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bugsbenefit · 11 months

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closest to canon Hawkins we can get

this is the map used in s2 and shows up in the canon show as well as in World's Turned Upside Down (also used as the base for most official artwork of Hawkins). as of now it's the most accurate map we have

there have been a few other maps on the show but those deviate a lot from what's seen in canon (like Bob's map showing a river near the town center that isn't really there). the only inconsistency with This map is that the County Coroner is a bit further south than in canon and that some locations that are referred to as "streets" in the show are marked as "roads" or "avenues" here. those are all minor changes though so as far as canon goes. this is the best map we've got

blue - bodies of water, white - buildings, green - residences, gray - streets, yellowish - speculative/not listed on the map but implied through the actual show

also, to explain further, i didn't make these locations up. all buildings in white and streets are already marked on the map, most of them are extremely hard to read and i just put more legible text on top. the Wheelers, Sinclairs, and Mayfields houses aren't listed but are easy to locate since their street names are on the map. only the yellow squares aren't explicitly confirmed on the map and are technically speculative since i added them based on canon information

(explanation of the reasoning for those placements under the cut for anyone that's interested. bc, personally, i hate seeing maps online that make plainly wrong claims without even trying to explain how they got there)

just starting off, almost every version of this map places the Wheeler and Sinclair home further north than me which is canonically false. those maps use a wrong scale. Lucas and Mike are almost next door neighbors (there is only One house number between theirs, but that house could also be located across the road from them, making them actual next door neighbors). also, Maple Street starts further south than a lot of people using this map seem to acknowledge. the actual order of the two houses is up for debate and could easily be switched though

Melvad's is technically also speculative since it isn't listed on the map (only the cinema and police station are). but looking at the town square in the show and the irl location of the stores you can pinpoint it's position

"Weathertop", the highest area in Hawkins, which is where Cerebro is located in s3. since the town is shown to be behind Starcourt when positioned on Wheatertop, the hill has to be located behind the mall

Hopper's trailer is shown to be next to a lake and only features in s1, the shape of the lake matches Lake Tippecanoe the closest but i'm not dead set on this

Benny's Burgers is canonically on Randolph Lane, the map doesn't feature this road but has a Randolph Way instead. it might be an entirely different road, or Randolph lane could be an unmarked offshoot of the marked Randolph Way. however, since Randolph Way leads out of Hawkins into a forested area near HNL and the forest the party looked for Will in, the general location of the road is probably a good guess for it's location

Mrs Driscoll's home is somewhere on Cornwallis Street. we don't know where on the street, but it's there somewhere. (the same also goes for the motel Billy and Karen wanted to meet up at, but since we never even saw the location i didn't mark it on the map)

the Brimborn Steelworks are on Cherry Oak Drive, accessible when driving down Cornwallis. the street Cherry Oak Drive also doesn't exist on the map. however, a street called Cherry Avenue conveniently directly connects to Cornwallis so i'm inclined to believe that's where the Steelwork is located (Cherry Oak Drive could also be an offshoot of Cherry Avenue or it could just be an inconsistency sploof)

the Byers home is marked twice on the map since it could be located on either road leading away from Mirkwood (Kerley or Cornwallis)

Skull rock and Reefer Rick's Cabin are both located at Lovers Lake but since we don't know their exact locations they're technically speculative

Garrot Street is only implied by canon and it's probably the loosest connection on here. Skull Rock is noted to be near "Cornwallis and Garrot". there is only two major/big roads noted near lovers lake, one of them is Cornwallis, the other one would then most likely be Garrot (also made likelier by the fact that the actual name of the road is completely illegible on the map and could be anything)

also note. the Eno River is also on this map, but i had to crop it a bit to fit a reasonable scale. it would be in the far northwest of the map (the south-most tip of it is still visible)

locations that become relevant later on and aren't marked on the map, that also aren't locatable through additional canon information would be things like Max's old home, the Roane Hill Cemetery, the Creel House on Morehead, and Pennhurst (even though we don't know if Pennhurst is actually in the Hawkins map are). also things like the community pool in s3 or town hall in s4 don't show up either

#stranger things

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hyunfilms · 4 months

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blue side of the sky (lmh) | 16.5 [cloudy days] uncle adrian

♡ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—16.5 [CLOUDY DAYS] uncle adrian's thoughts

—WORD COUNT: 1.1k

—ON ROTATION: gravity - sara bareilles

Uncle Adrian remembers when you first took your training wheels off of your bike, watching you effortlessly drive it down the hill without falling off.

Uncle Adrian remembers when you lost your favorite bunny toy.

Uncle Adrian remembers when you first got your high school acceptance letter, your college acceptance letter.

Uncle Adrian remembers when you fell in love, when you experienced your first heartbreak.

He remembers almost every little detail, every little memory. Except two:

Your mom's passing, and the night of the accident.

And it's because he doesn't want to.

He purposely tries to keep those memories blurred even though they're the two core memories he remembers the most.

Losing his sister was painful and he feels that until this day. The pain feels fresh, like it just happened yesterday, like he's living in a never-ending loop. But god, when he received that call on the night of the accident, he couldn't even tell you what he felt. There are no words to describe the fear, the anxiety, the pain, that surged through his veins all at once. You had become a daughter to him, his own— he couldn't even imagine what he would do if he had lost you completely.

He remembers when he got the call, when he raced to the hospital and dropped everything to be there as quickly as possible. He hates remembering the anxiety, he hates remembering the what if's running through his head— especially the 'what if I was too late.' He remembers running into the hospital, frantically looking for you or any sign of you, any indication that would at least reassure him that you are alive and okay.

When he entered the room that night, he felt like he was sinking to the very bottom of the ocean. No matter what he did, he felt like he couldn't get to the surface. He felt like he was running out of time, running out of air, even though he couldn't get himself up and out of the void. He cried and he cried because giving up wasn't an option, even he wasn't sure what he could, what avenues he could take.

Especially towards the end.

Your friends were constantly visiting, and he enjoyed having their company. It made him feel a little less lonely; even though the hallways were constantly busy with staff running around, echoes of the machines in the background, the TV humming in the far corner. Even watching life go by outside the window made Uncle Adrian feel a little less lonely. He did appreciate the effort your friends put in, especially Jisung. He was constantly swapping out your flowers with new ones, always saying a prayer by your bedside. Monitoring you at all times, switching with him so he could get proper rest at home. And of course, he'd wonder about Minho. Eventually he found out the reason behind the fight that left you in this predicament. He couldn't say he wasn't disappointed because he was— as with anyone, he wished things could've gone differently. But, he didn't understand why Minho distanced himself throughout all of this.

Maybe he felt like he was to blame?

Maybe he felt too ashamed about how things turned out?

Uncle Adrian wishes he knew because he would reassure Minho that none of this was his fault. If you had woken up and remembered everything, the first person you'd ask for would be Minho. The first person you wanted to make things right with would be Minho. Maybe then, he wouldn't have let things slip through his fingers the way it did. Maybe he wouldn't have distanced himself so much as a way to 'fix' things.

He remembers when the doctor gave him that talk, subtly hinting at the fact that he needed to reconsider his options, beating around the bush about your current status. He paced around the room for so long, it felt like the days would've brushed on by until he finally decided that he didn't want you to suffer anymore. Didn't want you to be in pain. He loved you so dearly that he was always going to put you first before anyone else.

He remembers the broken sobs from your friends when the news finally broke out. He finally saw Minho in the hallway, loudly crying while he crouched to the floor; head dug deep in his hands. He remembers Jisung never leaving your side, begging for you to wake up and come back. That you couldn't leave him behind, you couldn't leave him and Minho behind.

Then, he remembers when you woke up— and that's something he'll remember clearly. The fear in your eyes was so evident, he wasn't sure how to respond. You didn't remember any of your friends, you didn't remember your mom passing. So many pieces of the puzzle were missing for you and you closed yourself off in response to the fear, the confusion.

It took a long time to gain your trust again, even though you didn't intentionally mean to shut Uncle Adrian out.

You felt like you were living life for the very first time, everything felt so brand new and very incredibly scary. This felt scary, even for him.

He remembers how much he stressed over making sure you were okay. He remembers watching your every move like a hawk. He remembers taking note of any slight change in your body language, appetite, tone; anything. It was a hard duty to fulfill, but he did it all while keeping up with the demands of his company.

But even through the rough days, he remembers the good, too. Like when your tone and body language became happier, healthier. Like when you laughed more, smiled more. Like when you brought yourself around your friends more. Like when you took that first leap getting back into the things you loved.

Like the sun peeking out from underneath the clouds, in between periods of rain.

Now, he sees you crying because it's like you're living your first heartbreak all over again. He sees you crying because life seems to be unfriendly to you in certain ways. He sees you crying and it feels like everything is back to square one. He sees you crying and wishes there was more he can do to take away any other pain from you.

He sees you crying and he remembers why he hates to remember in the first place.

But, he'll take this as yet another rainy day— where the sun is waiting to come out and shine again. Because although it's something he hates to remember, it serves as a reminder that you are a star shining in the darkness;

The sun shining brightly through the clouds.

♡ taglist: @ppiri-bahng @jihanlovic @meloncremesoda @sweetlikecherry @asjkdk @hoes4lino @skzddicted @skzho @edgaralienpoe @harui-zen @bestleeknowstan @havenwithleeknow @septicrebel @heesdazed @borahae-reads @yoontaethings @pearbunny @bintificreads @lukeys-giggle @ajxreads @everglowdaisies @allaboutsan @endzii23 @leeknowsramen @heres-your-ramen2000 @morningstardada @mal-lunar-28 @downbadreading @lilysophie @feelikecinderella @urmomma0324 @ddazed-lhs @djeniryuu @melanctton @i8rsie @maru-matt @sleepyleeji @taerifin @nattisbored @jisunglyricist @m111nho @drhsthl @nixtape-foryou @arminseas @guiltycoco @syuuji @sulkygyu @cadihyo @reianagarcia @leeknowyah @smndjdufuehr @dprkbyn @xxibreinaxx @mxnsxngie @reiheis @mellowmentalitydragon @vixensss

#lee know series #lee know fanfic #lee know fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids series #hyunfilms: blue side of the sky

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lullabyes22-blog · 4 months

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Im not sure if this was answered already but what do you think was going through silcos head when Finn tried to stage a coup? More specifically the part where Finn got sliced and silco had a small heart attack cause the possibility of him dying in that moment was NOT low.

That's honestly one of my favorite scenes, and showcases so many complex dynamics, on so many levels<3

Like - on the surface, it's obviously a taste of the day-to-day pressures of leadership Silco contends with. He's King of the Hill in a snake-pit: everyone vying for his position, his second-in-command's loyalties suspect, his own seat on the throne forever precarious.

It's a reminder. The Undercity is a dog-eat-dog world - and Silco has made it ten times worse with the strife and suffering his Shimmer empire sows, even as he's created leeway for more economic and social opportunities by changing the Lanes into an enterprise.

And on a deeper level, it symbolizes the cost of power he's coveted since episode one, and the price he must pay to hold on to it, while his own priorities are increasingly veering off in the direction of a little Blue Bundle of Booms. Who, need we add, by the simple fact of her existence, actively makes his day-to-day governance of such a large operation that much more difficult.

And yet she's his Ace in the Hole - his literal Kingmaker - who's stolen a goddamn Hex-gem from Topside to arm his cause, and who is inadvertently the reason Talis decides to request a parley, because the Council are coming to grips with the chilling possibility that the Undercity may declare war, and that there could be mass casualties on both sides.

Then the whole scene is just a flawless summation of the mounting chaos that is engulfing Silco, and how it reflects in his personal relationships. Because he is being left behind by the breakneck pace of change that Jinx now symbolizes, and because he did screw up, and let his allies down, and because he is growing older, and less adept at the game, because fatherhood is slowly unfitting him for the 'survival of the fittest' mold he'd once been so gung-ho about.

And of course, playing into the whole scene is the fluid power dynamics between him and Sevika. Ostensibly, she's his right hand, and therefore his subordinate. And yet, in that moment, she's that thin line keeping him safe from a literal coup under his nose. All because, in that moment, he's reduced to his core components: his words, his most potent weapons, and the spiel about loyalty, where he actively appeals to the impetus that drives Sevika as a character:

"Brothers and sisters, back to back, against whatever the world threw at us."

On one level it's a deeply manipulative statement. And on another, he's making sides, and making plain he's on her side. Literally: Look how much we've suffered, look how far we've come, look at this callow whelp threatening to undo it for his own ego.

That bit of dialogue is almost a plea, and puts his cards on her table. It also puts the onus of whatever comes next on Sevika, and gives her the choice: Kill me, and doom our cause or Kill Finn, and we'll stay to fight another day.

And you can tell by his expression that he's not sure what the outcome will be. It's a flip of a coin, and he's inwardly prepared to meet his maker if the gambit fails.

And then, ofc, Sevika shocks us all by choosing to side with Silco.

Not only that: she cuts Finn's throat with the same arm she lost by saving Silco's life in the Cannery.

The narrative symmetry is just... mwah~

My favorite part is the way Silco transitions from "Oh shit I lived?!" to "Hmph. Of course I lived."

Because it gets down to what makes Silco such a compelling character. It's not simply his strategic mind or his cunning. It's his talent to think on his feet, and to adapt to the shifting currents.

He's succeeded in a volatile environment like the Undercity because he's not fixated on The Plan to the detriment of all else. Rather, it's because he finds new avenues to execute The Plan each time there's a change in the larger environs, which remain beyond his control because this is not a character in a position of privilege.

This is a ruthless man at the mercy of progress' black underbelly, as much as any other character in the story.

There's so much more I could say about this scene. But it's truly the moment I came to adore both Silco and Sevika as a terrifying duo, and to understand that there is so much history and so many layers between these characters that the series never gets a chance to explore.

#asks #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #arcane sevika #arcane finn #arcane meta #silco meta #sevika #finn

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mbta-unofficial · 3 months

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On a similar note,

Future MBTA Bus Corridors!

The MBTA has just finished a huge study of bus delays in order to upgrade service. New bus priority lanes include Harvard Street, Brighton Ave, Broadway to Back Bay, Forest Hills to Blue Hill Avenue, and many more. The data here is fascinating to pour over in terms of person-hours of delays aggregated, and if you want to see these implemented make sure you get involved!

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kingwilliamv · 26 days

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The Prince of Wales’ Court Circular entries for March 2024

Total: 14 engagements

Solo:

Public: 10

Private: 3

Joint (w/ Kate and/or other BRF members):

Public: 1

Private: 0

Breakdown:

March 1: (4)

Visited the Turf Public House, Mold Road, Wrexham

Subsequently visited Wrexham Association Football Club, Racecourse Ground, Mold Road, Wrexham

Visited Ysgol yr Holl Saint, School Hill, Gresford

Visited the Gresford Mining Disaster Memorial in the grounds of Gresford Colliery Club, Blue Bell Lane, Wrexham

March 8: (2)

Chaired a Meeting of The Prince’s Council at Windsor Castle

Visited the Oval, Kennington, London SE11

March 11: (2)

Attended the Commonwealth Day Service of Celebration in Westminster Abbey, London SW1

Attended the launch of the Launchpad online platform at Frameless London Limited, 6 Marble Arch, London W1

March 13: Held an Earthshot Prize Meeting at Windsor Castle

March 14: (2)

Visited West Youth Zone, 2 Edcity Walk, London W12

Presented the Awards at the Diana Award’s Legacy Award Ceremony at the Science Museum, Exhibition Road, London SW7

March 19: (2)

Launched the new Homewards Innovative Housing Project in Sheffield at SOAR Learning Zone, 320 Wordsworth Avenue, Sheffield, South Yorkshire

Attended the Sheffield Homewards Coalition Meeting at Millennium Gallery, 48 Arundel Gate, Sheffield

March 20: Visited Combermere Barracks, St Leonards Road, Windsor, Berkshire

——————————————————————————

Current total for 2024: 21 engagements

#cc:mar2024 #cc2024 #prince william #prince of wales

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carlsdarling · 8 months

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Playlist

Ok this is probably the weirdest combination of songs you’ve ever seen… there is a reason none of my friends wants to listen to any music with me. But it’s what I listen to when I write and I get a lot of inspiration from it… (yes a lot of 80’s, I just love the spirit of 80’s music a lot, and also some German bands)

Tags: @enid-rhees @wh0reishslxtsstuff

Ease My Mind - The Faim Scorpions – Send Me An Angel Don Henley – The Boys Of Summer The Hunna – Flickin‘ your hair Nightwish – Bless the child Nightwish – End Of All Hope Sirenia – The Path to Decay Sirenia – Lost In Life Blue Oyster Cult – Don’t Fear The Reaper America – The Last Unicorn U96 – Love Sees No Colour Alter Bridge – This Is War Alter Bridge – Open Your Eyes Seether feat. Amy Lee– Broken Pharao – There Is A Star Republica – Out Of The Darkness Bryan Adams – Summer of 69 Thirty Seconds To Mars – This Is War Genesis – In Too Deep Blackmore’s Night – World Of Stone The Cranberries – Zombie Good Charlotte – Life Changes The Killers – Run For Cover The Killers – When You Were Young Biffy Clyro – Black Chandelier Low Shoulder – Through The Trees Madonna – Live To Tell Whitesnake – Is This Love Ronan Keating – Iris Papa Roach – Feel Like Home Guano Apes – Living In A Lie Johnny Cash – Hurt Def Leppard – Hysteria The Naked And Famous – Young Blood The Naked And Famous – Rolling Waves The Naked And Famous – Punching In A Dream Breaking Benjamin – Diary Of Jane Fury In The Slaughterhouse – I won’t forget these days Prime Circle – Ghosts Ed Sheeran – Castle On The Hill My Chemical Romance – Helena Sunrise Avenue – Little Bit Love Rea Garvey – Can’t Say No Kings Of Leon– This Sex Is On Fire Steven Tyler, Red, White And You Churches – Leave A Trace Eddie Money – Take Me Home Tonight ASP – Ungeschickte Liebesbriefe RIVO DREI – Wie Flugzeuge Max Giesinger – Legenden Silbermond - Symphonie Oomph – Augen Auf Eisblume – Eisblumen Echt – Du trägst keine Liebe in dir Unheilig – Geboren, um zu leben Avril Lavigne -Losing Grip White Lies – Bigger Than Us Mumford & Sons – Ditmas Bryan Adams – Run To You U2 – City Of Blinding Lights Red Jumpsuit Apparatus – Face Down The Fray – You Found Me Lifehouse – Hanging By A Moment Lifehouse – Everything Lifehouse - Broken Kim Petras – Can’t Do Better Placebo – Every you, every me Counting Crows – Colorblind Puddle of Mudd – Blurry HIM – Heartache Every Moment HIM – Venus Doom HIM – Behind The Crimson Door HIM – Poison Girl Creed – Higher Sum 41 – Fat Lip Lee Ann Womack – I Hope You Dance Angels And Airwaves – Surrender Staind – Outside Staind – So Far Away Whitney Houston – It’s Not Right But It’s Ok (Thunderpuss Mix) Incubus – Wish You Were Here Disturbed – Prayer Blink-182 – What’s my age again

#music #my playlist #soundtrack to write #music inspiration #carlsdarling playlist #TWD playlist

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metatheatre · 4 months

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Understanding many of the fundamental processes that underlie traumatic stress opens the door to an array of interventions that can bring the brain areas related to self-regulation, self-perception, and attention back online. We know now not only how to treat trauma, but also, increasingly, how to prevent it.

And yet, after attending another wake for a teenager who was killed in a drive-by shooting in the Blue Hill Avenue section of Boston or after reading about the latest school budget cuts in impoverished cities and towns, I find myself close to despair. In many ways we seem to be regressing, with measures like the callous congressional elimination of food stamps for kids whose parents are unemployed or in jail; with the stubborn opposition to universal health care in some quarters; with psychiatry's obtuse refusal to make connection between psychic suffering and social conditions; with the refusal to prohibit the sale or possession of weapons whose only purpose is to kill large numbers of human beings; and with our tolerance for incarcerating a huge segment of our population, wasting their lives as well as our resources.

[...]

When I give presentations on trauma and trauma treatment, participants sometimes ask me to leave out the politics and confine myself to talking about neuroscience and therapy. I wish I could separate trauma from politics, but as long as we continue to live in denial and treat only trauma while ignoring its origins, we are bound to fail. In today's world your ZIP code, even more than your genetic code, determines whether you will lead a safe and healthy life. People's income, family structure, housing, employment, and educational opportunities affect not only their risk of developing traumatic stress but also their access to effective help to address it. Poverty, unemployment, inferior schools, social isolation, widespread availability of guns, and substandard housing are all breeding grounds for trauma.

- "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma" by Bessel van Der Kolk

#the body keeps the score #bessel van der kolk

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anthrofreshtodeath · 11 months

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P FKN R Intro

I'm at work, sort of working, sort of tinkering with some writing stuff at lunch, especially the beginning of P FKN R in hopes that I might manufacture some inspiration. Too soon to tell, but maybe if I share it here that will spur me on some more. Here we go!

___

Jamaica Plain’s cars were jammed onto its narrow streets, effectuating a one-way rule by default; those that did crawl through broadcasted an amalgam of sounds into the Latin Quarter: Spanish talk radio, classic rock, and of course, full and knocking reggaetón beats.

Jamaica Plain’s three-story homes groaned as they expanded at high noon, stacked and running from one end of Chestnut Avenue to the other, one of those narrow streets in the time-honored New England style. In another facet of that tradition, its air rippled in a summer scorcher, wafting smells over from La Isla café on the corner: the strong oil-sweet of fried plantains and roasted pork, the kind Jane Rizzoli liked to order with a side of rice when she sat down at one of their vinyl-topped, worn-in, peach-colored tables.

JP pulsated at lunch time.

Jane’s stomach gurgled when she remembered her last meal: a chugged cup of coffee at the marble counter in the Beacon Hill home of the woman kneeling over the body they’d been called to investigate. The image of it was made more grotesque by the contrast of her Aeron skirt and Bottega Veneta heels with the contorted limbs of the man on the walkup in broad daylight.

Jane still liked it, Maura Isles’ high-class wardrobe and the attitude it brought to neighborhoods like this, neighborhoods like her own. That attitude, the I’m the hottest in the room chest-beating, shoulder-brushing mindset, matched what Jane always knew about Boston’s real cultural pockets. The ones with subsidized housing and community gardens and spots like La Isla. “Watcha got for me?” Jane said by way of greeting.

Maura looked up, her long, highlighted hair swishing to the other shoulder when she shook it out. Her green eyes shimmered and she smirked when Jane winked. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Saw ya like thirty minutes ago,” said Jane. “And if we hurry this up, cut the pleasantries, I can take you right on over to that restaurant and introduce you to the best lunch you’ll ever eat in JP.” She pointed to the wide-open window view of the restaurant just a football field away.

“Hmm,” Maura replied, “I could be persuaded, I suppose. Penetrating wounds to the chest and abdomen, surrounding shell casings would indicate he was shot.”

Jane pursed her lips and smiled at the same time. She crossed her nitrile-gloved hands over her hips and shrugged under her blazer for some relief from the beads of sweat rolling down her back. She should not have worn black in late June. “You don’t say,” she teased. But then, quickly back to business, she pointed to the decedent’s broken ankle, distorted and impossibly angled toward midline. “That from this fall?” She asked.

Maura stood, narrowed her brows at Jane’s narrowed brow. “Can’t say right now,” she answered. “But these steps are narrow and uneven. It’s possible.”

“Even if it isn’t, he wa’n’t goin’ very far,” Jane commented. She clenched her jaw, and her masseter muscle clicked in investigatory concentration. “What’s on his hand?”

“Burns,” Maura said. They shared a look, one that only experience, only dozens and dozens of murders, could engender. A car door slammed and footsteps approached as they communicated about the man on the ground without words.

Maura never went to JP unless there was work to be done, and Jane? Jane really only traveled out this way for murder anymore, which was a damn shame because the food was good, and so was the company - even if that company happened to be related to the asshole walking up to them now. “Hey oh - the hell are you doin’ at my crime scene?” barked Jane.

Rafael Martinez, lieutenant of the Drug Control Unit.

Tall, dark-skinned, in a baby blue v-neck stretched against his defined chest, with a Boricua jawline that showcased his trimmed beard like art. He ran his hand over his shaved head once, and licked his lips on his way to the woman shouting at him. “I could ask you the same thing, Rizzoli,” he said through a wicked smile, all white teeth and innate pride. Just as he held out his arms to really rub in his obtusity, a lowered, electric green and black Impreza roared past them, changing Martinez’s mirth to ire, now directed entirely to the street. “Ey!” he shouted, the car already long gone. Then he stepped onto the sidewalk and dusted his dark, slim fit jeans. “Swear to god if one more lowrider tries to run me off the road, I’m outta this city.”

Jane scoffed. “You already were outta this city, remember? Almost a decade. They ain’t got those in New York, Mr. Hot Shot?”

Martinez stared at her, awed by both her attitude and her mouth, until he shook his head of its disbelief. Maura smiled at him as if to commiserate, and held her medical bag in front of her as she faced him. “Not that we’re not happy to have you-”

“We’re not,” Jane interrupted.

Maura glared with a good-natured, nonverbal shut up that worked, at least for the moment. “Like I said - not that we’re not happy to have you, but a federal task force in New York City with the chance for so much more? What brings you back to Boston?”

“Homesick, I guess, doc,” Martinez replied with a cheeky grin. Maura nodded and out of habit, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Jane was unmoved by his obfuscation and his easy Boston-Latin accent. “Bullshit,” she said, “you live for that. You live for the thrill. And the juice.”

Rafael shrugged. “Whatchu want me to say, Rizzoli?” he overtrilled the r of her surname on purpose, in the way that both Italians and Puerto Ricans do. “Me voy a caballo y vengo a pie, eh? Didn’t turn out, no matter how bad I wanted it. When you come from the neighborhoods that Paddy Doyle runs, the Bureau gets certain ideas about where your loyalties are. Especially if you BPD.”

Maura bowed her head in embarrassment, and Jane actually twitched her nose at that one. A droplet of perspiration ran down it, a sign that she’d been in the sun too long. “Well that sucks. Sorry. Still don’t answer why you’re here, steppin’ all over my toes.”

“That,” he started again, pointing to the victim sprawled on the porch of the house they surrounded, “is one of the main earners of the Kill Shot Gang. New crew muscling their way into JP. And I…” he drew out the pronoun for emphasis, “needa find out who did it. I already got your bro out there runnin’ ops for me.” He threw his head in the direction of the strip mall at the intersection of Chestnut and Weaver, a block that saw a lot of traffic. Literal and metaphorical.

“You got an Italian infiltrating the Latin drug trade? Sounds like all you’re doin’ is lookin’ for ways to get him killed,” growled Jane. She marched her long body toward him, her posture designed for intimidation.

Martinez laughed. “Would you calm down? I know what I’m doing,” he told her, stepping into her aggression, opening his chest to it, bringing his face close to her hers. He smiled when she glared. “And other Rizzoli’s a grown man. Despite you and your ma’s best efforts.”

Just as Jane initiated her lunge, Maura caught it, her fingers wrapped firmly around Jane’s bicep. “Jane-”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Jane, body bridled for the moment, unfurled some biting words, “don’t think I don’t remember your mommy comin’ down the station with sack lunches for all of us.”

“Alright, alright, listen,” Martinez put up his hands when he acquiesced, because she had a point. “One: I don’t remember you complaining about all that food when it was put in front of you. Two: I will personally make sure that he stays safe. You got my word.”

Jane pulled out of Maura’s grip and sighed. Rafael’s deep and steady voice, when divorced from deceptive intent and real life experiences at his side, inspired faith. It made people want to believe. But Jane had been his partner for too long. She had been in his bed for too long. “Yeah, that’s my worry,” she grumbled quietly. She took stock of his eyes one last time, brown and expressive and alive, and let them give her that little jolt they had before all the history came seeping in.

He took stock right back, and the passion that had always burned in him shook her, passion for her that she could never reciprocate. She broke first, turning her head to Maura at her side - Maura, who had a pretty indulgent grin on her face. “It seems you have business,” Maura said, hand on Jane’s back. “I can take a rain check for lunch. Meet me for the autopsy?”

“Y-yeah,” Jane stuttered.

“But don’t wait up for her too long,” Martinez butted in. He winked at Maura, in a way that reminded her of Jane. “Because I’ve got a task force on KSG that I have a feeling Detective Rizzoli here is gonna want in on.”

Maura regarded him for a long time, without regard for the social rules on how long a person should stare, before she decided on a smile of her own. “I’m the Chief ME, lieutenant. I’ll wait for whomever I want, however long I want.” She winked back, clearly in mockery of his previous display, and then bid them her goodbyes.

Jane held in her laughter as Martinez withered under both the midday sun and Maura’s retort. “Man it’s hot. Let’s get this processed so we can get back to the ranch.”

#lauren writes rizzoli and isles fanfiction #P FKN R #this idea has been so great in my head but writing it has been bleh #idk I guess we'll see #also while dunkie's and lobster and the freedom trail are Boston #so is this - I try to infuse a little of it into everything I write in the city

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deeseelovez · 2 years

Text

the cheerleader 5

aged! mike wheeler x cheerleader! reader. reader is a bit of a cry baby and is very feminine.

summary: mike and y/n share a moment.

part 1 2 3 4

Mike throws the sack of food onto her lap and then takes a handful of skinny fries into his hands and he shoves them into his mouth.

"So, where are we going?"

"To Will's house. We have to walk from there." Mike gives her a weird look, "What? I go over there to study and stuff."

"To Will's it is." Mike says driving the few minutes to Will's house.

"Park on that side of the street." Y/n points to the left and he does as she says.

"The person in that house is going to think we're stalking them."

"I promise, they won't care." She says.

"Are you sure because that house looks like a serial killer's wet dream."

"Stop judging. Not everyone can afford a two story house on Main Street." Y/n says and Mike looks over at her.

"You're one to talk, You like in a mansion on my parents spoil me avenue."

"Mike! You don't know shit about me so stop acting like you do. Can we please go eat." Y/n says and Mike slams his door shut and Y/n starts walking behind Will's house.

Behind Will's house, right outside his property line there was a hill, it had a bench on the top of it and when you sat there. You could see the lights of the town from there and it was a beautiful sight to see.

"Wow," Mike says, "How have I never been up here?"

"Because you're too busy with video games and D&D to pay attention to the real world." She says, placing the food in the middle of them and sitting down and he sat down beside her.

"You know, you talk too much."

"I have been told that a time or two but that's just because I am a Leo."

"A astrology? I never saw the point in it." Mike thought for a mintie, "Wait, isn't Leo's birthday in August?"

"Yep, my birthday is on Sunday." August 19th was Y/n's birthday. She didn't have anything planned besides hanging out with Carmen and now Mike.

"You're going to spend your birthday with me." Mike says with his mouth full of food.

"So, will you tell why your bracelets are so special?" She moves her head back and forth and then nods.

"Hold on," She gave one of the buckets of friends to Mike and the other one to herself and then took a long drink from her vanilla milkshake. She put her burger down after taking a smaller bite and she moved closer to Mike.

Mike put his burger down as well, grabbing a few fries.

"Okay, so this one." She points to the charm bracelet, "Carmen gave it to me when I was 5, we had to have them re-sized a few times."

Y/n put her wrist in his open hand and Mike went over all the charms with his finger. She had cherleading one and a peace sign. One that says, 'love', and half a heart.

"Okay, the three other ones?" Y/n goes on to explain that her mother got her a stack of (cheap) bracelets last year for Christmas all with some saying on it, like the one, 'what you put in the world will always come back to you'.

Will and her both had crystal bracelets, she had a light pink one and Will had blue one and the other one, her father had given her, it was simple and silver, it didn't jingle or make any noise.

"Whoa, I can barely remember what my mom got me for Christmas last year." Mike says, still holding her wrist in his hand, his eyes meet hers.

'Maybe, she's not so bad' he thought to himself, their eyes still trained on each other. Both of them admire the other.

"You're not so bad yourself, Wheeler." She smiles and Mike's face turns a shade of red that Y/n could only describe as a tomato. She giggles, and Y/n picks up her burger.

"So, Mike." She smiles, "What do you love about Jane so much?" Mike shrugs.

"She's beautiful for one."

"That she is," Y/n agrees.

"She's so kind towards everyone and never has a bad word to say. She's popular but she's not like the other popular kids. She's not rich or a show-off. She's just her. Completely herself." Y/n nods, all of what he was saying was true.

"Yeah. Jane is pretty amazing." She says.

"And she is fiercely loyal. I mean, did you see how fast she went to protect you from my joke. I've never met anyone else like her before. She's just everything." He finished, and he looked over at Y/n who was already looking at him, "So, what are your plans for college?"

"I don't know," She laughs, "Most of my life has been mainly focused on cheerleading but I think I want to help people. Like to make a real change in the world. I don't know how but that's what I want to do."

"Well, what does your dad do? Or your mom?" Y/n just shook her head.

"They um," She tried to think of a lie to quickly say but she thought of nothing, "Let's not talk about them."

"So, what do we want to talk about."

"What time are you going to pick me up tomorrow for the mall?" She says with a wide grin.

"Do we have to go?" He says, and Y/n nods.

"Only for like an hour, maybe? We can get lunch there and then play D&D with your friends."

"Lunch?"

"Don't worry, Brett and Alex both have essays due next Friday and I am giving them to turn in tonight so I will have some money for your outfits and some lunch." She would have just enough for that and then use the remaining money for groceries.

Mike was confused why she needed money from Brett Chapman and Alex Vance if her parents were loaded. Did she spend her money on something ridiculous and they really cut her off? He had a few questions.

"It's getting late." Y/n says looking down at her phone, '11:30'.

"Do you have a curfew?"

"No," but she needed to make sure her siblings were all home.

"Then why are you worried about it?"

"Because I can't be out till 2am. I don't have a curfew but they expect me to be reasonable when I do get home."

"Okay, okay. Let me finish!" He shoved the ¼ of his burger into his mouth and then took the last sip of his shake.

"Alright, angel. I'm ready." He says his mouth is still full of food and they went on their way.

"Y/n!" Ezra says, running over to her, "Ariel fell down the stairs in the backyard and-"

"Oh god, what happened." Y/n says.

"She did something to her ankle. I'm not sure."

"How long ago?"

"It happened like two minutes ago. She was letting out Cookie and-" Y/n was already making her way to her house. Mike is close behind still not quite sure what's going on.

Y/n goes into the house across the street from Will's and Mike looks around seeing pictures of Y/n when she was younger and her pictures now and some with her siblings.

And that's when Mike felt like the biggest asshole in the world.

This was her house, the house he had just called a serial killer's wet dream. She wasn't filthy rich like everyone assumed.

He wanted to slap himself across the face.

He watched as she was caring for younger siblings and he immediately wondered where her parents were and that's when he saw on the desk by the front door.

"Passed Due" on the stack of bills, and another wave of guilt hit him.

"How can I help?" He asked immediately going over.

"Go to Will's and ask for an ice pack and get Joyce. She's better decide if we should go to the hospital or not."

"Ice pack and Mrs. Byers. Got it!" He ran outside towards the Byers house.

"Guess my secrets out." Y/n says grabbing Ariel hand and Ariel squeezing the life out of it.

Joyce says it was just sprained and that she needed to ice it and keep it up.

"So," Mike said as Y/n walked him to his car.

"So," She says, "I'm sorry for lying to you."

"No. I'm sorry, I'm such an asshole." He says, "I shouldn't have said the things I did-"

"You're right but they were just harmless jokes."

"I shouldn't assume I know everything about you because you're a popular cheerleader. How do you get these name brand things?"

"I sew them," She says, "I've gotten pretty good at it but I'm sure it's a crime." She laughs and he chuckles.

"Don't worry, I won't go spreading secrets everywhere, Y/n." Y/n wraps her arms around his torso.

"Thank you," She whispers and Mike hesitantly wraps his arms around her, "Be here at 1?"

"1pm, yeah. I think I can do that." She moves away from him, "See ya later, Mike."

"Yeah, bye, Y/n."

~~~

Sorry guys. Someone died last night lol so today's been crazy.

#mike wheeler #eddie munson #mike wheeler x reader #mike wheeler x y/n #mike wheeler fluff #enimies to lover #kinda #fake dating

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withoutyouimsaskia · 2 years

Text

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Part IV.

GIF: Originally posted by @sic-vita

Summary: Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit. (Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs)

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Hey there, apologies for the delays with this one, I was at a wedding over the weekend. Parasomnia update for this week: I hallucinated that my partner was pouring a tube of 'blue snot' on me! @silverhart93 Thank you for your suggestion of trying lavender and chamomile to help with my sleep problems, I've included them in this chapter too as well as my own bedtime routine <3

Sandman Masterlist

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

The dream that Morpheus chose for you was close to perfection.

In fact, the only thing that would have pushed the dream from an A grade to an A* would have been if the Dream King himself was there with you. You had a myriad of things you wanted to know more about and only his input could satiate that desire.

You find yourself in a space that is the epitome of cosiness and safety.

The walls are painted in a pale sage green hue. Botanical prints adorn the calming background, the watercolour medium both soft and intricate.

A stack of logs smoulder in the hearth, producing a delightful warmth and a soothing crackle.

The scents of lavender and chamomile float in the air, emitted from a candle that sits on the stone base of the fireplace.

You find an abundance of blankets and cushions and pillows in a trunk positioned behind the sofa. You excitedly run your hands over them, disturbing a clean fragrance as you do so.

You select a number of items and begin to enhance the already inviting sofa. From the moment you sink into its embrace, you decide that this is the closest you will ever get to sitting on a cloud.

You roll on your side, pulling a grey blanket closer to your body. Fingertips trail across the knitted surface; the tactile sensation makes you sigh contentedly.

There’s a mug of something on the coffee table next to you. You pick up the light blue coloured earthenware receptacle and sip tentatively at the steaming liquid. Your favourite type of tea lights up your taste buds, you hum happily and drink more before lying back on the meticulously arranged cushions.

In your reclined position, you can see the charming exposed beams of the cottage’s ceilings. The wood is warm in colour, a mirror to the warm beverage-induced pink flush you feel in your cheeks.

It starts to rain outside. A fine drizzle at first, progressing into a steady patter. It has always been one of your most-loved sounds and you would often wish for its lullaby when sleep evaded you, even in childhood.

After finishing your drink, you stand up and stretch. You wander over to the window and peer through one of the panes. Raindrops streak down the glass, their impacts sounding even more calming now that you are closer to the source.

Beyond the tiny rivers on the windows, there are rolling hills. They stretch out as far as your eyes can see with a carpet of emerald green.

You return to your sofa nook and discover a newly materialised bowl of dried fruit and nuts, and a stack of books. The volume from the mountain dream tops the pile. Your initial reaction is an amused smirk; your request to have it returned has actually been fulfilled. Your emotions then turn to down a more mushy avenue.

Morpheus had done all this for you.

His attention to detail was truly impressive. There was something to stimulate every sense. Essentials to take care of your basic human needs. New additions to the space to keep your interest piqued. The dream had you completely encapsulated.

You flick through the book to find the right page and read in contentment for hours, grazing on the snacks and enjoying the sound of the storm.

At one point, out the corner of your eye, you see movement through the window. A brief second passes where you are certain that it is Morpheus. But by the time you have turned your head to properly check, there is nothing there.

Your thoughts rest on him for a while. The way he had described your nightmares as a plague, the expression on his face as he admitted that he did not know their cause; he was clearly concerned.

It sounded as if he believed there to be something wrong with the mechanics of your dreamscapes. You were unconvinced. The voice in the back of your head said your subconscious was punishing you for your actions in the waking world and there was nothing to be done about it.

You guess you would find out soon enough though.

When you wake, you feel less spaced out and fuzzy. Clearly some cerebral repair had been achieved.

You reach for the phone on your bedside table.

10:37am.

You laugh, you haven't slept in this late since your teenage growth spurt days. It is such a relief to you that it is a Saturday; there is no way you could use a call from the King of Dreams as an excuse for being late to work.

The sunlit portion of your day is quiet. You eat, you clean, you go for a walk and you think about Morpheus.

You realise then that he has totally enraptured you.

The closer you get to bedtime, the more restless you become because you long to see him. Yet, you begin to doubt whether he is all in your head again. And if he isn’t real, then the thought of confronting your nightmares alone once more causes dread to blend into your anticipation.

When the shadows start to stretch with the evening sun, you go to your desk and start up your laptop to find some distraction and also to prove his existence.

The white pixels of the search engine’s background glare painfully, and you quickly turn down the brightness.

You input his name into the box and press enter.

Greek mythology tops the list of hits and Laurence Fishburne comes in second. Aside from a sudden urge to re-watch The Matrix, you gain nothing from your search.

You change your keyword to Sandman and try again.

You scroll for a while but are disappointed once more. It only tells you what he had already alluded to; The Sandman was a Scandinavian fairytale said to sprinkle sand into the eyes of children to bring sleep. It was strange to think they were not too far off with their stories. You believed yourself to be a recipient of the sand, although it was less a sprinkle and more of an assault.

There is nothing even remotely related to real world encounters with an otherworldly man visiting people in their bedrooms and dreams.

You are crestfallen at your failure; the feeling escapes you in a short, sharp huff.

You look back to the webpage. You spy some video links to songs.

The Chordettes’ ‘Mr Sandman’ and Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’ are the most viewed. You had always found the first offering very creepy so you click on the second one, nodding your head along to the supremely catchy intro.

You bring up the lyrics to read.

“I tuck you in, warm within. Keep you free from sin. Till the Sandman he comes.”

“When are you coming, Mr Sandman?” You whisper out loud.

You let the song play out before the shutting down the laptop.

After changing into some pyjamas with a bit more coverage than the previous night, you go downstairs to wait.

He appears in your peripheral vision at 10.54pm.

Your heart leaps. He is real. And he’s looking at you intensely.

"You are not in your bed."

You try to look innocent. “Couldn’t switch off.”

"I see."

You fumble for a change of subject.

"How was the rest of your night?"

You internally curse at your mundane choice of question. You are talking to a literal King after all. However, the inquiry clearly does not bother him, his face remains unchanged.

"It was productive."

"Good." You nod with a small smile.

"I trust that you feel better now, compared to when we last spoke."

“I do. It was a beautiful dream. I really appreciate it.”

There’s a momentary light dancing in his eyes at your positive review.

“What made you choose to send me there?” You ask inquisitively.

“I looked into your previous dreams and selected and compiled elements from those that brought you peace.”

You felt your stomach lurch.

"You can see the dreams that I've had?" You asked anxiously.

"And nightmares."

Your mind is squirming at the thought and it must have shown on your features for Morpheus responds in a reassuring tone.

“There is no need to feel uncomfortable. I have access to the dreaming states of every being that has ever lived on this plane. I can assure you that there is little that could shock me.”

“That might be the case but it's still a little embarrassing...”

He lets you shake your discomfort away before he speaks again.

“Shall we go to your bedroom?”

You laugh loudly. His face is blank, juxtaposing your amusement.

“I'm usually the kind of person who needs to get to know someone a lot better before I agree to that but sure, let's do this.”

Somehow, his face becomes even more impassive.

“Sorry, I tend to use humour when I'm feeling awkward... I don't know if that had come across.”

“I had noticed,” his voice is dripping with deadpan.

“Oh good, I’m pleased that we’re on the same page,” you tease as you stand up and head towards the living room door.

There’s a smidgen of a smirk on his face as you turn back to look at him.

"Just to be clear, I know you weren’t propositioning me back there.”

“I know.”

“Okay. Cool. Umm, shall we?” You trail off, looking through the doorway into the hall.

“After you,” he says, gesturing with a formal movement of his hand.

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

"When the worrying starts to hurt and the world feels like graves of dirt. Just close your eyes until you can imagine this place, or secret space at will."

Taglist: @pinkcyclewitch @layla2-49 @shoidy-cat @silverhart93 @boofy1998 @dotieeee

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keyn-jender-bite · 6 months

Text

The Dark is Getting Darker in The City

part one

It's getting later now in this big, cramped city and I'm awake and on the case. I haven't got a bedtime, which is bad news for the ne'er-do-wells and would-be meanies prowling these damp, cramped streets.

I've got my light pink thermos of dark, creamy coffee in my right hand and my left in my pocket, holding my pocket knife gently.

A tall, worried fiancee named Aurora Hildebrandt wants me to track down his second in a triad and I'll do my damndest, because I've been paid properly and that's all that matters.

Like any hard-boiled private dick, I have access to certain resources in the tightly-packed dirty laundry hamper that is this great big city. My shoes splash in the shallow puddles which gather on the pebbled street, making an echoing clippy-cloppy noise. I've pulled the collar of my coat up around my face and retrieved my well-worn hat from the waste bin. I look the part, now to get some answers.

The bell above the doorway into Sal's Gentry rings out a melodious tintinnabulation as I enter the small grocery store on the corners of 139th and Gasoline avenue. Ribbons the black cat winks at me from his perch atop a stack of pop cases. I give him a quick scritch behind the ears and wind my way to the service counter, past shelves of cans and bags filled with various brick-a-brack.

"Yes?" Sal asks distractedly, not even bothering to look up from the rifle magazine in her tattooed hands.

"Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water." I say gruffly before taking a sip of steaming coffee from my thermos. This got her attention.

"Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill swore revenge on the bastard that pushed him." She replies, folding closed her manuscript and looking up at me. "Detective, what brings you in here on a rainy night like this, all dark and whatnot?"

"Evening, Salisbury. I've been recently visited by a certain someone looking for a different certain someone. Thought maybe you had some information."

Sal smiled a small, thing grin. "That is-incredibly vague. Can you be any more specific?"

"Let's just say that star-crossed lovers get lonely even when we can't see the stars in the night sky."

"Okay, sure. That's very poetic, but there are like, 12 million people in this city without counting the tourists. I'm going to need a name or something to go on. Really."

"It starts with an A."

"Are you kidding? Geez-ok...Astor Pangolin?"

"Is that a real person?"

"I don't know! They could be! Come on, you have got to give me something here!"

"He's fond of the color red."

"The Rouge Moron?"

"That doesn't start with an A."

Sal scowled aggressively and slapped me full across the face on my left cheek.

"Aurora Hildebrandt." I say coolly, taking another handsome sip of my delicious coffee.

"Ah, little Mr. lost his fiancee and wants to be able to make his wedding work on time? I suppose I could have guessed that, given enough time."

"Slapping me seems mean now in hindsight, doesn't-"

"His fiancee is Klevin Morose, the theoretical electrical engineer, did he tell you that?"

The name sounded familiar but I couldn't put my finger on exactly why. "Is Klevin theoretical or the engineering?"

"As far as we know Klevin is real, but the work they were doing was pretty out there. Wild, inventive stuff having to do with neutrons and plutrons and something called a groupon. Here, Thyme did a whole puff piece on them." she said handing me a magazine from two months ago.

The cover was a bit smudged with chocolate fingerprints, but the main photo was legible enough. Klevin appeared to be some kind of wunderkind in the theoretical electrician scene. The main photo displayed them wearing a lab coat with their arms crossed in front of them like a super hero. Their piercing blue eyes were distorted by the thick lenses of their glasses. Their shock white hair was parted on the side and swept behind one ear, revealing a single pearl earring. Their smirk of confidence revealed what I read as a certain self-assured egotism.

"Thanks Sal." I burped, laying down a few chips on the counter in payment.

"Any time, you obscure little wank." she laughed, returning her attention to the firearms in her catalogue.

Stepping out into the dripping exterior, I thumbed through the magazine's wrinkled pages to the interview with Klevin.

"The thrust and details of your work is shrouded in a veil of secrecy, Dr. Morose, but surely there's something you can tantalize our readership with?" the interviewer asked in italics.

"Even if I was allowed to disclose the main thread of my work, which I am not obliged to do, I'm afraid you wouldn't find it edifying in the least unless you're familiar with experimental electrical theory, something I highly doubt that you are. I don't mean it as an insult, but a statement of simple fact. Am I wrong?" Klevin responded. I could almost hear their pompousness through the page.

Skimming the rest of the article one thing stood out to me as plain as day. It wasn't an item of interest so much as it was an unmistakable absence. Nowhere did Klevin mention being affianced to Aurora, or their third person.

Evidently I was in a privileged caste of the few who knew Klevin and Aurora were engaged.

"Interesting." I muttered to myself before the window beside me shattered into a cloud of glass shards.

The gunshot rang out half a second later as I threw myself to the ground, covering my head and showered by the remains of the window.

Another shot echoed just after a nearby streetlamp exploded into a halo of sparks. I crawled towards a nearby vehicle, keeping my body as close to the Earth as possible, dragging myself through the puddles and trash of the street.

"Keep your nose out of places it doesn't belong!" an anonymous voice shouted from an unknown location.

Just as I managed to roll behind the car, the front door of Sal's Gentry slammed open and a hail of shotgun fire erupted from inside, aimed nowhere in particular but effective nonetheless.

"Keep your bullets to your goddamn self you kurwa shit!" Sal screamed, unleashing hellish fire from her firearm again and again. Windows, doors, lights and dead trees blew up in riotous fashion as she leveled the neighborhood in a sweeping arc.

All I could do was shield myself from the flying detritus, pulling my hat over my eyes and praying.

After what felt like forever, when the last shell bounced on the ground near my head, all was quiet. I slowly peered out from the small pile of spent ammunition and debris that had collected around me to see Sal fuming and scanning her surroundings, steam rising off her skin like the smoke billowing from the snout of her gun.

"You ok?" she asked without looking at me.

"I guess?" I answered, slowly dragging myself to my feet, glass and wood chips tumbling off of me.

After a minute or two spent surveilling the carnage, Sal slung her shotgun over one shoulder and turned to frown at me.

"Whatever you've got yourself into, looks like it's heavier than normal."

I nodded, shaking a small tree branch from my ear. This case was already turning out to be more interesting than I preferred.

#do it scared #do it bad #do it weird

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carmineshummingbird · 12 days

Text

Haven's Playlist:

Human by Christina Perri Because of Haven's ability to pick up on the needs and moods of those around, she can do what's expected of her. Being brought into the DeMarco household opens up new avenues for her, but she still struggles with finding that balance between what she thinks is expected and the new "freedoms" she acquired. A reminder for everyone, but especially herself, that she's only human.

What Was I Made For? by Billie Eilish Song of the summer, right? But a fair question to be asked by a girl who seemingly wasn't born for any other purpose but to suffer. Even when thing improve for her, she's still faced with the reality that is her existence, with no expectation that it will change.

Shatter Me by Lindsey Stirling, feat. Lzzy Hale As Haven's new circumstances begin to have an effect on her, she finds herself opening up to new experiences, and the old parts of her start to shed. In some ways, she's safer than she's ever been, but more vulnerable too. Her new friends and new life open her up in ways she was previously scared of: feeling alive and having hope.

Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift Do we have to explain? It's about Carmine. Early stages in their relationship.

Tomorrow Will Be Kinder by The Secret Sisters As Haven settles into her relationship with Carmine and accepting the positives that come with her new life, she often thinks about where she came from, and the people she left behind. She's never had hope for something better before, but now she does, and she can see what her mother was always telling her. It's a bittersweet victory, but not the end of her battle.

Be Be Your Love by Rachael Yamagata Carmine often talks about running away, and while Haven may let him have his daydream, she's planted firmly in realty. She knows she can't run. And she's constantly reminded why her and Carmine can't live in their bubble forever. Dr. DeMarco maybe be okay with them inside the walls of his house, but Haven doesn't expect him to let her leave with Carmine. But as Carmine's words sink in, at times she allows herself to daydream of their future together.

18th Floor Balcony by Blue October Of course it made it in. It's their valentine's day song.

I'll Try by Jonatha Brooke Once some truths have been revealed, and Haven realizes that a future with Carmine might be more than possible - it's within her reach. But for a girl who's never had anything to hope for before, she does an amazing job of taking those giant steps.

Extraordinary by Mandy Moore Driver's license, diploma, school dances, and friends. Standing up to her father. Haven's come such a long way, and she's certainly ready to be extraordinary.

Hercules by Sara Bareilles During Haven's stay in the DeMarco house, she uncovers so many lost truths about herself. She must find the balance between who she thought she was and who she is - and where she came from. Even through the scariest situation, she's able to keep going. She was saved by these warriors, but she's not without her own strength.

My Wish by Rascal Flatts Between Vincent and Haven. Vincent, despite all his faults and everything that has happened between them, wants good things for Haven.

Free by Faith Hill A celebratory song about Haven gaining freedom.

Last Hope by Paramore Good or bad, Haven keeps going. She survives. Roll credits.

Thank you!

#sempre forever #haven antonelli #playlist #music #character playlist

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jfrank204 · 23 days

Text

04/04/2024 4 00 A.m.

FBI Flies - pervert murderers screaming 😱 through people all over the world's saying uncle tio.

Yes, folks that masked/ NYPD people/murderer that murderered your little boy Franky in the carribbean waters while he slept with voven/women is amonst the marbles hill community new york 10463 building 210 fourteenth floor screaming again in apartments, and hallways.

At first, felisha and Franky steal five dollars from you buy running 🏃‍♂️ away with the five dollars that has a purpose.

Your son must have been arrested his whole life in a cellular in Hunts Point Avenue bronx New york 10458 buy these masked ugly people/LOL named tio, and chirstina from the 50th preceints in the Bronx New York 10463 two with pervert murderer, and sexually assaulted buy Benjamin Irvin also known ass a white midget from Riverdale in a cell. He's buys dunkin donuts excessively before he turns into a black man named Benjamin. Yes, in huntz point two of him!

The tio detective in the carribbean woke up swollen and hurt first in this women's house, who says she's an escort service for money for sex in return. This tio bum I tell you walked to a preceint but first met a boy named Franky. The detective was so hurt that he murdered the little boy, and then walked to the preceint in the carribbean to arrest criminals all days tio says, LOL.

What's so funny is that all those people also murdered Frank's suppose to be wife felisha a well known theif/ALl. Buy drilling a whole in her legs called pussy. No matter the black lives, LOL.

One of Jose Ortiz son name was Danny Ortiz who feel in love ❤️ 😍 💖 ❣️ 💕 💘 ❤️ with internet prostitute pussy called Fatima from yonkers went head over heels murdering every trick he saw Fatima with or walked buy her house in yonkers. Yes, Fatima invited the trick son of Jose Ortiz to her house in yonkers.

Danny Ortiz followed every trick at first, spending Fatima everything on trick.

#nypd blue #Spotify

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thepayloadisgay · 9 months

Text

re-wired

Shimadacest / Genzo

M (so far)

Ch 1/??

Tags (so far): canon divergence, angst and feels, omnics, implied alcoholism, masturbation

Hanzo's found himself in Budapest, one of the few places in the world where omnics and humans co-exist in something like normality. And maybe it's like a home now. Worth seeping off these bones as he tries to form the word exist, to live. Dodging, picking off assassins, deafening himself to the news of his clan. Maybe ignorance is bliss. Different names smother Hanzo, numbers his age. But he still knows what he sees when he looks in the mirror. You're not here. Rumblings in the world of omnics start to break the seams of not just Budapest, but Europe, the world. New faces, new names. And then for Hanzo, he can't quite shift this shadow he's sure is an assassin. Why is he taking so long? Why won't he just take the hit and kill him? Maybe it's a fantasy, and he's dreaming demise again. Maybe.

Read below the cut, or on AO3 here. Enjoy!!

He’d been here too long, it was almost home.

But home was nothing, now.

A hollow word in passing, part of a goodbye when leaving behind another face Hanzo will never see again, won’t remember. For those he will, home isn’t a word for them. Even if it’s false.

Strangers are the comfort, familiarity not.

Had anything ever really changed?

The Danube flows beneath. A mirror of colour. Rippling neons, stars almost lost. Forgotten. The colours mush as a tour boat splits the water two, music and laughter pounding the surface, echoing under the bridge where Hanzo stands, forearms bare. Cold on stone, still and sore.

It was sunset when he stopped here, bag of groceries tucked between feet, sparse with too many things he’d forgotten, denied.

It’s night now as he watches the Danube, the burst of people along its banks, tourists spilling onto boats, into restaurants, out of Buda and back into Pest, the roads rumbling as the bars open wide, the clubs dialled to ten.

He moved between the sides of the Danube, never staying with the same four walls too long. From the cobbled streets, high hills near the castle in a cramped room, barely space to stretch; the old communist blocks by the blistered edges, structured, rigid, peace. To the noise, vibrant colliding culture of the centre at the crown of the Andrássy Avenue, woken at dawn by the bells of the basilica.

Just another place bruised in his penance, a witness to his shame.

One day there won’t be anywhere left that won’t know.

Where will he go then?

His watch buzzes midnight, a reminder of routine. To ground. But right now, all it reminds him is that he can’t feel his arms, numb and cold, still stuck to stone as he listens to the water, wondering what it feels like below.

——

The longest he’d been in one place for months. A hostel off of Múzeum körút. Behind a heavy wrought iron gate between a second hand bookstore, and another. Down an alley, path uneven, pages of an old book torn, scattered, its spine split in the gutter.

Hanzo inputs the code, eyes away, long hair a mask from the cameras above, behind, probably below. Ritual more than anything. His face is already all over this city, continent, to those that cared.

Through a doorway painted blue, carvings dying gold. Top floor, but (nearly) always the stairs. Winding and wide. Patterned stone, wrought iron rails in beauty shaped like the tails of his dragons, the arc of his bow.

First two floors the bookstore. The rest are homes, rooms and flats for the hostel, a hotel he knows is half something else. Some of the flats are empty. One abandoned part-way through refurbishment. One destroyed, boarded off (panels placed back carefully every time by each visitor. He’s not the only one). There’s another that one of the residents simply said “nem” when she first saw Hanzo look at its locked door, scratched symbols, words, too many unintelligible in several languages.

So he listened.

As always at this time, she was leaning out of one of the windows on floor four, throwing seed to the pigeons below, the courtyard a cacophony of their coos.

“Late,” she says, heavy accent. Fall of brown hair braided, striped grey. One green eye, the other blind.

Hanzo pulls out a bag of seed, one of two, and hands it to her outstretched palm. “Took a walk,” he says back in slow Hungarian. Everytime he attempts the language, he can see her smile something. He doesn’t know if it's mockery, amusement, or appreciation.

“Take a walk after, next time.”

“Hm.”

He watches her sit back on the stool at the window, cross her legs and scatter a handful of seeds to below.

“Not much.” Hanzo listens, Hanzo watches. “Maria took the kids for the weekend. Jan is leaving for holiday in the morning. Six days. Stephan’s working an extra shift tonight. Looked like he hadn’t slept since the last. Two new guests at the hostel. One’s an omnic.”

“Short term?”

She shrugs. “Omnic five days. The other just a night. But wants to keep it open if needed.”

Hanzo writes to memory everything she says, hearing the gears, wheels of the lift click into motion as it descends down to ground.

“Hotel is come and go as always.”

“How many?”

“Lots. You want a tally? That’s extra.”

Hanzo frowns, a look near lost beneath the heavy fall of his hair.

“Anyone look-”

“Suspicious? Yes. Out of place? No.”

The lift stops, opening at ground.

“Anything else?” he asks, picking his bag from between his feet.

“I left some cabbage rolls in your fridge.”

The lift starts to ascend, and Hanzo tightens the grip on his bag. “Thank you,” he stutters, taking the last flights of steps two at a time.

——

Two old keys unlock the old heavy door. Hanzo pays extra to service the small flat himself, but Mariann owns the hostel, and does what she does after the trust of bird seed and her alarm at the contents of his grocery shopping.

It’s split into kitchen and room with a divider. Old, ornate, teakwood. Some of the design weathered from touch, time. But she never ventures past the three cabinets that make the kitchen. Rarely the fridge.

Shoes off, he sets the bag on the counter. Bare. Empties it quick, pushing the bag of seed to the side for later. Bread, away. Eggs. Fruit. More lentils. Alcohol. Chocolate.

He opens the fridge, the only light in the room. Some condiments. Expired milk replaced with fresh. And a note, stuck to the top of the tupperware of cabbage rolls. Mariann’s scrawl.

Tilly’s got another job for you. 10am. Nehru part.

He closes the door. Darkness, again.

Tapping his watch (1:33am), he sets the reminder alongside his regular alarm for dawn, sheds his coat, takes a banana, slice of bread, bottle of alcohol to bed and nothing.

(but there’s always a pause before the small wooden sparrow he’d carved in Bali, years, years ago. always perched beside a blunted shard of sword, something green. sometimes he reaches out to touch the sparrow

but he can’t

can’t)

——

“Again!”

Genji taps his arm, excited, as he begs Hanzo to show him the trick with the sword, the coin, Hanzo’s patience wearing thin as his younger brother tugs on his sleeve, clambering for attention-

“Here again?”

Genji slides a glass over wood, the bartop sticky, a mosaic of his brother’s prints, wondering how many others overlap, smudging away Hanzo’s, gnawing at the Genji he knows, becoming the Genji they do-

“Again?”

Desperation, Hanzo’s hand slams to the wall beside his brother’s head, hair shorter, greener. Smells sweet and he inhales. Anticipation in Genji’s eyes as he looks up-

“Again-”

A beg, as he pulls Hanzo’s blade further to his chest. Another to his gut. Spread and wept and a maw of no return. Hanzo wants to look up. He hears a smile, but he’d see nothing but desecration. Hears beauty, loves pain. Licks blood, kisses the grave-

——

Hanzo snaps awake, a fist of sheets in his palm, dented with his nails, near torn. Back damp with sweat, hair awry, stuck to skin and sheets, lining the wave of his dragon.

He runs a hand through his hair, staring at the other side of the bed expecting blood and brutal. (maybe a desperation that it might be you there, whole and love, just for me) Two pillows. Untouched. Empty.

Checks his hands.

Reaches out to make sure.

It’s slow as he hauls himself up, finding the hair tie he’d forgotten. But it’s abandoned again when he sees the slither of the curtain move by the window, ajar.

There’s no open windows here unless he’s awake, a guard. It’s small. Barely enough for a hand, the curtain moving in dance as the breeze weaves into the stuffy room, creeping over Hanzo’s sticky skin.

For too long he just stares, a lock of hair tickling against his lips, uncaring.

Impossible. He’s so careful, so-

The curtains flick, light licking the glass on his bedside table, smudged with fingers, lips; the half empty bottle, obscuring the empty one behind.

Adrenaline wanes. Gut sinks. Head rings.

A swallow, and he unsticks from bed, body lead. Two fingers push close the window, keeping to shadow, curtain exhaling, and stop.

He smooths the fabric, touch lingering as if he’s trying to find something, feel something.

Nothing.

He rolls a shoulder, and peels off his shirt, draping it over the back of the chair. When he notices the small wooden sparrow on its side, beak touching the shard of his sword.

There’s no hesitation this time when Hanzo reaches out, picks it up to right the wrong, sitting it back in ceremony.

5:16 am

The basilica will ring soon at six. As will his alarm. There’s no point in bed anymore. All that’s left is sheets that need washed, dreams given, taken, and an empty space you won’t fill.

He checks the window again. Runs his hand over the locks on the door. Touches the two tiles beside the fridge and then steps into the bathroom, avoiding the mirror as he sheds the rest of his clothes, turning the shower to max.

The light from the room is enough as he steps inside, a shaky inhale as the water burns his skin, the steam clouding vision, muggy air.

Palm to wet wall (Hanzo’s hand slams to the wall beside his brother’s head) he breathes deep, long (Smells sweet and he inhales) forehead smudging tiles, hand smearing chest (Anticipation in Genji’s eyes as he looks up-) and Hanzo looks down, sliding his wet hand over wet cock-

(Licks blood, kisses the grave-)

-wondering if he’ll suffocate or burn, first.

——

Too early.

Hanzo wanders the quiet streets near the park, window shopping mindlessly. Catching his reflection more than wanted. He’s dressed well today. He always is.

But over the months, years, he’s been slipping. Living as a nomad from room to face to place, he was sure a part of him had shed everywhere he’d left behind. Something in him wearing thin he didn’t want to know. Just felt.

He stares a little longer at a shop window selling leather goods, stretching his fingers against his own gloves, old and worn and a shape of his own.

Hair pulled back in a bun, he runs a hand along one side, his undercut growing out too long, pinched grey. The other side he’d let grow long ago, the shorter lengths long enough to catch in his ponytail now. Usually.

He keeps the beard. Sometimes shaving when moving cities, countries, to hide. It’s mostly too much of a comfort, now. Too bare without.

Too long he’s looked, and turns away.

09:37 and he has a coffee. Black. Three sugars.

09:49 and he’s sitting on a bench in Nehru Part, close to the edge of the Danube. And he waits.

Watches the way the wind rustles the leaves on the trees above, hushing the city’s sound to their own, shedding the first leaves before the yawn of Autumn, side to side in a dance, before falling at Hanzo’s feet.

Feels the breeze on his skin. Nothing like earlier in his room. An alarm, unexpected. This might be something like comfort, pulling the shorter strands of hair from his bun, picking up the leaves at his feet, pulling the scent of pastries at his back, the scatter of voices ahead. No words, just noise.

He takes a drink of his coffee, counting another day.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Hanzo takes another drink of his coffee as he ignores Tilly. As she takes a seat at his side, always a little too close. It’s just a bit of fun for her, exploring the intricacies of human’s social bounds, their affection, fun. And with Hanzo, if he has any of the above.

Hanzo just recrosses his legs, foot pointing in the opposite direction.

“What’s the job?”

“I hear cucumbers help for those dark eyebags,” she says, casual. Two of her forehead LEDs are broken, the lilac, sometimes turquoise, brighter on her left side. Which Hanzo also notices that she uses more, moves more, than her right.

“Any other top ten magazine quips for me this morning?”

Tilly laughs, the two elongated sides of her head plate that remind Hanzo of wings, lighting up with the trill of her voice. “As many as you want.”

Hanzo inhales slow. Steady. “Oh, good.” Takes another sip.

“Got you another observe and report at Blood and Chrome tonight. Maybe protect if shit goes down. They liked you last time.” Tilly sits chin on palm as she waits for Hanzo’s reply, knowing his answer already. Money good. Low risk. Trusted.

“Bartend again?”

“Yup.”

A last, long drink of his coffee. Hanzo stares at the university of technology and economics across the river, sunlight picking out the details on stone, the pillars, the gold and mosaic on its red roof. Age and beauty, stories worn, time crumbled. He wants to sketch it every time he sees it, despite never having drawn a single thing before. He’s gotten as far as purchasing a sketch book, pencils. Next time.

“Send me the details.”

“Thanks, Han.”

“Thanks, Han.” Genji always talked with touch as well as tongue. Hands busy forming the words, contact, their meaning. It became a second language in public. A third, in private.

“Hanzo.” He doesn’t look at her. A voice firm, but not unkind. A way she’s heard many times before, and will hear many times again.

“Wish I could stay, but I got more messages to deliver,” she says, climbing over the back of the bench. “Get some sleep Han.” A quiet ‘Hmph’ “ Eat Mar’s stuffed cabbages at least.”

“Goodbye, Tilly.”

“Szia.”

He sits for a while, coffee cup empty, fingers cold. The trees stretch, the Danube sighs. Sun quiets behind clouds.

And from the small bag in his coat pocket, Hanzo throws a handful of bird seed to the ground, watching pigeons, great tits, a sparrow swoop down, and dance at his feet.

——

It had taken months. Trial and error with several prototypes, but Hanzo had managed (with some help) to have his own collapsible bow, without compromising performance or integrity. A labour of love.

Compact enough to fit in a bag. The arrows were the problem. One couldn’t simply split them in two, assemble and fire like he could his bow with a touch, flick, done.

Luckily few people cared what others carried here. Pistols on hip. Rifles on back. Swords in sheaths. As long as you had your permit, of course.

“Just a bow, arrows?” asks the omnic. Mariann had said her name was Tilly. Seven LEDs on her forehead. Three eye slits, not two. It looked like the third she’d carved herself. “No sword? You look like a sword guy.”

“Bow, and arrows.” “Alright alright. I’ll get one done.” “I’ll need a few, with different names.” “That’ll cost ya.” Hanzo sets down a stack of Euros, sinking back against the metal dresser, the bass of the club below stuck in his throat. “Help yourself.”

A city of humans, omnics, side by tentative side. Many still walked on tiptoes, ready to flee. Some settled to heels, shoulders dropped, calling Budapest home.

A city now almost its own state, rolling its own laws, walls, declaring stability for omnics (safety was arguable), work, if they proved themselves (we don’t talk about what happened if they didn’t).

Fast becoming a multicultural epicentre like London, it was expanding out, and up. But also, down.

And down, was where Hanzo walked. Lived. Worked.

Crime thrived here. A congregation of humans and omnics brushing side by side, co-existing but wanting to live, bred a rich, vibrant underworld that lived seen, unseen. World, within world. And even if it felt like the city was holding its breath, it seemed to work.

It wasn’t lost on Hanzo that he’d turned his back on his family, their legacy, ways-

-only to fall right back in, just a different shade, name.

At least here, he felt like he was helping people (didn’t you try back home too?), useful and giving back (funny what memories we pick and choose).

Mostly, though, he was doing it to survive. What money he’d taken from his family dwindling, and it was a reliable way to keep an ear to the ground, connected. Safe, within harm.

And Hanzo knew the world. How to move. Talk. When to run, when to bleed.

Tonight, he was back at Blood and Chrome, one of the less mainstream mixed clubs for humans and omnics (there were segregated clubs, of course. The omnics only clubs never staying in one place too long, rotating locations, word of mouth, last minute). Fewer tourists, less desirable location away from the Danube, tucked underground - but it mattered in almost every other way in the world he walked.

Here you find people you want, people you don’t. People you won’t anywhere else. Money changes hands more than some banks. Names change when you walk through the door. Faces forgotten when you walk back out.

The drinks are good, the music a mix of rock, metal, EDM depending on room, night, with places to dance, talk, and doors to close for things you don’t want anyone to see. All tucked underground in an old metro station, decommissioned and reclaimed.

The club is built around its exposed bones, dented with years of nights like this. Graffiti immortalising Budapest’s metamorphosis to today. LEDs lining floors, walls, hanging from exposed beams and concrete, under tables, part of chairs. Murals spread over walls, some on ceilings. There’s colour everywhere, and it changes when you’re not looking. When you forget, and are dragged back weeks later for a job you don’t want.

It stinks of alcohol. Sweat. Metal. Oil.

It tastes of whatever you want.

And it sounds busy, voices indistinguishable between the music as Hanzo slips in through the back, the omnic bouncer stepping aside, expecting him. It’s a Friday, so not unusual. He’s working the room they call The Boiler. Downstairs again and one of the bigger rooms, sometimes closed off for exclusivity. Sometimes for a dead body.

The first time he came here, it felt like a community more than a club. More rooms unfolding after each door. Stairs leading to more floors he wondered how far down it really went. Owned by an omnic and human couple, there was always a buzz when they were spotted at their club, tucked in a corner, private.

There was a buzz tonight, but it felt different. As if something new had cracked open. Bristling hairs on skin, sparking exposed wires, the seams of the city picked.

Hanzo hangs his coat, and a last glance at the mirror in the bar staff room, tucking his hair back into a bun. The shorter strands of his outgrown undercut already falling free.

He tucks his small pack at the back of his waist with his bow, arrows already long stashed underneath the bar from his last few jobs here. And pushes the swing doors open for work.

All Blood and Chrome’s employees were like Hanzo. Well. All those down in The Boiler floor and below, anyway. Criminals; former, current, no-choice in the matter. Everyone vetted heavily by the owners, recommended from all the way down from Mariann and even Tilly, he was sure (“hey I’m just your messenger and forgery bot”).

“Oh hey-” she stops, trying to pick his name from memory.

“Morio.”

“Oh, that’s right. Mo.”

A short, sharp sigh. “What is it with people and nicknames, here.”

Hanzo tucks a cloth into his belt, dressed in black jeans, purple long sleeve t-shirt (tattoo always covered, here), half hanging off his right shoulder. Some nights there was a dress code. Usually, it was whatever the hell you wanted. Hanzo tried to dress unassuming. Like anyone who might walk through these doors.

He missed his hair ribbon.

Sometimes he still caught himself reaching up to touch, run his fingers along the silk.

“Easier to say,” she says tapping something into her phone. Hanzo’s burner beeps (everyone has a burner just for work. Sometimes two). “Remember mine?”

“Adrienne.”

A smirk. “Not nickname but, accent’s getting better,” she says with a wink under her mane of red curls. “Anyway. You’re assigned to the veranda tonight.”

(Excerpt from mixed nightlife spots of Budapest for the traveller: …The Veranda: despite being underground, this section of The Boiler Room looks a lot like a veranda might. Or not. Aglow in faux nature, bloom changing weekly, wood fused with metal and the lights, it’s become a favourite corner of those that matter around here…)

“Who?”

Adrienne nods to his burner and she turns back to the bar, asking for the customer’s request, flicking two glasses onto the bar with flair.

Hanzo unlocks the file with thumbprint, a secondary code following.

Rav[REDACTED] Approx 20 active years [REDACTED]tor. Tall. Smooth voice, apparently. Controlled and calm. Purple colourings. You’ll know him when you see him. Rumblings of him through the omnics like livewire right now. Heard he’d rather skewer a human than sit next to one, but when you're desperate, right? Think he’s here for connections, money, help, fucking anything for his cause. I need to know. You have ears like a bat and some weirdo intuition. You ain’t failed me yet, Katniss.

Hanzo glances at The Veranda. Two humans. Omnic. Some vacant tables. Empty glasses litter their table. He takes a tray, and walks, weaving through bodies, blaring music, faces he knows, doesn’t.

None of them know him as Hanzo. He wonders when he’ll lose his name, too.

The music muted as he steps into The Veranda, the words and whispers of every face he plucks to memory all that matters now.

His mark isn’t here yet, so he waits. Watches. Works.

——

He sits in a corner, arm over a woman he’s known for an hour. Couples less inconspicuous than alone. He hasn’t talked to her since walking in the door. Neither has she, her face pin lit from her phone.

Eyes follow his mark. Back. Forth. Cybernetic eyes building on what he already knows.

Not tonight, they said, he’s here. City’s a livewire. Guest of honour.

So he waits. Watches. Works.

#shimadacest #genzo #hanzo shimada #genji shimada #fic: re-wired #genhan #hangen #des writes #here we go des writes longfic again aaaaa #this first ch is also a bit of a love letter to when i visited budapest #more chars and tags to come #more ships???#who knows #first of all we got a day in the life of hanzo's depression and self deprecation by the danube

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