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mangoisms · 9 months

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circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter four: walking slow (i’m all alone) | read chapter three

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 5k

━ warnings: blood, minor injury

━ masterlist

“So, what brings you to Keystone? Internship?”

You watch Flash serve himself a cherry Slurpee. Then after a moment of contemplation, pick up another cup and serve blue raspberry.

Your eyebrows raise but you still answer. “Yeah. Internship.”

“You go to GU, then? Who are you working for?”

You blink and he’s at the counter, one blue raspberry Slurpee set in front of you, with him already sipping on his as he awaits your answer.

“I’m here for Quickstart.”

“Quickstart, huh? Workin’ with Jesse Chambers?”

“Hardly. I’m just an underling with the PR department.”

The company’s main location was in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, anyway, so Jesse Chambers, Quickstart Enterprises’ CEO, could be found there. Not to say she didn’t drop into Keystone’s location, though. She did. Quite frequently, according to your supervisor.

“So you came all the way out here for it. They have a location in Gotham, don’t they?”

“Harder to get into,” you say dryly. “Plus, I couldn’t afford to study abroad, so this is the next best thing.”

He laughs. The sound surprises you, mostly because it sounds genuine. Any attempts to squash down your own pleasure at making him—a world renowned superhero—laugh that way fails tremendously. Oh, well. You’re only human. Anyone would appreciate making one of these guys genuinely laugh. If you made Wonder Woman laugh, you think your life would be complete. You could die there and wouldn’t be upset about it.

(Flash is cool but he’s not that cool, sorry.)

His laughter tapers off, a smile lingering behind. He gestures to the Slurpee.

“That’s for you, you know.”

“I didn’t want to assume.”

“Assume.”

Your lips twitch. “Thank you. I’ll pay for it.”

“Huh? What are you talking about? Kid, I wouldn’t get it for you and make you pay for it. That’s messed up. I’m paying for it.”

“You don’t—”

“So!” He belches, then pats his stomach. “‘Scuse me. What’s the dream, then? Y’wanna work at Quickstart after you graduate?”

You sip at the Slurpee. “Not necessarily… but I wouldn’t say no to it.”

“Then?”

You lift a shoulder. “Wayne Enterprises, probably.”

“Ooh. The big one. Not LexCorp? I hear the going rate for a spokesperson there is high…”

“Yeah, because they have to constantly field rumors about illicit R&D projects and illegal Kryptonite shipments.”

He barks a laugh and you shake your head, smiling.

“Yeah, no, I’ll pass. WE has a better track record and they still pay well.”

“True enough. Probably also less likely to be indicted as an accomplice for something or another.”

“Exactly.”

“Ever thought about the Titans? Or the League?”

“And be at constant risk of kidnapping or death?”

“To be fair, I think you have that risk when working at Wayne Enterprises, too. And also, we are obligated by contract to rescue any and all employees that get kidnapped.”

“The fact that that is a clause in an employee contract is a bit of a red flag.”

“Or a green flag,” he counters. “Wayne probably doesn’t have that. If you get kidnapped, that’s it. You’re just—gone.”

“That’s… a comforting thought.”

“Just sayin’. Though I guess the average person would be much happier with something ‘normal’ like WE. Family and loved ones, too.”

You nod thoughtlessly. “If my parents were alive, I’m sure they’d prefer that.”

He blinks. You wince. Right…

You take a sometimes flippant approach to the death of your parents; if anyone makes dead parent jokes the most between you and Tim, it is definitely you, though they never cease to amuse him and Steph.

“It’s nothing,” you say in the next moment, glancing up at him. “Sorry.”

He huffs. “Jeez, what are you apologizing for? If anyone should—”

“It’s fine, Flash. It happened when I was a teenager. I have a bad habit of joking about it just to… not make things too heavy.”

“Sure. Sure. I get it. I’m, like, the leading authority on using comedy as a defense mechanism.”

You laugh. “Very self-aware.”

“I try.” He pauses, head tilting as he looks at you. “I am sorry, though. That they’re gone.”

You smile bracingly and shrug. “Can’t change it. But thanks.”

“And it’s cool what you want to do. Really. Good luck at Quickstart.”

You smile and it feels genuine.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

He gives you an exaggerated thumbs-up, then he’s gone, blue lightning zapping in his wake, fine hairs on your arms raising because of it. The accompanying gust of wind knocks some stuff off the shelves but you don’t mind.

Flash isn’t so bad. Not bad at all.

“So… what’s your story?”

“In the present, I am being harassed by a vigilante—”

A soft groan. “Come on. You know what I mean.”

You suppress a smile, fixing the display of Lays chips. Next to you, Red Robin watches you for a moment, then does the same for a display of Takis.

“Don’t you already know?”

“What makes you say that?”

People call Batman the world’s greatest detective. You’re sure the trait has to pass down to his underlings.

You relay that to Red, who huffs.

“We are not his underlings. That’s a little offensive, you know.”

“You know what I mean,” you say, throwing his earlier words back to him, stepping over to the candy section, organizing packs of gummy bears and gummy worms.

You partially expect him to get annoyed again but he lets out a soft snicker, amused by something. Your gall, maybe.

But after thinking about it for a while, you are the person with the advantage here. After all, Steph and Tim know you are getting vigilantes as visitors. Even if you piss him or any of the others off, if they do something, you very much trust your friends to raise hell about it.

And, well, there is something deceptively familiar about Red Robin. Enough so to lure you into this weird sense of comfort. Like he’s a friend or something.

(Which is ridiculous. You know that. But you can feel that way as long as you acknowledge it.)

“Pass me some gummy bears? Thanks. Well, it is true that I could get that information—”

“Not have?”

“I like to give people the benefit of doubt.”

“Really?”

“Give me a break,” he complains but you catch the twitch of his lips as he fights a smile.

“Alright,” you relent. “You were saying?”

He shrugs. “A record is just a record. It’s not the full picture, is it?”

“I guess not.”

“So.” He makes an aimless gesture to you. “Fill in the gaps for me?”

You finally chuckle. “There’s not much to tell, Red. I was born here. Have lived here all my life. Parents are dead. Died in the earthquake. That’s really it.”

“Sorry about your parents,” he offers.

“It’s fine.”

“But that can’t be it.”

“You seem very certain about that.”

“W-Well,” he stammers, making your eyebrows raise. “Just—call it a hunch.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say doubtfully. “Is there something specific you’re after?”

He relaxes some. “I mean… you’re in school, right?”

You nod, deciding to pause your work right now to focus on this conversation, a bit curious yourself as to why he even wants to know.

To better his reputation, perhaps. It is not wrong to say you have your own reservations regarding the city’s vigilantes but again, that’s just a side effect of their effective management of it—ruling by fear. Why change that for you? You’re no one special.

“So… what do you want to do when you graduate? Any hopes and dreams? Anywhere you want to work?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You sound like my friends,” you say, shaking your head.

Steph knows where you’d like to work. The answer has been the same since you started college and picked your major. The dream is somewhere like Wayne Enterprises. One of the few companies that you actually trust, that you think are doing good work for the world.

But you obviously can’t say that to Tim, whose adoptive father owns the company.

Steph says you can. That he’s not going to think you’re telling him that to get a leg-up in the application process. You believe it, too. You’ve known Tim long enough for at least that. But it’s still a little bit embarrassing.

“It can’t be that bad. It’s not, like… LexCorp, right?”

You laugh. “No way. Of course not.”

His lips curve, seemingly pleased by something. “Then?”

You scratch your cheek. “I dunno. Wayne Enterprises, I guess. They’re not… the worst.”

“No LexCorp, that’s for sure.”

“Half of the appeal.”

“What’s so wrong with wanting to work there?” he asks next, head tilting.

“Ah, you know…” you say evasively, turning to resume your work. “Everyone and their dog wants to work there. For a good reason, of course. I dunno. Guess I just feel a little basic for it.”

That’s a lie, of course. You’re embarrassed because of your connection to Tim and his connection to the company. Like out of all the companies that you actually want to work at… it’s the one his adoptive father owns. It’s the one where Tim himself had a brief stint as major shareholder when he was seventeen. Where he worked there for several years and only recently began cutting his work back…

He sits on that for a while, following you around like a persistent puppy as you organize things.

“I think it’s a cool aspiration,” he eventually says after he helps carry a box of candy and chips to be restocked, kneeling on the shitty tiled floors to help you.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“And I don’t think you should be embarrassed about it… they try to do good at WE. Nothing wrong with wanting to join to help that.”

“Well, it’s not that selfless. I’d really be there to get them publicity and cover up scandals.”

He snickers. “Still. I’m sure your friends would support you, too.”

“They would,” you agree, sighing.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s complicated,” you say vaguely.

“Un-complicate it.”

“Not a word. Also not that easy.”

“Isn’t it?”

The box with the chips is full of those styrofoam packing peanuts. You grab a bag of chips, then one of the packing peanuts, tossing it at him. He barely reacts as it bounces off the bridge of his nose, looking steadily at you.

“Why does it matter to you?”

“I don’t know. I’m curious.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“You’re curious? Is that specific to now or in general? Because…” Can’t help but prod just a little at his intentions because it surely has to be something more than trying to prove a point.

“Is it concerning for you to have my curiosity?” he asks lightly.

“Befuddling is a better word. You still haven’t answered my question, by the way.”

You have entirely abandoned the task at hand. Red is fine to stay crouching, not even once swaying on his feet as he shifts to face you more fully, but you are not him, so you settle on the tile, legs crossed underneath you as you look at him expectantly.

He tilts his head. You can’t help the way your eyes cling to the shift of his dark hair. It feels so familiar to you. Everything about him. Although this moment, the sudden tension, is not so familiar. The worst part is you can’t even decide whether it’s good tension or bad tension. He’s… annoying.

(Beguiling, really.)

He sighs, the sound amused rather than tired, and your eyes can’t help but catch the lift of his lips. Pink and… very soft-looking.

“Alright, fine,” he says. “I’m curious in general about you. As for the why… you’re not the worst company I’ve ever kept.”

“And considering—”

“Considering the company I keep are the others, who are fine within their own right, as well as the likes of criminals, you’re a breath of fresh air.”

Your face goes hot. “So, the bar isn’t very high.”

“What, do you care for what I think?” he asks and something about his tone, gently teasing, makes your traitorous heart skip a beat.

“Of course not.”

“Really? Sort of seems like you do.”

Can’t deny that. Not with how flustered you’re growing. So, you deflect.

“And you?”

“I admit to it,” he says easily, shrugging, still smiling. “Like I said, you’re not the worst company I’ve ever kept. I like you. I want to learn more about you. And manage to stay on your good side, too.”

“You aren’t doing a good job.”

He leans forward, curve of his lips settling into something almost like a smirk. “Aren’t I?”

You glower at him. “You suck, you know that?”

He leans back, pleased as the cat that got the canary. “Whatever you say.”

Ugh.

It was a particular kind of pathetic to be treasuring all the things Tim ever gave you since he, you know, doesn’t talk to you much these days.

But you have to get your Tim Drake fill in somehow.

Today’s activity is the few playlists he’s ever shared with you, mostly alternative and indie, playing on the speakers overhead. Though it includes more than a couple Bruce Springsteen songs as well, again, in homage of his father. You and Steph can hardly tease him about it, other than maybe a poke at his affinity for listening to older groups, like Oasis.

Either way, you aren’t thinking of making fun of him for it.

Mostly, you just miss him.

Like you always do these days, accompanied with the usual soul-crushing guilt at the fact, at the why behind it.

In this moment, however, you are not so willing to partake in the usual moral quandary or self-flagellation.

Like you said, mostly, you’re caught up in missing him.

“You know, I realized I never got around to asking how you are.”

Red’s voice startles you from serving yourself a cup of blue raspberry Slurpee. You barely heard him come inside…

A frown tugs at your lips. His voice sounds weird.

Nonetheless, you press a cap to the cup and respond. “How I am in regards to what?”

“Everything that happened that night with Huntress.”

You step around the aisle. “I’m—holy shit, dude!”

Blood flows heavily from his nose. A bruise is already forming on his cheek and he leans against the counter, gloved hand cupped to his bleeding nose. Something about it doesn't sit right with you, stomach rolling at the sight of him injured like this.

“It—it really looks worse than it looks.”

You turn sharply, not responding to that as you set your cup aside and snatch up several napkins, then stride back over to him. He takes them from you quickly, using them to stem the blood flow, leaning his head forward. As he does so, you spot a cut on his temple, bleeding heavily, too.

“Jesus, Red, are you okay?”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Shouldn’t I be asking that? You heard me, right?”

“That is so not the point right now. Wait here. We have some first aid stuff…”

“You don’t have to—”

“Save the heroics, Red. I do.”

He reads the tension in your voice, falling silent. You take it as the sign to do what you need to, turning again to find the aisle with toiletries. You get what you need, then go back to him, finding him sitting on the floor now, napkins still pressed to his nose.

“Broken?”

His head lifts slightly at the sound of your voice. You sit down next to him.

“No, luckily. Just… got hit hard.”

“I can tell,” you say, frowning, eyeing the bruise on his cheek. “How’s the bleeding?”

“Starting to slow. Should be a couple more minutes. I’ll be fine.”

You purse your lips and don’t respond, instead opening up your supplies to take care of the cut on his temple.

“You really don’t have to, you know.”

“And yet, you get to come in here and check up on me?”

“Kind of my job, isn’t it?”

“Since when has any of this just been about that?”

A brief moment of silence as you rip open an antiseptic pad, wiping your hands, the acrid smell of alcohol burning your nostrils.

Finally, he lets out a tired chuckle. “You got me there.”

“Unfortunate that you had to stumble in like this to get that,” you murmur, reaching up for him with another antiseptic pad but pausing before you touch him. “Can I?”

“Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.”

You carefully push away his hair; it is damp with sweat, as is his hairline. Most likely from the oppressive heat and humidity and from whatever fight he just came from.

“Gonna sting,” you say in warning, then press the pad to the cut. As it soaks up the blood and cleans the cut, you get a better look at it. Not too big or too deep. Head wounds always bleed excessively.

He says that exact thing in the next second.

For whatever reason, it endears you, your lips twitching, injecting some much-needed levity.

“I know,” you say simply. “Doesn’t look too bad, either. Not like it needs stitches, anyway.”

“Good. My patrol isn’t over yet.”

You sigh, shifting onto your knees next to him as you discard the bloodied pad, reaching for another one to clean the area around it.

“Can’t tone down the savior complex even a little bit, can you?”

“I appreciate your help,” is all he says.

“It’s nothing. And, anyway, to answer your previous question… I’m fine. I’m used to that kind of stuff.”

“That’s not reassuring, you know that, right?”

You give him a look. “I don’t think you get to say that. But your concern is noted.”

He sighs. “There’s that, I guess. If you need to talk—”

“I know,” you say, cutting him off gently. “I know, Red. Let me finish this up…”

You find a band-aid large enough to cover the cut, carefully pressing it onto his temple.

“Should be more careful. This area is… dangerous,” you murmur, tapping lightly at the band-aid on his temple. You’ve seen and heard enough about people taking hits there and going down permanently. The thought of that happening to Red unsettles you deeply, something cold twisting your insides.

But Red doesn’t appear to be listening to you. Instead, he’s… listening to something else. You think it’s some kind of comms, initially, but then you realize he’s listening to the song currently playing overhead. Which you quickly recognize.

“I’m On Fire? Really? Didn’t peg you as a Bruce Springsteen fan.”

It’s obviously meant as a tease and you need to put a stop to the growing grin on his lips immediately. The only one allowed to get flustered here is him. Fair’s fair, after all, after last week’s conversation.

“Not a fan. It’s from a friend’s playlist.”

He blinks, expression rapidly morphing into surprise. “A—friend?”

“Yes, I do have friends. I’ve mentioned this before. It’s not mine, it’s his.”

“I… see.”

He pulls the wad of napkins away from his nose in that moment, successfully redirecting your attention from his odd reaction. You lean around to get a look. Blood smears over his upper lip, the shadow of a bruise starting to form on his nose, swollen, too.

“Well?”

“Don’t worry,” you drawl. “You’ve still got the pretty boy thing going on.”

“That’s—” he stops and you watch, stunned, as he actually, honest-to-god, blushes.

Holy shit.

“That’s not what I was asking,” he eventually mutters, looking away sharply.

It amuses you, for some reason, and you suppress a smile. “Well, still. Sleep easy tonight knowing your good looks are not tarnished—”

He shakes his head. “You’re… really something, you know that?”

“Thanks,” you chuckle. “It looks fine, by the way. Like you need to ice it—and your cheek—but fine. Not broken. You were right. Hold on.”

You get up and grab a can of Zesti from the fridges, then go back over to him. He takes it, pressing it over his nose and cheek, and you seat yourself next to him again, shuffling the used pads and supplies into a small pile, frowning a bit to yourself as you realize there are more pads than you recall.

You don’t ask why or how he got these injuries. Not sure if he’d tell you. Not sure you want to hear about it, anyway.

A bit of a stark reminder about what he does, isn’t it?

“So…” he starts a second later, pulling you from your increasingly morbid thoughts.

You narrow your eyes at seeing fresh mischief on his face. This won’t bode well for you.

“Yes?”

“By you saying all that stuff about my ‘good looks’ and ‘pretty boy thing,’ that means you think that, too, right?”

“You aren’t half-bad to look at,” you concede, shoving down your embarrassment at being called out and admitting it, too. But in a roundabout way. Much better than stating quite plainly you do find him a little bit attractive. But that’s all it is. Attraction. Appreciation of a pretty face.

“Not half-bad?” he asks, laughing. “Because that’s a nice way to put it.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

A smile lingers on his lips as he looks at you and you can’t stop your own from mirroring his.

“Guess it doesn’t matter,” he says, glancing away first, gloved hand—clean from the blood now, which explains the extra antiseptic pads—reaching for his utility belt. “You took on the painstaking job of patching me up.”

“Wasn’t that painstaking, Red. Just cleaned the cut and slapped a band-aid on it. Band-aid is probably doing more work than me.”

“Still. For your efforts…” He produces a lollipop from one of the pouches on his belt with a flourish.

You blink. “You… keep lollipops in that thing?”

“Helps if we’re handling a kid,” he says and oh, okay, yeah, that makes more sense, you think, taking the lollipop and unwrapping it.

“All of you?”

“Batman started it first.”

The thought of Gotham’s resident caped crusader carrying lollipops in his utility belt is an amusing, if not incredulous, one.

Red sees must see the doubt on your face, snickering. “I’m being totally serious.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just messing with me. This is payback for the half-bad thing, isn’t it?”

He laughs. The sound is achingly familiar as usual but the full picture of why it is familiar escapes you—like it always does.

“It’s not, I swear.”

“Sure,” you say. “Gotta be a hassle to remember exactly where it is, though, right? Since you apparently keep all manners of things in there?”

“Just what we need.”

“So, like, an arsenal of weapons.”

“Tools,” he corrects.

“Uh-huh.”

He fiddles with another pouch, pulling out something that you immediately recognize as a batarang.

You've only glimpsed these but you’ve never seen one up close. The metal glints under the light.

“Can I—?”

“Just be careful. Easy to slice yourself.”

You bet.

The metal is cold under your fingertips, an unfamiliar weight but not heavy, exactly.

Some people like to try their luck and keep batarangs they find as mementos, or sell them on the black market but the word on the street is that the Bats have never left one unattended; the people who take them never mention a direct confrontation, just that one day they have it and the next, they can’t find it, which, in your personal opinion, is more unsettling than a direct confrontation. But hey, maybe that’s just you.

“This would be useless without me,” he points out.

“Right. Your batarang. Weird name, by the way.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You just put bat at the front.”

“It’s a great name. And also I didn’t name it. This was already named by the time I came into the scene.”

He seems a tad determined to make you understand that.

“I don’t know,” you say, pretending to give it thought. “You do seem the type to give obvious names. Like naming a Dalmatian Spot. Call a batarang a batarang.”

“I didn’t name it,” he repeats again.

But you just laugh.

You laugh and laugh and laugh, thinking this might be the most honest portrayal of him and the others that you have ever seen.

And it’s nice.

It’s… it’s nice.

(He isn’t so bad.)

“Wow. This is great. Like wallpaper levels of goodness.”

A snort. “I should hope so. You have no idea how many mosquitos bit me when I was up there taking the pictures.”

Tim raises his arm and you lift your gaze from the screen of his camera to behold the few red mosquito bite on his forearm.

“So, you didn’t listen to Alfred, is what you’re saying?”

“It’s April,” he mutters, dropping his arm, head shifting from its place in your lap. “It’s unnatural for mosquitos to be out already. Didn’t think I’d need the spray ‘cause of it.”

You pat his head comfortingly. “Well, your sacrifice wasn’t for nothing. This is really good, Timmy.”

You look back at the camera screen, where a picture of Gotham sits, captured from the top of Spillkin Hill in Bristol, affording a view of the entire city bathed in the golden rays of the sunset.

“Thanks,” he says, sounding just a little embarrassed.

When you glance at him over the camera, his head is turned, gazing out at the rest of the mostly empty quad, cheeks suspiciously red. If you pointed it out, he would blame it on the shining sun overhead. Even if you two are thoroughly hidden from the brunt of its rays beneath this large oak tree, only slivers of sunlight slipping through the canopy, casting leaf-shaped patches of light onto you.

The sunglasses on his face prevent you from seeing his gaze but it’s most likely the same—away from you, focused on something else. Tim gives as good as he gets but he’s become easier to fluster these days, after your return from the internship last semester. Especially with you. You aren’t sure why but the reactions are always amusing and stupidly endearing, so you don’t say anything about it.

You two are waiting for Steph to get out of one of her psych classes, then the three of you are going to hit up Big Belly Burger and do some mini-golf afterward. Tim’s older sister and another one of Steph’s close friends, Cass, is tagging along. You like her. You two work on the same wavelength sometimes.

Right now, you are just trying to enjoy this much-needed peace and quiet. The approach of finals is stressful as it always is but the good thing about it is that the quad is nearly empty right now; most students tucked away in the library, in class, or holed up in their dorms procrastinating their work. Plus, the thought of the summer off from class after—working still, but no finals or midterms to stress about—is a revitalizing one.

You pass him back the camera—carefully, since it’s more expensive than a single class here at GU—and lean back on your palms, cool grass tickling your skin. Your allergies are going to have a field day with this but you don’t care too much about it. Not with Tim’s head planted in your lap, a reassuring, comforting, weight on your thighs.

His attention is fixed on the camera again, flicking through pictures. You keep your gaze elsewhere, to give him his privacy, though you can’t help but tease him a little bit.

“Can you even see those pictures with these?” you ask, looping your index finger around the arm of the sunglasses, lifting them from his face. He scrunches up his nose in response and you laugh, terribly, terribly endeared.

To reacclimatize from the whirlwind of warm feelings inside your chest, you slide them on, smiling down at him when he squints up at you, clearly having to adjust to the sudden brightness.

Another flash of warmth in your chest.

Before you can do anything else, though, your eyes accidentally catch the screen of his camera and promptly widen as you realize what you are looking at.

Or better yet—who.

“Is that me?” you ask dumbly, because obviously it is you.

It’s you, sitting out in the quad, a textbook in your lap, head tilted as you read its contents; simple and boring, by any means, yet, the focus of the camera and the sunlight falling over you turns it into something else entirely.

You have absolutely no recollection of him taking this picture.

His eyes widen—soft blue from the sunlight, pretty as always, you can’t help but notice—and he looks at the screen, too, grimacing.

“Uh… yeah.”

Suddenly, you’re thankful for the sunglasses as heat settles in your face.

“It’s… it’s nice, Tim.”

“It’s—weird, I’m sorry, I didn’t—” he starts to sit up.

“No, no, no,” you quickly say, hand pressing to his shoulder, keeping him where he is. “It’s not. Really. I don’t… I don’t mind.”

You’re really overheating now but you don’t want him to go into panic mode and close off. Which is what you feel like might happen if you let him continue.

He looks at you carefully, studying you. “Are you sure?”

“It’s just… candid, right? Besides it’s you. And I know you’re not a weirdo stalker—” you poke his cheek teasingly “—so… I don’t mind. It’s nice. Nicer than I actually look, so… y’know. Thanks.”

A frown. “You always look nice.” A wince. “I mean, not nice, w-well, yes nice, just—you know, uh, pretty.”

You smile, once again hopelessly endeared; the feeling helpfully overtakes the sudden shyness at him calling you pretty, which is… something you will set aside for the moment. “Thanks, Timmy.”

He nods, seeming resolute to not look at you as he quickly flicks to the next picture; you make a conscious effort not to look at the screen this time. Your gaze lingers on his face—thank you, sunglasses—where his cheeks are still red and so are the tips of his ears.

You bite down a smile and finally look away.

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konigsblog · 10 months

Note

I have a small angst request.

Although this is an American tradition, I feel, it could work great with Price.

Sometimes you can spot coins on military headstones. Here is some information, I've found about this tradition:

Placing a coin on headstones of a service member or veteran is a show of respect and honor, as well as letting the deceased service member’s family know someone was there, but the denomination of the coins each has a distinct and significant meaning. A penny: This means someone has visited the grave. A nickel: This signifies that the visitor served with the deceased service member at boot camp. A dime: A dime means the visitor and deceased service member served together at some point. A quarter: This coin is left by someone who was physically with the service member when they died.

So imagine, Price is preparing to visit a military graveyard and the reader tries to help him in any way and Price asks for any change, the reader has. And when reader asks, how much Price needs (not knowing about this tradition), he answers something like "a lot" or "as much as you have".

i feel like this is really shit because i struggled with the concept since i don't know a lot about this tradition 😵‍💫 i hope this is alright and it's good enough 🫶;

you felt your heart ache and throb when you saw him place quarters, dimes, pennies and nickels around the graveyard. his eyes revealed sorrow and guilt; blooming in chest when he'd place a quarter on top feeling as if he didn't try hard enough to save one of his many soldiers. they glistened, became glassy with emotion when he came across a familiar name, someone he'd told you about many times, described him as; deadly, strong and threatening, yet someone he'd grown comfortable with, loving him as a teammate.

‘gary ‘roach’ sanderson’, he got on one knee and kept his head low, one hand on his heart in a gesture of respect. remembering when he found his limp and motionless body after sending him out for a mission one day, never returning. you sat beside him with your arm wrapped around him, pulling him in closer while he spoke to you about how he'd been feeling recently, the anger and rage that boiled inside him whenever he was reminded of that one mission roach was sent out on.

he told you about how he'd neglected himself after finding his body, the limp soldier in his arms burned into his mind, crimson liquid coating his gear. he barely ate, lost his appetite. he barely slept, his exhaustion visible both mentally and physically, darkened eye bags beneath his eyes. or how he'd replace his meals for lit and burning cigars, overworking himself almost as if he was being punished.

“john?” he'd fallen quiet, staring at the picture frames around his headstone, his ears perking when you called his name. “it's not your fault,” price bit the inside of his cheek, closing his eyes tightly before lowering his head further in an attempt to hide his tears, something he'd needed to hear finally hit him, the realisation hurting. “you shouldn't punish yourself, please don't.” he hid his face in your neck, tears dripping onto the hem on your shirt.

“thank you, love, you don't know how much i needed to hear that.” you knew it would've been hard as a captain, sending those out, feeling an immense feeling of culpability whenever they didn't come back. it felt like he'd killed them himself, putting them in the field and watching as a bullet was lodged in their hearts, it was if he was pulling the trigger.

yet he wasn't. captain price was a hardened soldier who shed no tears infront of anyone, he demanded his soldiers to do their jobs and hid his sadness whilst comforting those who showed their emotions. john was a different man; caring and affectionate, someone he'd tried to hide from his men, giving them the impression that they should be strong, emotionally and physically.

he'd never heen comforted of spoke to like how you'd speak to him. years of blame and guilt weighing him down, increasing his addiction to cigars, rotting his lungs away with each puff he took. you made him the man he was today, it wasn't the exercise that made him the man he was, or the role of being a captain, but the comfort you'd showed him, how you appreciated and cared for him, treated him like a human being. it took the weight of a thousand tons his shoulders and let him sob, built up emotions flooding from his eyes.

“what would i do without you, love? you made me the man i am today, you're the reason to keep going.”

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niuttuc · 2 months

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Tap, Untap. Concede?

Well, people voted on this one, so time to talk about this one! Years and years back, when I first assembled it, it was much more about stealing stuff and abusing the peculiar wording on Merieke's abilities allowing for a few shenanigans. Some of that remain to this day, Nightmare Shepherd, Faerie Artisans, Darksteel Plate...

it pivoted over the years onto much more of a generic focus on tap abilities and untap effects. Given the propensity of untap effects to go infinite, I kept discovering more ways to go infinite in the deck, so instead of fighting it, I went along with it. This deck will combo off if left unchecked for too long, that's a fact of life and the main wincon of the deck though stealing threats with Merieke is still here as a backup.

This is a deck I pull out relatively rarely among my pool, because more relaxed pods don't always want the pressure of playing against a combo deck, certainly not one with a commander that can steal things. But I enjoy playing it immensely, as it has a lot of interesting lines of play.

There's not one given combo for the deck, you're mostly assembling things on the fly. The basis of it is basically to generate a multiplicative untap source, something that can untap more permanents that it takes to generate the effect. As such, the main combo enablers for the deck will be Pemmin's Aura, Freed from the Real and Illusionist's Bracers. Some of them require another untapper, or a permanent that taps for two or more colored mana, or something else. Halo Fountain can also serve as the multiplying untap source in the right circumstances. Another way to combo is to use Unctus, which is a simple two card combo with Aphetto alchemist or three cards with any two untappers, allowing you to loot through your entire deck if necessary to find another combo. And of course, Staff of Domination can get out of hand, along with Lithoform Engine with some untap effects.

As far as actually winning the game, generating infinite untaps generally means you get access to infinite mana, and with any of the many, many tapping effects in this deck, also infinite of something else you can parley into a win. Halo Fountain can do the job of actually winning the game once everything is set up. Fain the Broker can generate an infinitely big army of infinitely big flying creatures that you can haste up with boots or a drawbridge. Merieke and Beguiler of Wills can steal your opponents' entire board. Shorikai will draw through your deck while making 40 1/1s that shaile can pump up infinitely. Wizard's Spellbook will copy all the spells in all the graveyards,...

Before you combo, of course, you also play cards with tap effects, creatures and artifacts, to get some value and play a "fair" gameplan. Be they upsides on mana rocks or just fun cards. In that area (and in others, as Norritt can attest, just not as much), the picks are very much cards that look fun and are on theme with their tapping effect more than "optimized" choices for everything. Shaile and Embrose are a pet card of mine, Oracle en-Vec is just fun to play with, and the Deck of Many Things is certainly not the best card ever printed.

The manabase is dated but I've barely touched it up over the years, there are certainly optimizations to make.

Something that's very convenient is the tendency for recent untappers to be able to target any permanent, which includes lands. This makes them double up as value engine and ramp in this deck, and is particularly potent with lands or rocks that tap for more than one mana, which in this deck also happen to be combo pieces. Lotus Field, bouncelands, Empowered Auto-Generator. This deck can get up to high amounts of mana, and doesn't always have enough fuel to spend it on. Probably means it should go a bit heavier on card draw, but slots are slots.

Anyway, this is one of my favorite decks to pilot as mentioned earlier, I just make sure that any opponents facing it know what they're dealing with and to try and stop me.

#mtg #commander #edh #deck tech #tap untap concede #merieke ri berit #combo

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melanieathene · 7 months

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Suptober 2023 Day 2 - Pumpkin Patch

When Sam was seven years old he watched It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, and promptly fell in love with the idea that “on Halloween night the Great Pumpkin rises out of his pumpkin patch and flies through the air with his bag of toys for all the children.”

Dean, being older and wiser, poo-pooed the idea and teased Sam mercilessly until he went crying to his father.

John, being much older and far from sober, was even less kind.

“If there is such a thing,” he growled, “You can bet your boots it's some kind of a monster: a ghoul, a zombie, maybe a vampire – something that will rise up and bite your sorry ass.”

Sam, spirit crushed though his belief remained unshaken, decided there was only one way to prove his brother and father wrong. Spending Halloween at Bobby's provided a most fortuitous opportunity. A farmer a mile or two down the road had a prodigious field of pumpkins. Surely, it was both sincere and lacking in hypocrisy? It was worth investigating, anyway. All Sam had to do was make his way through a cornfield to get to the patch. Of course, being the son of a hunter, he decided it was best to be prepared for treats to turn to tricks. He packed a wooden stake, a silver knife and a bottle of holy water in a knapsack and hid them under his bed.

On Halloween night, while Dean and John were out patrolling a local graveyard, Sam crept from his bed, stuffing clothing under the covers, hoping this would fool Bobby if he checked to see if he was sleeping. The old hunter was dozing in front of the TV set, more than half asleep himself. The canned laughter of a sitcom masked Sam's light footsteps as he stole a flashlight from a kitchen drawer and slipped out the back door.

The cornfield was every bit as spooky as he had anticipated it might be, what with it's eerie rustlings and the weird shadows which flickered in the flashlight's narrow beam. Wary, but undaunted, Sam persevered until he finally reached his goal. He breathed a sigh of relief as he finally entered a moonlit field, pumpkins of all sizes dotting the landscape. There were fewer than he had anticipated. Many of the larger ones had already been harvested and sent to market, but Sam figured that was what made the patch sincere: such a sacrifice must serve to honour the Great Pumpkin.

Sam settled down and prepared to wait.

And waited.

And, still waiting, fell asleep with his arms wrapped around a pumpkin and his head nestled in the crook of one arm.

And that is how Dean and John found him, as the moon set and shades of pink began to tinge the eastern horizon.

The years went by.... Two decades and more... Once again it was Halloween night, and once again Sam found himself plowing his way through a cornfield, en route to a pumpkin patch. He smiled as he remembered that long ago night: how his father had been too relieved at his safe return to scold or punish him; how Dean had simultaneously praised his bravery and cursed his stupidity as they packed the Impala the next day and hit the road, leaving Bobby's (and pumpkin patches) far behind.

John was dead.

Sam's belief in the Great Pumpkin was dead too.

He and Dean were in hot pursuit of a witch, of all things. How Halloweenie was that? Sam's smile broadened as he burst past the final cornstalk and scanned the open field. No sign of the witch. She'd either taken a sneaky turn in the cornfield and exited miles from where they were, or had taken flight on her broom and was even now winging her way across the sky.

Sam's money was on the former. He wasn't nearly as naïve as he'd been as a child.

Or maybe she'd beaten him here and hightailed it over Dean's way? He was about to give his brother a shout when he spotted him standing on the far edge of the field. He wasn't alone. But his companion wasn't the witch. Judging from the billowing trench coat, Castiel had joined the hunt.

Sam's smile dimmed and faded. Damn! They were standing awfully close. Closer than usual. And they were moving even closer. Closer... Uh... The angel's trench coat floated to the ground. Dean's jacket followed. Lips locked, they sank down to their knees and...

“Nope, nope, nope,” Sam declared. Maybe the witch had cast a spell, and maybe it was the natural progression of things, given the way the two of them had danced around each other for years now. He'd determine that in the morning. For now, he was hoofing it back to the motel and booking a separate room.

Give him ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night any day of the week.

There were some things a brother shouldn't have to see.

#Suptober #suptober23 #suptober23 day 2 #destiel #spn #supernatural #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Castiel #John Winchester

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oneleggedflamingo · 5 days

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Ok, biting scratching howling, my main writing project, wt: journey to cloudcastle kinda already has enough settings: little towns, a city, different forests, a graveyard forest and a pietbogmire or whatever it is in English.

And my second writing project wt: agriculture monastries QOFER (Quality Oxygen From Organic Reactions) happens in an island, maybe half the size of Madagascar, and it has different forests, grasslands and dry-enough-to-walk-on wetlands. And maybe a village under a glass dome.

Ok so, there are things I want to add, maybe only to the QOFER one because these things don't really serve a purpose in the cloudcastle adventure.

Konsentrinen (kilpi)keidassuo: concentric raised bog. Idk if that is the real name for it, I can't seem to find any photos with google, but I was on a lecture where my teacher showed us aerial photos, and they look messed up. Like a huge summoning circle for the scariest world destroying monster. It seems to be a rare wetland type (google doesn't gove me photos) so I need to ask my professor book recommendations. It will be on the QOFER island and it will make the MC cry and throw up. Poor guy, he is just some university student that can't seem to bring his library books back on time.

toori: tor (rock formation). They look unsetteling (at least the ones in Finland, but I live on flat land surrounded by sky high pines so maybe they are just strange looking to me. Might make my OC insane looking for the remains of wrecked stone monastries, but only finding these for a couple of days when his food supplies are running low. Might induce hallusinations. Might make him cry a little. Might make him say some philosofical lines about the buildings of mankind. Might make him desparate for human contact. U know, the good stuff and the reader learns about geology.

Pirunpelto: devil's field. Open land area that is covered with different sized rocks and boulders. Looks creepy. What were you going to eat there buddy? Your last breadroll? Ants? Snakes? Rodents of normal size? Or would the word gopher give you flashbacks? How are you going to make a fire to stay warm at night? Huh, you didn't think about that when you left the forested area behind thinking that you might find a way to leave the Island throught the DEVIL'S FIELD, what are you thinking????

And I just learned that the word hiisi (scary mythological giant-ish creature) also at some point meant sacred forest or a graveyard. So I can use that info to make my graveyard forest more interesting.

Hiidenkivi: large rock boulder that was dropped there during the end of ice age. Might look scary. You could climb up on them if you are scared. Scared about what? About the scary looking low-nutrient wetland that wants to chew you up and get some nutrients. The hunger is making you delusional, don't worry I got you. Just eat some moss and drink the water from the large round pit that is on that huge rock. That is not scary at all. I heard that water in GIANT'S KETTLE, has healing properties. Sure drink as much as you want, I'm sure tha the devil, I mean the Giant doesn't care.

The horrors is an open plain but the ground wants to kill you and you have undealt trauma.

#writers on tumblr #Geology #Finnish geology #Tw devil #I am a wetland and rock formation enjoyer #Just a casual fan really #frothing at the mouth #QOFER #I will never find this post again #WIP

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belladonnasweetblood · 11 months

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The scene was rowdy. Glasses shattered, muffled quickly underfoot by cacophony of patrons in the bar. Voices shouted, reverberations from the call of a good sight carried any wandering interest back to the spectacle at hand, mid-floor. There, a scene unfolded the likes of which was unhinged, although thoroughly predictable. A feminine Sin'dorei silhouette was amassed by an imposing shadow. Bella stood, by some miracle, vehemently intoxicated and dangerously bobbing. Her weight rested eased against the table at her waist. Her fingers curled around the surface edge, a quiet reminder to her state. Despite all these things, a cheeky smile still threatened to further curl at the corner of her lips. Opposing her, a fellow in blood was her opponent. The male blood elf was in the midst of dominating a double shot of some menacingly pristine liquid. Quite defeating her in stature, he surely tripled the woman's size. The liquor passed his lips with such smooth assurance, that the subsequent -clank- of his empty shot glass landing upside down upon the tabletop made even the nearby witnesses cringe.

The space was a graveyard of bad decisions. Shot glasses threatened to topple over the edge on either side of the table. With an eased sigh and a forward lean of confidence, he peered intently toward Bella, searching her level of resolution. His voiced carried the tone a premature victory, the arch of his brow relaying the level of supremacy he felt in the moment. "Come then. Let's have another." He chuckled as Bella visibly cringed, watching the barkeep bear the burden of what surely would end in a case of alcohol poisoning. Bella watched, quiet and stooped, all while the server set up the latest death sentence.

Bella could only bare to refocus, to remind herself of the play at hand. The only thing upon the table untouched, was a roll of parchment that lie between the battle field of drinks consumed. Among those over turned shot glasses, a piece of parchment waited, a prize in the pot. It glowed with ripples of incantation, though it's true secrets were spun well into a tight spiral, bound with a skilled seal. While most others in the crowd bled gor the gold sprawled on the table, Bella only had eyes for that piece of taped up paper.

She was silent, eyeing that scroll with the most baleful pout. She knew her defeat was on the horizon, and the vibe seemed to carry right to her competitor. "Get on with it, then."

His quick words broke her reverie, her study interrupted as now, two more shot glasses were served on either side. The threat of death by liquor tripled. "Whomever takes it down and stands is the victor." As if to inspire her to even question his surety that he would win, a sack of gold sang, dropped from his hand to the table. "Winner take all?"

It was a threat and a promise, made to ears that pinned for such desires. Bella did her best, but what were normally deft motions, fell to fumbled hands and useless fingers. It took far too long for her to manage her own coin purse into play. It fell, clanging next to his own, allowing her hands to catch swaying frame table side just before it would surely fall. She hiccups, her ears pinning, and a flush of embarrassment flashing over her cheeks. "Pardon..", She mumbled, a finger lifted for pause as she cleared her throat. "Winner take all. We drink together?" A show of good faith, Bella reached out, managing to secure the first glass. She offered it, weaving heavily between them due to her compromised stance. However, as soon as his was met in height to her own, she found the toast fitting, and knocked back her mouthful of scorching spirits.

Both moved as one. The room falling horrendously more quiet than it had been a moment prior. Two glasses consumed, two glassed clanging upon the wooden surface before them.

Again.

Two shot glasses rose, met together with a fluid chime, and then were met to the lips of their consumers. However, these were not so fluently met with the singing of empty glass on a table. No, both wavered, faces flush, throats burning, and hopes vividly waning of glory on either side of the table.

The last shots were raised. By what miracle any success these attempts had with being completed, were quickly lost. Both parties stumbled, spilling liquor, and any just judgement of the partakings, out the window of hope. Chaos now reigns.

Betters on both sides begin yelling, which escalated to hollering, which, of course, brings everyone to all out screaming. With another hiccup, Bella's body slammed rather forcefully forward into the table between them. The opposing man's own frame, took a rather severe lunge forward. Glass rang out, now mingling with the debates of gamblers in the air. It shattered from the sides of the table, although, with a strange, serpentine proficiently, the sealed parchment had disappeared! The gold forgotten, only one thing had truly vanished in the madness. While the gentleman of the drink-off was unaware, his handlers were not. Very soon, voices called, looking for the discrepancy to be divulged. Of course, Bella was being sought for; however, in the descent to chaos, she had managed a rather deft escape, even if it wasn't pretty. Scuffed from boot marks, she had crawled her way to freedom, depending solely on the chaos she had fostered into creation.

Rather battered, lessons learned, she had made her way out of a predetermined escape route. The back door really... but who cares? A win is a win, by whatever means. She shuffled off, still finding that perhaps she had tried too hard, and depended on tricks that had grown far too old. She was far more drunk than she had ever intended on becoming. She slinked off, the taste of defeat due to bad judgement still rather coppery on her tongue. A hefty pocket of gold lost, left to the dogs for scraps. Within her belt the scroll sat tucked, though the warmth of the magic within could be felt. A reminder to her of the night's events. Whatever it was, her true bet of the evening was won. All to be reviewed after the looming hangover for the morning was taken care of.

#IC #Random things #Nothin fantastical!

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bloggingforu · 1 year

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Indian Army Day 2023: Date, images, Facts, Quotes, History.

If you want to know about Indian army day, then you have come to the right place, we will give you all the information about Indian army day and you will know a lot of things about Indian army day so let’s start.

bloggingforu Provides You with knowledgeable and Informational content.

History Of Indian Army Day

Indian Army Day has been every year on the 15th day of January since 1949 , in order to honor general K.M. Cariappa for being the initial Indian chief in the Indian Arm. Prior to the time, Cariappa was the British was the commander-in-chief in the Indian Army.

General Cariappa was named the first Indian chief of staff on the 15th of January 1949 by the the Governor General at that time of India, Chakravarthi Rajagopalachari, succeeding General Sir Francis Butcher, the last British chief of staff in India.

It was a significant occasion in the development of an independent India and was a crucial move towards the transfer of authority to British rule to British into the Indian government. It also was a signal of India’s rising independence and the strength of its military.

Since the year 2000, Army Day is celebrated to commemorate the soldiers who sacrificed their lives in defense of the nation. It is also a time to celebrate the achievements achieved by Army, which is the Indian Army, and to recognize the sacrifices and contributions of soldiers currently serving.

The day is marked by parades and displays of the military across the nation. A wreath-laying ceremony is conducted to commemorate the tombs of fallen soldiers. The President and Prime Minister also wish the best to the soldiers of their Indian Army on this day.

How India Celebrates Indian Army Day?

Indian Army Day is celebrated across cities and towns across India every year on the 15th January of every year. The biggest celebrations take place in Delhi, the capital of India of New Delhi, where an elaborate parade is held in the Cariappa Parade Ground in the central city.

The parade includes an exhibition of military equipment and equipment as well as the parade of soldiers from different regiments of the Indian Army, Navy, and Air Force. The President of India and the chief participant at the event will oversee the parade and award the soldiers medals, awards and decorations in recognition of their extraordinary service.

In other cities in India parades are held in the cities of each city and cantonments for military personnel with troops and military bands who participate at the event. The celebrations take place at war memorials and military graveyards across the country where wreaths are placed on the graves of fallen soldiers.

It’s also the day that many schools and colleges are staffed by military personnel who teach students about how important the military is and its contributions for the national cause. Many families with soldiers visit their homes to show their gratitude to them for their work.

Happy Indian Army Quotes

“Yeh Dil Mangey More” — Capt. Vikram Batra

2. “If a man says he’s not afraid of dying, he’s either lying or he’s a Gurkha” — Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw

3. “Some goals are so worthy its glorious even to fail” — Capt. Manoj Kumar Pandey

4. “I shall not withdraw an inch but will fight to our last man and our last round” — Major Somnath Sharma

5. “We fight to win and win with a knockout because there are no runners-up in war” -General JJ Singh

6. “Only best of the friends and worst of the enemies visit us”

7. “There will be no withdrawal without written orders and these orders shall never be issued” — Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw

8. “Either I will come back after hoisting the Tricolour, or I will come back wrapped in it, but I will be back for sure” — Captain Vikram Batra

9. ” Some goals are so worthy, it’s glorious even to fail”– Captain Manoj Kumar Pandey

10. “No real change in history has ever been achieved by discussions” — Subhas Chandra Bose

#india #quotes #motivational quotes #indian army day #army day #army quotes #soldier #soldier quotes #blog #blogger #bloggingforu

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chaoslulled · 4 months

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@killedarlings : ❛ if you want me to go, then you have to tell me to leave. ❜ ( to Maven, from Kishibe! )

The beeping is insistent, telling her that yes, she's alive, but it's annoying. She hates when wires are connected to her, hates the IV that rests in her arm. Heart rate keeps spiking up as humiliation burns her cheeks. She should've thought rationally. She shouldn't have rushed in. The devils that they hunt are no joke –– they're the highest ranking for a reason, meant to take on the danger that continuously rises to the surface in the form of far too much power. Her ego had gotten the better of her and she hadn't used her head –– and was rewarded with a sharpened blade of blood through her ribs, just barely missing her heart.

And yet all she had thought about as she lay on the pavement bleeding, gasping for air and trying to hold herself together was a simple thing. Something so simple it hadn't even occurred to her in the past year that she's spent underneath him. I can't die on him. That was the promise she had made, wasn't it? That she wouldn't be like his graveyard of partners, that she wouldn't end up a tombstone for him to drink over.

She's a foolish, stupid girl at the heart of it all. She should've never gotten involved in this. Hadn't she learned from all the times prior? Hadn't she learned that in the world of men, you had to think of yourself only in order to rise to the top? To protect yourself and to never serve or live for another?

The door to her room opens and she looks over, wincing slightly at the tug of the stitches in her side. Too fast, move slow. His face is shadowed by the lights in the room –– visiting hours were over hours ago, she has no idea how he's charmed his way up here. But her teeth bite into her bottom lip because her heart gives a painful leap, one that's recorded by the machine monitoring it all. Because even standing there in the unflattering lights of the hospital, he still looks like her savior, still looks like an angel of death and she hates him for being so beautiful.

She has half a mind to kick him out. To tell him to fuck off and let her die in peace. That's too cruel though, even for Maven.

Swallowing hard, she shakes her head, eyes averting as his footsteps come nearer. She can smell the alcohol that's almost like his cologne by now. She's a stupid, foolish girl.

Fingers reach out, tugging at him until one of his knees settle on the bed –– she'll pay for it later, the stitches in her side protesting the movement all the same.

"Just...shut up." Her voice is quiet, defeated. Another yank that makes her gasp and he's fully on the bed now, and the complications be damned she turns into his chest, hides away from the world. She feels treacherous tears brimming on her lashes and grips his leather coat tighter. Feels the way that it's worn from use, the way that it clings to him.

"I kept my promise. I didn't die." Her words are meek and she can hear the catch in her voice. It's ugly. She's supposed to be strong for him. She's supposed to be this untouchable being, especially out on the field. That's what they've trained her for all her life.

But she feels a hand go to the back of her head and she shuts her eyes tighter. Because in the moment she is not a devil hunting machine. She is not a girl that was sold by her own parents to the mafia and then to yakuza then to Makima. She is no one but a pathetic girl in need of comfort that only one person can give.

"Don't leave. Promise me you won't leave."

#killedarlings #ic. ❝ cleaning out the cobwebs ⧽ ❪ answered ❫

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dk-wren · 4 months

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WIP Wednesday - 12/20

Been busy the past couple of weeks with other work, so haven't had too much time to write. Did manage to write a few more scenes for my Trigun fic though, so here's a snippet for today's WIP Wednesday (which will mainly feature three ocs).

Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

Bennet, Raylon, and Mattie attempt to hide themselves from the man they are so curiously observing by couching behind the bushes that serve as the border between the graveyard and, for some reason, the open field next to the playground. Each child has lived in the Church’s orphanage for as long as they could remember. And while their upbringing and childhood was by no means a bad one, given the relatively high level of charity from the local townspeople and the kind, young man who oversaw the orphanage and all those living there, day to day life was terribly average. The same schedule more or less everyday of wake up, breakfast, chores, playtime, lunch, schooling, free time, dinner, group activity, quiet time, lights out (or some variation of that) meant there was a pattern, a rhythm, that the older children, as well as some of the bright, young ones, caught on to fairly quickly. And based on the legends they heard during school hours of the infamous Humanoid Typhoon and what it was like to live when he walked across the desserts, going from one plant-powered city to the next, the children were somewhat appreciative that their daily lives could be normal, that they didn’t have anything to truly fear (well, maybe besides the monsters under the beds some of the little ones fretted about). Besides the occasional excursion or field trip, opportunities for excitement had to be sought out. And it was exactly what these friends were doing when they began to notice a strange, tall, blonde man enter the cemetery every three weeks. Bennet first noticed this man several months back, hard to miss due to the red jacket he always seemed to wear. Bennet pointed the man out to his closest friends, Raylon and Mattie. All three of them were sure that this was not the first time they had noticed this stranger enter the cemetery, but could not remember when or how long ago it was that they first saw him.

Any comments/suggestions are appreciated!

-Dakota Wren

#wip wednesday #writing wip

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valorxdrive · 8 months

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❝ nothing feels impossible when i’m with you. ❞ [ from @maregiis ]

How did she always know the sweetest things to say? How through her lips, it was angel sighs and a touch of home, truth that always burned through any and all lies. Right now it was a tender strength that served as a beacon for the sheer hell that surrounds them.

Kingdom Hearts remains as an unwilling lord of the Grand Sky, locked there, all through the machinations of a man who intends to bring ruin to all of creation. For even reality screamed as bit by bit, the natural order was being frayed at a scale it was never meant to be. Folds of space torn being ripped open, unveiling an eternal night sky, yet that very destruction found itself stopped short by one pivotal force.

A Princess of Heart awakened.

Sora could only stare towards the yawning abyss as the hellish incarnation of Xehanort stood at the ready. No Name's seething eye bled crimson as if attuned to that very fury, leading towards the sight of countless keyholes continuously appearing, stretching a hidden realm within a particularly shaped void. Before them were the sight of flaming meteors that wailed through the heavens, each of them holding a planet's heft as a fearful shadow eclipsed the Keyblade Graveyard a thousand times over.

However, a distinct brand of calm managed to breath within body and Heart. Joy found itself dancing completely unhinged as it was Kairi's words that he managed to focus on the most. Right now, it was that raw scale of confidence that the Hero of the Keyblade retained, he knew with each and every bit of his Heart that it would be okay. That bared hand of his drew Kairi's close like a treasure, allowing for his once exhausted fingertips to gently scour it as he briefly turned towards her.

He held the raw nerve to momentarily ignore his greatest foe in lieu of the light of his life. "Kairi.."

"You've had this in you all along." He meant that, with All of his Heart. In junction with his own strength, it was their might that found itself keeping that yawning void reduced to the minuscule point that it was. As the unholy eyes of that mask of a devilish goat bore damnation and curses unbridled towards them, it'd be the force of their light that effortlessly swept away the mad chaos. The strength of Heart was now stepping up to the plate.

Within a momentary second, their love ignited a hint of the true light began to violently expand and erupt in a blinding fissure of energy. It was iridescence that mends, that heals, that banishes the wicked as the golden wings that tore from their backs began to stretch with serene grace. Sora's posture prepares itself as he leans in, allowing the shine of those valiant eyes to face the cataclysm ahead with courage.

"Nothing will ever keep us apart. That's what the strength you give me says." Even now as the jubilant sensation of the Kingdom Key swells through his arm, resonating merrily with Destiny's Embrace, their keys and their potential found itself completely unchained. Even amidst a taste of the elder Darkness, rebellion finds itself stepping upon that same field of defying all logic.

"Lets bring everyone back home!"

In a rare moment through the countless universes that expand across the Realm of Light, a magnanimous display of multiple explosions would tear across each and every field who gazed above, the future was being decided.

@maregiis

#maregiis #| Bottle Mail #| Meme #>:)

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mackpratt41 · 10 months

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Antkapiai

Tombstones of Vainatrakis, which has the largest selection of granite slabs in Kaunas is the best place to go if your loved one has passed away! The loss of a dear and close person is never an easy experience, but honoring their memory during this difficult period of time, can bring some comfort and peace to the hearts of their loved ones. Choosing the right monument or tombstone can be difficult for yourself, as there are many styles, designs, sizes, and shapes to choose from. Therefore, it is important to take into account your budget and personal preferences, and consult with professionals in this field who will help you find the right solution. They have many services, that can be seen on the Tombstones of Vainatrakis website. Visit the Tombstones of Vainatrakis site at https://www.vainatrakioantkapiai.lt/ or https://www.vainatrakioantkapiai.lt/kapu-dengimas-plokstemis/ for complete details. You will be happy that you did! Now that you know more about Tombstones of Vainatrakis, let’s talk about the benefits of tombstones and monuments for when your loved one has passed away. Tombstones and monuments have been around for a long time, providing a memorial to those who have died. They come with a variety of benefits and can offer those who have lost a loved one peace of mind. A tombstone or grave marker is a gravestone that has been customized to represent the deceased person and commemorate their life. It can include a photo, important dates or events of the deceased’s life and a brief epitaph. Antkapiai can also serve as a point of reference to help locate the grave of a person in a cemetery amongst many others. Some grave stones are more elaborate than others. They can feature statues, carvings or inscriptions that are more detailed and may contain symbols of the deceased’s interests or beliefs. The most common design for a tombstone is a flat, granite or bronze piece that lies at the head of the burial plot. It can be placed on its own, in front of a larger monument or in a columbarium niche or mausoleum wall. The majority of monuments are erected at the cemetery where the deceased was buried, although they can also be displayed in private family graveyards and even in churches. A grave marker is typically engraved with the name of the deceased, birth and death dates, and the date of the passing of their soul. This information is etched into the stone and can be read by anyone who visits the grave site. A popular practice is to add a dash between the birth and death dates that symbolizes that their memory will always be remembered. The gravestone can also include a short phrase or sentence that captures the spirit of the deceased, such as “loved wife” or “beloved son.” Many people choose to pre-purchase their headstone or grave marker before they pass away. This can spare their families the emotional and financial burden of making these decisions while dealing with grief. It can also allow them to select their own preferences in design, request inscriptions and size specifications. Monument specialists can help them to create a unique monument that honors their loved ones and complies with any cemetery guidelines or restrictions. Grave markers are available for both burials and cremation. They can be purchased at the time of need, or they can be arranged and paid for in advance as part of a funeral package. The cost of the monument is generally less when it is purchased at the time of need, as there are often discounts and promotions offered by both funeral homes and monument businesses that operate independently. In either case, it is important to keep in mind that a tombstone or grave marker is just one of several things that must be taken care of after a death. Now that you know more about the benefits of tombstones and monuments for when your loved one has passed away, it is time to go back to the website of the tombstones and monuments experts at Tombstones of Vainatrakis.

#Paminklai Antkapiai antkapiai kaina paminklai kaina

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michaeljfoy · 1 year

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Tombstone Arizona Hotels for Sci-Fi?

A hotel stay in Tombstone, Arizona brings alive a legendary Wild West town experience. No surprise there. But did you also know of an iconic Sci-Fi connection?

Tombstone, Arizona, hotels attract tourists from all over the world. The town is popular for its rich history and numerous outdoor activities. From touring the famous site of the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral to horseback riding in the surrounding countryside, visitors will not be bored.

Discover the Wild West History in Tombstone

Tombstone, Arizona hotels are a must-stay destination for anyone interested in the frontier days. The town was once a bustling mining town, but it is now a living museum that takes visitors back in time. The Gunfight at the O.K. Corral is still reenacted daily. Visitors can watch, then tour, the historic site. Heard of the famous (or infamous) Boothill Graveyard? Many of Tombstone’s legendary figures are buried there.

Explore the Sci-Fi Connection in Tombstone

Tombstone also has a connection to science fiction, as in an episode of the original Star Trek series titled Spectre of the Gun. A landing party from the USS Enterprise is forced by aliens to relive the legendary Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Captain Kirk, First Officer Spock et al appear to the townspeople as the Clanton gang, and are thus destined to be shot down by Wyatt Earp and his deputies. But in the end, it was all an illusion . . . in spite of the assertions of Some Unseen Events at the O.K. Corral.

Explore the Great Outdoors in Tombstone

A force field prevented Kirk and company from escaping Tombstone — but you can. The town is surrounded by some breathtaking scenery and most of the Tombstone hotels’ concierges can help arrange a variety of outdoor activities. Whether you enjoy horseback riding, hiking, or off-roading, there are numerous hills and canyons to explore. And climbing the nearby Dragoon Mountains offer scenic views, with a chance to see spectacular wildlife in its natural habitat.

Enjoy the Nightlife in Tombstone

Tombstone is also known for its night life. From live music and dancing, to reenactments of the Old West, there is something for everyone. The Crystal Palace Saloon is one of the most famous attractions in Tombstone, and is a must-visit for anyone interested in the Wild West.

Shop and Dine in Tombstone

Visitors can partake of a variety of shopping and dining options. Souvenir shops offer Wild West memorabilia. Dining options range from historic saloons serving traditional western cuisine to modern restaurants offering a variety of dishes. Whether you are looking for a quick bite or a sit-down meal, Tombstone has something for everyone.

Conclusion

Tombstone is a unique destination that offers something for everyone, up to and including overtones of sci-fi. Whether you are interested in history, outdoor activities, nightlife, or shopping and dining, Tombstone has it all.

The End

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#OK Corral #Tombstone #star trek #wyatt earp #gunfight

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skeletonnextdoor · 2 years

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Echoes of Yesterday: Bronze MO

All cards for the expansion I present to you my new archetype for MO, Spectres. Right now they sort of support Deathwish, but I wanted to give them something new, while still kinda helping out Deathwish. Yes, the art is made by me in MS Paint. The first card is:

As you can see, the new archetype focuses on “Shade” tokens. Which are primarily located in your graveyard. Yes, some more graveyard interactions, I know, shocking for MO, which is literally filled with ghosts and necrophages. But I wanted something more than just consumes and banishes, some more control. And this is my solution. Prelude itself is a 3 point body that serves to give your graveyard some shades as well as have support for Deathwish if need be. It’s nothing too shocking, but for a 4 provision card, pretty decent, I’d say.

The second card is:

A special organic card to support our new ghost friends. I attempted to make Decomposition into something that can trigger Deathwish abilities without being reliant on the Consume mechanic. I also tried to connect this with the Shades as well, but not in the graveyard this time, rather on the field, just like Prelude’s Deathwish. This also focuses on you having a pretty big graveyard already, so it’ll play for quite a lot of point in R3.

The third card is:

Why wait for an opponent’s squirrel when you can do the job, but better. Poltergeist is here to help you declutter your graveyard (if you want that for whatever reason) of bronzes. It can pointslam if need be, since bronzes put it in a power range of 6-8 on deploy. Additionally, it helps with making the Shade army in your graveyard. The Deathwish only adds more interactivity with the opponent, and is quite RNG reliant, so nothing too crazy.

The fourth and final card is:

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Spectre expansion without a wraith card. However, as you may have noticed, there is something special about this, quite different from a lot of MO cards in general and in this expansion. First of all, the Deploy ability serves to manipulate your graveyard into a more friendly state (for example for decomposition or for a few golds that will be revealed later) as well as allowing you to replay cards in the next round (or same round) as you play Wraith by placing them back in your deck. Secondly, it serves as carryover as well as utilizing your Shades to do so (to counteract stockpiling Shades a bit too effectively). Lastly, it has Devotion support (I know, the keyword that has been forgotten for ages) to add a bit more pure MO fun into the mix. (Yes, there is more Devo support incoming, I hope you’re ready)

And that is it for the Monster bronzes for my first custom gwent expansion. As you can see, all cards were created with the help of gwentcard.online so check them out if you can. I hope you will have fun on this custom card journey with me, because we’re going through all 6 factions (and maybe some neutrals too). I would be delighted over feedback, so please leave a message or ask if you want to share.

#gwent #the witcher #monster #MO #custom cards #custom #spectre #bronze #echoes of yesterday

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alovesongshewrote · 3 years

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Beauty, Beast, Bullets - Your Resume

Plot: yeah, yeah, Romania is full of vampires, werewolves, and metal-men, but the reader is not phased. In fact, they’re rather experienced. Heisenberg, specifically, is intrigued. [Karl Heisenberg x GenderNeutral!Reader]

Word Count: 1,191

Warnings: so, y’know the outlast games? trigger warning for basically everything that was in those games.

A/N: surprise, this is technically a crossover with Outlast and The Magnus Archives, but not really! you don’t need to know anything about either of those things to read this, it’ll just be really fucked up instead of, “Oh hey, I know what they’re talking about!”

Anyway, this fic is like, rated M for mature, so please read with caution

taglist: @mxcheese @blixeon @valentimmy @prismarts @chrysanthykios

masterlist

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The village wasn’t your first brush with the weird and wacky horrors this world has to offer. Technically, it didn’t start with the asylum and Murkoff, either. Nah, your complicated relationship with the supernatural started when you got lost in a never-ending corridor at the age of twelve. That was a trip and a half, but really, it wasn’t. You’d never done drugs, and you weren’t asleep. Back then, you even had a normal sleep schedule. It was just a weird experience, though you got the sense that your therapist would doubt that. Especially since that fun trip wouldn’t be your last encounter with some pretty fucked up shit.

After the hallways, you’d been chased by creatures made of shadow, beings without faces, and honest to god, actual fucking werewolves. It wasn’t great. Your teenage years were spent cowering in fear, running from every threat that came at you, and trying not to die.

“Wasn’t great” is an understatement. Your teenage years fucking sucked.

Eventually, you got tired of being scared. You were sick of the fear. You hated it, and that led you right to the BSAA. You learned, there, how to fight the things that frightened you.

Fighting didn’t stop them. You spent your days seeing things out of the corners of your eyes and readying yourself to run at any moment. You felt eyes on your back, watching you, always. You felt hunted. You felt like you were losing your mind.

And then, one day, it all stopped. Not because you destroyed the source or anything, it just ended. You remember it was as if all of the monsters that lived to torment you had been removed from the universe in a millisecond.

Your fear was gone.

But the BSAA was not.

You had been working for the BSAA for about two years when the first Murkoff thing went down. Some guy with too much money and too much time had been conducting human experiments under the facade of an asylum, shit happened, the experiments escaped, and somehow, a couple of journalists got to the scene before you. Poor bastards.

The “Mount Massive” incident was a bit of a big deal, but, of course, it wasn’t big enough for the BSAA to send anyone important, so, they sent you. You had never been more afraid for your life than you were within those walls.

Your monsters were gone, and some cruel god had decided to replace them with innocent and guilty people alike tortured beyond recognition. You got the more docile of the survivors out of that hell and into actual healthcare. The more violent survivors had to be dealt with differently.

Once the site was cleared of survivors, you were then instructed to clean the asylum, just to make sure any biohazards ended up in the right hands. Really, you should’ve just burned the building. The asylum itself was a biohazard, soaked in blood, shit, and semen. The stench of piss and vomit permeated every space you entered. Every room was filled with more corpses than a damn graveyard. It was awful. And then, you found the tapes.

Hours upon hours of someone’s last moments, though you couldn’t tell his name, you could tell that he was really, really dedicated to his job. You never found his body.

You found others, though. Cadavers and corpses piled on top of each other, burned, and broken, and mutilated in ways you didn’t want to think about, much less describe. Then there were the documents, piles of paper detailing exactly what the fuck had been done to the patients over the asylum’s operating years. You had to read each and every one of them. At least half were stained with blood. For the first time in a long time, you were afraid again. You hated it.

You did not have a good time.

But you did a good job.

Good enough that the next time the Murkoff corporation fucked up, you were sent in once again.

Joy.

The second time, the mess was in Arizona. It was some cult that got fucked over by its proximity to another experiment. The people living there lost their minds entirely. The few you found alive were riddled with disease and bloodlust. There was one survivor, that time, and he wasn’t even a member of the cult. He was another fucking journalist, ironically enough. When you found him he was a muttering, shambling mess, tripping over corpses and calling out for someone named Jess.

You had him evacuated as quickly as possible.

He couldn’t get out of there soon enough.

That left you to investigate the wreckage. Once again, the entire location was covered with blood and shit, though it had the slim advantage of being mostly outdoors.

The bodies were worse, the second time around. It wasn’t that you weren’t used to seeing corpses at that point, you were more than used to seeing corpses. It was just that there were kids that time. Dead kids, and skinned adults. Perfect.

Of course, that wasn’t all of them. Most of the bodies had evidence of poison in their systems, which, admittedly, made clean up easier. For the most part.

Just before the Arizona cult had come onto the BSAA’s radar, there had been an explosion in the mountains. That was actually why your bosses knew about the damn thing in the first place. The ruble was a joy to clean up, honestly.

In the months that followed, you tried to wash the blood off of your hands. It wouldn’t leave. It was a small mercy that you weren’t afraid of the cult’s remnants, but something worse hung on your shoulders. Guilt. Despair.

You’d spent the majority of your Spring cleaning up corpses, it was valid to feel that way. You deserved time to grieve. The BSAA did not care. You were on the field again before the end of the year.

At least your third case wasn’t a Murkoff thing. Nope, you’d been deemed important enough to serve under Chris fucking Redfield, which was apparently a big deal, but by then you didn’t really care.

There were fewer corpses that time. It was mostly just black goop. Sometimes, you had to shoot the black goop. It wasn’t much you hadn’t done before, all things considered. It was just another rotten place, further along than most, but decomposing nonetheless. You weren’t scared. You didn’t feel guilty or sad, either. Just disgusted.

There were more survivors, though. That was nice. They weren’t even journalists, which was a bonus. You were actually enjoying the slight change of pace.

Then Chris Redfield pulled you aside and told you to quit your job.

That was a little bit too much change.

You did it anyway.

The BSAA should’ve given you more time off.

For a while after that, you just floated in space, waiting for something to happen. Life became mundane. Boring. It almost made you long for another endless corridor to run down, or a faceless crowd or shadow creature to chase you.

You didn’t get any of those things.

But you did get werewolves because Chris “boulder-punching asshole” Redfield sent you to buttfuck nowhere Romania. It was plagued with werewolves. You were warned of this.

You went anyway.

#karl heisenberg x you #karl heisenberg x reader #Karl heisenberg x y/n #heisenberg x reader #heisenberg x you #re8 x reader #resident evil 8 x reader #beauty beast bullets #lovesong's writing

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