#to another freezer based on what the repair person says | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

quillsareswords · 5 years ago

Text

Coping

Damian Wayne

(angst)

Vampire Reader, because I have a problem.

Coven: for all purporses of this fic, a Vampire coven is an organized underground society of Vampires. Often take pleasure/amuse themselves by partaking in violent and cruel acts toward Humans.

WARNING: USE OF UNIDENTIFIED DRUG AS A COPING MECHANISM (ESCAPE).

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

When Bruce had told you what happened, it'd knocked the breath clean out of you.

When you'd tore off on your bike, helmet strapped on, eyes glowing a dangerous shade of red behind a dark visor, no one had moved to stop you.

When you cut all communication, they started to worry.

When the waterfall parted and the doors drew open, everyone had sucked in a breath.

You wouldn't look at them. You couldn't. Your eyes remained on the cement floor before you. Your tongue locked behind fanged teeth.

You could feel their stares. Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Barbara, Tim. All of them staring at you with horror, disappointment, and fear in their eyes. Dick's eyes were glistening with tears—you could see the shine out of your peripherals.

Your grip on the rear gasket of your helmet tightened, nails digging into the plastic. Not that it particularly mattered, anyway. The bloody crack down one side, peppered dents, and shattered visor put it beyond repair.

Heavy footsteps echoing angrily through the otherwise silent cave, you marched right through the small cluster they'd formed. You still couldn't bear to see their faces.

Bruce called out to you and stormed toward the elevator. At the wide doorway to the Medbay, Alfred waited dutifully as you passed. He would have treated the many cuts and bruises newly littering your skin, or stitched the holes in your jeans, your jacket, or your shirt, had you stopped. But you didn't.

Again, Bruce called you. He called you by a moniker you no longer deserved. This time, you could hear his boot steps gaining on your own.

Then, his hand his on your shoulder, and you're stopping abruptly to spin on your heel. You smacked his hand away, fury burning red-hot in your eyes. "Don't fucking touch me," you snarl.

His mouth hangs open for a moment. He recovers quickly. "Where is he?" He sounds breathless, and he looks tired. Terrified.

You all but leap away from his touch as he reaches to grasp your forearm. The rest of his family gather behind him, all anxious eyes and shivery hearts. You look away. Hurl your helmet across the cave with as much rage as you can pack into the motion. It shatters like glass and leaves an indentation where it hits the wall. "Gone."

Bruce let's out a breath that shakes as hard as your hands. "Gone?"

Dick braves a few steps forward. "What do you mean, gone?"

You bear your fangs and shout your answer, "Dead, you idiot!" It's angry and raw and pained. The word reverberates off the rock walls, echoing back in your ears like piercing needles.

You can't stand the look on Bruce's face, or the pain in Dick's eyes. You turn away, crossing the short distance to the elevator back up to the Manor. You punch in your code and slide in before the doors are comple open.

You should have known better. You should have been there. You should have seen this coming.

You'd warned him about that damned building at least a hundred times. You'd warned all of them. As unassuming as those dirty brown and red bricks looked, the horrors they held were beyond their pay grade.

You knew, though. You'd seen it.

It was a nest, you explained. An old, multipurpose building bought by a suspicious little group decades ago. Likely by the founder, but you weren't sure. A Coven, you'd said. Nothing to play around with.

You'd seen the spark in his eyes. A challenge. You did your best to stomp it out as quickly as you could, and you succeed. You made him promise that he'd stay away from it. And he never broke a promise to you, as cheesy as it seemed.

You had been keeping tabs on them since you'd moved to Gotham, a few years back. It was after they'd approached you, knowing you had a few strings to pull inside the circle of local vigilantes. You'd never liked Covens, but you were fairly new in town and decided that it was worth seeing how others like you acted around one another here. When you'd seen the horrors within those brick walls, you'd turned down the offer for a place among their ranks on the spot.

You should've known they'd turn their eyes on your partner. You just hadnt thought they'd be so bold.

They knew you, after all. They knew what you were capable of. That's why they invited you. They knew your power.

Or at least, now they did. With a building of bodies and blood and flames licking at those filthy bricks, you were sure they knew.

The steel doors pulled apart, a grandfather clock sliding to the side. You moved out and down the hall as quickly as you could with a new limp.

Hours later, you're locking a deadbolt to a dingy door in a dark apartment.

The first thing you did was shut off the heating. You didn't mind the cold—you hadnt since you were Turned—but Damian did. The warmth only reminded you of him.

Next, you unlaced and kicked off your boots, then tossed your jacket toward the kitchen counter on your way through the doorframe.

Then, you find yourself staring blankly into the freezer.

A to-go box, a tub of ice cream, a shelf of tofu, six ice packs, and a bottle of rum.

All of it his.

You slam the heavy door and growl. You growl, because if you don't, you'd whimper.

Finally, you're relacing your boots and marching back out to the city in a different leather jacket.

• • •

Even from across the street, the strong scent of alcohol burns your nose. Red eyes hide behind dark glasses, picking carefully through a steady stream if exiting patrons.

In such a bad part of Gotham, you aren't questioned about such dark glasses so late at night, nor your lonesome leaned against a brick wall in a dim alley.

Finally, your eyes find one man, stumbling about like a newborn fawn, dopey grin, and sloppy words spoken to the breeze.

You push off the wall and cross the slow traffic on the street.

For nearly three blocks, you tail him. Waiting for a buddy to catch up, a phone to ring. Your suspicions are confirmed when no such thing happens.

At last, he all but collapses against the cement wall of a building, obviously fighting for consciousness.

You move in.

As he begins to fall to the ground, you catch him by the collar of his shirt and swiftly haul him into the nearest alley. You slump him behind a dumpster and crouch next to him.

"Sorry bud," you grumble, ripping the collars of his coat and shirt from the base of his neck, "but I could really use a pick-me-up."

Teeth sink into flesh with a sickening noise. Blood draws immediately, spilling out just a little faster than you can drink it. You gulp it down with a desperation you haven't felt in years.

Eventually, the intoxication hits you. Your mind grows fuzzy at the edges, and thoughts become sluggish and tired.

When you've had your fill, you brace yourself against the wall for stability to stand.

You breathe deeply, taking in all the wild, horrid smells of this wretched city.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Your head turns slowly, to peer over the arm still braces against the wall. You arch an eyebrow, glasses slid lazily down your nose. Tim Grayson. No, no. That's not right. Tim. Tim Bake. Drake. Tim Drake. You snort. "What does it look like, Red?"

You can imagine the horror in his eyes as he stares at you from the other end of the corridor. His quiet for a long few seconds. "I thought you laid off the, uh . . . live feeding."

You pushed off the wall, found your balance with little difficulty, and whipped the excess blood from your mouth with the sleeve of your jacket. "Yeah. I did." You stalked closer, hands shoved deep into your pockets. "About the same time I took up the whole hero gig." You waved your hand around in a general sense, before returning it to your pocket. "For obvious reasons."

You stopped a few feet in front of him.

His grip on that bo staff loosened. The sneer of disgust at his mouth softened. You wonder if he can see it in your face.

You're both very quiet for a very long time.

Unfortunately, it didn't last. "You know," Tim started, voice timid and soft, "he really loves you." He'll be back. For you, if nothing else."

You rolled your shoulders. Shifted your gaze. That rock is awfully neat.

"Did you . . ." Your eyes meet his, briefly, before he continues. "Did you see it happen?"

And just like that, whatever buzz you've built up off drunk man's blood subsides. You go rigid again, and your hands are shaking again.

He deserves to know.

"Yeah," you whisper, voice curling like smoke in the air, but it's not in the same way Tim's breath does. "I was so close I could have touched him."

He doesn't reply.

You shrug off the chill that runs down your spine. Your eyes glow a little brighter. "Shouldn't you be patrolling?"

Tim glances back down the alley, the way he'd come. "I was. Then I heard there was some shady person hanging around a bar down the street . . . I'm guessing that was you?"

You nod.

"Right." His eyes drift back to the man slouched beside the garbage. "Is he, uh–"

"No." Liar.

He nods stiffly.

You blow a hard breath through your nose. "I'd better be on my way."

"Uh, hold on," he grabs your arm before you turn away completely, but the look you throw him has him shuffling a step or two back. "Bruce wanted me to tell you, if I saw you, that he wants to talk to you."

You roll your shoulders higher, turning back down your side of the brick passage. "Tell him to shove it," you growled.

"You aren't the only one who lost him, you know," he says suddenly.

You try hard, you really do. But in the end, you've already got him pinned to the wall. When you speak, it's dangerously low and he can't tear his eyes from yours, gleaming threats under moonlight. "You weren't there. You didn't have the chance to stop it." Your teeth were bared, pink-stained fangs on full display and you snarled. "It wasn't your fault."

Forcefully, you released him. Hands shoved back in your pockets, a silent promise to your lover lingering in the back of your mind, you stalk off again, vanishing around the corner and into the shadows.

Tim watches you go.

• • •

Your head is absolutely spinning. You feel dizzy, despite laying perfectly still on your beat up sofa. Colors and shapes swirl behind your eyelids, entertaining you easily in the silence. Your mind is numb, vague thoughts blurring around the edges.

God you love this. You'd never done drugs like this before, partly because you were young and partly because it wasn't who you were. But you needed something stronger than second-hand drinking. You couldn't keep seeing his face. You couldn't keep hearing his voice.

So here you were, half asleep on your empty, dark apartment, exactly a week after that night. You didn't know that, though. You were blissfully unaware of the date, the time, and the dimming sunlight creeping beneath and above thick, drawn curtains.

Your jacket is still half on from the night before, boots still loosely laced on your feet, one flat on the floor and the other tossed over the arm rest opposite your head.

Your lips are parted in a dopey smile, fangs only barely visible through the crack.

You jolt at the knocking.

Red eyes snap open, lips clamp shut. Colors and shapes just barely line you vision and you silently search for the source of the noise.

Your eyes hit the door, finally, and you see the shadow shifting in the crack of yellow light beneath the door.

Standing from the couch is a task of it's own, as you have to take a good minute to find your balance. Whoever it is knocks again. Boots barely leaving the floor as you cheat steps, you make your way to the door and flip the deadbolt, before you haul the door open.

Dick stands before you. His clothes are rumbled, and he looks as though he'd rather be absolutely anywhere else.

You have to squint against the buttery hallway light, using a flat hand to shield your eyes from what seems to you like a bare bulb. "What?"

He looks a little startled. You aren't sure why.

(In reality, he hadn't anticipated your eyes to be do dark around the edges with days old makeup, or your complection to look so sickly.)

Your jacket has fallen down on one side, now bunched around your elbow. You make no move to fix it, obviously leaning against the door for support.

He stammers before he answers. "Are you okay?"

You know there's a reason he's asking you. There's something big that happened, but you aren't sure what it is. Was it recent? What's it about? "Yeah?"

He blinks at you dumbly once, twice. "Really?" He runs a hand through uncombed hair. "Nobody's heard from you since the, uh . . . since last week. I thought I'd check on you." He doesn't meet your eyes.

You rest your head against the door, too. "Uh, thanks, I guess." Your eyebrows slump together.

Now his gaze flickers to yours. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little . . . out of it."

You nod, wood scratching your scalp. "No no, yeah, I'm totally good. Little high, is all." You shrug, as if you've said nothing out of the ordinary.

His eyes blow wide. "You–You're–? High?"

"Mhmm."

Again, he stares. "Are you serious?"

"Well," you make a face, "yeah. What do you do when you wanna, uh . . . I don't know. I had a reason, but I kind of forgot it." Your head raises from the door and you snap your fingers. "That's it! I wanted to forget something."

A blank stare hits you. His jaw is left slack by astonishment. Shock? You aren't sure.

"Anyway," you scratch the back of your head, "what did you come here for?"

This seems to rouse him from his daze, but the expression that replaces it pulls at your heart. He seems disappointed, maybe even a little sorrowed. "I, um. I wanted to check on you after what happened to Damian."

There it is.

Your mood sours immediately, stills and snipets if memories flashing through your mind like a messy animation. Your eyes hit the floor as his screams rip through your subconscious. Eyelids squeeze shut.

Your thoughts are still muddied. It feels like trying to pull something free of tar.

"(Y/N)?"

"You should leave."

"But–"

"You should leave," you repeat, eyes cracking open just enough to see his. You ignore the blurriness and the knot in your throat. "Now."

He nods silently. He understands. "I'll come back in a few days," he warns. You nod.

Your deadbolt is back in place before he's to the elevator.

Peering around the apartment, at the dark shadows lining every wall and outlining every piece if furniture, the mixed drink on the coffee table, the empty vile beside it; your press your back against the door.

Your gaze turns to the bedroom door, still closed from the night you left. You haven't had the strength to even near it.

A dim, deep red light casts odd shadows over his face, especially from where you lay beside him. His eyes look odd, too. You aren't sure if you like the way his features appear, bathed in red.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks you, eyes meeting yours in the semi-dark.

You continue to trace careful patterns into the back of his hand the nail of your middle finger, cradling it in your other palm. "Nothing worth talking about," you assure quietly. "Just you."

"Are you insinuating that I'm not worth your words?" He cracks a grin, though it's lopsided and tired. He's been out all night. The sun is coming up, and yet he's only just going to bed.

You opted to call it an early night. The shine in his eyes had you sure he needed the company.

You'd always been good and weeding out the good night's from the bad. Maybe it was just because you'd experienced them yourself, or maybe you were just more observant than you should be.

You chuckle softly. "Well obviously. Why do you think our schedules contrast do much?"

He smiles at you directly. He's silent for a moment. It's long enough that your gaze moves away from your hands and his to his eyes, to see if he's fallen asleep. You find his eyes staring deeply into yours.

"I love you so much," he states, voice all velvet and honey, every syllable dripping adoration.

You scrunch your nose. "And I love you more than the stars and the moon, but what's got you saying it now?"

You only ask because he isn't typically so forward about it. You've always had to look for it, seek it out between lines of poetry or small favors or little gifts. His love is always coded and complicated, and it's part of why you love him so dearly.

He doesn't answer you. Instead his eyes refocus on your hands. He focuses on the shapes you're drawing. He listens closely to your breathing.

He's never going to tell you that he came so close to death only two hours before hand. He'd felt the icy grip on his heart, threatening silently to freeze it completely.

You enjoy the quiet moments before you both nod off.

You tear your eyes from the door. Focus on the floor. Focus on breathing. Focus on the sound of blaring horns and roaring engines outside. Focus on anything but the laughing silence.

And laugh it does. It cackles at you, howling with a malicious roar, hell-bent on pounding the understanding into you: you're all alone now.

No one is coming for you now. No one is going to pick up the phone now. No one is going to be sliding into your bed at noon. No one is going to surprise you with hand crafted chocolates you can actually enjoy. No one is coming home.

You squeeze your eyes shut again. You can't go in there. You've been sleeping on the couch for the past week, blankets thrown over every curtain hanger to keep out the sunlight. You've done it to the entire apartment. The second bedroom, the bathrooms, the living room, the attached kitchen. You'd come to associate the sunlight with him.

From sunkissed skin to stories of life before cloudy Gotham, your mind thought sunlight and Damian was never far behind.

You can't take it.

You cross the room in a blur, picking up the glass from the table and hurling it at the opposing wall.

It shatters on impact, splattering dark red liquid down the wall and splintering glass all over the wooden floor.

• • •

Your posture slouches as you trek down a wet sidewalk. You don't know exactly where you are, which isn't the best idea, but then again, you haven't been having many of those lately. You aren't even paying attention to anything around you. Music playing through your headphones, eyes trained straight ahead.

The people around you don't spare you much attention. Some darkly dressed seventeen year old shuffling around in a hoodie is the least of anyone's concerns, this time of night. You know this. You use this.

At the sound of a particularly sharp car horn, your eyes jolt sideways, mostly out of instinct. Just some bastard too impatient to wait for the light to change.

You take the moment of broken concentration to look around some. You're a few blocks from that building, you realize.

You turn immediately. Start walking the other way, keeping your distance from the buildings and the main stream if people by walking right next to the road. Sure, you're gonna have to dodge a few street signs but–

"Josephine!"

Your eyes jump again at the shriek. Your body goes rigid, your mind recognizing the panic in the man's voice instantly after patrolling for too many years.

You haven't been out properly since that night, and you aren't sure if you ever want to out again. But those instincts never seem to leave. There's no off day once you've gotten into the swing of things.

You see it before you realize it. Across the street, a little girl, about seven or eight, with dark hair and brown skin, chasing after a robotic dog as it turns and rolls right into the road.

Before your even have the chance to regard the situation, you're charging into traffic. You hoodslide a towncar as the horn blares, and then you're leaping out if the way of a Ford. You race through the temporarily empty lane, and then you're bringing down and scooping the little girl and her toy up and ducking off the road completely.

You set her down in front of the stricken looking man, who proceeds to thank you profusely. You forge a tight lipped smile and tell him it's not a problem, that you're just happy to have been fast enough.

And once again, you're on your way.

By the time you make it home, the sun is starting to think about rising, and your playlist has cycled through twice. You unlock your door with a dry throat, a blank white plastic bag in the crook of one arm.

The room is dark when the door opens, but you smell a person the second the hallway light spills in.

You don't tense. You recognize the remaints of expensive calogne before you even get in the door. "Morning, Bruce." You lock the door behind yourself and flick on the kitchen light.

He still stands in the shadowiest part if the large room, behind the armchair by the window. "We haven't heard from you in two weeks."

"Dick came by," you stated. You kept your back to him, pretending to be too busy putting away two pints of A Positive.

You can't look at him.

You can't look at his face, especially. It's too similar.

And besides that, you already know why he's here. His son is dead, and you are the only one who knows what happened.

"That was six days ago." You hear the give in his tone. He doesn't want to talk about this any more than you do, but he has to know. He moves toward you. "You were supposed to come back. Tim said he told you."

"He did," you assure, getting a glass down from the cabinet by the refrigerator, mostly empty plastic sack in your other hand.

You hear anger seeping into his voice. "Do why didn't you?"

Hesitance. The glass is on the counter, but you aren't pouring yet. Your eyes are on the splash back in front of you.

"(H/N)–"

"Don't call me that," you growl. His steps stop. "Don't call me that."

"(Y/N)," he corrects, "I have to know what happened to my boy."

Your shoulders slump. You have to flatten your hands on the countertop to ground yourself. The bag of red liquid lays on the counter beside the glass, waiting to be poured. You stay that way for a good minute, weighting your words carefully. You reach back into the fridge, but your hand hesitates over the bottle.

Fuck it.

You grab it by the neck and twist off the cap. You half off your glass, and leave the bottle open on your counter. You open the bag and add it's contents to the glass, emptying the bag and filling the cup.

You aren't even sure you'll get a buzz off of this, but you're more than willing to try.

Bruce watches you carefully from the end if the counter on the other side.

"Drink?" you offer, holding out the bottle of rum where he can see it. It almost feels wrong, to offer up something of his so freely.

He pauses before he answers. "No."

You bob your head. Turn around. Lean against the counter. You swirl the concoction idly. You still don't look at him. You keep your gaze on the painting in the living room, through the wide gap in the wall between the counters and the cabinets.

You remember when he was still painting it.

"I told you all not to go around that place," you begin. Your voice is gravely and sharp, a hardness he hasn't heard from you in a long while guarding your words. "This is exactly why."

"What is it?"

You take a long drink. You revel in the burn it leaves. Your eyes glazed over. "A Coven nest. They gather there, live there, thrive there. It's like a church for a particular group." He crosses his arms and leans against the wall. "They do things there I hope you never see.

"You see, a lot of vampires like to believe they're above humans. That they're inferior. Some Covens use them like animals. Bull fights, gory plays and musicals. You've seen Interview With a Vampire, yeah?"

He nods.

"Kinda like that. Sometimes worse, sometimes not as bad. I've been watching that particular Coven since I got to Gotham. They approached me shortly after I started the gig, wanting to know if I'd join them. I turned them down, obviously." Another long drink.

"I told Damian and the rest of you to stay away from that block. It's crawling with Vampires like that. I didn't want to see any of you getting snatched or worse. I should have wiped them out then and there, looking back. But I didn't. Just watched. Kept tabs.

"Then you called me. Told me he was gone without a trace, and you said he'd been down at that old car rental place. I knew the area. That's why I didn't wait for details.

"When I got there, they already had him tied and ready for something. I still don't know what they were planning on doing with him. I didn't ask questions, because I didn't have time. They jumped me the second I got inside. I had most of them dead or dazed by the time I got to the Big Kahuna."

When you didn't continue, Bruce prodded. "And?"

Your voice came back quiet. "And I wasn't fast enough." You downed the rest of your drink and slid it towards the sink. You misjudge the trigectory, and it slides off the edge and crashes to the floor. You stare down at the chunks and splinters of pink stained glass darkly. Emptily. "I couldn't get to him fast enough, and Regdoral killed him right in front of me."

Bruce was silent for a long time. Neither of you moved to clean up the mess you'd made. "When we went to check the building–"

"I know."

He follows your gaze. His words are softer than you expect. "What happened next?"

You chuckled, but there was no humor there. "I snapped," you shrugged. "I slaughtered every one of them where they stood. Burned every one of them in the Crypt."

Bruce doesn't speak.

Your next words are hardly a whisper. So light and airy that Bruce has to strain to hear them. "Did you find him?"

He goes quiet as well. Then, "Yes."

You close your eyes. Bite your lip. You pinch your palm. Anything to jolt your mind away from him. The memory of that silver sword gliding through him with a sound that still turns your stomach.

"Why did you leave him?"

You pick at a spot on the lip of the counter. "I dunno. I guess, maybe, some part of me hoped he'd beat me home. Maybe he'd been faking his death for one reason or another. Maybe I thought if–if I didnt–"

You sniffle. Your teeth sink into your lip and red spills down your chin and over your tongue.

Bruce shifts his weight. He wants to comfort you, but he doesn't know how, or if you'd let him. He doesn't what to do.

Your legs are shaking as hard as your hands, but they don't last as long. Your knees give out, and you go sliding to the floor, tears streaming freely down both cheeks.

Neither of you move for a long time. Neither of you speak. Not until you stand, shakily, supporting yourself with the counter.

"Bruce," you all but croak. He turns his eyes on you. "I miss him so much."

"I know," he replies quietly, risking a few steps toward you. "We all do, (Y/N)." He rests a hand on your shoulder. He's testing.

You slip forward from the counter, wrapping shivering arms around him in a desperate pursuit of comfort.

He gives it willingly, hugging you tightly.

You cry. He cries. All in a dark, bitter silence that traps you in a place you once knew as a home.

PART II COMING SOON

#damian wayne #damian wayne blurb #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x vampire

224 notes · View notes

ot5ismyhome · 4 years ago

Text

Bloodbound Chapter 21- Vulture

After Steve left, a car stopped in front of Rogers Innovative. Adrian Toomes got out of the car and walked into the building. The security guard stopped him at the entrance. Adrian tried to push past him but the guard resisted.

“Move or you will regret” he said. “Davis” he added looking at name batch on his shirt. His fangs descended and he growled at the guard to threaten him.

Davis shook his head dramatically as he bared his own fangs and smirked at Adrian. The two vampires took off fighting. Toomes delivered punches after punches but Davis was quick in deflecting it. He punched Toomes in his stomach which he retorted by kicking the Davis in his shins. When he went down, Toomes stomped his feet into his knees cracking the bone. Davis let out a howl in pain. Adrian continued towards the elevator. He got in and pressed the button for Steve’s floor.

Davis was lying on the floor in pain. He got his radio out and spoke into it. “Piper are you there?”

“Yes, you big dumb baby.”

“There is an intruder. Get the kids to safety”

Piper and Pietro had just entered Steve’s office. Piper alerted the others and led them to the private elevator in the office. They used it to reach the blood storage room behind the stairs which only few knew about. They ran across the lobby towards the exit. Piper saw Davis on the floor clutching his knee. She helped him stand up by taking most of his weight. She heard Wanda calling her name and looked up. She noticed that they were surrounded by five thugs from Rumlow’s clan.

“To the parking lot. NOW” Coulson shouted as the group moved away from the main entrance towards elevator. Toomes stepped out of the elevator and blocked their path.

“That leaves us no other option than to stand and fight” said Coulson as he took a gun from his shoulder holster and shot the five vampires in their head. “This will keep them down. They can’t heal unless the bullets are taken out.”

“I want one of that when we get back to base” Pietro commented.

Toomes ran towards them and Coulson fired his last bullet. It missed Toomes by just an inch and shattered the statue behind him. Before they reached the elevator, Adrian caught Pietro. He took a stake out of his coat and pressed the tip to Pietro’s chest. The others stood still calculating their move.

“Don’t think of anything. One wrong move the kid will turn to ash” he threatened.

“Okay… Okay we will do as you say” offered Wanda.

“Don’t worry. I will be fine” Pietro consoled her.

“Stop talking” Toomes strangled him with his free hand. He turned to the others, “Don’t try to stop me.”

The others didn’t move a muscle as Toomes took Pietro as hostage and walked out. He rendered Pietro unconscious with a hit to his head; pushed him into the trunk of his car and drove away.

Piper looked at the vampires lying on the floor. “Let’s move before more of Rumlow’s men come here.” She rubbed Wanda’s shoulder, “We will find Pietro.” Wanda nodded.

Davis was still whining in pain. Piper collected blood packets from the freezer and distributed it to Davis and Howard. Davis eagerly plunged his teeth into the packet and drank large gulps. He could feel him bones repairing. He will gain his strength back in no time.

“I don’t need it. You guys are hurt, you should have it.” declined Howard.

“Have it. There is enough for everyone and we need everyone to their full strength.”

Howard accepted the blood bag. While the three vampires were feeding, Wanda walked to the opposite side of the lobby and stood staring at the paintings on the wall. Coulson walked a bit further way from the group and called Steve. The call went directly to voicemail. He tried calling Tony but he was out of reach. Coulson sighed and looked at the others.

“Mr. Rogers is not picking the phone. Stark is out of reach” he announced.

“There is only one other person who could help us, if he wants to” Wanda said. The others looked at her expectantly. Wanda uttered two words, “Bucky Barnes.”

Davis face lit up in recognition. He pointed to the granite, “This dead guy.”

“Apparently he isn’t dead anymore. Things have changed in vampire town.”

“Why does he know more about us than us?” Davis looked puzzled.

“Job requirements” Coulson smiled. “I’m going to do one thing my mentor asked me not to” he added with a wince.

Coulson drove them to the outskirts of the city passing the inhabited houses. Even though there were no residents the neighbourhood looked to be a decent place.

“Where are we going?” questioned Howard looking out of the window. He had one hand around Wanda and the other was fidgeting the hem of his shirt.

“I think this is the place” replied Coulson nonchalantly.

Howard and Davis rolled their eyes but decided to keep shut. Finally, Coulson pulled out of a house and got out. The others followed him to the doorstep. Coulson rang the bell. A bald man, wearing an eye patch answered the door. Seeing Coulson, he sighed.

“You had one job” he spat. “What was it?”

“To never contact you again”

“Hey, you remember that” Fury replied with sarcasm dripping with every word. “You not only disobeyed a direct order, you bought five people with you”

“What? There is only-”

Without further explanation, Fury pulled a gun from under his coat and pointed directly at the tree opposite to the house.

“There is no escaping me. Come out” he barked.

*****

Sam had arrived at the terrace opposite to the Rogers Innovative to his spy post. He had expected to meet Bucky who had gone to spy on Steve and hadn’t reported back. When Sam tried to reach him, he was out of range. But seeing no struggle or anything out of ordinary at the post he resumed his duty. He hadn’t given much thought when Adrian Toomes went into the building. Sam knew he had to intervene when he heard the bullet sound followed by the blonde kid being dragged out. He made an attempt to follow Toomes’ car but missed it before he could get down from the roof. Few minutes later, he saw another car racing out of the building. He had decided to follow it.

On his way, Sam conveyed the situation to his friends. He followed the car to the outskirts of the city. Lincoln was the first to respond. He had managed to get hold of Bucky and they went to the Rogers Innovative to inspect the scene.

Everything was going fine, until Sam had got caught. He had thought of running away but the enhanced bullet that Lincoln found inside the skull of Rumlow’s men made him think twice. Sam lifted his hand above his head and walked out from behind the tree.

“Who is this dude?” Davis whispered to Howard who shrugged being as lost as Davis was.

Fury spoke, "Are you going to tell me what happened or are we waiting for four bad guys with guns?"

"It's more like bad guys with fangs." Coulson filled in on Fury what happened in the Rogers Innovative after Steve had left.

“This guy will take you to him” Fury said tilting his head towards Sam.

“At least lower the gun now, man” Sam winced dramatically.

“Now, everyone get out of my property” he said. He bent down and picked up the cat that was brushing against his legs. “Come on goose, we gotta pack now.” The cat meowed back in response. “Yeah, yeah I know. Just now we unpacked. Tell this to that knucklehead” with those words the man disappeared into his house.

“Yeah” Coulson shrugged. “That’s what he calls me when he gets over fond of me” he said his friends.

“It’s time to pay White Wolf a visit” Coulson said looking expectantly at Sam. Sam wouldn’t have wanted to associate himself with other’s problems but he wasn’t able to turn them down. The group drove to outer part of the city and stopped in an abandoned amusement park. Sam parked his bike and walked to the small security building; the others followed. He knocked the door.

A man opened the speakeasy grate, seeing Sam he opened the door. Normally, he wouldn’t have opened if anyone was accompanied by outsiders. But Sam is Barnes’ right-hand man. It’s better to let Barnes deal with it he thought.

Bucky arrived as soon as he heard about the group, waiting to see him. Seeing their state, he took them into his den.

He turned to Sam, “What’s going on? Why are they here?”

Coulson filled him on what happened after Steve left for hearing. Bucky pondered over his thoughts for quite some time but finally agreed to help.

…..

The van rolled into the factory which was located outside the city. Rumlow’s men dragged them out of the van and took them to the execution room. As they were pushed inside, they noticed that someone was already there. A chair was placed in the centre and a woman was tied to it.

“Natasha” Steve shouted seeing his friend. She lifted her head slowly and look at him. Her eyes looked tired and shallow and it was clear she hadn’t fed for long. A fresh cut was on her temple and blood ran down the side of her face dripping from it into her lap. There was a deep cut on her lips which was swollen. A gash ran across her right shoulder till her elbow. Her knuckles were soaked in blood and small bruised littered her arm. Steve mentally scolded himself for not organising a search party for her. She had been here for a day and he felt like it was his fault.

4 notes · View notes

foxtophat · 5 years ago

Link

another long one, coming in at 9k words because i am goddamn trash

HEY GUYS SORRY ABOUT THAT UGH today just didn’t go the way i wanted it to. you ever feel like that? well anyway here is the 11th chapter!!! fun fact: hurk and sharky show up! second fun fact: i am 90% sure that it is not moonshine they’re peddling. 3rd fun fact: i don’t know if they know what an apple looks like any more

i don’t have much to say about this chapter, although i will say it involves casual drinking if you’re not into that. i think i’m gonna go have a newcastle myself once i’m done writing this up... which i guess means now!

as usual my dudes, i want to thank you all for being so tolerant of my bullshit and so open to my dumbassery! it’s so nice to feel MOTIVATED to post for once, which might not come through when i get delayed like i have the last 2 chapters, but it’s true! i have so much trouble working on things without feedback, so you guys really have been awesome.

if you wanna contact me, my askbox is always open! as always, i appreciate any and all comments, kudos, likes, reblogs, casual links, private discord messages, idk whatever i don’t even use discord

below the cut is the full chapter for those of you who don’t wanna go off-site! thank you again for reading guys, and i will talk incessantly about this fic soon!!!

The next three days are marked by a surprising peace. Nick had suspected that once the cat got out about John, they would be fielding a flurry of calls, or maybe even some in-person confrontations, but so far they've been left completely alone. Maybe telling people on their way out of the county has something to do with that. Maybe they'll need to wait for Hurk and Sharky to come back and spread the news if Jerome's decided not to do it himself. Nick's not sure if that's even what he wants , but it feels like the inevitable next step. Eventually, if the community is going to come together, the cat's gonna have to get out of the bag.

John is just as nervous than before, although it only shows whenever they hear distant engines or a far-off gunshot. The night after the caravan, he and Jerome spend a full thirty minutes on the radio, but it only makes him more pensive and reserved. Nick wouldn't mind so much if Carmina weren't also acting bummed out — sure, she's just upset that she lost a friend before she could make one, but it still sucks to see his daughter acting as morose as John.

At least Kim's optimism hasn't been phased. She's been determined to look at the situation from every positive angle available, and none of Nick's uncertainty has put a hamper on it. She rallies them all for a second day-trip down to the river, hell-bent on cheering each and every one of them. It's a day of sunlight and clear water, and the fish are jumping like mad. It must be spawning season, or something, because the suckers are easy pickings.

The nice weather and the easy fishing both do wonders for Carmina's mood, which is becoming more and more fickle every day. Nick dozes in and out with a rod in hand, and although John spends most of the time staring at the water, he touches base with reality once in a while. Mostly just when Kim includes him in conversation, but it's still enough.

It's... nice. Nick doesn't know the last time he felt so relaxed. He doesn't think that memory exists anymore, lost to time like so many other positive thoughts, but he's enjoying the reminder to relax his shoulders and turn off his anxious brain for a few minutes. With the sunshine just as warm as ever and the water a bright, nearly unnatural blue, Nick figures all they need is an umbrella and some beach towels to drive the point home. Hell, at this point, they might as well claim this as their private waterfront.

Grace shows up after breakfast the next day, ready to take Carmina for some target practice at her range. She isn't strictly speaking to Nick yet, but she keeps it cordial, even friendly with Kim. Maybe Jerome talked with her, or maybe she came to accept the situation on her own, who knows. Either way, Grace ignores the sight of John out on the back porch and treats Carmina to a genuine smile when she comes downstairs, rifle in hand. Finally, three-quarters of the year later, the situation with Grace has finally returned to normal, taking one more weight off of Nick's shoulders.

She promises to have Carmina back before sundown. She also promises to leave her radio on, just in case. Nick knows what she means by just in case , but he can't say no to the added security.

Nick retreats out back, letting Kim have some time with Grace without the awkward tension of his presence. John pointedly refuses to look at him, sorting through a box of components as though he hasn't already picked it apart.

It isn't until after Grace and Carmina leave that Nick remembers he has an out — well, now it's just a regular chore. He's got to deal with the so-called freezer in the hangar, which is full of fish and sucking up all the fuel for the generator. Either he has to make it viable to use long term, or they're going to be shit out of luck for food preservation beyond salting and pickling.

From the look on his face, John wishes Nick would ask for his help, but Kim has already called on him to help harvest the last of the spring planter, so he's shit out of luck there. Nick doesn't have any damn sympathy for John — gardening is boring, and Nick will do anything to avoid it, especially something as easy as throwing John under a bus.

So, the good news is that the freezer still turns on. Nick hadn't expected much after finding it under part of the collapsed roof, but it hasn't shorted out once since they hooked it up to the generator about a week ago.

The bad news is that it's not a good use of power at all. The rubber seal is nearly worn off, so it keeps losing coolness, and there's definitely a coil burnt out or something in there because it barely manages to keep its temperature lower than the air around it. Sure, maybe it'll come in handy around winter , but that's not going to help them with summer around the corner.

As it is, Nick's only sure that the fish from yesterday are still good. There's a covered pot of stew underneath that they put in after the caravan left, which is probably fine, too... but Nick wouldn't put money on the rabbit they put in at the start. After all, it hadn't been all that fresh to begin with, and it's been wrapped in cloth for a little too long.

Well, maybe once they get some chickens and find a post-apocalyptic appliance repair center, it'll be worth being the energy sink that it is. For now, Nick has to figure out what to do with these goddamn fish and the leftover stew from the other night. It's their own damn fault, thinking they'd still have company after revealing John, but that doesn't change the amount of food they have on hand.

At least when Grace comes back, they'll have something to repay her with, although Nick isn't sure she's willing to eat any of their food yet. She'd been okay about seeing John in the backyard, relatively speaking, but there's no way she actually believes any of the progress being made. And as much as Nick would like to tell her that her distrust is unwarranted, he can't exactly tell her how to feel. It's just gonna have to take time, and she's going to need a different kind of proof than Nick.

They aren't expecting any visitors, so the sound of engines on approach shakes Nick out of his thoughts and puts him on immediate high alert. He can't make out the number of vehicles, but it sounds like a goddamn posse, which can't be good. When he goes out into the yard to check on Kim, he finds her missing; John is the only one standing there, waiting nervously by the planters and looking for any sign to bolt.

"Stay here," Nick tells him as he approaches, heading straight for the front.

"Yes, I know ," John snaps, but Nick isn't going to stop to argue with him. He slows his anxious jog as he comes around the side of the house, catching sight of Hurk's motorcycle through the trees coming down the drive. Kim is standing in the front yard, arms loosely folded over her chest; she looks cautiously excited for the company, although neither of them are sure if this is strictly a social call. Nick sure hopes it is — he's not sure they could hold their own against a group with an RPG and a whole lot of crazy.

Hurk kills his engine once he sees they've got an audience, leaving his bike with the others in the drive. The big, blissed-out guy and the smaller, wild-card one stay on their bikes, while Sharky talks to somebody sitting on his ATV briefly before following his cousin's tracks.

Kim greets them with a warm smile as they come up. "Hey, you guys. We weren't expecting you to stop by again."

"We radioed ahead," Sharky grouses. "But nobody answered."

"Sorry, I wasn't near the receiver. We've been out back all day."

Hurk pulls off his sunglasses with a dramatic flair. "Yeah, I figured it was something like that," he says, with a tone that implies Sharky had a different theory, one Nick imagines involves John staging some sort of coup. "Well, whatever, we're here now!" Looking around coolly for a second, Hurk realizes he still needs to explain himself and bashfully elaborates, " Somebody oughtta know we got back alright, so we can get hired out again and whatnot..."

"Everything cool?" Sharky asks. He makes no effort to hide how he's looking for a fire that he can blame on John. Well, at least he's trying to find a good reason to beat John up this time.

"I should be asking you that," Kim counters, wearing a smile that's enough to disarm Sharky's gruff posturing. "How far did you get?"

"We hit Great Falls before we figured any further was a one-way trip. They're probably past Missoula if they kept up the clip."

"And how'd everything look?" Nick asks. "I mean, relatively speaking."

Sharky shrugs. "A whole lot of the same," he replies. Hurk rolls his eyes in his cousin's direction, fixing him with an annoyed stare that eventually wears Sharky out. Shoulders slumping in defeat, he opens up semi-reluctantly. "It wasn't the, uh... wild wasteland I was expecting. Lots of empty land and road stops. Some friendly, some... uh, not so much. But that group can handle it."

Nick is happy to agree, and not just to placate Sharky. "Yeah," he says. "Hope County breeds tough people."

"Did you guys pick up somebody along the way?" Kim asks, having just done a headcount of the remaining posse. Nick remembers the two on their bikes; the new guy, he remembers from the third car, quiet and quick to leave but otherwise unmemorable.

"Oh, that's Mud," Sharky says, pointing at the three who probably can't hear much over the rumbling engines. "He was with the caravan, but he changed his mind." Sharky's chest puffs up as he confidently tells them, "He's ridin' with us now."

"That's great!" Kim exclaims. She's genuinely excited by the news and the chance to socialize, and the effect of her positivity is hard to fight. Sharky can't help but smile back, even if he's trying to act tough, rubbing his hands together as he casts another approving glance back at his gang.

"Are you going to do anything to celebrate?" she asks.

"Not much to celebrate, he's kind of a nerd."

"Come on," Kim laughs. "You left home and came back with more people than you started with. I think most people these days would count that as a win." She rubs her hands together, looking briefly at Nick and suggesting, "We could have a fish fry?"

"Hey, that's an idea," Nick replies. "We caught some bass yesterday and they're just gonna get composted if we don't do something with them."

"I dunno about that," Sharky says, cutting off Hurk just before he can excitedly agree.

Kim presses her hands together. "Come on, stay," she pleads with a smile. "At least let us feed you. When's the last time you had something more than jerky and booze?"

"Well..." Sharky trails off uncertainly.

"Kim's right," Nick cajoles. "We got plenty to spare."

"Grace is going to be back with Carmina in a few hours," Kim adds. "I'm sure she'd be glad to see you guys."

Sharky rubs his beard, looking back at their waiting posse. "Grace, huh?" he repeats. He trades a few unsubtle glances with Hurk before finally turning back to Kim and Nick. "Yeah, that should be okay. Except — ah, shit. We promised Wallace and Tiny we'd start doing things democratically now that we won't keep tying over everything. Hold on, gotta go confer with the boys."

They only spend a minute talking it over before the two motorcycles kill their engines, which is all the confirmation Nick needs to know they're hosting company. "I'll go tell John," he tells Kim under his breath. "Somebody should give him a heads up before Sharky punches him again."

Kim sends him off with a pat on his shoulder as he heads for the backyard. John is still waiting by the planters, although he's staring longingly for the safety of the hangar. Nick can't blame him — he's still sporting a dark and noticeable bruise from the last time Sharky socked him. Hopefully, seeing his lingering handiwork will satisfy Sharky, otherwise, John might wind up with a matching set.

"Sharky and Hurk are back," Nick says. John doesn't exactly relax, but knowing he doesn't have to prepare for another ugly reintroduction keeps him from bolting. "They're, uh, gonna stick around until Grace gets back."

"Then I probably shouldn't be around," John replies.

"What, you wanna go hide all night?" Nick rolls his eyes. "No, don't be a baby. Worst that'll happen is you'll get knocked down again." John doesn't look convinced, so Nick tries another route. "Come on, we went through all that just so you wouldn't have to hide out every time we have company. And people are gonna have to get used to you eventually — at least Sharky and Hurk already know you're alive." Finally, when none of that seems to work, he sighs and promises, "I'll make sure nobody decks you for no good reason, c'mon."

John finally relents, sighing and gesturing vaguely. "Fine," he says, "Whatever you say."

And, even though Kim isn't around to force him to it, John sits back down at the planter and resumes pulling carrots. It's probably entirely out of spite, but at least it keeps him busy while the posse of would-be raiders filters into the backyard. Nick stands awkwardly at first as Wallace and Tiny stare aggressively at John's back, but when Kim rounds out the group and nobody takes a shot at either of them, he forces himself to ease up on the suspicion. From here on out, Nick is going to try his damnedest to act like everything is absolutely normal. Well, as normal as it can be.

Kim has Sharky talking from the outset, which makes it easy for him to avoid acknowledging John at all. It helps that she's genuinely interested in what he's been up to since they last saw each other — other than open-channel conversations on the radio, the Ryes haven't seen them since the world ended. With only one car and not a lot of fuel, they haven't had a chance to go exploring the east side of the county since climbing topside.

As it turns out, Sharky and Hurk have shacked right back up at the old trailer park. They'd met up with Wallace and Tiny sometime after coming topside, and right now the four of them are in the middle of making the park more hospitable. Sharky keeps mentioning a reception area, and Hurk says something about expanding the lot, so Nick suspects they're looking to cash in on the heretofore abandoned hospitality industry.

For now, though, it's just home to four wildcards and one multi-use distillery made from old airplane parts. "It's pretty much fucked," Sharky says, although truthfully, Nick thinks it sounds kind of badass. "But with enough elbow grease, we'll probably be able to make it livable." He looks around, craning his neck to eyeball the mostly-intact hangar and their secure house, and offers a genuine compliment. "You guys got lucky. No hate, just glad you had somewhere to hole up in. It would suck to really have to rough it with a kid around."

"Tell me about it," Kim agrees emphatically. "Although, it took a lot of work to make it this nice, and there's still a lot more to do."

Sharky and Hurk settling in around the fire-pit is all the invitation their crew needs to make themselves more at home. It's no surprise that they pretend like John isn't there — nor is it a surprise that John returns the favor. It's a little tense and a lot awkward for Nick, but for now it's at least a peaceful holding pattern.

"It sorta sucked, seeing everything as trashed as it is here," Tiny says somewhat morosely. "I mean, at least we ain't alone, but..."

"Hope Valley got the best of it in general," Wallace says. "Right in the sweet-spot. Ideal Collapse."

"He means most everything else got blasted," Tiny clarifies, a sort of post-Bliss interpreter. "You can tell when you leave the county. Eases up after a couple of miles, but there's, like, a big old ring around us."

"No doubt, no doubt," Wallace agrees. "Protecting the good stuff."

"It's pretty fuckin' weird," Hurk says. "But I don't know nothin' about nu-clear thermodynamics and whatnot. Could be normal as the albino deer and shit."

"Uh, you think that the caravan's gonna be okay out there, if everything's just as wrecked?" Nick asks.

"Oh, sure," Hurk drawls. "There were all sortsa people makin' due out there, one way or another. They'll be fine ."

Sharky sighs, opens his mouth, then thinks better of whatever he was going to say and changes course. "They made it pretty clear they would be happier without help," he says. "Hope that works out for them. Me? I'm ride-or-die Hope County. At least 'til Hurk here goes international again. Then, uh, I guess I'm gonna be ride-or-die Miami."

"Hell yeah!" Hurk shouts. "Gonna get the business back in business, y'know what I mean? First stop: check in on mama and Xander. Second stop: top of the world, baby!"

The posse rallies around Hurk's promise with excited whoops. Nick doesn't know what Hurk's job was before the apocalypse, but considering the contraband he used to get his hands on, it's probably something that will only flourish here in the apocalypse.

"'Course, she's probably dead," Hurk adds somewhat morosely at the end, sort of ruining the whole vibe.

Sharky slaps his shoulder a few times out of sympathy. "Don't know 'til we go lookin'," he says, which manages to prop Hurk's mood back up for the time-being. "Anyway, we got a whole slew of islands and mountains and shit to explore once we get established. Spending the rest of my life riding around Montana sounds like a waste of a good apocalypse, if you ask me."

The new guy, Mud, looks more confused than Nick about these future plans. "So, what'd they offer you for joining up?" Nick asks him. "Ten-percent of Boshaw-Drubman LLC?"

Startled, Mud shakes his head frantically. "No way. Uh-uh." Bashfully, he says, "I just, uh... got cold feet. But I don't got much out here, not since the, uh..." He glances past Nick, definitely eyeballing John, then swallows and edges around the truth. "Well, um, Sharky let me ride back, on account of the — well, uh, I didn't wanna get left behind either direction. And since I don't got anything, I offered to join up." He frowns, "Except I don't have a bike, or gas for a bike, or a gun, or bullets for a gun..."

"I told you," Sharky scolds like a mother hen, "We'll figure that shit out later."

"It's smart to stay together," Kim says when Mud fails to pick back up again. "It's what we should all be doing. Does that mean you're staying with them at the trailer park?"

Mud nods, while Tiny goodnaturedly jokes, "Not that there's much left to stay at..."

Sharky is quick to defend their home, even if he doesn't sound super convinced by his own argument. "Hey, we just haven't had time to, y'know, clean and all! We've been busy, man, you know that! Gathering ammo, building the still, brewing ..."

"Would be nice to have a roof over our heads, that's all," Tiny laughs.

"Where do you want me to go, the roof store ?"

The argument is mostly playful, but Nick knows it's only a matter of time before that playful resentment becomes real. Hurk already looks bored by the ribbing, which tells Nick a lot about how long this joke has been running. Even John is paying attention, although Nick only catches an uncomfortable backward glance.

It's a contentious problem for the gang, for sure. But Nick doesn't have to reach far to come up with an easy solution, one that he figures will benefit everybody involved. After all, even considering their own needs, they've got more than enough spare scrap to spare, and Hurk and Sharky's goodwill comes with guns and alcohol, so...

"You know," he says, "John and I found a lot of scrap cleaning this place up. Maybe you can use what we can't."

Sharky opens his mouth to say something, probably pretty rude, but he catches himself before he gets that far. "Wouldn't want to put you out like that," he mutters.

"Hey, we're all in it together, right?" Gesturing towards John, who looks like he'd rather fade back into the dirt around him, Nick offers a sort-of compromise. "We've been trying to figure out what to do with the surplus. This seems like a better use than anything we came up with."

"Well, I guess it couldn't hurt," Sharky admits reluctantly.

Kim recognizes the need for some decisive action, and so she claps her hands together and takes the reins from her grateful husband. "Nick, you and John should take Hurk to look at what we've got. Then, all three of you can bring some wood back so we can get the fire started."

Sharky opens his mouth to object, but Hurk speaks up before he can. "Sounds good!" he exclaims, throwing himself to his feet with ease. Nick can't help but envy him — the guy's got twenty years on him, but Nick doesn't hear his knees popping randomly when he stands up.

"Y'all don't go startin' trouble," he warns his gang, waving Nick on. "Let's do it!"

John turns and heads immediately for the hangar door, disappearing inside without a backwards glance. Hurk lingers once they reach the door, casting a wide look around the empty wash of dirt leading out to the old landing strip before following John inside. He doesn't seem concerned in the slightest that John might be waiting to ambush him.

"Sorry about Sharky, by the way," Hurk says once the three of them are standing in the shade of the tarp overhead. "He's been real stressed is all, tryin' to act all fuckin' responsible and shit. John here making it after the deputy beefed it just hit hard, I guess."

Well, if that's the way Hurk's been referring to it, then no wonder Sharky's sensitive about it. "It's, uh. It's fine. We figured there'd be some... y'know. Reasonable resentment."

John does that thing where he pretends he can't hear he's being talked about, going straight to the log pile stacked against the back wall. Hurk doesn't seem to notice the silent treatment, turning to the organized junk spread out over the cracked concrete. From broken two-by-fours, bent fence-poles, chainlink scraps, and stacks of not-quite-moldy plywood, there's gotta be something here that can help fix up the trailer park. Nick makes sure to highlight the best scrap for Hurk's consideration, although he avoids mentioning their surplus of nails and stripped screws for now. No use showing his whole hand, right?

"Damn," Hurk says at last, looking around in mild astonishment. "Can we hire y'all to do this to our scrap?"

Nick laughs. "Yeah, like I wanna do all this again ."

"What about you?" Hurk asks John's back, ignoring the way he tenses at being directly addressed. "How do we rent you out?"

"You don't," John says, his tone briefly icing over as he turns, regarding them coolly over his armful of logs. He's more petulant than angry when he explains, "I don't owe you my life, so I don't owe you my labor."

"Fine, I'll just save you from a burning building or some shit," Hurk replies, as if he couldn't care less that it's John Seed he's bantering with. "I guess we gotta talk trading, now," he sighs reluctantly. "Man, I fuckin' hate this barter-system bullshit. You know, actually, I got a box full of bottle caps if you wanna..."

Nick waves away the extremely bad offer to invest in an unbacked currency. "Hey, don't worry about it," he says. Hurk frowns heavily at that, so Nick suggests a compromise. "Look, if you and Sharky wind up with your own microbrew, you owe me a case — and yes, I will take payment in installments. That sound fair?"

"If ?" Hurk replies. He lets out a big laugh. "Buddy, I got news for you."

Hurk, John and Nick each take an armful of wood back to the fire pit, where Kim seems to have everything under control. Sharky is less openly hostile when John reappears, anyway, which is a good sign. Mud and Tiny have apparently been given fire-starting duty, jumping to the task as soon as they drop off the wood. Sharky, a true pyromaniac, manages them from his seat by shouting directions at them as they stack the wood in the pit.

Before they can sit back down, Kim turns Nick and John back around for the fish. It's a one-person job, but John doesn't complain about being sent away.

"You okay?" Nick asks John when they reach the freezer.

"Yes," John replies automatically. Nick stares at him for a solid five seconds before he cracks with a frustrated sigh. "I'm just a little overwhelmed. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

"Sure," Nick agrees. He picks up the old bin they've been using to cart fish back from the river. "You can stick around here for a bit if you want. Take a breather."

John scoffs at the idea of taking a break, as per usual. "I thought the point was not to hide," he replies tersely. He reaches out to yank the cracked plastic container from Nick, a frustrated and instinctive reaction that he curbs at the last moment, fingers curling briefly into a fist as he forces himself not to just take things from Nick.

Taking pity on the dumb bastard, Nick pushes the bin into John's arms, flipping open the freezer door and staring down at the slimy, not-yet-smelly fish. "Well, if you need a break, just say you're gonna get more firewood." Nick shrugs. "Someone's gotta check on you eventually, but Kim knows the drill."

John doesn't respond as Nick loads up the bin, but Nick hopes he takes the out to heart. There's not a social obligation out there that Nick hasn't gotten out of by dedicating himself to some dumbass chore nobody else wants to do.

They return to find a roaring fire that is... hopefully under control. The mismatched seating has been pulled back to accommodate the fire's larger-than-average size, accompanied by a couple of chairs from inside to make up the difference. Sharky and Mud have disappeared, although they return just after Nick, each carrying a variety of bottles and jars of different sizes.

"Shit, I didn't think you brought the entire brewery with you!" Nick exclaims, not in the least bit upset by the development.

"Not until you clean all those up," Kim says before Nick can get ahead of himself. "You don't want to be handling a knife right after a shot of... whatever that is."

Nick groans, but she's right. As much as Nick would like to get drunk off his ass on torpedo juice, he has to get his priorities straight. Still — there's a lot more fish than Nick's willing to handle by himself, so he enlists a willing Wallace and Tiny to help out. He picks them mostly because they're openly carrying hunting knives, and because John is just plain bad at deboning fish. John stares at him resentfully, but since he hates handling food as much as he hates gardening, Nick's sure he'll get over it before dinner.

Nick doesn't have much control over the food once it's been cleaned, as Sharky and Hurk have some kind of bet going about who's the better cook and they don't need anybody else throwing their hat in. As far as Nick's concerned, their cooking tastes delicious but indistinguishable. Of course, Nick's waiting for his own dinner, so other than a few bites to try and judge the difference, he doesn't get to eat much of it.

Tiny and Wallace split and down an entire mason jar of mysterious dark liquor while they wait to eat. Nick wants to join them, but Kim's waiting until Carmina is home to start drinking and really, Nick should be doing the same. From the way John's watching distrustfully from the side, he's not likely to get into any moonshine himself.

Nick manages to hold out until after he's finished eating, but then Hurk offers him some moonshine directly and he can't say no. It would be in bad taste, right?

Oof. Turns out the moonshine is in bad taste, but that's what he should expect from something that's easily 120 proof. Nick takes one swig and immediately regrets it as it turns his chapped lips to fire and carries the heat all the way down the back of his throat. There's no taste or anything, just an intense, full-mouth burn and this lizard-brain instinct that everything is going to go horribly wrong if he drinks more of whatever that is.

"Jesus Christ !" he gasps. It's only Hurk's quick reflexes that keep the jar from crashing to the dirt, but Nick doubles down before Hurk can pry it out of his hands. Even as he struggles to form a sentence more complex than, " Poison ," he's got to go back for a second sip. As if somehow a second one would make things better — but of course it doesn't. At least, not to begin with; first, it's gotta turn his shredded lips inside out and throw his tear-ducts into overdrive better than an overripe onion.

"Well don't drink more of it," Kim huffs, way too late.

"Now be honest," Hurk asks, "Can you taste any apple?"

Nick pushes the jar back into Hurk's attentive hands, choking disbelievingly on the word, "Apple ," although now that he thinks about it... No, nope, no after-taste whatsoever. It does , however, warm him from the inside out, leaving him feeling a decent buzz for two conservative swigs.

"Whatever it is," Nick sighs at last, after a big swig of water, "It's great."

"You know," Kim says, "The sooner we put the stew on the fire, the sooner you can eat. Maybe then you could handle more than a couple of baby sips."

Nick clicks his tongue, taking some childish offense at his wife teasing him about his tolerance. At the same time, she's right — and Nick is getting hungry. There's still enough uncooked fish left for when Grace and Carmina get home, but if he wants them to have as much as everyone else, he'll have to settle for the three-day-old stew. At least Kim and John are stuck in the same boat as him.

Before he can get started on that, though, Grace surprises him by returning early with Carmina. Admittedly, it's still pretty late in the afternoon, but he hadn't expected her back so soon. She isn't surprised to find company, which is also a surprise, although she eyes the whole group somewhat distrustfully as she and Carmina round the side of the house. When she sees Hurk and Sharky drinking from their unsanitized brewing bottles, she finally relaxes, letting go of Carmina's shoulder so that she can join the not-necessarily child-safe group.

"Grace!" Sharky exclaims, leaping from his seat and almost grabbing her for a hug before remembering personal boundaries are a thing. "Holy shit, the world literally ended last I saw you!"

Grace returns Sharky's enthusiasm with her more subdued version of it, smiling fondly and following through the rest of the hug for him, the same way she'd grabbed onto Nick and Kim when they'd first come back topside. "Sharky, it's good to see you," she says, her voice deep with emotion.

"I radioed her while you were getting firewood," Kim mentions to Nick as Hurk takes his chance to get a hug from the usually reclusive sniper. "I thought she would appreciate a head's up. And, you know, it cheered Sharky up."

"Hey, good thinking."

Carmina approaches gleefully, carrying the rifle over her shoulder triumphantly. For a nine-year-old, she's pretty natural with the thing, which is a mixed blessing as far as Nick's concerned.

"Aunt Grace made moving targets!" she exclaims, excitement overriding her confusion momentarily until she looks at the group. "I didn't know we were having people over today..."

"It was a happy surprise," Kim tells her. "These are the guys who were helping that caravan heading west, remember?"

"Yeah," Carmina says. She looks immediately to John, who is way too busy staring tensely at Grace and Sharky's reunion to notice her.

"Don't worry," Nick says. "Everything's fine."

"Uh-huh," Carmina says, unconvinced. Thankfully, she doesn't seem too worried about another fight breaking out. That probably has something to do with her attention being focused in an entirely different direction. "Do we have pulleys? I wanna make a shooting range here! It's really easy!"

Nick's gut reaction is to say no, but Kim interrupts him. "Maybe while your dad is getting the stew, he can check," she offers, looking from Carmina to Nick significantly. "Then we can have some dinner and talk about it."

Although it looked like John hadn't been paying any attention before, he stands as soon as Kim mentions going to the hangar. "I remember seeing one," he says.

"You can help me look, then," Nick offers. "Maybe get some more firewood?"

"Yeah," John says absently. Nick barely steps into his line of sight, but that's all he needs, turning and making his way to the hanger down the same invisible path he was glued to before. Nick sighs, rolls his eyes at Kim entirely for show, and follows. Maybe once they get some food in him, John will stop being such a cagey bastard about the whole thing, and they'll be able to actually put things to rest with Grace and Sharky at last.

When the world ended, Nick had figured that meant the end of life as he knew it. In some ways, he'd been right — things will never be as easy, as safe, as peaceful as they used to be — but when his expectations had been wrong, they'd been completely off-base. He'd expected a nuclear wasteland, only to find a lush and thriving field. He'd expected roving gangs of murderers, and instead, he's only encountered desperate, decent people who would rather not waste the bullets. Hell, he'd expected to spend every day struggling to survive, and here he is, sitting in the backyard with a full belly and a shot of liquor to wind down. Sure, the gathering is a primitive knock-off of a barbeque, but Nick knows now that all they need is time and practice. Maybe someday, they'll even have a grill — burgers, corn on the cob, the whole works.

But hey. That's for the future, and right now, Nick isn't going to complain about some bad liquor, mediocre food and Hurk's stripped-down Slayer's cassette blaring from his beat-up stereo.

Carmina finally gets a chance to show off her skills to people other than her family, and so Hurk's boys take turns calling out targets for her to cap in an attempt to take her down a peg. Nick isn't sober enough to trust his daughter with a gun, but Kim hasn't gone back for another taste of "apple" moonshine yet, and Grace is sober as a rock, so they're more than capable of handling things. Mostly, they nix any particularly dangerous targets, keeping Carmina's shots focused out in the yard. Well, for the most part — neither of them can resist watching Carmina shoot the wind-vane still clinging to the roof, even if it means going right over everyone's heads.

It's all in good fun, of course. And, to their credit, not one of the guys even jokingly suggests taking aim at John as he sits apart from the group. It's a good thing, too — John looks uncomfortable at how good a shot Carmina is. Maybe Nick would be uncomfortable with it too, if he hadn't drunk a bottle-neck's worth of moonshine beforehand.

Nick doesn't have to drink a lot to feel downright tipsy, which is great. Back in the day, he used to like getting buzzed every so often, but he'd given up ever feeling safe enough to get inebriated as another lost memory from yesteryear. This... this is nice. And once the guns get put away, it'll be even nicer.

"I think you might be a better shot than Tipsy over here," Wallace tells Carmina, gesturing towards Tiny, who is indeed too tipsy to be a decent shot at all.

"Only one way to find out!" Tiny shouts, failing to move after his declaration.

"Maybe another time," Kim replies uncertainly. "When alcohol isn't involved?"

"Hey, Carmina," Hurk coos, pulling his battered gun into his lap, "This is a Kalashnikov, you ever shoot off one of these?"

"Ooh, no!"

Grace is much less diplomatic than Kim, cutting him off before he can feed Carmina's excitement any more. "Hurk!"

"What? Oh, uh... she's probably too young for an automatic, huh? What is she, nine? I got a Magnum in my saddlebag..."

It's not long after that they run out of targets, forcing an end to Carmina's demonstration of skill. Kim thankfully takes the gun so that nobody gets hurt, and Carmina spends the next twenty minutes peppering the crew with questions about their guns, their tattoos, their trip out with the caravan, and whether or not they have a moving target range like Grace does. Nick relaxes when he realizes that none of the guys are keen on giving a little girl another weapon, more interested in spinning drunken tall-tales that, truthfully, might be a little too PG for Carmina. At least Grace is listening in to fact-check any of their more problematic bullshit.

John isn't any less tense now that Carmina is disarmed, but Nick's not surprised. Sitting on the opposite side of the fire from everybody else, he might as well be hiding in plain sight. That goes against the entire point, but it's also his modus operandi these days. Normally, Nick would just ignore it, maybe even avoid John on purpose to show him how bad it feels, but tonight calls for a more direct approach.

"Need to get some firewood?" Nick asks him, coming to stand in his line of sight.

John squints up at him around the firelight. "No," he mutters, lying through his teeth before changing the subject. "Carmina has good aim."

"That's all Kim's genes. I'm more of a spray-and-pray kinda guy."

John doesn't quite hide his sarcasm, replying, "You don't say."

Nobody's offered John any liquor yet, he's pretty sure, so Nick holds the bottle out in an easily declined gesture. "Wanna try?" he asks, just in case he's being more subtle than he thinks. "Supposed to take like apples."

John gives the bottle an unimpressed once-over. "I don't think so," he decides, not sounding entirely sure about it. He adds defensively, "My tolerance is shot."

"If you say so," Nick replies, pulling the bottle back. "It's not like I'm gonna peer pressure you. This isn't high school. But, uh, try to relax. If anyone was gonna take a shot at you, they would've done it by now."

"Easy for you to say," John sighs.

It is easy for Nick to say, but he hopes John actually listens to him for once. He's not expecting miracles or anything, but if John's going to stick around, he's going to have to learn how to relax. Well — at least that's one learning curve that everybody is struggling with. Baby steps, right?

Nick leaves John alone for now; maybe he'll warm up into the idea of mending some metaphorical fences before everyone leaves, which would be ideal. For now, Nick goes back to the rest of the group, taking a few more sips as he listens to Carmina start to spin her own tall tales. Now that she's recognized the pattern in all of the stories the adults have been telling — larger-than-life enemies, intimidating names, lots of Foley work — she's attempting to match their vivid stories with a highly interpretive retelling about the turkey she saved her mom from a few months ago. The way she tells it, Nick would've expected the turkey she'd brought back to be at least the size of a car, but if Kim is playing into her part as a damsel in distress, Nick isn't going to ruin things by being the cynic realist.

They trade a few more stories. As they do, Kim takes a few extremely sour drinks of whatever the dark stuff is. She's been on hosting duty all day already, and Nick hasn't done much to help, getting tipsy right away with the rest of the guys like he had. But, with things starting to get late for a family of three, Nick decides it's his time to step up to the task of parenting.

Carmina hasn't had enough life experience to have many stories to share with the encouraging group of drunken manchildren, so once the attention turns to Tiny's story of his first swim after the world ended, Nick uses the out as a chance to usher her away.

"I think we oughta get you ready for bed," he tells Carmina, who boos under her breath but doesn't put up a fight, mostly because the story involves lots of nudity that she isn't at all interested in hearing about. Nick can't blame her — he doesn't wanna hear about Tiny almost getting his nuts bit off by a demon fish, either.

"Okay, but I want a good bed-time story," she demands, reasonably enough. Nick doesn't have anything as funny as Hurk's story, or anything as action-packed as Sharky's retelling of the first roadblock they encountered out on the road, but he has to at least try.

The good thing about Carmina not knowing anything about life before is that Nick can stretch some truths without repercussion. So when he tucks Carmina in, he decides to tell her the story of when she was born — this time, though, he doesn't leave out the roadblocks, or the deputy's shitty driving, or the narrowly-missed explosions. Couched in a long line of tall tales and exaggerated stories, Carmina doesn't believe most of the true stuff and only playfully believes in the bullshit.

Between Nick's bedtime-story voice and him gently stroking her hair, it's a wonder Carmina stays awake for as long as she does. Eventually, though, well before he finishes the story, she closes her eyes and finally stops resisting the chance for a good night's sleep. Nick stays put, lying next to her for a few minutes as he listens to the faint sound of conversation outside. He tries to make out the voices, to decipher who might be talking to who, but he only hears a dull hum.

He'll get up in a few minutes, go down and have a real drink with his wife for the first time in nine years, but the alcohol he's already had entices him to lie still just a little longer.

He doesn't know how long he dozes for, but when Nick is next aware of his surroundings, the light has changed in the room from the rising moon and the conversation outside has shifted in tone and pitch, the way any party might as it enters the late-night phase. Sitting up, Nick immediately knows he needs two things — more water, and one or two more swigs of that awful moonshine, just to keep the hangover from starting before he actually goes to bed.

The back porch is still wide open. The fire has died down, although it's still enough light to see by as Nick reappears. Kim sees him immediately, lifting a half-empty jar of dark liquid in his direction and waving him down with her free hand.

"This one is much better," she tells him as he approaches, holding out the jar. Well, Nick isn't about to reject his wife's kind offer, although he immediately regrets it when he takes a swig.

" Ugh ," he chokes around the harsh burn, feeling it drain all the way back into his throat. "That tastes like paint thinner!"

"Trade secret!" Hurk exclaims, adding immediately after, "Not that there's any paint or thinner in there, or anythin'. Nope. It's 100% organic malt liquor!"

Nick has no idea how Hurk would manage to find barley, but sure, he'll buy it. Another sip doesn't do any better, and to his surprise, he realizes that he actually prefers the moonshine.

As he hands the jar back, Nick does a quick head-count, coming up two short. "Uh, where's John?" he asks.

"Oh," Kim says. She points towards the hangar. "We needed firewood," she says. "Except, eventually, we really needed firewood. I sent Sharky to get some." It seems like only when she says it does she realize what a bad idea it is. "Well, we were in the middle of something, and I was distracted," she explains reluctantly.

"I wasn't," Grace utters next to her.

Kim rolls her eyes. "You should go check on them. I mean, it's fine. But maybe you should, anyway."

Nick looks over at the hangar. There aren't any lights to speak of out here, but Nick can see the glow of the lantern through the open doorway, shadows moving around behind the worn-out wall. "Yeah," he agrees, turning and heading across the wash. He only thinks of grabbing a drink for the journey after he starts walking, but he's already halfway there and he doesn't have time to turn around and come back.

Sharky appears in the doorway, forcing Nick to pull up short to avoid running into him. He looks — fine? There's too much beard and too little light to see his expression clearly, but Sharky doesn't seem phased in the least to find Nick in his way. He passes by Nick with a few logs under one arm, patting Nick heavily on his shoulder with his free hand.

"It's cool, bro," he says, "We're all good."

"Uh... okay," Nick replies, deeply unsure as Sharky casually heads back for the fire. Briefly worrying that he might find John knocked out on the ground, Nick tries not to stress out as he heads inside.

John is sitting on a discarded chopping block by the woodpile, the lantern settled by his feet. Nick doesn't see any blood or a new black eye; just John, rolling a nearly-empty glass bottle between his palms as he drifts in thought.

Nick almost feels bad interrupting, but John catches sight of him before he can retreat undetected. He looks surprised — genuinely, openly surprised to see Nick standing there, sincerely confused when he says, "I thought you went to bed."

"And miss out on all the action?" Nick chuckles. He gestures at the bottle. "So much for your tolerance being shot, huh?" he teases.

"Oh, hmm?" John looks down at the bottle like he'd forgotten about it. "Only enough to get them off my back." He sighs, following it up with a swig that he barely winces through. "After all, saying no ain't my thing ." Nick isn't sure if that drawl is for sarcastic quotation purposes, or if John's had enough moonshine to play at being white trash. "Then again, I only quit drinking because of Joseph. No point resisting now."

"I guess," Nick agrees reluctantly. "Is that, uh, what you and Sharky were talking about?"

John rolls his eyes. "No," he says. He holds out the bottle, waiting until Nick takes it to elaborate. "Kim suggested they sleep out here tonight. He was making sure there's room."

"Oh." Nick takes a drink; maybe it's just the malt liquor talking, but now Nick can sort of taste the apple around the burn. He takes one more swig, just to make sure, then hands the bottle back. "Well, as long as he wasn't hassling you."

"No more than I deserve," John says. Nick must make some kind of face, because he sighs and placating adds, "It's fine, Nick. I'm more than capable of handling a few sarcastic comments from some hillbilly outlaw." He looks down, tipping the bottle a bit to swirl the moonshine inside.

"He... means well," he says eventually. "Everyone means well."

"You don't have to sound so bummed out about it."

John chuckles. It's the first time Nick's heard his laugh and not mistaken it for a cough or wheeze. "I don't mean to be," he says. He takes a drink and looks up at Nick with a... weird look on his face. Open. Genuine? Nick's not sure. But despite the topic, John's expression radiates a deep, contemplative peace. "It's more generosity than I can bear from people I genuinely thought of as the enemy."

He is definitely drunk. "Oh, boy," Nick sighs, reaching out for the bottle before John drops it or finishes it off himself. "To be fair, uh, it's easier to be nice to you since we won, and all."

"Oh, I do not doubt it." John relinquishes the drink, seemingly aware enough to admit, "I've had more than enough."

"I think everybody's had enough," Nick says, proving his own point by immediately regretting his next swig. "God damn . Okay, well — we should probably get some wood. I gotta feeling those guys are gonna be up for a while, and we wanna keep them happy."

John nods, but he doesn't rise from his spot. "Wait," he says when Nick goes to pass him, so Nick obligingly stops, raising an eyebrow at John's half-lifted hand.

"You have to understand," he says. "I'm not — I don't know how I'm supposed to express my gratitude towards you. With Joseph, with — well, everyone , I've always known how to express my loyalty. I knew what they expected from me, what would make them happy, what... wouldn't. But with you, with Kim... I don't know anything. I feel like a child. I don't know how that makes me feel, other than like an idiot."

He heaves a frustrated, heavy sigh, ducking his head towards his nervously entwined hands. "Just — thank you," he finishes miserably.

"Wow," Nick utters in response. He doesn't know what else to say, really, except the obvious, but he genuinely means it when he replies, "Well, you're welcome. Man, and here I always figured you were playing me for a sap."

John laughs, shaking his head. "Manipulation has never been my strong suit," he admits. "I'm too heavy-handed for that crap. Intimidation and brute force, on the other hand..." He lets out a relieved sigh. "Thank God I was too sick to revel in my self-destruction."

"Yeah, I'm glad I didn't have to shoot you," Nick chuckles. "Sorta would've gone against everything I'm trying to build, you know?"

"I do now," John says. "I only wish I'd realized it before the end of the world."

"Hey, the world hasn't really ended," Nick points out. "There's still a whole left to do." He gestures towards the woodpile. "We can start by making sure Kim doesn't leave me for the raiders giving her free alcohol."

John stands, shaking his head as if he could clear the smile from his face. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, not until they figure out how to brew a decent beer. Kim was going without for the baby. She probably would've murdered me if it meant she could've had a case of Newcastle in the bunker for a few months there."

Then again, she had also been freaking out about the nuclear apocalypse occurring above-ground, so Nick really should cut her more slack.

"You definitely have nothing to worry about," John reiterates. "But fine. No more back-talk."

"Yeah, fat chance of that. C'mon, give me a hand."

Nick leaves the bottle on the chopping block and utilizes John's uncanny strength, loading him up with an armful of wood before taking a few logs for himself, to give the appearance of helping. John doesn't complain, which isn't unusual by itself, but tonight it feels like genuine complacency, not just something he's doing to survive. And when they return to the fire, dropping off the wood for Mud and Tiny to utilize, John doesn't retreat to the safety of the other side of the fire. He instead lingers by Nick, going so far as to play along whenever Kim asks him questions, just to make him feel included. He, unlike Nick, is smart enough to refuse any more of the malt liquor Kim's taken a liking to, but he holds the jar for show from time to time, just to keep Hurk happy. In a weird way, Nick feels like he can actually see John taking those wobbly steps Kim is always hoping to see, and even weirder than that, the anxiety that maybe he's making a mistake fails to manifest, leaving Nick with a warm, fuzzy feeling that could very well be pride.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

12 notes · View notes

monsterbaesbymamakennysaurus · 6 years ago

Text

Monster Headcanons: Snow Leopard Shifter

Monster Headcanons: Snow Leopard Shifter Were!Leopard , Were!Snow Leopard x Reader: PS Reader, Plus size reader

Snow Leopard Shifter Headcanons...

Typically lives in an extremely cold climate

Preferable at high altitudes- most likely a mountain, cliff area

During winter months, they may have a home a little closer to the base of the mountain.

During the summer months, they tend to 'vacation' to higher altitudes where it is MUCH colder

Funny fact: Doesn't actually have a roar

Usually comminicates in a series of chuffing sounds.

Growls, hisses, mew and even wails are also acceptable.

They more human counterpart tends to be someone who scoffs a lot

They also tend to be on the shorter side rather than the popular tall genes of many of their other were!cousins

They are usually somewhere between 5'6" and 5'9"

Tend to be stock and very muscular- which is very useful for the mountainous terrain

Despite how thick and dense their fur is, they're not really too bad at shedding.

They do it once in the summer time if they are near warmer temperatures for very long but often it stills as nice and thick as ever

Though their long furry tail does do a fair bit of shedding but as long as it's brushed, it's a fairly painless process

This creature's wild counterpart has enormous paws that are well suited to traveling through, and often on top of, snow.

They're human side tends to have quite large hands and feet because of this.

Also, because of their habitat you can expect this creature to bleed off heat like a roaring fire

Between their natural excelerated body temperature and their dense fur...you'll never be cold

They are not particularly known for being agressively towards human however they can be if you are new and in their territory

Especially if they have cubs

This creature is quite a shy creature and therefore a bit more of a hermit, lol

A bit of a homebody and needs a fair bit of a alone time

They definitely mark their territory

Now their more animalistic side may just straight up do the animal ways of things

However, the human side of them will just make it very obvious that this place is taken and inhabitated by someone else

Now, if you are lucky enough to be loved by one of them, they'll make it obvious

I mean, they don't go out much but it will be known

They're also the type to get your sentimental jewelry with the two of yous names or initials on it

This is also the person that will most definitely post pictures of you on their Instagram

And damn sure be stalking yours and commenting, lol

They are crespusular creatures by nature but it really does all depend on their own needs.

Expect their asses to be up at dawn busying about very productively for a few hours before slinking back to bed or the couch for a nap

Then when dusk approached they'll have another burst of energy

It is not uncommon at all for a female were! snow leopard to have more than one father to her cubs as both males and females tend to enjoy their alone time

Some tend to be very independant and have a need for solitude until mating season

While some are very involved with their cubs

This is why there is a huge thing with Were!Snow Leopards of join custody parenting.

It's more common for a couple just to mate and produce than to actually get married

Because of this female weres in particular may have more than one father to her cubs and this is totally acceptable in their culture

In large cities, they're tend to be more and one area but in smaller areas maybe a total of five spread out for several miles unless there just happens to be a whole line of them

Sometimes, they are a bit of a pushover so if you end up in an argument with them, they may either shut down, walk away or give up. They're not especially aggressive and sometimes, sadly, even if they are right they'd rather just not argue about it

However, it is worthy to note that if this habits you are dealing with a potential shut down from your were partner

They will often retreat back to their hideaways and go into solitary mode

So do approach this with caution

Attacks against humans are pretty rare to be honest so legends of wereshifters of the snow leopard variety have been few and far between

In fact, if there is a spike in human population where a snow leopard were is they tend to become nocturnal creatures to avoid unnecessary conflict

It's a blessing that they can adapt but a curse that they will basically bend over backwards to avoid it

However, do not be so niave to think that you are not being watched if you find yourself a neigbor to one

Expect them to analyze the situation from a distance

They have the strongest stomach of all the weres and is known as the opportunistic predator

Meaning...they'll basically eat anything and they do not mind leftovers

They will most definitely the ones to hunt what's in season but also shop the bargain/out of season clearance rack at the store

They have absolutely no probably eating that pumpkin flavored pancake mix in June

Or the coconut mixed drink in December

They don't give a fuck

They can also put it away- like damn

They can eat...and eat...and eat

When they cook, they cook a lot and they eat leftovers for days

They tend to like to do their hunting and/or shopping alone since they have a system

They're very much the one that coupons

However, if they have a mate- they'll do this with them and it's not an issue

They prefer to buy in bulk - especially in meat- but will settle for smaller mark downs

1000% has a deep freezer in the basement to store all the noms and good deals

While they do tend to have a largely carnivorous diet, they are actually omnivores and will eat leafy greens and vegetables as well.

Ok, so mating season.

This usually falls between January - March though it can just vary from time to time and circumstances

Look, I'll just say this- when it's time- it's time

And they make it know

They put out this scent to others that let them know that they're in business so to speak, lol

The process/dating process/courtship is fucking long and complex

Shit takes forever

I mean, it's a whole thing

Increased calling which in more human modernized terms can just mean frequent texts or phone calls.

Or perhaps even just physical visits or video calls.

You'll just been seeing and hearing of them a lot

They also tend to have several visual displays

Do not be surprised if you end up with a house full of groceries or a warm cooked meal

Or just some things around your home that needed fixing turn up repaired

It's also not uncommon for them to be stuck to you like velcro during this time

They like and they want you to know

So during this time, they want to spend as much time as possible with you

They'll chill out and give you both the space you need eventually but they're just really into you right now

Now, while some were snow leopards can have more than one baby daddy so to speak- it's also not uncommon for them to mate for life as well

It really just depends on the were in question

All I can say is that if you've gained the attention of this grumpy little recluse...watch out

Because they'll likely never leave you alone after that

You'll be their most precious treasure.

But you'll never go cold and hungry so who's the real winner here?

Hey, smoochies! I hope you enjoyed this piece of content and if ya did please be sure to let me know in the comments! If you’d like to read more of my work check out @littlemessyjessi! There you can find my masterlist for my works as well as my two other blogs for my witchy content @witchyweirdness and my monster blog @monsterbaesbymamakennysaurus ! Enjoy and Happy Reading!

Love, Mama Kennysaurus

@frankie2902

@pleasantdreamqueen @becrazy–beyou –beyou

@becrazy-beweird

@littledeadrottinghood @blackirisposts

@therealmrshale @woodworthti666

@jimmys-afterlife-love-deactivat @the-great-irene @fanfictionandjunk

@angelus320

@alanlizzingtonshore @buriednurbckyrd @disneymarina@@tubbypeachwriting

@sullybot @georgiagrl1990 @whenallsaidanddone

@mischiefnevermanaged94 @inumorph

@congurl

@centerhabit

@bubblymusiclover13

@meetcally

@qtmeryr

@thisismysecrethappyplace

@tnupsweetpie

@alisoncdariel

@hannahloveslife

@wormyboi

@blackirisposts

@maggyme13

@amethyst09

@lostdarksoul6

@fanfics1717

@coffeebooksandfandom

@gruffle1

Love, Kenny

#monster #monster bf #monster boyfriend #monster girlfriend #were #were shifter #snow leopard shifter #were snow leopard #snow leopard #snow leopard monster #exophilia #exophilia x reader #exophilia x ps reader #exophilia x plus size reader #exophilia writer #monster writer #littlemessyjessi #mama kennysaurus #monsterbaesbymamakennysaurus

230 notes · View notes

bevioletskies · 6 years ago

Text

bring it on home to me [2/5]

summary: The fight of everyone’s lives may be over, but for Nebula, Peter, and the rest of the Guardians, the search for the person they love most has just begun.

a/n: MAJOR spoiler warning for Avengers: Endgame, though I am a little vague about the events of what happened. Regardless, please don’t let me spoil it for you!

Fic title is, of course, from the song Bring It On Home To Me by Sam Cooke. Warning for mentions of blood and unnamed character deaths.

word count: 2.8k | ao3 | tag

Mantis woke to a dull throbbing in her forehead, a thu-thump that sounded more like an irregular heartbeat than the usual background noise of the Benatar’s engine’s rumbles and groans. It was an unfortunate common occurrence for her, the faint sounds of other people’s worries and fears radiating off them like a siren, calling out for someone to listen. Now, living in close quarters with teammates who constantly fretted and kept it all to themselves, the sirens were more like full-on klaxons blaring in her brain.

When she was growing up under the too-watchful eye of Peter’s father, it hadn’t been so terrible in that respect - he was a man of single-minded purpose, his arrogance so excessive that his narcissism far outweighed his doubt. His feelings, his emotions, had come second to all the things he’d demanded of her, and it was far easier to shut out one person than another five. Mantis had never understood the full spectrum of the emotional experience until meeting the other Guardians.

She tiptoed gingerly out of her bunk and into the tiny kitchenette, pouring herself a glass of water and sitting down at the table. Peter and Nebula had laid out scraps of reports and blurry photos all over its surface, still attempting to work together after the last half-dozen temper tantrums they’d had (Peter moreso than Nebula, not that anyone was counting). “We’re gettin’ closer,” Peter would say every morning during their team discussions, having long abandoned other jobs in favor of this one. Rocket would then quip that they weren’t, Drax would have some sort of blunt response, and Nebula would roll her eyes while Groot adamantly continued staring at his game console screen, trying and failing to not get his hopes up. Mantis would be sitting further away, observing, feeling completely and utterly useless.

“You’re not useless, Mantis.” It was three months after Mantis had joined the Guardians, and they had returned to their ship after a semi-successful job where their worst injury was Rocket’s singed whiskers and Peter’s bruised ego. She had sat down beside Mantis, who was sulking quietly by the vantage window. The softness in her voice always betrayed the sharpness of her expression. “I don’t need your powers to tell that that’s how you feel right now.”

“I wish I was more like you,” Mantis had sighed. “Brave...and strong. But I do not know if I want to fight.”

“Then don’t,” she had said simply. “Your life is yours now. Your purpose is your choice.”

“I suppose when you put it like that...I have never felt so free.” Mantis had hummed, some song that Peter had played once that had been stuck in her head ever since, drowning out the noise that had otherwise taken permanent residence in her head.

Her face had softened. “Neither have I. Though I’ll spend the rest of my life burdened with knowing what I’ve done when I was with Thanos. What I didn’t do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t stop him, I didn’t escape him until it was almost too late. I didn’t realize the extent of what he’d been doing to my sister until the damage to our relationship, to Nebula herself, was beyond repair.” She had shuddered, her hand moving to a specific pocket on her utility belt, drawing out a switchblade embedded with some sort of red jewels. Slowly, she had begun to spin it, flipping it deftly like she’d clearly done so many times before. “I imagine you felt similarly about Ego.”

“I do not know how I feel about anything sometimes,” Mantis had admitted. “But I do know that I wish I had met all of you earlier.”

“I don’t think you would’ve liked us earlier,” she had replied, her tone dry. Then, her head had dipped downward, eyes fixated on her lap. The switchblade came to a stop. “I know I didn’t.”

Mantis had watched her, pensive. “Do you like yourself now?”

Gamora had let out a low chuckle; the sound had haunted Mantis then, and it spoke to her now. “I hope that someday, I will.”

Mantis was drawn out of her memory by the sound of an awkward, distinctive cough behind her. She turned to see Drax stood by the freezer unit, a half-eaten rations packet poorly hidden behind his back. “Drax?”

“I was hungry,” he said, defending himself against absolutely nothing of consequence. “Why are you awake?”

“Sleep escapes me sometimes,” she replied, gesturing for him to join her at the table. He sat across from her, reluctantly putting the rations packet on its surface, knowing he was going to get an earful from Peter about it in the morning (“Food is expensive, Drax! You wanna see our bank account again, or do you wanna maybe not get the late-night munchies for once?”). “Everyone gets louder and louder the closer we get to...wherever Peter thinks she is.”

“We have been having discussions at the same volume the whole time,” Drax protested.

“I mean in here.” Mantis tapped a finger against her temples, right below the base of her antennae. “Nebula is angrier than ever. Peter has never felt so sad. They are very desperate. We are all very desperate.”

Drax elected not to respond right away, instead peeling back the packet so he could dig to the bottom, popping another bite or two into his mouth and chewing slowly without really tasting anything. He knew the others thought more highly of him than anyone but his family had ever done before, but still, he knew they also mostly saw him as oblivious, simple-minded Drax - the one they could count on in a battle, but not in a war. He was a warrior, not a tactician, a body, not a brain. His grief wasn’t always as obvious to the others, either; it wasn’t like Nebula’s scowls or Peter’s tears, Rocket’s drooping whiskers or Groot’s trembling mouth. It was quieter, far quieter than his combative cries during a fight or his harsh tones during an argument. It was almost silent. Most times, Mantis was the only one who could hear him.

“So desperate that we hang onto the mere existence of a woman who is not the one we know,” Drax said hollowly, setting the packet back down. “I have made peace with the death of my wife and daughter. I think it’s time for Quill and Nebula to make peace with hers.”

“How could you say that?” Mantis leapt to her feet, knocking over her water glass in the process; her eyes barely glanced over as it went splashing everywhere, dripping all over the floor. “We have encountered her three times since she ran away, and she has let us get closer each time. Maybe she is not the one we know, but she wants to trust us. I know that. I can feel that. We cannot just...give up!”

“We are working ourselves into a sickness, a disease. She would not want us to mourn her forever,” he insisted. “It is not the warrior way.”

“But she was not just a warrior, and neither are you,” she retorted, her lip curling in a childish manner. “She only died a few months ago. How long have you had to mourn your wife and daughter?”

“Too long.” Mantis froze, her eyes widening in horror in realization of what she’d said, of how easy it had been for him to answer her. She was hardly one to get angry at the others, but somehow, Drax was always the one who got to her more than anyone else. Whether it was a sign of their closeness or their wildly different temperaments, she couldn’t be sure.

She exhaled. “We deserve more time to look for her than you might think. Maybe someday, she will want to stay with us, and she can get to know everyone all over again. I think Peter and Nebula really, really need it. We all do.”

Drax got to his feet, moving to dispose of the empty packet, pointedly keeping his back to her. “Sleep well, Mantis.” He left before she had time to reply, weaving his way through the Benatar’s damp corridor and back to his bed, where he knew he wouldn’t be able to take his own advice.

Another two days passed before they were remotely close to where they were trying to be, a location that Peter refused to disclose to the others for reasons unknown. He and Nebula had reached the acceptance stage in their relationship, as in they accepted each other’s presence reluctantly and begrudgingly. Seeing them successfully coordinate their efforts was strangely disturbing to everyone else.

“I still don’t trust her,” Drax murmured to Peter after their usual morning discussion, watching Nebula reluctantly follow Mantis through to the back of the ship for lack of something else to do. “She has tried to kill us on multiple occasions.”

“Hey, look, Nebula’s not my favorite person either, but she’s different now,” Peter protested, furrowing his brow. “She only sometimes threatens to maim me these days. Plus, after all that stuff she did to help save the universe, we gotta cut her some slack. She’s not the bad guy anymore. She’s one of us.”

“I suppose she has become more agreeable, yes,” Drax relented, nodding. “But do not mistake her presence for her allegiance, Quill. She is merely here for her sister, and when she realizes that that woman isn’t her - ”

“Don’t - ” Peter’s finger was on the trigger of his quad blaster before Drax could get his next word out, though he didn’t draw his weapon. His breath was ragged between his teeth. “Don’t you dare, alright? Don’t you say nothin’ like that.”

“Then I have nothing more to say,” Drax said quietly, promptly turning and walking away.

On the other side of the ship, Mantis and Nebula were sat by the window, Groot’s favorite spot to sit and watch the stars go by when he was younger. The two of them had an odd relationship, knowing the absolute least about each other of all the Guardians, and yet always feeling a vague sense of apprehension in the other’s presence. They both knew what the other was capable of, the physical and psychological damage they could inflict upon one another, and that was all it took for them to maintain their distance. Still, between the loudness of everyone else’s personalities, they were somehow the quietest of them all, and sometimes, silence was exactly what they needed.

“What happened when you were with your past self?” Silence was not a particularly long-term commitment for Mantis. Nebula turned to shoot her a dirty look, but Mantis returned it with a steely gaze of her own.

Sighing, Nebula brought one knee up to her chest so she could rest her arm. “If you think I’m going to tell you what it was like to look into my own eyes from nine years ago, you’ve sorely misinterpreted our relationship.”

Mantis looked away. “After you left to kill Thanos...sometimes, she would find it very hard to talk about you. But other times, she would tell me stories about how you grew up together.”

“Is that what she called it?” Nebula said, her voice even raspier than usual. “Growing up together? As if we lived in a house and went to school and lived a perfectly ordinary life?”

“She said she always wanted to understand you,” Mantis mused. “But she did not know where to start.”

Nebula scoffed. “Understand me? My sister seems to have spent far more time getting to know you than she ever did with me. It was only in the end that she...that we…” She trailed off, unusually uncertain of what to say.

“Once she started to trust me, she was very helpful in making me feel like I belonged.” Mantis smiled bemusedly, her eyes glazing over, lost in her own memories. “Before becoming a Guardian, I did not think I belonged anywhere but on Ego, serving my master for the rest of my life. She made me see that I could be more, and that we had more in common than we thought.” Her gaze went back to Nebula’s face; it startled Nebula then how similar their dark, inky eyes looked in a certain light. “That includes you, too.”

“What could we possibly have in common?”

Mantis brightened, much to Nebula’s dismay. “Oh, many things! We were all taken as children by a powerful man who wanted us to be servants instead of companions. We felt isolated and controlled and alone. We - ”

“Do stop talking.” Nebula clapped her hand down firmly on top of Mantis’s, pinning it to Mantis’s leg. Mantis jumped but didn’t dare move otherwise. “I can only listen to your voice for so long.”

Mantis held her breath for a moment, then slowly, carefully, turned her hand over, gently prying Nebula’s fingers open so she could interlace them with her own. Nebula flinched. Then, she sighed, her shoulders dropping, and they both turned their gaze to the stars.

Back in the bunks, Drax was laid on his back on his comically small bed, staring up at the ceiling, bits of it eroded away from leak damage and other mishaps that Peter claimed gave the Benatar “character”. In the water stain, he could almost see the silhouette of a face, some vague side profile of a person who, if he squinted enough, reminded him of the slope of his wife’s nose, the strength of her chin, the curve of her jawline.

“Do you think of them?” It had been a mission like any other, some trafficking situation gone wrong that the Guardians had been called to, and the two of them were entrusted with dealing with the enemies on the ground, being the most skilled in close combat. The fight was over now, and they were the only ones left standing. Drax had been bent over at the waist while trying to catch his breath; she had kneeled on the ground beside a pile of bodies she’d created, staring at them in a near trance.

Drax had turned to look at her; she hadn’t looked back. “Of who?”

“Your wife and daughter.”

His answer had been immediate. “Always.”

She had smiled sadly, drawing a cloth from her utility belt to wipe away the blood on her sword. Her back had still remained to him. “Peter tells me stories about his mother almost every night before we go to bed. Yet I...I forget my parents’ names sometimes. I forget their laughs, their smiles.”

“This is an odd time and place to be having this conversation,” Drax had pointed out, though not unkindly.

“It makes sense to me.” She had drawn to her full height, storing away both the cloth and her sword, finally turning to face him. There was a splatter of blood across her torso and face, the silver in her cheekbones glinting through it like it was just another layer of warpaint. “Every time I look at all the death I’ve left behind, I think of them. I wonder what they would think of me if they saw who I was, what I’ve become. Do you not do the same?”

“I come from a race of fighters,” he had said, though his answer hadn’t been so quick this time. “War is our norm.”

She had hummed in response, gesturing for him to follow her back to the ship, where the others were waiting. “I’ve been responsible for more deaths than the ones committed by my own hand.”

He had fallen silent, unsure of what to say, thinking back to the very first time they had come face-to-face, her blade to his throat, then his hand wrapped around hers. “You are not the one to blame for my family’s deaths. That was Ronan and Thanos, but it was not you. Never you.” When she didn’t respond, he had grabbed her by the wrist, pulling firmly so she would turn and meet his eyes. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, though still sparked with the defiance that every last person in the galaxy had come to know so well. Then, he had said, quite simply, “As I’ve said before - you are not my enemy, Gamora. You are my friend.”

The sound of the Benatar’s unceremoniously messy landing - more like crashing - pulled Drax out of his dreamlike state. He got to his feet and ran out to join the others in the cockpit, pausing when he saw everyone frozen in their seats, staring out the front window. Only Peter remained emotionally unmoved, his jaw clenched. After all, he was the only one who had known their destination.

The Guardians found themselves looking at the hollowed-out husk of a place that never had glory days, a place still struggling to rebuild after its destruction five years ago, smoke curling around its borders like it was threatening to swallow it whole. Peter cleared his throat. “Well, this was the last place she was spotted. Welcome back to Knowhere.”

a/n: First of all, sorry about this being late! I left on vacation for a week the day after posting the first part and thought I would only need a week to write and edit this part, but I was sick on my flight home and had a bunch of other stuff to catch up on. I hope you enjoyed regardless!

Secondly, this part was a little bit harder for me to write, as I usually explore Drax's character and relationships with others the least, but it was a fun little exercise in exploring these characters I adore so much! And wishful thinking, but I really want Mantis and Gamora to (somehow) have a good friendship going on in Vol. 3.

The next part will be posted next Friday - I'm halfway-ish through writing it so far. Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and see you next time :)

#starmora #starmora fic #peter x gamora #gamora x peter #endgame spoilers #spoilers #myfic #myfic: bring it home #marvel #sorry this is late! got sick on my flight home #also trying to write a post-endgame scott/hope fic at the same time

6 notes · View notes

brooksmcgee9-blog · 6 years ago

Text

The Best 5 Tips To Drop weight.

Even when, intellectually, we know that weight loss does not function, that weight reduction is typically temporary ( I would not have needed this experimentation if our company stayed in a planet without diet regimens and I would certainly grown up along with organized family foods, if our company lived in a world that possessed no certain requirements for the means females's bodies appeared as well as I had never ever aimed to reduce weight to fulfill all of them. The target of the Diet plan Physician organization is to empower people to change their wellness. I could be working alone, yet with The Mess Diet regimen I am not the only one in making my house a better area to become. I am in awe of exactly how well this course functions. It is actually frequently suggested that people along with or even at risk from type II diabetes go on a reduced carb, high fat deposits diet regimen. So our team inquired expert instructor Tanner Martty, manager of 34 Northern health and fitness center in Santa Monica, about just what he experiences is a well-balanced and reasonable way for folks to drop weight. http://etutione-sante.info enjoy her food-first method and also her importance on using a healthy and balanced diet regimen in order to help women come to be the happiest variations of themselves. Boyd Swinburn: That's a signposting body showing the nutritional worth from the food items that you're about to buy. I actually tried every diet regimen program and supplement on the marketplace and also in some way messed up any type of progress I will make each and every time. http://etutione-sante.info am actually fascinated to know just what sort of diet plan does Tom recommend as well as just what physical exercises he points out are actually best for weight loss. The notion seems to be to become, right here's another fat diet that you could know in 5 minutes or even much less ... Argh. That is a kind of body that buyers find really beneficial and quite quick and easy as well as that's one that actually likewise determines the market to customize its food to fulfill the requirements that are set up. Weight-loss drugs operate through shutting out the lipase enzymes that malfunction excess fats for absorption. Haimoto, Hajime, et al. Impacts from a low-carbohydrate diet plan on glycemic management in outpatients along with extreme kind 2 diabetic issues. Also Weight Watchers, that might quickly have access to all their customers' information as well as could track weight reduction and increases for many years (I was a member for 16 years, and I understand I am actually not the just one), has certainly not examined people beyond two years (after which attendees lost approximately 5 pounds). Thinking of eating within Thirty Minutes from physical exercise-- this is a necessary home window when your body is actually keyed to renew nutrients, repair fluids and reassemble muscle. The individual will lose even more body weight and also far better strengthen shapeliness, strength as well as exercise. But obviously surgery has threats, and also this's certainly not actually a service for the entire over weight populace.

1 note · View note

trbl-will-find-me · 7 years ago

Text

We have not touched the stars; nor are we forgiven (3/3)

Every action has an equal, but not always opposite, reaction.

AN: I cannot reiterate this enough. This is really, really dark. Please, please do not read this if you are not in a good place. This does not end well.

CW: suicide allusions, alcohol abuse

She’s awake before he is, trying to trick herself into feeling useful, feeling something other than the hollow emptiness or all obliterating grief. She putters around the Infirmary, straightening cabinets and shelving supplies. She cannot cry, not again. There is too much to do.

The Skirmishers have been invaluable help, digging graves, clearing debris, and helping to repair damaged systems. They have watched, and guarded, afforded XCOM’s survivors a few precious moments to attempt to process the horrors of the last thirty-six hours, already fading into a blur of pain and terror.

Does he know? She asks the creature.

He suspects, but he does not accept, Asaru responds. Please be gentle with him.

Her shoulders sag. Asaru, all the gentleness in the world isn’t going to help.

I know. But she would want you to try.

She wipes an errant tear from her eye. She is not ready to do this. She doubts she will ever be ready to do this.

Briefly, she considers fleeing, pawning the job off on Tygan. She still has time. God knows she’d be well within her rights. This isn’t supposed to be her job; there is a reason Infirmary duty does not make its way onto her rounds. She has never known what to say to the grieving; she knows all too well that words do little to lighten the crushing reality.

She’d spent her first few weeks with him in mute shock, unable to give voice to the words in her head. She’d wedged herself under his arm when she could, hoping he’d understand, hoping he’d know: I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me. I’m scared, and I can’t make the words come out. Please don’t leave me. He’d let her come to it in her own time, accepting half-French, half-English missives scrawled on scraps of rotting paper; hadn’t made a show of it when she’d finally managed to eek out a few words; had been there to listen once she could muster more than that.

No, she thinks, closing her eyes. This is my job.

“Sally?” Central croaks, pushing himself up.

She crosses over to him, wrapping her arms around his chest, and burying her face into the crook of his neck. It takes him a moment to respond, but he does, pulling her close, and settling a hand over the old shrapnel wound. She can already feel the tears coming.

“Sally, where’s Re---“ She shakes her head, lump growing in her throat.

“Sal ---“

Again, she shakes her head. Her chest tightens. She can’t do this. She can’t tell him. She can’t, she can’t, she can’t.

“…Magpie?”

She lets out a sob into his shirt.

She’s never heard a heart break, a soul shatter, never felt the fire die in another human being before, but she has no other explanation for the sound he makes. She’s lucky he’s still on the cot, because she’s not sure she could support the weight of him otherwise.

She hugs him tighter, and feels his tears soak her shirt shoulder.

In three days, he has only spoken three words: Did she suffer?

Tygan splutters, unsure of how to respond.

“No,” Sally intervenes. “It was quick.”

Asaru offers more that she could add, words, and images, and emotions, but she knows Central, knows it would raise too many questions, knows it would not help.

She worries when he is in the bar. She worries more when he is not, the fear of discovering he’s found his own door and followed the Commander out gripping her. She moves through the ship expecting the worst, the disused spaces demanding close inspection, a steady reassurance that there are no surprises lurking therein. More often than not, that is where she finds him, flask empty and too far gone to think. When she can, she sits with him, refilling the flask from a container of water.

He doesn’t speak, but she understands: she is gone again and, this time, I can’t bring her back.

She cannot find him on the fourth night, and her mind jumps from possibility to possibility. She is so tired of washing away the blood of others.

He is alive, Asaru says, stirring. And still on board.

Could you be a little more specific?

He does not like to leave her alone.

She squeezes her eyes shut. Oh, Central, she thinks.

She knows him, knows what he is like when he’s fallen too deeply in despair. She makes her way to the Crew Quarters, finding her way into his footlocker once again. Again, she makes a silent promise to apologize at some point.

It would not be the time, Asaru offers, trying, in its own way, to reassure her.

She appreciates the gesture.

She is always taken by the weight of the peacoat, of its heft in her arms. It is a scrap of the old world, with beautiful wool and embossed buttons, a shield borne forth against the insidious creep of the new. It has always been different, a far cry from both the makeshift hodgepodge of the havens, and the streamlined sterility of the city centers. She buries her face against it.

You will not lose him.

She has come to accept that tears come from the smallest things now, from a kind word or a gentle comment. They come from almost glimpses and imagined voices, from wishes and would-have-beens. They come from memories of laughter, of happiness, of loss, of violence. It does not matter.

She is so tired.

She makes her way through the ship, down towards specimen storage. She pries open the locker door and finds him, just as Asaru described.

She steps in, shutting the door behind her, and drapes the coat over his shoulders. “You can’t stay here all night,” she says, softly. “You’ll freeze.”

He does not respond. “Betos’s people have a lead on the Warlock’s hideout. Wallace is going with them to confirm.

She is met by silence.

Her breath hangs in the air, and she begins to shiver.

“Are you coming with us to take him out?”

Slowly, he turns to face her. His eyes are empty and bloodshot, sunken in, and ringed by dark circles. There is the tell tale swelling of a binge, of a man dedicated to chasing his own personal oblivion to the bottom of the bottle.

She doesn’t want to watch this. She wants to look away.

Instead, she lowers herself to the ground next to him, working her way under his arm like when she was a little girl. He neither helps nor hinders the endeavor, a living breathing ghost. She settles against his side, and can smell the booze on his breath.

Should we not --- Asaru begins.

No, this is where we’re needed. This is where we’re staying.

She rests her head against the crook of his neck.

After a few minutes, her teeth begin to chatter. “Come on,” she says, working her way to her feet. “You have to get up.”

He does not respond.

You will need ---

I know.

She bends down, trying to get a good grip around him, and begins the arduous process of dragging him to his feet. For all her strength, she still struggles, her progress more lateral than vertical.

Should you get ---

No one else needs to see this.

She fumbles with the handle for a moment, and nearly trips on the lip of the doorway. Never once does he make a move to help her; she doubts he is even capable.

She drags him away from the freezer, towards the wall on the far side of the room, and props him into a sitting position. She collapses onto the floor next to him, her muscles burning from the effort.

“Please don’t do this to me,” she says after a moment, “I know the temptation is there. XCOM still needs you. I still need you. Please don’t make me bury you both.”

He does not respond.

The confirmation comes through the next day: they have located the Warlock’s base of operations.

They shrug silently into their armor, absent the bravado that would normally accompany such an assault. She feels something rattle against her thigh plating and pulls out two small aluminum rectangles

“What’re you doing with my dog tags?” Central asks, confused.

“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I borrowed them. When we went to get you out.”

That is not much of an apology, but it is something, Asaru comments.

“Why?”

“Luck.”

“You’re a little late for that, Sally.” He insists, but there is no venom behind the words, only a sort of grim resignation.

Sally’s gaze flicks over to Wallace, and sees her concern mirrored in his eyes, but in neither Novikova’s nor Hagen’s. She knows better than to look to Thomas.

-- The wound on Hagen’s arm is bleeding more than it should. Sally sprints across the temple, dashing around fallen Priests and Berserkers, practically sliding into cover. Her eyes dart up in time to see Thomas and Central slice a chryssalid each clean in half.

“Wallace,” she says, unhooking the medkit from her belt and spraying Hagen down. “What are your sight lines like to that sarcophagus? Think you can finish it?”

“It’s as clear a shot as I’m gonna get!”

“Take it.”

He fires and the massive block shatters, bursting into flame.

“Impossible!” The Warlock bellows, teleporting back into view atop the raised platform at the center of the room.

Hagen takes aim and fires, winging the bastard, but he teleports away before Novikova can take aim.

He reappears on the left most platform and she fires three times, the shots from her pistol wedging into the Warlock’s knee.

He disappears again, just out of strike range for Central’s blade.

“Ahhh, Bradford,” he intones. “I would have thought you would have already found a way to join your infidel Commander. Perhaps you may yet.”

A purple jet shoots from the monster’s hand, curling around Thomas. The ranger raises his gun and takes aim at Central.

Do something! She shouts at the creature in her head.

Oh, I intend to, Asaru says, and energy flows through her veins, buzzing. The Null Lance flies forth from her hands, striking the Warlock in the chest before Thomas can fire.

He teleports for the last time, collapsing in front of his shattered power source.

“I hear their voices!” He proclaims, sinking to his knees. “They are … every … where.”

A purple flash overtakes his body, bathing the room for an instant in a blinding white light. All that remains on the platform is a stone corpse.

She stands, helping Hagen to her feet, as Central makes his way to the platform. Sally walks toward him as he unloads his gun and locks the safety into place. He swings hard, the side of the rifle connecting with a sharp smack against the corpse.

He steps back, and swings again.

All eyes are focused on him.

Cracks begin to form in the body, the material far more brittle than they had anticipated.

“Central,” she says.

Another swing.

And another.

She stands before the platform and watches as pieces begin to fall from the remains.

“Central!”

More swings, each one harder than the last. The thing lies in pieces.

“Central!”

He brings his boot up, pulverizing the Warlock’s head into bits, then raises it again to crush the pieces.

“That’s it,” she says, vaulting the platform, and catching him by the arm. “That’s it. It’s over. We’re done.”

He considers her for a moment, then nods reluctantly.

“Let’s go home.”

They bury the Commander next to the shack Central had built almost two years ago, next to the place where he’d first gotten word that there was hope, that Raymond Shen and his daughter were placing everything they had on a downed alien vessel, a craft they were calling Avenger. It had seemed like a fairy tale then, even more so now.

The October chill sits heavy in their joints, and he builds a small fire in the nearby clearing to warm them while they work. When all is said and done, when they have offered her all that they are able, they take refuge around it.

“I’m not going back with you.” Central finally says.

He is what? Asaru squeaks.

“I’m sorry; what?”

“You heard me: I’m done fighting.”

“What’re you gonna do? You know what we’re up against.”

No.

“Not gonna be a problem much longer,“ he says, unscrewing the lid of the flask and taking a drink.

“We won’t make it without you.” “That’s bullshit and you know it,” he says, softly.

No.

“Central, who’s gonna hold us together?”

“You were always clever, Magpie. You’ll make do.”

“What am I gonna tell the others?”

“Tygan already knows.”

Stop him.

“And he’s okay with it?”

“Doesn’t really matter if he is.”

“Who’s gonna fly the ship?”

“Don’t have enough people to crew it. You know that.”

Stop. Him.

“We’ll get more.”

“Shen figured out the autopilot.”

“Shen’s gone.”

“She left notes.”

“We need you! I need you!”

“Magpie, sweetheart,” he says, standing. “I’ve got nothing left to give.”

Stop him!

“Central, I---“

“Sal, I got you as far as I could.” He douses the fire. “It’s up to you now. You should go. They’ll be waiting for you.”

“I didn’t trip the ---“

“I did.”

He reaches out a hand, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing away the tear spilling down it. “I’ll see you on the other side.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, and walks off, back towards the shack.

Asaru, she says. I don’t think I can.

#fic #xcom #bad end au #I WARNED YOU

10 notes · View notes

bunnyjoyce-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Things to Keep in Mind for Your StEx Fanworlds

Also posted here on DA: https://bunnyjoyce.deviantart.com/art/Things-to-Keep-in-Mind-for-Your-StEx-Fanworlds-698056898

Need a few ideas to flesh out your fanworld for your Starlight Express fanfics? Here are some tips for you! Even if you are going the toy route of the canon, the trains believe they are the real deal. Greaseball and Rusty don't really burn coal and oil. They're likely electric-powered toys, making the whole racism pretty silly (is that the point?), but Poppa is still willing to risk his life in an elimination heat to get steam into the final race. As such, it's enough that they believe that that they're real trains who have jobs, fall in love, pursue religion, etc.. So, whether you're writing the trains as toys or the real McCoy, here are some things you can keep in mind as you explore your interpretation of their universe.

How do rolling stock relate to humans? In a lot of stories, humans seem to be a minute issue even though they would be pretty important -- Red Caboose is a house on wheels for the human freight crew; the coaches clearly enjoy their passengers; the Rockies don't like carrying hobos, and the freight trucks agree that they don't like how people talk a lot; firemen (the crewmembers that keep the fires in a steamer going) are mentioned in "A Lotta Locomotion." The rolling stock use slang that originated from humans. (Belle says she's "down at wheel" which is a play on the phrase "down at heel," and Flat-Top and Dustin say that bricks and mortar "are thicker than water," referring to the expression "blood is thicker than water.") Belle is a Pullman car because of George Pullman, a human, and in the Broadway show she says she was bought bought by a Vanderbilt, a member of the wealthy human family. Poppa mentions James Watt as a pioneer for steam engines, and Greaseball mentions Miss America -- and somebody had to graffiti Flat-Top! The whole reason trains exist is because railroads are businesses. If the passenger trains have no humans to carry, why do they exist? If no one is buying bricks or aggregates, why hire trucks to transport them? What's the point of building engines if there are no humans to pull the cars to? It's actually interesting to see how little humans factor in some fanworks. One story claimed that the first railroad tracks were made by trains, not humans (so where did the first train come from? How did they have wheels made for tracks before there were tracks?) In another case, one of my Scandinavian friends told me about a story she had read where a human OC was shipped with Electra, and in that world trains are only a little taller than humans. While the height difference might have been convenient for the couple, one now has to ask how passenger trains work in that world. Do coaches let humans ride piggyback? I'm not saying you have to give humans a major role in your stories, but it's worth keeping in mind, and it opens the door for some possible OCs. How does Caboose relate to his conductor (especially since his costume shows he used to be a boxcar)? What does Buffy do when she has a rude customer on a long train ride? Are any of the human freight crew nice to Dustin? Do any humans ever climb into a corroded engine like Rusty, or does he get neglected even by them? Who sneaked into the yard and vandalized Flat-Top? (If you are working with a toy angle, I've seen model railroads with human figurines inside passenger cars and on station platforms and the surrounding landscape. Can the toy trains interact with any toy human Control owns?) Who performs which jobs? What "non-railroad" jobs are available? Going further, what jobs are performed by humans? And what jobs are performed by trains? When repairs are necessary, to what degree can a repair truck help them? To what degree can a human help them? Who paints the trains and designs their wigs? Who keeps the yard clean? Who digs up the coal for the steamers? Who drills the oil for diesels? Where do replacement parts come from? Who builds the "newborn" trains? Are trains able to own businesses? Can there be a shopping district in the yard? Can trains change their clothing and buy more? If Pearl can move like a ballerina, is there somebody giving dance lessons? Can trains open restaurants/food stands? If Greaseball can be a bodybuilder, do trains have their own gyms? How easily do trains slip into racing mode and back? We joke in this fandom about how similar Starlight Express is to Transformers (sans the 80s cartoon's icon soundbite), yet there are definite similarities. From the overture of the original soundtrack, we know that the characters don't always look as they do in the show because Control orders them to change to racing mode. Likely, they are anthropomorphic while racing and normal trains while working. (The 3D race footage show the racers moving around normal rolling stock!) How do trains function in this other mode? How often are they in this form? Do trains regularly get time off from work? Are other kinds of vehicles alive in your fanworld? CB's fascination with semi-trucks and highway culture might suggest that automobiles are alive -- or he really, really identifies with human truckers. A friend of mine countered that (in a non-toy setting) humans might not all enjoy owning an automobile who can talk back, but then again if a person were rich enough, and if talking trains were the norm in this universe, it might be worth considering if cars could be alive. (If you're working with the "everyone is a toy" view, does Control have toy cars, planes or boats?) When and how do trains get education? We know from "UNCOUPLED" that trains can spell/read (and it would be useful if Dinah could read a recipe!) Purse is supposed to be Electra's accountant, which means he needs to have learned math, and Dinah and Buffy would also need to know math if they sell food to customers. ("Buffy here. I'll sell you a beer.") Wrench had to learn mechanics somewhere, and someone had to teach a freezer truck how to be a hairdresser if the story about Volta being based on Jeffrey Daniel's stylist is true. Plus someone had to teach them how to sing and play musical instruments. Are trains "born" knowing this when they come out of the factories? Or do they have to be taught by their parents or some kind of yard school? (Does Greaseball misspell "sorry" because he wasn't properly taught, or is that just because he survived a crash a short time before and probably hit his head?) Fun fact: The Canadian Pacific incorporated "school cars" which regularly toured the lines to give education to the children of railroad workers and aboriginals (and sometimes their parents). Make of that what you will, fanfic writers. How long does it take trains to reach mental maturity? While trains may not "age" the same way as humans do, mentally or physically, how mature are they when they are brought to life? How many weeks/months/years does it take before they can work? Race? Marry? (How old are the canon's youngest characters, Pearl and Electra, in your fanworld?) How do trains interact with their co-workers? On passenger trains, how do cars relate to their engines? How do the sleepers relate to the chair cars? How do the first-class are at the back of the train relate to the baggage cars at the front? How does everyone relate to those scenarios when there are freight-carrying cars (like horse cars and express reefers)? How do the cars on one train relate to the cars on another? On freight trains, how do the trucks interact with the engine and the caboose? How do they interact with trucks and cabooses on other trains? Many freight trucks can actually end up riding on trains that belong to another company. (A person in the east might order cargo from a company in the west, so the western railroad pays a fee to let their truck ride on an eastern line.) How do the "new" guys feel on another train? How does everyone relate to switch engines (those engines that link and unlink trains)? Rusty laments that he hitches and switches at everyone's call, implying he is seen as a servant, but is that how all switch engines are seen, or just him? What kind of rights do trains have around humans? Caboose says he'll "take the fifth" (referring to the Fifth Amendment), and the components establish that the police exist in "Wide Smile." However, at the same time the British train can be scrapped. (Of course, we all know Princey can show up in the finale depending upon the production). To what degree are trains owned by their companies, and to what degree are they their own individuals? What other kinds of laws might be in place in a world where Pacific Rim styled trains co-exist with humans? Are there any laws that protect trains specifically? (What stops one train from building another train for immoral purposes such as slavery or smuggling?) How do electric engines get to the yard? Electric locomotives get their power from pantographs or from a third rail, so while Electra probably does have head-end power to give electricity to a coach (and shoot his components for the fun of it), he would not be able to get the power necessary to move far away from electric tracks. Since Dinah and Greaseball are going steady, but Dinah is implied not to be from the Union Pacific (otherwise she would wear yellow and represent her company and her boyfriend in the world championship race), then Control's yard (in a real-train AU) would have to be near UP tracks -- which is pretty far from electric lines. In 1992-1993 the Swedish electric X2000 train toured the Continental US on Amtrak lines. In order to get it across lines without overhanging wires, the X2000 was hooked to a diesel engine! So, who might have been the engine who transported Electra to the yard? Who transported the electric Nationals? How do celebrities and media work in your fanworld? Greaseball is the reigning champion for racing. Has he ever been interviewed on TV or for newspapers/magazines? Has he ever been given a celebrity endorsement in a commercial? Electra is supposed to be a train rock star. Has he ever held a concert? Do trains, humans or both attend? While the components are supposed to be his entourage, a real musician might have even more staff such as roadies, technicians, press agents, photographers, chefs, etc.. Who handles these jobs? Does he have songs playing on the radio? The Rockies mention that in the past they tried for a boxing championship (and failed), and when Rocky One is asked to partner with a steam train, he replies that his fans wouldn't "like to see me get beat." What other non-racing athletic events are available to trains, and how popular are they? Going further, CB says, "See the news on your TV," meaning that trains have access to television. He also mentions E.T., Donald Duck, Kermit the Frog, Snow White, Piglet and Winnie the Pooh, and Bambi (and Heidi in the German version). In the Broadway version he also mentions Lex Luther and Spats Colombo. This all shows that trains are able to watch movies and probably read books and comic books. So, has a train ever published a book? Do trains have their own magazines? Magazine models? In the real world, some trains are famous for being in movies (or multiple movies). Are these regarded as film stars in the StEx universe? Who gets to have shelter? In "Starlight Express" Rusty sings, "When your good nights have been said and you are lying in bed with the covers pulled up tight." Meanwhile, Belle sleeps on a coal pile, and no one bats an eye at it. Who has houses/sheds? Who doesn't? How does money work? Considering how small bills and coins are compared to humans, how are trains paid? A money truck like Purse might use a computer to handle Electra's finances, but what of other trains? Are they paid in notes which they can exchange later for legal tender ? Are they paid in ration cards? Spare parts or merchandise? How common are conversions? CB's costume shows that he used to be a boxcar. Greaseball and Electra at least consider converting to steam. Real life freight trucks have been converted to passenger equipment (like baggage cars) and vice versa. How common are these types of vehicles? How does train society view them?

#starlight express #writing aid #fanfic help

5 notes · View notes

eddiestattoos · 3 years ago

Text

Look I've learned by now that the last 4-6 eps of a smallville season are stressy insanity but I was fully unprepared for this final six. And I'm not saying it was bad, but it was a lot for my brain to handle. Anyway. Fair warning. This post got out of hand. Proceed as you please

Will never not giggle at Clark throwing people across expanses

"Big cool headline here" Lois becomes more relatable by the second

Oliver carrying a bow and arrow even as a small child

Lois and Jimmy undercover I love them

"It's really easy" Kara you're literally talking about flying

I swear if Lana dies I'm going to scream

The end of Lionel is upon us... well, me. That was hardly how I was expecting it to happen though

At least Lex has some emotions about his awful actions

Chloe better get her job back

Clark in a suit is so unnatural

Jimmy and Chloe the pro dancers I love it

Spy kid Jimmy is fun

Jimmy may not go to prison I won't allow it

Same goes for Chloe

YES JIMMY

I will stab this NSA woman myself

Clark just thaws out freezing Jimmy and Lois with his eyes. While still in the freezer. Perfection.

Clark sweetheart stop blaming yourself for everything

Love seeing directed by Tom Welling

Lois trying to sneak a peak at Clark. Mood

"If anyone asks it's a typo your name is Louis" 😂

What's with president Lex's glove I don't get it

"I don't do well with sad" again Lois is a mood

Lois taking Clark out let's go!!

This dude just walks in and fillets a kryptonian symbol into Lex's chest. Classy

Jimmy just jumping onto Chloe's bed like the small child he is I love him

Chloe not thinking Clark was serious about confronting Lex I will never tire of her being concerned and caught off guard by Clark's instincts

I love how nobody question a farm boy just walking into the cathedral

Jason's dad is alive???

You can not try to tell me Genevieve died for Clark. Not gonna buy it

Can't believe Tom Welling was over 30 when this was filmed. Man was 24 playing a 14 year old

How does nobody walk into the cathedral and figure out what Teague is doing

Instead of burning the symbols into his chest we're slicing them now? My poor super boy

Are we going to just forget that Lana is literally braindead?

Shoutout to Oliver Queen once again

Queen Chloe Sullivan at it again. Girl just slices a concrete table into bits

Lex just casually knows old scottish folk songs. Obviously. What doesn't he know?

Oh I know. Clark's secret. Yet at least?.... I'm concerned

Ace reporter Jimmy Olsen?? I like

Clark honey stop calling yourself a threat

How many times has killing Lex been suggested? Specifically to Clark? Many.

Kara did not just punch a hole in a moving airplane and almost throw a guy out of it gosh I love her

"I thought the Bermuda triangle was somewhere a little more tropical" who knew Lex still has some jokes left

Lois giving Clark a filled out daily planet job application you go girl

Look I understand there's the comics and stories this show is based on but this crew would've made a killer law enforcement team. Not that reporting is bad though

Um wait a sec... 2 eps ago Kara collapsed in the kitchen and that went fully unexplained??

I would love more of Clark catching Kara by the ankles as she flies off in the future

Gosh Lois is pretty

How did Lex repair his fireplace? Like it's just perfectly fine?

Damn Jor el was right Kara is a threat? Unfortunate

Lex just makes a briefcase to fit anything perfectly

Jimmy thinking he was about to be Lex's wingman 😂

I love awkward baby Jimmy so much

Well that plan was a bust Chloe

Kara wasn't Kara thank goodness

Chloe's powers confuse even brainiac it's perfect

"You could never deliberately kill another man" you sure about that there old prof buddy?

Ah yes the return of kryptonians in flying discs

We can't even get one last actual in person Clana scene? Now I'm sad how is this how this ends ughhhhhhh lowkey offended but I'll probably get over it

Lois being there and seeing the video and being right there for Clark I'm in tears y'all

Jimmy and Chloe I'm crying for different reasons now y'all ahh it's happening

DAMN FEDS RUINING THE MOMENT SCREW THIS

Lex: I love you like a brother Clark. Me: trying to kill him is a fine way to show that I guess

#smallville #my smallville bs #that being said I'm excited for season 8 because I know oliver becomes a bigger thing and also maybe clois now that clana is done?#but first i have to process this crap and maybe cry some more #so bye

1 note · View note

michellelewis7162 · 5 years ago

Text

What Are Commercial Electrical Contractors Chosen For?

You may be actually asking on your own; what are commercial electrical contractors hired for? These are actually service individuals who supervise of building, installing and also sustaining power units in a property. Their job is actually quite important taking into consideration the reality that electric power is among things that have to be actually put up in every structure that is designed. They are specialists that invest many years in schools as well as colleges learning how they may supply such services. Afterwards, they are actually needed to sign up along with the relevant authorizations as well as get a license to perform the job. They consequently have expert knowledge in performing this sort of job.

Commercial electrical contractors are actually certainly not the like electricians. Domestic electricians are actually simply individuals who carry out some electrical power similar tasks. However, service providers own registered providers which are popular. Although the firm may concern a personal, there are actually scenarios where numerous electrical contractors come with each other to create one provider along with the goal of enhancing their job quantity along with serving their customers much better. You as a result ought to not be actually surprised when you discover that the company is only someone. Regardless of the accumulation of the getting business, you can be actually certain that really good services will definitely be delivered FL.

The technique they do their job depends upon a number of factors. As an example, their work summary varies a little coming from one part of the planet to another. Nevertheless it performs certainly not receive also various because in the side, they are expected to perform the same kind of job. What is vital is actually for the client that chooses all of them to guarantee that the ones he has selected can possibly do a really good task. Simply like with any sort of various other career, you will definitely recognize that there are actually some specialists that even after looking at the necessary instruction, they still can easily refrain the project properly. https://gnhelectric.net/

This suggests that you must make sure when selecting commercial electrical contractors for your work. A lot of probably, there are actually much of them you have actually become aware of. You must certainly not simply tap the services of a firm due to the fact that you as soon as became aware of it. See to it that you understand what they can give. The very most important trait to carry out is actually to recognize the unique points that need to have to be done in your power work. You then may do ahead to employ that certain one that is proclaimed as possessing expert know-how in it. Hiring without point to consider will definitely leave you with the incorrect individual and also this will create it difficult for you to get excellent solutions.

It is actually excellent to review the companies of numerous service providers prior to choosing all of them. Generate a list of the leading one and at that point attempt to find out what they carry out. You can take into consideration points like what their customers say, exactly how long they take to perform the job, just how much they demand for it and also exactly how trusted they are. If in the long run you find that they are that you were looking for, choose all of them. What are actually Commercial electrical contractors Jacksonville FL useful for if they can not supply the kind of solutions that their customers are actually trying to find?

Commercial Electrical Contractors

Latest years have actually observed a stinging rise in commercial electrical contractors which specialize in mostly all potential components of domestic and industrial electrical setups. In spite of the fact that numerous commercial electrical recruiting agencies have actually simply emerged in the final few years, there are numerous such firms that have actually accumulated decades of adventure and also have developed on their own and as an outcome have actually accumulated exceptional online reputations as being respected and trusted due to their delivering a detailed, prompt company as well as assuring an unbelievably high specification of power installations and also services. An additional bonus to the service offered by these commercial electrical contractors Jacksonville FL is actually that even with being actually based in merely one place, they can deliver their services to potential clients in an incredibly broad surrounding place FL.

These commercial electrical contractors supply an extensive series of companies along with tasks that can easily vary from much smaller residential installations to much larger, more business and industrial installations such as those that are actually of excellent significance in the pharmaceutical field. The methods associated with such setups may potentially consist of the putting together of solitary as well as three stage circuitry circuits as effectively as the installment of all kinds of electrical wiring systems. Various other companies that are actually provided through these commercial electrical contractors include the installment of unexpected emergency lighting, the screening of mobile home appliances in addition to establishing automated door, entrance and other such access systems and also setting up the modern technology as well as tools that would certainly be actually needed therefore concerning perform video clip meetings, a reward for any type of service. Typically, the commercial amount installments performed through these organisations are actually the full setup of principal distribution of lights and energy to new manufacturing facility units and also carrying out the repair olden manufacturing plant outlets.

Most of the industrial electrical professional agencies in procedure are actually approved through NICEIC rules as well as all electrical work is actually finished to BS7671 IEE Wiring Regulations (17th Edition) as well as are actually consequently dealt with due to the providing of a NICEIC Electrical Completion Certificate. Potential customers can easily additionally take peace of thoughts in the simple fact that many commercial electrical contractors Jacksonville FL are actually members of well-respected having groups such as Construction online, Safe Contractor and the authorities backed Trustmark group (an initiative which is sustained through consumer protection companies as well as lots of crucial services and also members of the building industry). These teams aid householders in locating respected and also trustworthy tradespersons to perform enhancements and also repairs to the within in addition to outdoors of their properties Jacksonville.

Functionality of Choosing the Right Commercial Electrical Contractor

Whenever there is a requirement to ensure the establishment as well as security of a power unit of a particular building or location, the assistance of a professional is something that ought to never ever be considered approved. This qualified is actually referred to as an industrial power specialist that services different jobs entailing the given system in buildings and various other structures. Unlike those experts who generally operate in household places, these electrical specialists are typically chosen through locations, buildings and properties in industrial areas Jacksonville.

A lot of the opportunity, owners of industrial properties find it challenging to select the ideal company for their power system. There are actually those that observe it as a daunting job to determine the abilities of an expert, while others perform certainly not possess any kind of concept about this industry at all. Routing the necessities of your company is actually an extremely crucial point to take into consideration when employing the companies of a professional. If you find it difficult to handle along with these pros, it is best to endure in the thoughts why connecting is essential to wind up along with a typical objective and also an acknowledged upon service.

Much more than everything else, it is vital to call the type of project that you checking out to accomplish. This step is going to determine the experts' industry of interest in terms of what to accomplish along with the building or even building. Is the job paid attention to constructing a new construct or even exist some parts that need to have remodelling? There are actually likewise those pros in this particular area whose knowledge facilities on the kind of material for the project. It is most effectively to explain this concern with them to ensure the worldly quality.

One more factor to always remember is actually the prerequisite of the venture on its own. It might happen helpful to function along with the project all together with lighting functions along with the element of electric energy and also wires. Bear in mind that if there are particular qualifications for the project, it is well to hire a commercial electrical professional that is capable and also proficient in conducting such sort of job.

For the absolute best passion of your construction or improvement task, it is very best to hire the companies of a trained as well as licensed electrical service provider. This will certainly be incredibly valuable for the demands of your industrial business or design. Using always keeping the pointed out pointers in thoughts, you may relax assured that you carrying out the correct factor for the task Jacksonville.

The Benefits of Hiring a Commercial Electrical Contractor

Possessing working electricity, both in and out, is of essential significance to organisations. Lightings, computers, power generators, home appliances, fridges freezer, and also various other essential resources are actually all electricity-dependent as well as yet essential for everyday jobs. When installments or repair services are actually needed to have, the job can take times or even full weeks to complete, at times stopping you as well as your staff members coming from acquiring work carried out and/or having actually accessibility to needed to have tools. This is actually a significant trouble. Consequently and others, choosing a professional for industrial electrical installation or even electric devices routine maintenance makes great organisation feeling: it provides a way for your business's normal routine to continue, while fixings are actually being actually created through a professional. Listed below, consider 3 particular perks of hiring an industrial power professional.

Lessened Downtime:

Each day that a business is actually turned off for electrical work is a day lost to interruptions. Interruptions that are actually unnecessary and avoidable. A business power service provider stays away from such disturbances through developing a welcoming atmosphere where business may continue as typical, even as the electric work is actually being done. When electric tools installation as well as maintenance does not eliminate coming from a company's normal timetable, it decreases cash shed and opportunity lost. The specialist concentrates on the electric job, thus you can easily pay attention to your organisation requirements.

Quality Electrical Work:

As along with anything, hurried power work is visible, as well as it normally bears the spots of careless selections. When it comes to industrial power setup, it is particularly challenging, as it can easily wind up creating severe safety problems for workers, clients, and also the job environment generally. That is why choosing a professional, exclusively a person learnt the details abilities of industrial power setup, to aid along with your electric work is so significant: it offers you the confidence that stems from recognizing the task is actually in the hands of a proficient expert.

Access to a Variety of Services:

A commercial electrical contractor may do work in a variety of locations, coming from retail facilities, dining establishments, as well as workplace properties to aircraft wall mounts, hardwood loft spaces, and theme park. Skills feature working along with power distribution, linking HVAC and fridge devices, establishing up data facilities as well as computer space electrical power bodies, mounting and also mending lights systems, and also putting in and also servicing road lights, Novar, energy-management systems, as well as Sola power conditioning transformers. Considering that of the range of specialized repairs a specialist uses, he is actually carefully furnished to manage your power needs, be they for electrical warmth sign installment or electrical generator and also transmission switches.

0 notes

rdclsuperfoods · 5 years ago

Link

For athletes with specific training and nutritional needs, the holiday season can be tricky to navigate. Do you channel your inner bon vivant and have a third helping of pecan pie, or do you take care to avoid piling your plate with foods that might make tomorrow’s training run a little harder? Ultimately, the best defense is a good offense: if you bring a homemade dish to every party, you ensure that you have something hearty and healthy(ish) to eat.

Sports nutrition expert and Feed Zone Cookbook author Allen Lim explains that when it comes to eating rich, delicious food, context is key: “What you eat in celebration will have little bearing on the big picture. It’s not what you eat on one day—it’s what you consistently eat every other day that really matters. But with classic holiday favorites, almost every recipe could be toned down slightly, so that we can still enjoy a good portion without it being so sweet, fatty, or calorically dense. It’s a balance.”

So, don’t stress out about that third piece of pie, but check out these athlete favorites for some potluck inspiration.

Italian Arancini with Red Pepper Oil

These rice balls are the perfect fare for a large gathering, Lim says. Arancini is a holiday party classic, and Lim and fellow chef Biju Thomas’ recipe calls for fresh, whole-food ingredients. They’re traditionally served on their own, but Lim also likes to use them as salad toppers. Bring these to a party on a big bed of mixed greens, and use the red pepper oil as a dressing.

Ingredients

2 cups uncooked short-grain rice (Short-grain brown rice works well.)

1 red bell pepper

Coarse salt, to taste

1/2 cup olive oil

1 cup ricotta

1 tablespoon freshly grated Parmesan

2 eggs, lightly beaten

1/4 cup chopped fresh Italian herbs of your choice, like basil, tarragon, thyme, or parsley

Zest from half a lemon

1 teaspoon salt

1 egg plus 1 tablespoon water, lightly beaten

1 cup gluten-free panko or breadcrumbs

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Freshly grated Parmesan

Directions

Heat the oven to 250 degrees Fahrenheit. Prepare the rice in a rice cooker or on the stovetop, following the instructions on the package. While the rice is cooking, blanch the bell pepper in salted boiling water for no more than one minute. (The skin should be wrinkled.) Run the pepper under cold water, then peel off the skin and remove the stem and seeds. Place the pepper in a blender with the olive oil and purée. Season to taste with coarse salt and set aside.

Once the cooked rice is cool enough to handle, transfer it into a large bowl and add the ricotta, Parmesan, eggs, herbs, lemon zest, and salt. Mix together with a wooden spoon. (It will be sticky.) Shape into large, firm balls, about two inches in diameter (the size of a golf ball). This recipe makes about 32 rice balls. Brush egg-and-water mixture onto each rice ball, then roll in the breadcrumbs.

In large sauté pan or skillet over medium-high heat, heat the olive oil, then add the rice balls in batches. Don’t crowd the pan. Turn frequently until golden brown on all sides. Each batch will take about eight to ten minutes to cook.

Transfer to a baking sheet and keep warm in the oven while you finish making the remaining rice balls. Pile the rice balls on a serving platter and top with freshly grated Parmesan. Serve with red pepper oil, pesto, or your favorite marinara.

This recipe was republished with permission of VeloPress from Feed Zone Table by chef Biju Thomas and Dr. Allen Lim. Try more recipes at FeedZoneCookbook.com.

Sriracha Honey Turkey Meatballs

Cyclocross racer and Red Bull athlete Ellen Noble has been racing since she was seven years old, and she has learned to dial in optimal nutrition without sacrificing taste. These sweet-and-savory meatballs are her go-to holiday party treat, whether they’re served with toothpicks as an appetizer or as part of the main course—and the leftovers make for a great post-workout protein boost. They keep well in the freezer, so prep ahead if you know party season will be hectic.

Ingredients

2 pounds ground turkey

1 cup panko or breadcrumbs

2 large eggs

Garlic powder and salt to taste

1/4 cup sriracha

3 tablespoons soy sauce

3 tablespoons rice vinegar

3 tablespoons honey

Fresh ginger and garlic, finely chopped, to taste

Splash of sesame oil

Sesame seeds

Directions

Preheat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Mix ground turkey, panko or breadcrumbs, eggs, garlic powder, and salt. Roll into one-inch round balls. Place on baking sheet and cook until browned and cooked through (about 22 minutes).

While they’re baking, make the sauce. In a medium saucepan, mix sriracha, soy sauce, rice vinegar, honey, ginger and garlic, and sesame oil. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until it comes to a boil. Then, reduce heat and let simmer for eight to ten minute or until the sauce thickens.

Coat meatballs and top with sesame seeds to serve. If freezing, freeze meatballs and sauce separately.

Mushroom Duxelles

Break up the sea of charcuterie and cheese plates with this vegan mushroom spread from chef and yoga instructor Stepfanie Romine. It’s a great way to offer people with common dietary restrictions, like lactose intolerance, a chance to enjoy more than just veggies and hummus at a cocktail party. “Duxelles is a classic French recipe base that infuses flavor into any dish,” Romine explains. “You can change it up based on the mushrooms, alcohol, and fats you have on hand.” It’s great served on toasted baguette slices or crackers as an hors d’oeuvre, and it works wonderfully as a stuffing or topping for eggs, meats, and other dishes.

Ingredients

1/4 cup safflower or olive oil

1 pound tender mushrooms, any variety, caps only, finely chopped

2 tablespoons minced garlic

1/4 cup minced shallots or 1/2 cup finely diced yellow onion

1/2 cup dry red or white wine or 1/4 cup dry sherry

Sea salt

Pepper

Directions

Place a saucepan over medium-high heat, then add two tablespoons of oil. Once hot, add the mushrooms, garlic, shallots or onions, and a pinch of salt and pepper. Cook for five minutes, stirring often, until the mixture is dry and starting to get some color. Add about half of the wine, stirring and scraping to remove any cooked-on bits. Once evaporated, add the remaining oil and another generous pinch of salt and pepper. Continue cooking, stirring often, for another five minutes. If the shallots are in danger of burning, reduce heat to medium. Add the remaining wine, scraping the bottom as before, and cook until completely evaporated.

Let cool, then season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve alongside toasted baguette slices or crackers.

Recipe reprinted with permission from Cooking with Healing Mushrooms (Ulysses Press, July 2018) by Stepfanie Romine.

Hearty Beef Chili

Professional cyclist Nigel Ellsay is one of the Rally Health team’s top riders and top chefs. His personal favorite meal when temperatures drop is a hearty beef chili seasoned with unique flavors like coffee and molasses. The best part about chili is that it’s easy to prep in advance: you can simmer it in a slow cooker all day or cook it in advance and freeze it. Serve as an appetizer at a cocktail party with sturdy tortilla chips for scooping, in bowls over rice as an entree, or with a side of sourdough bread.

Ingredients

1 cup hot coffee

2 dried chiles (ancho, poblano or chipotle)

Olive oil

1 diced red onion

1 teaspoon ground cumin

1 teaspoon smoked paprika

1 teaspoon dried oregano

1 teaspoon chili powder

1 bay leaf

5 diced garlic cloves

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

Salt and pepper

2 28-ounce cans peeled whole tomatoes

2 pounds beef (brisket or another pot roast–style cut), cut into 2-centimeter cubes

2 tablespoons molasses

2 bell peppers, chopped (not green)

1 28-ounce can kidney beans

Optional toppings: Greek yogurt, sour cream, chopped avocado, chopped cilantro, hot sauce

Directions

Before you start frying and prepping anything else, soak the dried chiles in the hot coffee. In a pot, Dutch oven, or slow cooker, heat the olive oil over medium and sauté the onions, cumin, paprika, oregano, chili powder, and bay leaf for ten minutes.

Chop the now partially rehydrated chiles. Add the garlic, bay leaf, cinnamon, and both types of chiles to the pan. Sauté for one to two minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Add the rest of the ingredients, except the bell peppers and beans, including the coffee you soaked the chiles in. Smash the tomatoes with your spoon after you add them to the pot. Add more salt and pepper to taste.

Cover and simmer for three hours on the stovetop, or five hours on high in a slow cooker. Add the bell peppers and beans. Taste and add salt and pepper, if necessary. Simmer another 45 minutes.

Top with Greek yogurt, sour cream, chopped avocado, chopped cilantro, and hot sauce. Serve alongside tortilla chips, rice, or sourdough bread.

White Chocolate Coconut Bars

“These may sound decadent, but they offer decent protein levels from the nuts, protein powder, and nut butter,” says Alan Murchison, author of The Cycling Chef cookbook. “Lee, a training buddy of mine, asked me to make a protein bar recipe that actually works, after having countless disasters trying to make his own. The aim was to create that sweet-and-salty combo that we crave after hard training sessions or long rides, to restock those glycogen and electrolyte stores, and to help repair tired muscles.” Chunk the bars into smaller pieces for a sweet party treat with a nutritious kick.

Ingredients

1 cup oats

1/4 cup sweetened dried coconut

1 teaspoon Himalayan salt

2 tablespoons goji berries

1/2 cup dried mango, chopped

1/2 cup dried cherries, chopped

1/2 cup cashew nuts

1 tablespoon chia seeds

1/2 cup milk

1/3 cup vanilla protein powder

2 tablespoons runny honey

1/3 cup white chocolate chips

1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon coconut oil

1/3 cup peanut butter

Directions

In a bowl, mix together all the dry ingredients and set aside. In another bowl, whisk together the milk, vanilla protein powder, and runny honey until you have a smooth paste.

In a saucepan over low heat, melt the white chocolate chips and coconut oil, then stir in the peanut butter. In a large mixing bowl, combine the milk mix with the white chocolate mix, then stir in the dry ingredients. Line a shallow 9x9-inch baking tin with greaseproof paper and spray with olive oil, then press the mixture into the tin.

Place in the fridge for 60 to 90 minutes to firm up before slicing into approximately 15 bars.

Easy Chocolate Protein Mousse

Short on time but promised to bring something sweet to the party? Try Murchison’s ultra-simple chocolate protein mousse—it combines ingredients that many athletes already have at home, like banana, coconut milk, and protein powder. A single serving packs in 26 grams of protein, so save leftovers for a post-workout treat.

Ingredients

2 1/2 cups coconut milk

5 tablespoon honey

1 1/2 cups chocolate protein powder

1 2/3 tablespoons cocoa nibs

1/3 cup cocoa powder

1/3 cup finely shredded coconut

1 2/3 tablespoons chia seeds

Optional topping: Chopped cashews, chopped banana, fresh cherries

Directions

In a food processor, blend the coconut milk, honey, protein powder, cocoa nibs, and cocoa powder. Stir in the coconut, chia seeds, and cashews. Spoon the mixture into ten ramekins and place in the fridge for 30 minutes or until firm. Serve with chopped cashews, banana, or fresh cherries on the side.

Reprinted from The Cycling Chef by Alan Murchison with permission by Bloomsbury Sport, Bloomsbury Publishing, Plc.

via Outside Magazine: Nutrition

#IFTTT #Outside Magazine: Nutrition

0 notes