening to the thunder clap above her, the lightning illuminating the room ever other moment, then she groaned, cursing herself for being a good person deep, deep down. (Y/N) threw the covers off her and rolled out of the bed, hurrying to the door. Pulling it open, she couldn’t help but smile at the man curled up in his thoroughly soaked blanket.

“Come inside.” He said nothing in return, and she sighed, kicking him in the stomach. “I know you’re awake, K. Get in here.”

“I thought you didn’t want me inside,” he retorted, yet to pull the blanket off his head.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “I don’t. But I’d be a terrible person if I let you get pneumonia.”

“You know you can’t catch that from rain, right? It’s caused by—”

“Fine. Stay out here for all I care,” she interrupted, starting to close the door and he sat up, scrambling for the inside.

“Wait!” She smirked and he craned his neck up at her to scowl. “You did that on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” (Y/N) retorted, cracking the door open more so he could get inside. He sat against the door when she closed it and she leaned against the door frame, watching the water drip down his soaked body.

“Want a change of clothes?” she asked. “Bruce left some behind the last time he was here.”

“Thank you,” he said, and she walked over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of boxers and an undershirt.

She turned, seeing him yanking off his shirt and pants, then tossed the clothes to him. “Here.”

He caught them. “I’m not wearing his boxers.”

“They’re new, jack-ass.” (Y/N) snorted, looking away so he could dress himself, then she glanced back. “Feel better?”

“I feel less cold,” he retorted, walking around the fireplace to toss another couple logs inside. “You’re letting the fire die out.”

She rolled her eyes and wandered into the kitchen, returning with a clean rag. “You’d be less cold if you took the mask off and toweled your hair.”

He looked up at her, watching, waiting, and since he didn’t stop her from reaching behind him, she untied the knot at the base of his skull, pulling the damp fabric away.

(Y/N) wiped the water from his face, softly brushing over his cheeks, then to his eyebrows, and when she was satisfied, she placed the towel on his head, and gently massaged his scalp, letting the towel soak up all the rainwater.

When she was done, she tossed it aside and sank onto the brick wraparound with a heavy sigh, eyes drifting to the wall. Ghost-Maker collapsed against her legs, resting his head back on her thighs; unconsciously, (Y/N)’s hands went to his hair, stroking the brown tresses.

After a few minutes, he murmured, “I apologize for not telling you the plan.”

Her hands stilled for a moment before continuing their ministrations. “I accept your apology.” She scratched his scalp. “Sorry for what I said.”

“It didn’t hurt my feelings,” he shrugged, and she tugged his hair.

“Yes, it did.” He tipped his head back, gazing at her. “Parade it around all you want but we both know you’re not immune to having your feelings hurt.”

Ghost-Maker searched her eyes. “You truly thought I was going to kill you?”

“Yes,” (Y/N) answered. “Everything was happening so quickly. I didn’t have time to think about what fighting style you were using on me. All I knew was that you weren’t pulling punches and it didn’t feel like a plan to me.”

She stared at him. “And I was scared of you.”

“Are you scared of me now?” he questioned, and she inhaled then exhaled.

“No.” He seemed relieved, but it was short lived as she added, “But I don’t trust you anymore. And I don’t know how long it’s going to be before I do again.”

He looked away. “I see.” Nothing was said for a moment, and he pulled from her, standing to his feet. “It’s late. We should rest.”

(Y/N) stood and started making her way to the bed when she realized he was going too. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“Going to bed?” Ghost-Maker offered, and she cocked a brow.

“Try again, K.” She pointed to the couch. “Go.”

His face pinched and he turned, but she caught his hand and he stopped, glancing back at her. (Y/N), against the better judgement in her head and the obvious discomfort between the two of them, stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her forehead to the middle of his chest.

He seemed to freeze at the sudden action, even if it’d been one, they’d done many times, but he recovered, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other around the back of her neck. His cheek brushed her temple and her grip shifted, hands coming up to press flat against his shoulders; with the warmth stinging the corners of her eyes, she dug her nails into his back as if it were the one thing keeping her from breaking down.

She wanted to say it. Wanted to tell him how angry she was. How hurt. How much loathing was built up inside of her, but nothing would come out.

“I know,” Ghost-Maker murmured against her hair. “I know what you’re thinking, (Y/N), and I know.” He pulled back, hand slipping from her neck to cup her cheek; he pressed his forehead to hers and assured quietly, “I know.”

(Y/N)’s eyes slipped shut and she let out a shaky breath. “Tomorrow,” she whispered, and he nodded.

“Tomorrow.” He let her go and watched as she unsteadily headed for the bed, collapsing onto the mattress; she tugged the blankets over her head, and he frowned as he saw her frame start to shake beneath them. Pulling the blanket off the couch, he laid down and watched her for some time. Waiting until she stopped shaking and slipped off into sleep so he himself could sleep too.

[switchbladedreamz]

Home

Gonna say Sy's first name is gonna be Lucas/Luke

Captain Syverson x Fem!reader, fluuuuuuuffff

I'm from Oklahoma, and this is how we talk, and it's how Texans talk. I see authors trying their best to capture the southern vernacular and I applaud you- y'all're welcome to use this as a guide.

Apostrophes and italics: 'hnnngh' is thoughts. Regular dialogue uses the usual quotations " "

Spoiler: reader nor Sy like children.

Summary : Sy and reader served together, she enlisted bc she was kicked out of her home. When for the first time in four years she's off duty, she asks her captain if he knows somewhere she can stay since until she finds one in her own state, she doesn't wanna stay in Texas for too long. She's an Oklahoman, and as every Okie will tell ya for no reason Texas is stupid.

A/N: we are born with a slight hatred of Texas in our blood for some reason.

Homelessness among Veterans isn't something to joke about, if you would like to help go to www.woundedwarriorproject.org/veterans/charity

***I, the author, do not consent to stealing, plagiarism, or posting any of my work anywhere unless done so by myself***

Luke woke with a grunt as he heard his bedroom door open and a voice cooing to him. "Hey sleepyhead, I made your bean soup, please wake up". Rubbing the sleep and sandman trails put of his eyes- he rolled over looking at the owner of said voice. "The fuck is bean soup?" The baritone of his voice lower due to sleep, "bean soup?" He grumbled in a whisper.

"Coffee. Up. Please. I'm bored.". He smiled and finally sat up. He caught the way his friend was trying to secretly look at his torso. So he decided to stretch his arms above him and lean back at the same time, a yawn escaping. 'Damn that felt good' he thought to himself but when his eyes opened she was gone, though he could hear her piddlin around in the kitchen. He slipped a shirt and some shorts on to meander his way to the kitchen. "Mmh. Bacon, thank you but you don't have to cook (Y/n)". She looked up at him with the most genuine emotion in her eyes.

"I really wanna thank you sir. If it wasn't for you offering your place, I'd probably end up being another statistic." His heart clenched, he could see her fighting back tears as she flipped the bacon in the pan. "Hey now, its Luke or Sy. Not sir, not when we're home, on American soil. And you don't have to thank me. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you, kid. You've literally taken two bullets for me. I'll help ya find a nice place, maybe here in Texas" he prodded. He'd grown fond of his second in command these past few weeks. And everyday she cooked, helped clean, offered to pay for anything and everything. It was getting on his nerves but in a good way. She rolled her eyes when he mentioned her living in Texas. "Sir- I mean Sy... how do you like your eggs?" Evasive maneuvers, that's how the morning is going to go, alright then. A grunt left him, "over medium darlin" "you got it hun".

To city slickers, they would think that these two attractive adults are flirting, but that's really how southerners talk. They can't speak a word without a pet name in the sentence.

"Damn it woman, can't you just shut up and let me tell you how great this state is?" Sy was driving, (Y/n) in the passenger seat. She was laughing her ass off. "Look, I can't (pronounced like "cane-t") help it is okies are born with a hatred for Texas." "Well that ain't my fuckin problem, now listen. Oklahoma is shit, it's the last in education, in the top 5 for allergies, and all your favorite musicians come to Texas." "That's all you got, ain't it?". As he slows and stops to a red light he looks out the window for a beat, turns back to her and starts laughing. "Yes ma'am, that's all I got". Her laughter turned from giggles to uproarious, him joining her. The neighboring Subaru driver looked at them with disdain. That didn't help the case either. He turned into your favorite ice cream place, "I've had the gourmet shit across the pond, and the fancy shit here. But fuck don't nothin taste better than Braum's. The taste of home.".

P.o.v. switching

I smiled. This man is my best friend. "Honestly, though." I replied, holding the door open for him. He lifted his arm above my head onto the door, essentially jutting his giant armpit in my face- "After you". I refused and stood my ground. "No no, I insist. Ladies first" i smiled. He just shoved me through the door "girl if you don't get your butt in there". More giggles from us. It was noon on a Sunday so of course it was busy. "Damn this place is packed, we can go somewhere else-" I spoke, "nonsense, I love this place too. We can wait out these old folks and the kids.." after he said that a kid screamed. Which led to a horrendous domino effect of seemingly every infant and toddler screaming. "Nope" we said in unison and turned around.

Sy couldn't sleep. He had tossed and turned but the memories were getting bad. He was sweating. He had tried his grounding techniques, a cold shower, breathing techniques, it didn't help. It was difficult. His door creaked softly, Luke reacted quickly by grabbing the gun under his opposite pillow and aimed. "At ease hun. Just me. Your tossing and turning kept me up..." she trailed off but he could see the sweat and the way her chest was heaving though she tried to calm down- to hide it. "May...may I?" She queried, pointing to the opposite side of the bed. He stared at her for a few seconds too long and she let out a nervous laugh and turned around. "Wait. Yes. You may. I'll put this in the nightstand.". Meaning the gun, she smiled softly and nodded in acknowledgment. She crawled into his white sheets, nestled her head on his navy blue pillow and under the blue and white comforter.

P.o.v. switching

By the Gods did his sheets smell nice, he smells nice. Like a human should, not dirty and perspiring like a whore in church. (Its a common phrase here, I'm not slut shaming). I couldn't sleep either, the pharmacy wouldn't have my meds for another week. I would be lieing if I said I hadn't thoroughly enjoyed my time here. Its clean, homey, the guest room is nice and cozy. And I think I want to live here. 'What the fuck was that? What did I just say? Yeah totally gonna file that away for now. It's not like I like-like him or anything. Skipping over that too' I looked over at Syv- Luke, nope that's weird, Syverson. He was staring at the ceiling. "Well this totally isn't awkward with us both laying like boards. We're adults. And adults can sleep in the same bed and uh.. yeah." "Yeah..." he agreed. Well at least we're on the same page. "So..can't sleep". A very exasperated sigh was what I was met with for an answer.

"Right". "Wish you weren't so fuckin awkward bud" "Me too Sy. Me too".

"Just memories is all." "Same here. Heh."

A pregnant pause interjected itself between us. Until he rolled over to face me. He smacked his lips "nevermind" and rolled back on to his back. Oh hell no, I hate that. "What?" I asked and rolled to my side. "What?" He asked. This mother... "Don't "what" me, I asked first what were you gonna say?". He didn't answer. "Come on, that's like my second biggest pet peeve. What is it?".

"Would you want to move in with me?". Woah. Okay. This is happening fast, did he read my thoughts? I think I took too long to answer. He grumbled, always grumbling, this one. "If you're offering. Yeah I wouldn't mind. What made it cross your mind?". "Well i like having you around, I'm not suggesting anything other than being roommates. I mean you help keep the place up, and you're a good house guest. And with wages going up, that means the cost of living is going to up and it'd be alright to have this place to split with someone. And you're not a civilian per se-" "uh oh you're using fancy words there cap", he chuckled "fuck off. What I'm saying is, we get each other, we get along great and we know how to handle it if we have a ptsd induced panic attack.". "Wow. Woah, okay. So this is serious, yeah of course. Thank you." I scooch closer to hug him. And then the dam breaks and I start crying.

He just soothes me, "it's okay darlin, I know, I know. You're home".

A home. I haven't had one in years. I'm home.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

potent but not real, m | kth

pairing(s): taehyung x reader

summary: You kill people. Kim Taehyung doesn’t. He assisted you with one particular kill and then he kissed you. And, like a needle of methadone, the two of you chase the high again and again, knowing there is no hope for you. But there is for him. All Taehyung has to do is to walk away from your eyes.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of murder (non-graphic); sociopathic reader; unprotected sex (fem reader, sex in an office after hours, f-receiving oral, fucking against a desk, (symbolic) lipstick-covered motel sex, m-receiving oral, cowgirl); implied angst; non-idol!AU - office worker!Taehyung x assassin!reader (John Wick-esque)

Inspired by Methadone by Rise Against. The italicized bits are parts of the lyrics sprinkled throughout the story. If you like rock, check ‘em out!

--

The last time was a five-star hotel, but this time was a dingy motel, and you dressed appropriately. Thin-strapped flimsy black dress, kitschy animal print fur coat, strappy heels, and torn stockings, stumbling along the halls, ignored by others because you were mumbling under your breath, empty bottle in your hand, hair astray and makeup smeared.

No one wants a dirty-looking prostitute, and especially not a crazy one.

If anyone bothered to look at your face, they would have noticed how beautiful you were, caked under layers of makeup. They would have noticed that despite your erratic steps and nonsensical words, your eyes were shockingly clear, observing everything, hawk-like and hyper-focused. They would have seen that you took care not to move your left side too much, the thick fur hiding a barely-there lump.

You tipped into a door and tripped into the motel room.

The door instantly snapped closed behind your fallen body.

Locked.

love like a needle full of methadone

You rolled onto your back, looking up. Kim Taehyung stared down at you.

How did it come to this?

potent but not real, left you wanting more lipstick track-marks bleeding wet

It had only been a job, a woman this time. The higher-ups usually had you take the women. It was easy, but you needed an in, and Kim Taehyung had been that in. He was aware of what was happening and he was getting paid to keep his mouth shut. The first time you met him had been calm, neutral smiles as you greeted the tall, dark-haired man. You had worn appropriate office attire, slightly ill-fitted pants, starchy white dress shirt, big glasses, prim bun. Taehyung had greeted you at the door of the company he worked at. Your role was an outsourced advisor to help the company heads improve productivity and workflow. Taehyung led you around the floors, showing you various things, but none of it mattered. What mattered was the information Taehyung would provide you after hours. Names, schedules, addresses.

The woman had also worked at this company.

Had.

You did not ask for the reasoning. Embezzlement? Public shame? Had blackmail on someone? Had sex with the wrong rich man or woman? It didn’t matter. People die in senseless ways every day and one more meant nothing to you. That was your great skill, a skill unmatched by any other.

No remorse.

Perfect for the murder business.

And, like one truly born from the Eastern cultural mindset, instead of trying to get help or cure yourself of your apathy, you monetized your skill by becoming an assassin.

for us child, the stars refuse to shine why for us child, do the stars refuse to shine?

You followed the woman for weeks. The timing was important. Patience was key. Blending in, a different guise every week, a different method planned every day. The thing about killing for hire was that if you didn’t want to be caught, you couldn’t have a pattern. If you didn’t settle on a method, it couldn’t be connected back to you. That was the way you liked to do things.

The perfect weapon, a dangerous method.

The higher-ups were impatient, but you didn’t care. You knew what must be done and, when you’re the one doing the dirty work, you didn’t let them question you. If they wanted this to end a different way, they would have used a different assassin. But they chose you for a reason. You always had the cleanest kill, completely untraceable.

No one would ever know the Circle was involved.

It was a spotless erasure.

The reward was hefty, and, throughout the years, you earned far more than any human needed in their lifetime. Money was never your drive, but you took it all. You knew your own worth. Your work was too good to be underappreciated.

Taehyung was in on it. He knew it was going to happen. He gave you the name, the address, her usual timetable. He presented it all to you, without question, on a shadowy, starless night. You stared into his dark brown eyes, wondering why he could do such a thing. He held your gaze, dark hair pushed back, sculpted brows, serious expression. You wondered if he was broken like you, but that sort of thing was impossible.

There is no one as unhinged as you.

“Why are you this business?” he asked quietly in his deep, baritone voice.

It wasn’t accusing or beseeching. It was simply a question, no flaff attached to it.

“Because I’m well-suited for it.” You tapped the side of your head. Unsmiling. “Some screws fell loose when I was molded from the clay.”

Taehyung kept his gaze on you, blinking slowly. You expected him to recoil in disdain, be confused, or simply retreat from your unsmiling, vacant demeanor. Instead, he took a step closer.

“You shouldn’t need screws when molding from clay.”

One step closer, looking down, casting shadows all over his face.

“You only need screws when you’re making a machine.”

Taehyung leaned in and kissed you.

we wound up back here again

Fucking.

It was always a means to an end, something you did to fulfill that carnal need, a need that you did not understand very well, but it was there, and, like a starving beast, it demanded to be satisfied. Taehyung kissing you in a random office twelve stories up in a random skyscraper didn’t mean much.

But there was no consequence either.

You grabbed his head and crashed your lips to his again.

The risks were low. You knew everything about Kim Taehyung. The higher-ups of the Circle briefed you on him. You had his education history, knew every apartment he had lived in and every girlfriend he had ever dated. Had access to his credit card history, his medical records, everything.

He knew nothing about you.

Taehyung didn’t know you had no traceable past, didn’t know you had no home, didn’t know you belonged to the most powerful group of assassins the world has ever had the misfortune to create, didn’t know how many nights you spent in and out of consciousness, body traumatized and stitched back together, for you, a tool of the Circle, to be used once more.

This was your choice. Anyone could get out.

You just have to ask to die.

You sucked on his tongue and he groaned in your mouth, hands sliding between your arms to grasp your buttons and undo them one by one, thrusting his tongue in your mouth as he did so. Your breathing deepened, surrounding yourself with his warm herbal scent, fingers sinking into his cheeks, your shirt coming apart and his hands diving in, kneading your breasts with his strong hands.

Saying nothing.

There was nothing to say, because it was senseless, foolish, the worst idea imaginable. Yet, despite your demure and borderline unflattering appearance, Taehyung could see your hawk-like and hyper-focused gaze. You caught him watching you, not just your body, but your eyes, taking every opportunity to observe them. You could see his mind memorizing the shape, the iris color, the position of every lash.

Against your lips, he whispered, locking you with his stare.

“Your eyes are art to me.”

Taehyung knew. He must know that you were a highly trained assassin, which was only a pretty word for paid serial killer. It made you the lowest of the low, the worst kind of human being, the kind that does not deserve compliments or sweet nothings.

He pushed your head back and licked your neck, up your trachea, collarbone to chin, leaving a long, wet stripe of saliva.

The unnatural action made your shiver in his hands.

He kissed down, scooping your breasts out, nicking your skin with his teeth, not asking, but aware that you could break his neck at any second. The Circle could call you right now and tell you Kim Taehyung needed to die and you would kill him without hesitation or remorse.

His lips closed around your nipple and his dark eyes were on yours once more.

There were no stars tonight.

The world that you and Taehyung had created in this spare office was only lit from below by the unsuspecting city through the window.

He sucked hard. He used teeth. He licked and pulled and streams of saliva dripped down your chest, your body shuddering in his hands, hands falling back onto the desk and leaning back, Taehyung over you, your shirt falling down your upper arms, the euphoric rush almost unbearable, too much feeling for your empty heart.

No talking, no words, nothing but sound. Gasps, slurping, kissing down your stomach, skin being scraped with teeth and hands, Taehyung’s dark eyes on your face, always on your face, and you looked down at him, watching him undo your slacks, never losing control, not even as he pushed your panties down and snaked his tongue in between your folds. Your jaw clenched as his warmth invaded yours, your hand fitting on the back of his head, curling your fingers in his hair, a solid grip that could not be broken unless he finished his job. His tongue slid in and flicked your clit, stroking its ego, your hips grinding into his face, nearly suffocating him, but Taehyung said nothing, his stare never leaving, almost unnerving, but you didn’t care.

Slicker, stronger, rougher, his lips closing in, sucking and licking, teeth nicking your clit, his hands on your ass and nails digging in, pushing you to him and lengthening the stroke of your hips to his face, flooding his mouth with sweet honey and his ears with savage snarls, his eyebrow cocking, the only indication that he was asking for you to cum, fingers splayed over your ass cheeks.

You sucked in a breath and bucked into his face, hissing, clit almost painfully throbbing, and Taehyung finally shut his eyes, groaning as he drank it all like he was trapped in the desert and your leaking core was his oasis.

He didn’t bother murmuring your name.

It wasn’t your real name anyway.

like unstable chemicals combining only to explode

Assassins don’t need to procreate.

You were given options.

You chose complete removal.

Your uterus was probably in some biohazardous landfill, rotting away.

The only visible scar was mixed with the thousands all over your skin. It didn’t mean much to you.

Taehyung removed his face from between your legs, strings of your cum all over his chin. They snapped and hung downwards, so viscous that they just suspended there. He wiped it up his skin and licked it off, breathing hard.

Maybe that was all he wanted, but that was not all you wanted.

You yanked him up by his tie, nearly making him choke, and then his orgasm-stained breath was in your face. You pushed his face to the side, fitting your chin to his broad shoulder and inhaled that comforting herbal scent, the scent of Taehyung, and you unbuckled his pants, pushing them down, sliding your hand under the waistband of his underwear and pulling his already hard cock out. He gasped into your neck, grabbing your arm, but you growled, pumping his length roughly, making it swell to its full girth in your hand.

You knew how big he was. It was recorded in his medical record.

what would it take for you to notice

You pulled one of your legs out of your pants, fitted it around his waist, and shoved him inside you, grimacing, your ass against the desk. Taehyung pulled his head back, dark brown eyes wide, shocked that you took him so fast but, to you, pain was life, and this was nothing. In fact, it was welcome pain, being stretched out, sinking down on him, maintaining eye contact.

“What if–”

“It’s not possible for me to get pregnant anymore.”

He searched your eyes, looking for the lie. He mouthed the word, anymore, and there were questions, but you cared not for them, slapping your hips to his and he gasped, grabbing your leg and fucking you hard, right into the desk, sloppy, wet, but so much force, lifting you a little to sit you partially on the wood and then pound you harder, practically impaling you with his large cock. Even then, your back didn’t arch. Even then, your head didn’t tilt back. You were panting, primal noises at your throat, and his eyes were on yours, and then your moans and his moans matched, both of you committing arson, setting your worlds ablaze with lust, your nails scraping against the desk and his nails piercing your thigh, leaving bruises and marks.

Taehyung leaned in, a heavy sigh and wanton hiss, your hot breath mixing with his, loud slaps of skin on skin, his cock brutally slamming into you, your pussy tightening all around him. In an instant, one particularly jarring thrust and you felt the rush igniting all your nerves at once, a wordless gasp between your bodies as it all crashed down on him. He grunted, jaw set, closing one eye at the force of your orgasm milking his out, cramming your tightness full of his release, hot strings painting your insides, wasted in the name of senseless desire.

i am a heart on fire and all the world's a fuse so don't get close

And now, in this dingy motel, dressed like a cheap whore, you looked up at Kim Taehyung, clad in a plain green sweater vest and t-shirt, light wash jeans ripped up and showing off his muscular legs. He stood out more than you, his strong and handsome features far too difficult to disguise, but he was no one of note, a simple company man who would never be investigated for anything because he was insignificant on paper. There was nothing for Kim Taehyung to hide.

Nothing except his nights with you.

the trouble and the worth am i better off on my own?

You got off the floor and went to the bathroom to wipe off your face, frowning at the amount you had piled on to mask most of your features. Taehyung waited patiently, as he had all this time. He didn’t want to see you with all that on either. You washed your face and came out of the bathroom, shouldering out of your fur coat and draping it on a rickety chair, nearly collapsing it with the weight.

Revealing your gun holster.

It sat on your left side, within easy reach of your right hand. You had a limited number of bullets. You never wasted your shot. This wasn’t an action movie. You unclicked the buckle holding it against your body and set it on the table, the modern tool of murder looking ominously black against the cheap wood, machine-carved patterns trying to make it look fancy, but the poor staining gave away all the mechanical mistakes.

“Is that for me?”

You looked up to the deep voice.

Taehyung gazed back at you, expression unreadable, but clearly referring to the gun. His hair wasn’t styled, black-brown curls shading his forehead, parted in the middle. Hands in his pockets, ass against the end of the bed.

“No.”

A simple answer with no further explanation.

The Circle did not instruct you to kill Taehyung, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t at some point.

They were ruthless.

Taehyung was not looking at your skimpy clothes or your bare arms and legs. His eyes were on yours, as they always were, revealing his intent, hiding nothing. He had an intimidating stare and you had a pointed one, sharpened to drink in every observation until it was a part of your memory.

There was a bottle of red wine open on one of the nightstands, with one used wine glass.

Taehyung spread legs for you, as he did many times before.

You sometimes wondered why he continued with this. There was nothing he gained from it other than the actual sex itself. Did he feel sorry for you? Did he do it because fucking a murderer was an unattainable high in itself? Did he like you? Was he just killing time like how you killed other human beings? In some way you had contaminated him, and now Taehyung could not go back to his vaguely innocent life.

It didn’t matter what the reason was.

Better you not know.

He pulled one of his hands out of his pocket, opening an object with one hand. It was a black and gold tube of red lipstick. Shockingly red, far too expensive for someone like you, with those iconic overlapping C’s. He twisted it up. His other hand appeared and beckoned you to him.

You stepped up. Taehyung handed you the tube of lipstick, looking up at you, unsmiling but strangely satisfied. He produced a cheap pocket mirror from his other pocket. Held it in front of you.

You applied the red lipstick from the bullet, right onto your full lips.

Smooth, swift strokes.

Recapped the tube and handed it back to him.

Taehyung tossed it and the mirror onto the bed behind him and cupped your cheeks, kissing you right away.

damaged goods they soon forget in choking dust where we got left

Smearing the lipstick everywhere, red track-marks all over your neck and cheeks, lips and teeth working you. The satin finish was slippery, leaving streaks on his chin as well, heavy gasps of breath mixing between your bodies as you took his face in your hands, kissing him all over too, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling it back, painting smears like bloodstains all over his golden tan skin, Taehyung moaning depravedly under you.

Your teeth scraped right against his Adam’s apple and his eyelids fluttered, quickly righting themselves to look at you through his long, dark lashes.

He reached back and felt around for the tube of lipstick, holding it out to you once more.

The mirror was face up on the bed, reflecting a small slice of this particular circle of hell you and Taehyung had created in this motel room.

You took the red lipstick.

for us all the stars refuse to shine

His vest and t-shirt disappeared, suddenly fading into the background, body pushed back onto the bed by your strong hands, toned chest exposed and you climbing over him, lips painted already, quite accurately despite the mess on your face already. The tube was once again recapped, rolling across the cheap duvet. The bedsprings shrieked, metal grating against metal, but that was a common sound in this sinful place, a place where all bad deeds come to be executed.

Adultery.

Drug use.

Death.

All of the above, sometimes.

You stared into those dark brown eyes and sculpted brows, beautiful lips parted and smeared with scarlet, all the way down to his collarbones and you leaned forward, kiss prints all over his pecs, Taehyung’s rumbling deep baritone above you, noises of pleasure and praise, nonverbal but just as communicative, breath hitching as you sucked on his skin, adding purple to the red. Your tongue flicked against his dark nipple, staining it with red lipstick, the floral taste in your mouth now, but it didn’t matter. The pleasure more important, lips closing around the hardened nub, flicking it with your tongue, your hand trailing down his chest.

Taehyung touched your hand and turned one of your nails inward.

Your fingers curled and you raked your nails down his torso.

He moaned above you, arching his back to receive more pain.

so tap the vein and light the match we burn like stars before the crash

Every time, it felt better, more intense, your nails and your lips on his hot skin, his sound above your head, the depth of his voice vibrating his chest cavity. Down, down, undoing his pants, yanking down his underwear, and soon they faded into the background too, his naked body before you, covered in slashes of red lipstick, gasping for breath, dark brown eyes on yours.

He didn’t say your name, because he still didn’t know it.

There was nothing to know.

You didn’t have a name.

The orphanage picked one for you all those years ago, but it was no longer a part of you, lost in a fire that tragically killed your paper trail, turning you into a meaningless existence, merely a cog in the Circle’s machine. Cared for and shrouded by the shadows, adding you to a part of their watch.

You were a very important cog, but a cog nonetheless.

“Taehyung.”

Those brown orbs widened, stained lips parting.

“Yeah?”

There was too much fondness in that low tone.

but for you there's still a chance, just let go

You just stared at him.

His breathing deepened, swallowing hard. His long fingers buried into the cheap bedding, his eyes darkening as his chin lowered, licking his lips slowly. He watched you from underneath his lashes, cocking an eyebrow.

“Do whatever,” he finally breathed. “I’ll take anything.”

Your gaze flickered down and he was already hard. Something about your eyes. You dropped down, tongue sliding out, wetly running over the thick length. Taehyung sucked a breath through his teeth, hand coming up to wipe his mouth and plant back down on the bed, staining the sheets with marks of your meeting.

You wrapped your lips around it and it pulsed in your mouth, getting bigger as you lowered your head, still looking at his face, watching him shiver and groan at your lipstick-covered lips enveloping his throbbing cock. You took it all, hitting the back of your throat, so fucking much that you could barely breathe, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the sheer ecstasy painted over Taehyung’s handsome features, turning into drawn-out gasps as you began to move, bobbing up and down, your hands on the bed, neck straining from being stuffed full of cock. You could smell him every time you reached the base, that warm herbal scent flooding your nose, his thick length twitching in your mouth, fighting the tightness of your throat. You hollowed out your cheeks, tongue rubbing against the bottom, and Taehyung’s pitch hiked, biting his lip, lashes fluttering, pants shallowing.

“Fuck, oh, fuck…”

He was already filling your mouth to the brim, swollen head punching the back of your throat, bruising it in all the right ways, your moans trapped in your chest as you sped up, sucking harder, your fingertips brushing against his skin and spreading the lipstick-laced saliva all over his balls, adding to the sensation, Taehyung crying out as he looked into your hyper-focused eyes, his own pupils blown so wide they seemed to overtake the iris, starless and consuming all the pleasure you gave him.

He clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth, suddenly gasping as he came, shooting into the roof of your mouth, the scorching heat splattering against your throat and pooling there, so much and so thick that for a second you stopped to roll your eyes back, drinking his strong taste, before shoving his cock into your mouth again, fucking his cum down your throat so your were forced to gulp it down, barely breathing, enjoying your self-produced lightheadedness and Taehyung’s wail of protest, too sensitive to take your sudden rough pace, hand clawing at the air.

You slowed, licking him all over, soft, so soft, so much saliva, his stiff cock still dribbling out his orgasm for you to lap up.

His eyes on you again.

but now there's nowhere to run and yeah, there's nowhere to hide

And now you were naked, covered in red lipstick and his bites, straddling his lower torso, Taehyung licking between your breasts as you slid your ass down onto his still wet length, painted in Chanel, saliva, and cum, reaching down to reposition him at your entrance, his eyes shimmering, hazing out, high on you. Reflecting your form poised over him, a shadow with no morality.

You sank down and he moaned, low and deep, large hands on your waist and thigh, leading you. The thin walls of the motel did nothing to hide the screaming, the crying, the bed squeaks all around you two, above and below, whispers of devious deeds being performed meters away, but none of these things mattered. Your arms circled his broad shoulders and, as always, you were face to face, hawk-like, hyper-focused, and he was in front of you, fucked-out as your ass smacked into his balls, taking all of him, stretched out to an almost painful point.

He still didn’t know your name, so instead of saying it, his hand lifted and touched your chin, bringing your face to him, a slow, messy, pining kiss, your hips rolling into his, his moans wandering into your lips, eyes half-open to watch yours, your body shuddering with need, imploring you to fuck harder, rougher, to chase your pleasure, to chase it without abandon. You shoved Taehyung down onto the bed and smacked your hips into his, hissing at the jarring sensation of your tight hole being violently expanded by his long, thick length, nails digging into his tan skin. Taehyung harmonized with your lewd moans, husky depth adding to your heavy pants, following your rhythm and bouncing his ass on the hard mattress, hitting your deeper and more forcefully.

His hand fitted over yours, locking his fingers in between your spread ones, clutching tight, louder, louder, metal bedsprings screaming, your pants shallowing, staring down at Taehyung’s face covered with scarlet lipstick smears and dark brown curls sticking to his forehead.

what would it take for you to notice that i am a hand grenade pin already pulled so don't let go 

You wiggled your hips, smacking his hardness against your walls and clenching down, ruining yourself, ruining him, feral cries and satisfied hisses mixing with Taehyung’s deep baritone, one of his hands interlocked around yours, time ticking down and ready to detonate, trapped in the murky expanse of Taehyung’s brown orbs, heartbeat roaring in your ears, so loud it felt like it was the only sound you could hear, everything fading out except Taehyung’s face and you bouncing onto his cock, nails digging into his pecs.

“Taehyung…”

Your voice, wretched.

Like a guitar string snapping suddenly while being played.

You threw your head back, overtaken by the explosive fire racing through your gasoline veins, ignited by your orgasm shattering through your core and firing upwards, pussy convulsing and clutching Taehyung’s cock mercilessly, making his eyes roll back and his head slam into the pillows, knuckles white as he gripped your hand tight, whining on the top of his lungs, the high shooting from you to him, cock jolting and spurting thick gushes of cum upwards, right into you.

A violent crescendo of illicit ecstasy.

Someone smashed something against the wall next door, most likely a lamp.

You slumped onto Taehyung’s chest, body trembling with shivers of pleasure. His torso rumbled, struggling for breath, releasing your hand and wrapping his arms around you. Nothing romantic about being covered in red lipstick, saliva, and cum dribbling out of your hole.

Taehyung shoved his chin into your hair and trapped you there for a long while.

as we chase the sun my shadow slows us down

You didn’t say anything as he cleaned you up and you cleaned him up, both sitting in the narrow, half-full, yellowed tub, far too close together, practically in each other’s lap, using bleached hotel towels to wipe off the lipstick and cum with lukewarm water.

You raised your head, hair stringy and clinging to your skin.

His dark hair was plastered to his natural glowing tan.

You leaned forward.

Taehyung waited.

You pressed your lips to his.

A touch.

you're better off and i know

You drew back.

Remembering your gun sitting on the table outside the bathroom.

Remembering the man that you had shot hours before, staging it like a suicide.

What did that man do? You didn’t ask, didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. An old man who maybe had grandkids, great-grandkids. Maybe he ruined the lives of his hired labor, staining them with sin. Maybe he was at the wrong time and wrong place. Maybe he was guiltier than you, taking victims and leaving them to suffer with traumatic memories that could ever be erased.

You stared into Taehyung’s eyes, feeling no remorse.

Taehyung took your hand.

Squeezed it tight, so tight his knuckles were white and it felt like your fingers were being crushed.

You let him hold it for ten seconds.

Then you reached over and peeled his fingers off, one by one.

Got out of the tub, picking up the towel from the ground. Drying off your body, not looking at him. Put your clothes back on, hair still wet and cold. Holster on, jacket over it. The second you opened the motel door, you were the drunken, unstable prostitute once again, mumbling under your breath, speaking to voices unknown, pointedly ignored and avoided by everyone around you, even as you stumbled through the city, wet hair swinging, the only reminder that Taehyung had been with you, dripping water onto the sidewalk.

You looked down at your hand.

The hand that could kill.

The hand Kim Taehyung squeezed and would squeeze again, barring you didn’t kill yourself by being in the murder business. When Taehyung finally got out of the bath, he would once again find the large wad of cash you had left.

Money was never the drive.

Kim Taehyung made anonymous donations to various charities in your stead, his accounting background knowing exactly how to fumble the numbers and names. He and you would never be suspected. He was a real human being, one who cared about those around him. He would know where to put the money, know how needed it most. You wouldn’t.

You didn’t know anything about compassion.

You didn’t know anything about kindness.

You didn’t know anything about love.

you're better off and i know and i know

--

masterpost

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

It wasn’t uncommon for city folk and the like to wander out into the desert and end up lost; when they didn’t wander onto Butch’s turf, they would more often than not wind up dead.

Despite his current circumstances, he was a lucky one. The cowboy had heard that scream all the way from his campsite as he had been the one to lay the bear trap. Bears were scarce in this area but a particular pesky one kept coming around, stealing his food, and fouling up his things. He had to do something about it, maybe make the damn thing into a meal when all was said and done. He had been expecting a bear cry to ring out any moment, only for it to be a scream instead.

Fuck—this again? Pesky city slickers wandering out where they didn’t belong! As if knowing exactly what had happened without having to see it just yet, the demon blooded cowboy heaves out a sigh, flicking the remainder of his cigarette into the campfire before standing. With that, he heads in the direction he had heard the scream, walking for a good bit before coming upon the inevitable.

A person—caught in the very trap he had laid. Adjusting his hat some whilst taking in the sight, the blonde slides a knife out of its holder on his belt, kneeling down and jamming the sharp end into the teeth of the trap. Thankfully they were unconscious so he wouldn’t have to hear any pained screams from the uncomfortable readjustment. He manages to crack the trap open just enough to pull their leg out before it snaps shut again. What a waste of a trap.

Ripping a piece of fabric off of his sleeve with his teeth, he ties it around the wound tightly to keep pressure there in order to still the bleeding before heaving the poor soul onto his shoulders and beginning to make his way back to his campsite where he could give them proper medical attention. Sure, he could have just left them to die but it simply wasn’t in his nature. Besides, this was an interesting development after being out here for so long alone.

@gunslinginnhogtyin

The young heir panted a little as he wasn't sure where he currently was as all around him was desert sand all the eye can see, his head swayed a bit as his vision began to blur.

He was glad that his chosen element was hydro or water or else he be a goner trekking here, his feet trail in the hot sand as he tries to stand properly but he soon lost his footing and fell on the ground.

He coughs harshly as he struggles to stand back up, the wind blowing sand in his face and eyes which made it harder to clearly see. This was bad, really bad.

His strength was slowly being sapped away as he lays there, unable to move. As he tries to move one of his legs, a sharp pain hits him and a loud scream sounded out.

He turns slowly to see what happened and he gasped as there was a bear trap which was attached to a nearby cactus now embedded in his right leg, crimson beginning to soak the sand.

His vision blurs more as all faded to black, his body laying there.

[limetameta]

Riza: Can all y'all shut the fuck up for a moment, you're rowdier than headless chickens in a burning barn

Kimblee, Catalina, Maes, Roy: All y'all...

Ed: Yeah, she's completely right. I never seen such unruly city slickers in my goddamned life. Bless their hearts, but it's obvious they never had to scurry on a goat into a pen when it didn't wanna go.

Riza: Darn tootin. They'd be swallowed up on alive by the first morning rooster's caw.

Kimblee: Is this code? Are they communicating in code?

Catalina: No, they're just not from the city.

Roy: I still can't catch half of the things she says to me to be honest.

Maes: I think they're calling us pampered.

Kimblee: Fascinating...