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#mid city los angeles
matthewgrantanson · 1 year
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Thriving, Los Angeles -- June 11th, 2022
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damn-these-eyes · 1 year
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pico/crenshaw
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retropopcult · 2 years
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Walt Disney sits on a bench in his new theme park and stares down Main Street at ongoing construction, July 3, 1955.  Disneyland’s grand opening was only two weeks away.
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capoeirainmidcity · 2 months
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Every week we meet in Mid City Los Angles for Capoeira Classes. This multi-cultural gathering is great for the body, the mind, and the soul. Capoeira is a Martial art that mixes dance, music, sparring and playfulness, all the while creating a heck of a workout. Sign-up to get info on your first FREE class
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romanceyourdemons · 2 years
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huh. did you know that as a lot of los angeles’s original chinatown was demolished to make room for union station in the late 40s, christine sterling, who had previously designed olvera street, decided to make a replacement called china city using sets from the hollywood film the good earth (1937) 
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valeskafics · 7 months
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"Scream For Me" - Ethan Landry x Reader
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a/n: this is my first time writing for ethan guys, be gentle with me 😭 lmk if you wish to be added to my general/all fandom taglist OR my ethan landry taglist because i have more planned for this fucker
Summary: You moved to New York with your best friends Tara, Mindy, and Chad to escape your past, but the past has a funny way of catching up to you, however far you run.
TW: DUBCON, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, ethan's a tw in and of himself, clothed male/unclothed female sex, p in v sex, knife kink, mask kink ig
Word Count: 2,650 words
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Scream characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
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As the baby of your friend group, meaning you were born only one month after Tara, your friends are massively overprotective of you. Chad is like the big brother you never had, Tara and Mindy, and later Sam, like your bodyguard older sisters. After Ghostface Number God Knows What’s rampage that left you and your friends hospitalized, the five of you wanted nothing more than a fresh start. And it seemed that New York City would offer you just that. You get a full scholarship to Blackmore University, thanks in part to your killer personal statement, pun intended. You move into Tara and Sam’s apartment, becoming fast friends with their roommate, Quinn. You also become close to Mindy’s new girlfriend, Anika.
However, the one new addition to your friend group you don’t get as close to? One Ethan Landry, who seems to just panic and blush anytime you’re in his general vicinity. The two of you have never had one conversation alone, usually flocked by several of your friends. But you can’t help thinking that he’s pretty cute. However, when you start thinking that, you remember what Sam told you. That the love interest is always the most likely suspect. And you put any thoughts of flirting with him or asking Chad to put in a good word for you out of your mind.
You get ready for the Halloween party you’re attending, unbeknownst to Sam, with Tara and the others. She’s convinced you to get a bit out of your comfort zone and dress as a sexy angel for the party, complete with a cheesy halo and wings. The dress hits your mid-thigh, emphasizing the curve of your hips and your cleavage. You put on some light makeup to go with it and pull on a pair of heels and feel more beautiful than you ever have before. You absently wonder to yourself what Ethan will think of your outfit before you shake the thought from your mind, linking arms with Tara as the two of you go off to join the rest of your friends.
Ethan watches as you walk up to the group, completely mesmerized. He knows he’s been staring a bit too long, that you aren’t completely oblivious, but he can’t bring himself to care. His eyes linger on your cleavage, the curve of your ass, your thighs as you walk in that scrap of fabric you call a costume. His mouth goes dry. God, he’s so fucking hard right now that it hurts. He watches as you make your way through the crowd at the party to grab yourself a drink, sticking to Mindy and Anika while Tara goes off to find herself a hook-up for the night. He can’t stop staring at you, no matter how hard he tries. And then? You glance back at him, giving him a coy little smile. Those gorgeous lips of yours curving up so perfectly as you look at him… God, what he wouldn’t give to have them wrapped around his cock right now. He knows you’d look so pretty, on your knees, gazing up at him, your mouth wrapped around him as he fucks your throat-
“Come on, bro, just go shoot your shot,” Chad nudges him, glancing over at you, “I can see the way she keeps looking over at you, thinking she’s all sneaky and shit.”
Ethan’s a bit surprised by Chad’s support, knowing how protective he is of you. Ethan’s always hated how close you are to Chad, how you look at him like he’s the coolest guy you know, how you listen to everything he says. It’s fucking bullshit. Fuck Chad, fuck his alpha male personality, fuck that. You need a guy like Ethan. He’s the only one who can treat you the way you deserve. Love you the way you deserve. He makes his way over to you, walking slowly, purposefully. You give him that same soft little smile, and then? Suddenly? Some fucking asshole bumps into him and his drink is suddenly all over the front of your gorgeous white dress. His jaw drops in mild horror.
“Shit! I’m so sorry,” Ethan panics, reaching into his pocket for his tissues.
“It’s fine, Ethan,” you wave off his concern, “Don’t worry about it. It’s a stupid costume anyway…”
“Oh stop, you look amazing,” he says, a moment too quickly as he hands you the tissue to wipe yourself off.
“Thanks,” you nod, quickly managing to save the outfit, considering his drink was clear, “See? No harm, no foul. Don’t sweat it.”
Ethan laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck as he gazes at you, “Can I buy you another one?”
“It’s a party, Ethan,” you tease, “They’re free.”
He smiles at you, shaking his head before running a hand through his hair, “Right. Sorry.”
“Take it easy, Ethan,” you wink, disappearing into the crowd when you realize he isn’t even going to try and ask you to dance.
Ethan sighs, frustrated with himself and with you as he watches you leave. He curses as he leans up against a wall, pulling his phone out and entertaining himself with scrolling through your instagram. And then through some other, more personal, pictures he’s managed to take in your dorm room.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there when he hears you yelling, “Troy, stop! Get off me!”
He sees you pushing some douchebag frat guy who’s had a thing for you all semester away, noticing the dick trying to corner you against the wall. You’re tough, but the guy is a fucking giant, so he’s got more than a slight advantage. However, he’s drunk, and doesn’t expect it when Ethan comes running up to you and shoves him out of the way, sending him tumbling toward some other poor co-ed who he switches his attention to.
“Are you okay?”
You look at Ethan, slightly teary-eyed, and nod, “Uh huh.”
Fuck, you look so pretty when you cry. He wants to see you cry when he’s pounding into you, his hand around your throat, his knife at your neck, while you’re screaming his fucking name-
Ethan shakes himself out of his thoughts and pulls you into a tight hug, a possessive glimmer in his eyes as he rests his chin on top of your head, “I’m not going to let him hurt you.”
You quickly wipe your eyes, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it,” his grip on you doesn’t loosen, his gaze on you doesn’t relent, and you let out a quiet sigh, “I’m gonna head home. This party sucks anyway.”
You start to walk away but Ethan reaches out and grabs your hand, “I’m not gonna let you walk home alone. There’s some really creepy guys here,” he would know, “I’ll walk you back to your apartment.”
“Ethan, I’m fine,” you insist, “Don’t ruin your night because of me.”
“I don’t care about my night,” his voice is stern as he looks at you, “I care about you. Come on, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Fine,” you grumble, letting him lead you out of the dorm, the two of you walking in comfortable silence.
As the two of you walk, Ethan can’t help the filthy, depraved thoughts that pervade his mind. He thinks he really could’ve had a shot at being a normal guy if it weren’t for you. It’s like you know that you drive him crazy, the way you look at him with those eyes, biting down on your lower lip. You’re a little fucking cocktease. And he knows exactly what to do about that. When the two of you reach your apartment, he’s slightly taken aback when you stand on your toes and peck his cheek, your impossibly soft lips brushing against his skin, before you wink and run into the building. He watches you as you go, thinking that he can’t wait any longer.
He has to have you tonight.
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While you’re sound asleep, all the way across campus, Ethan dons his Ghostface mask and robe, grabbing a knife from the common area, before making his way back to your building. It’s Halloweentime, so he just gets a few compliments on his costume. Except it’s not just a costume.
He’s Ghostface.
He climbs up the fire escape, slipping in through your bedroom window, knowing that you’ve finally started feeling comfortable enough again to leave it open. Your mistake. He watches you as you sleep, dressed in an oversized tee shirt and pair of pajama shorts. While it’s not particularly sexy, he knows what’s underneath will more than make up for it. He’s done this a hundred and one times, snuck into your room in the dead of night, just laid beside you, taken your picture, run his finger over your lips. But tonight, he intends to wake you up and make you his. He watches as you sigh softly in your sleep, curling up on your side, facing him. Ethan traces the tip of his knife over your collarbone, smirking when you wake up with a gasp, staring up at him in abject horror.
He raises a finger to his lips as if to shush you. He watches as you panic, your breath quickening as he brings his face closer to you, running the knife along your cheek before pressing it to your neck.
“Please don’t kill me,” you mumble quietly.
“I won’t kill you,” he says, his voice heavily modulated due to his voice changer, “If you do exactly what I say.”
You nod fervently, prepared to do whatever it takes to survive. Ethan pulls the knife back slightly, staring down at you.
“Take your shirt off,” he demands, his voice heavy with lust, lust that has been building for months and months into a raging inferno.
“What?” you squeak, hating how weak your voice sounds.
“You heard me,” he hisses, his voice threatening and sinister, “Take your fucking shirt off .”
You slowly get rid of your shirt, moving to cross your arms and cover your breasts the moment you do. Ethan stares at you, nearly salivating, as he eyes your tits greedily. Fuck, seeing them when you’re awake is really something else.
“Good girl,” he purrs, tracing his knife between your breasts, moving the flat part of the blade over one of your nipples, eyes ablaze with delight as he watches you shiver as the sensitive nub hardens at the feeling of the cool blade. You scrunch your eyes shut, turning your face away from him, but he grabs you by the chin, pushing your cheeks together, smirking at how pouty your lips are when he does this, forcing you to look at him, “Open your eyes, angel. Look at me,” your eyes flutter open and you stare at him, the fear in your gaze palpable as he whispers, “Such a pretty face.”
Ethan trails the knife along your stomach, leaving goosebumps in his wake, before bringing it up to brush a strand of hair off your face.
“How about a kiss?”
“Y-you’re wearing a mask,” you stutter out.
“I’m not asking anymore, angel,” he says, “Kiss me.”
You lean forward, closing your eyes and pressing your lips against his mask, pulling away as quickly as possible.
“That’s my good girl,” he says, his breath growing heavy, “Now lie in your stomach.”
You do as he says, your voice almost inaudible as you question, “Are you going to kill me?”
“No, like I said, I’m not as long as you do exactly what I say,” he runs the knife along your spine, looking at your plaid pajama shorts with amusement, “Do you wear panties, angel?”
“Y-yeah,” you say, somewhat confused.
“Are you wearing them now?”
“No,” you reply, “I was asleep.”
You’re startled by the nearly guttural moan Ethan lets out, a smile forming on his face beneath the mask, “I was hoping you’d say that.”
You bury your face in your arm, trying to calm yourself down as you feel his hand on the waistband of your shorts. He moves them down your hips, a low hum of appreciation passing his lips as he sees the curve of your ass, fully bared to him, the moonlight from the window illuminating your soft, supple flesh. His free hand moves to squeeze your ass in his large hands, his cock growing painfully hard in his jeans as you let out a whimper. Ethan rolls you over onto your back, ignoring your pleas for him to stop.
“You don’t want me to stop, I bet your pretty little pussy is fucking dripping for me right now, angel,” he rasps, admiring the way you look with tears pooling in your eyes as you gaze at him, “Aw, you’re scared, aren’t you, pretty girl?”
“Yes,” you admit quietly.
You watch as he lifts his mask to reveal his lips, which he presses to your neck, kissing you, then biting down hard to leave evidence of his claim on you, “Ouch!”
He grins against you as you squirm in his grasp, “My perfect little angel,” he says as his tongue moves across your abused skin, moving down toward your breasts.
You gasp as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, suckling at it, that fucking mask staring back at you blankly while he continues to hold his knife to your throat. You rub your thighs together, hating that you like the feeling of this monster’s mouth on you. He moves to nip slightly at your other tit, earning a soft gasp from you as you try to push him away. But he’s too strong for you. And too fast. But, taking advantage of his momentary distraction, you try to slap at his mask, wanting to get a look at what lies beneath. You gasp in horror when you see him.
Your friend.
“Ethan?” you whisper, horrified, “No…”
“Do you know how long I’ve been watching you, he says, holding your wrists in one hand above your head, the other still moving the knife along your body, “Ever since you got here. I’ve wanted you. Craved you. And tonight? I’m going to have you.”
“Please, Ethan,” you try to reason, “We’re friends, you’re a nice guy-”
“I’m really not,” he cuts you off, tossing his robe aside and unbuttoning his jeans, just enough to free his cock, giving it a few quick strokes, staring at you all the while, “God, I knew you’d be wet from this, you dirty little slut. Bet you were thinking of me fucking you when you went to sleep, huh?”
You nod reluctantly, ashamed, “Yeah. I was.”
“Well, angel,” he presses his lips to yours, “I’m about to make your dreams come true.”
You gasp as he sheathes himself inside you with one thrust. You feel so vulnerable. He’s almost fully clothed and you’re laying there, naked beneath him, at the end of his knife, completely at his mercy. And yet, there’s something so very erotic about the whole thing. He ruts against you, tossing the knife aside, pushing your knees up to your chest, making you cry out his name as he tosses your legs over his shoulders. His hand moves to squeeze your throat, just enough that your vision begins to blur and all you can think of is the way his cock hits your sweet spot with every thrust, how thick he is, filling you up so perfectly, stretching you out in the most delicious of ways.
“Scream for me, angel,” he snarls against your ear, “Tell me you love me.”
“Ethan,” you let out a choked gasp, “I love you.”
He doesn’t care if you’re lying. Because soon enough, it’s going to be true. Tomorrow, when the police show up, you’ll be long gone. You’ll be chained to the bed Ethan has set up for you in the old warehouse, where you’re gonna stay with him.
Forever.
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fluentmoviequoter · 1 month
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Popstar Protection Program
Requested Here!
Pairing: Tim Bradford x singer!fem!reader
Summary: As a young popstar performing in LA for the first time, you don't expect to need police protection. A very reluctant and grumpy sergeant keeps you safe and gives you inspiration.
Warnings: brief angst, fluff, vague mention of heavier topics (nothing specific)
Word Count: 2.8k+ words
Picture from Pinterest (from such a good episode, too)
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Los Angeles can be scary. The aerial shots in movies and TV shows make it look inviting, and the focus on the glamorous aspects tends to hide the dangerous underbelly of the City of Angels. Even scarier, you think, is walking through Los Angeles when a large percentage of the population knows your name.
When you started singing, you never expected to become a “star” or be on the covers of magazines, and you absolutely never thought you’d be playing a sold-out show in Staples Center. While you should be focused on practicing and ensuring the show goes well, you can’t think of anything else except the incident in the airport when you landed.
✯✯ 2 Hours Ago ✯✯
Getting off the plane in LAX, you first notice the lack of fresh air. After playing on the East Coast and opening in smaller venues in towns on the other side of the country, you expected this to be similar. Los Angeles is nothing like Charlotte, Boston, or even Nashville. Taking a deep breath, you grow excited to see Staples Center and all the other sights of Los Angeles.
But you don’t even exit the airport before your hopes and plans are shattered. A large crowd of paparazzi are blocking the area outside your gate. You try to navigate through them with your head down, but one of them knocks his camera into your arm, tilting you off balance and making pain radiate down to your wrist.
“Alright, back up! LAPD, move back!” somebody yells on the other side of the crowd.
Slowly, you notice that no one is pressing up against you now, and when you see a man in a police uniform, you release a shaky sigh.
“Thank you,” you say.
He says your name, glancing over your shoulder. “Where’s your protection detail?”
“My what?”
“Oh boy. I think you should probably come with me; there’s some people that can keep this from happening again.”
“Why- why did it happen?”
“Paparazzi are practically vultures. They get paid by the picture to take advantage of people, invade their personal lives, and the closer the better. My guess would be one of the smaller papers or magazines heard you were coming and wanted to get a feature out before your show.”
“So, where are we going?”
“LAPD. Mid-Wilshire station is your best bet to get good cops and stay far enough from the center to avoid the cameras that seem to live there.”
“And then what?”
✯✯ Present ✯✯
“Absolutely not!”
Sitting outside an office with glass walls, you try not to look over as you eavesdrop. Your arm has been iced and wrapped, but the pain is now the least of your concerns. Three groups of officers entered the room after the cop who saved you explained the situation to the watch commander. At least one of them seems opposed to being your protection detail for a few days.
“We’re cops, not bodyguards! There are dozens of places in this city that cater to people like her!”
“Um, excuse me,” you interject, knocking on the open door. “I’m sorry to have caused all the upset, but I will find another way. Thanks for your time.”
Sergeant Grey says your name, gesturing for you to stay. “We’re going to take care of you. It’s your first time performing here and after your less-than-ideal welcome, you deserve someone to show you that LA isn’t all bad.”
“It’s not all good either though,” one of the officers adds.
“I don’t…” you begin.
“Why does this require three teams?” Bradford asks. You recognize his voice as the one that was wholly against the idea a moment ago.
“Bradford, this is your assignment. If you have a problem with it, take it up with IA,” Grey answers.
Bradford’s jaw clenches harshly, and his eyes flit to you before shaking his head and looking away.
“This is your protection team until after your show,” Grey explains, “Harper and Thorsen, Nolan and Juarez, Chen, and Bradford works with Metro so he knows this city inside and out.”
You nod along with the names, and a few of them offer their first names as well. After introducing yourself to the five officers who seem to care, you’re directed to an unmarked SUV.
“Aaron and I will be your mobile detail. You don’t go anywhere unless we take you there. Nolan and Juarez are more peripheral, unseen, protection. Lucy will stay with you as close to 24/7 as possible, and Bradford- well, Bradford’s here,” Nyla explains.
Chuckling, you thank her for the clear explanation and climb into the passenger seat after Aaron opens the door for you.
“I love your music, by the way,” he whispers.
“Thank you. I really appreciate that, and all that you’re doing for me,” you reply.
Aaron nods, closing the door and climbing into the backseat behind you. Your hotel reservation has been changed, booked under someone else’s name, and located farther from Staples Center. Watching the streets of Los Angeles from a police car window is, at the least, safer than the alternative, but it’s certainly nothing special.
✯✯✯✯✯
“Any idea as to why Bradford hates me without meeting me?” you ask Lucy.
“Tim is grumpy. He’s protective and loyal but he’s- he’s like a dog that wasn’t socialized enough as a puppy. Vicious until he gets to know you and then he’s the best friend you could ever ask for,” she answers, holding up one of your dresses.
“You’d look great in that color,” you muse. “Unfortunately, I don’t think Bradford wants to get to know me.”
“You think so? About the color? Because I need a new dress,” she replies.
“Take that one. Get it altered or just use the fabric, whatever you want.”
“Thank you!” As she hugs you, she lowers her voice to add, “You’re also young and beautiful and famous… Tim doesn’t always deal well with people who are different than him.”
You nod, but you don’t believe her. You’ll only be with Tim Bradford for a few days anyway. It shouldn’t bother you… but it does.
✯✯✯✯✯
“We’re changing things around,” Nyla announces as she enters your room. “Lobby’s swarming with paps, but there’s also a crowd of men screaming your name.”
“So, what are you doing?” you ask.
“Bradford is taking point. He’s got some big plan that, and I quote, ‘no will catch on to.’ I won’t repeat the rest of it for your sake, though.”
“Grey is making him do it?” you guess.
Nyla hums, neither a yes nor no, but you know the answer. When he barges in a moment later, you stop talking, preferring not to give him another reason to hate you.
“Get your stuff, we’re leaving,” he demands.
You nod, walking into the suite's bedroom to gather your things. Part of you wants to know what Nyla and Bradford will say behind your back, but you’re also terrified that Nyla is just better about hiding her true feelings.
✯✯✯✯✯
“What is your problem?” Aaron demands. “She’s in danger and you’re not helping any!”
“This isn’t the job I signed up for. I am a Metro Sergeant but I’m stuck on- on princess protection duty! She’s just a kid who sings,” Tim answers.
“It’s about her age then,” Nyla repeats.
“No! Well, yes, but she- what makes her special enough for a team like this? Why does she get a real protection detail?”
“Tim,” Lucy says quietly. “Have you listened to her music?”
“Why would I?”
“Her specific genre, what she sings about has made a lot of people angry,” Aaron explains. “Those paparazzi weren’t there for a ‘Taylor Swift is in LA’; they were looking for a much bigger story.”
“Spit it out, Thorsen.”
“Plenty of people have reason to try to kill her.”
Tim falls silent, looking at Nyla. She tilts her head in a ‘we can’t prove it but it’s probably true’ gesture. He looks back toward the bedroom.
“Look, I’m doing my job. I’ll be civil and that is it,” Tim concedes.
“That’s all we’re asking,” Lucy replies. “We’ll be in the neighborhood. Nothing can happen to her with our protection, right?”
“Right,” Aaron and Nyla answer, looking at Tim.
“Right. Because it is our job, nothing more.”
You come out with your single suitcase, waiting until Tim takes it from you to speak. Thanking him softly, you listen to his quick explanation that you’ll be staying with him rather than Lucy, and the rest of the team will be patrolling nearby in case of an emergency.
“You’ll be fine,” Lucy promises. “And thank you again for the dress. I can’t imagine how much that cost and I can’t thank you enough.”
Tim’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Wondering why someone in your position would be willing to give away an expensive dress days before a concert confuses him. Tim reminds himself that he can’t start caring.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim’s house is incredibly comfortable. You can tell that he doesn’t want you here, and when he disappears into a back room with his phone and earbuds, you assume it’s his way of getting as much space as he can. Pulling your songwriting journal from your bag, you start writing, disappearing into the emotions and the story you want to share. Time falls away when you’re writing, and you don’t hear Tim reemerge or walk to the doorway before you.
Tim clears his throat, and you look up from your place on the floor. You look small and as young as you are, sitting on the carpet and leaning against the bed with a journal in your lap. Tim has something to say but nearly forgets what it is when you look up at him through your lashes.
“I will admit that I judged you prematurely, and I’m sorry,” he begins.
“It’s okay,” you offer.
“No, just, let me finish. Please?” You nod, and Tim continues, “I thought you were just an entitled kid who found a way to convince the cop from the airport that you needed special attention. Craved it, whatever. And you’re just, you’re young and famous and that confuses me. I don’t know what life is like for you, I can’t relate to any part of that fame.”
“I can’t relate to your life either, but I didn’t shut you out because of that,” you whisper.
Tim licks his lips before speaking again. “I’m sorry. Aaron told me that you sing about- that you- uh-“
“Write songs for people who will never relate to the love songs or the ‘thank God for my parents’… who will never relate to a song on the Billboard 100 or feel protected by a song? Yeah.”
“And I diminished that. I listened to your last album-“
“That’s what you were doing back there?”
“Don’t- don’t laugh at me,” Tim replies, finally smiling. “It was really good. And I truly am sorry.”
“Consider it forgotten.”
You raise your hand, and Tim chuckles as he shakes it. He sees the nearly full page of your notebook and leans down. You slam it closed, and he shakes his head at your sudden movement.
“They’re private until they’re available on iTunes and all major streaming platforms.”
“Got it,” he replies, mock-saluting. “And, just so you know, I needed songs like this as a kid. Still do, so thank you.”
✯✯✯✯✯
Throughout the next 48 hours, Tim ebbs and flows. One moment, he’ll talk to you for an hour straight, but by that afternoon, he won’t even look in your direction. It’s dizzying, and you don’t realize how much you’re thinking about it, about him, until you reach the last page of your notebook.
“Ready for the show?” Lucy asks, dressed in an event security uniform.
Shrugging, you run your finger over the edge of your journal.
“Songs?”
Lucy sits beside you, offering a hand. You lay your hand over hers, taking a deep breath.
“I thought I was making progress with Tim. He apologized and he was being nice to me and then it all stopped. Like we backslid. And, for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Sounds like you don’t want to,” Lucy says softly. “Maybe you should talk to him.”
“I can’t.”
“Then maybe you should sing to him.”
Laughing, you argue, “That would be even worse.”
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim is humming while he and Aaron stand outside your dressing room door. 
“You listened to her music,” Aaron accuses, placing the song.
“Yeah. Even apologized,” Tim answers.
“You haven’t talked to her at all today. Did something- oh my- did you kiss her?”
“What? No, I didn’t kiss her, and keep your voice down! I had to pull back.”
“Why?”
Tim doesn’t answer but glances over his shoulder to your door.
“You like her.”
“No- maybe.”
“You need to tell her. We don’t know when or if she’s leaving.”
“That’s why I can’t tell her. If she’s leaving tomorrow there is no point, and if she doesn’t know, telling her could influence her decision.”
“What about the effects of not telling her?”
✯✯✯✯✯
You open the door suddenly, and Tim and Aaron turn toward you quickly.
“Whoa!” Aaron exclaims.
“You look beautiful,” Tim says, sending you a small smile.
“Thank you. All of you, for everything these last few days.”
“Break a leg,” Lucy says, waving as you walk toward the stage entrance.
“Everybody in position? This job isn’t over yet,” Tim radios.
✯✯✯✯✯
You notice Tim standing in the wings during your second song. As if your energy has been zapped from you, you fight not to collapse. Tim’s eyes narrow as he watches you.
“Instrumental,” you tell your bassist, who communicates it to the rest of the band.
Rushing toward Tim, his eyes search your face. His hands raise to your sides as he waits for you to speak.
“I-“ you stop, turning off your microphone. “I thought something was happening.”
“When?”
“No. Between us. I thought maybe there could be something there but then you stopped talking to me. What happened?”
“You’re supposed to be singing right now.”
“I have a journal full of songs about you, Tim!” you exclaim. “I can’t come out here and sing without knowing if those ideas have a chance of coming to life!”
“You wrote songs about me?”
“Tim,” you beg. “Just answer the question.”
“Nothing happened. We’re too different and I didn’t want to push too hard.”
“Who gets to decide if we’re too different? Because I disagree.”
“Don’t tell me you have a song about it, I’ve heard that one.”
You sigh, beginning to accept that Tim is skirting around a rejection.
“You can do better,” Tim says quietly. “No point in me showing you how I feel when you could have any man you wanted.”
“I don’t want any other man!” you yell over the music.
Tim’s eyes widen, and his hand leaps to your waist to your mic pack, turning it off and tugging your microphone down.
“Thorsen, your badge is mine,” he grumbles.
Tossing the microphone onto a nearby chair, Tim raises his hands to cup your face.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve been sure since you said you didn’t want to deal with me.”
“That’s- I don’t think I put it like that.”
“No, you said you were a cop not a bodyguard. But I think you’re a pretty good bodyguard too.”
“I tried not to,” Tim admits. “Tried not to feel this way, I mean. But every time I see you, it’s like I see another part of you. You’re beautiful, and your music is beautiful, and I’m sorry for pushing you away and being-“
“Worthy of a breakup song?”
Tim sighs, leaning toward you. “You need to finish your concert.”
“Promise to be here when I’m done?”
“I promise.”
You grab your microphone, hooking it on quickly before waving at Tim and returning to the stage.
✯✯✯✯✯
“Aaron,” Tim radios, “Did you turn her mic back on?”
“Those things are tricky,” Aaron replies.
“Then maybe you should go talk to the tech department and stay out of my sight.”
“Yes, sir.”
✯✯✯✯✯
The lights dim, and as the crowd applauds, you run to Tim, crashing into him as you hug him tightly. His arms wrap around your waist, smiling as he congratulates you for your first sold-out show.
“You’ll come to the next one?” you ask.
“Only if you sing one of those songs you wrote about me.”
“I’ll sing them all. Even if you’re the only one in the audience.”
Tim cups your cheek, pressing his palm against your cheek as he pulls you in. His kiss is the opposite of earlier; a look that sucked the energy from you has become a kiss that breathes life and love into your very being. You pull back before leaning against Tim and can’t hear anything except your shared heartbeat.
“I think they’re calling for you,” Tim whispers.
The muddled yells of “Encore! Encore!” greet you, but you’re warm and happy in Tim’s arms.
“I don’t want you in my audience,” you correct. “I want you at my side.”
“Then I should be easy to find. Knock ‘em dead. Again.”
Tim kisses you again, and you credit that as the reason your encore was better than your performance (LA Times’ words, not yours).
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utilitycaster · 1 year
Text
look, I know polls are silly and fun and so I want you to understand writing this rant is silly and fun for me but EMON? Emon is the Critical Role Entry for Most Place of All Time? I must call bullshit. And so:
Friends, fellow critters, and people who have me blocked but hate read my blog each morning over breakfast: Emon is not even the Most Place on the Material Plane. It is not even the Most Place in Tal'Dorei. Hell, it's not even the Most Place on the fucking Bladeshimmer Shoreline, which includes a destroyed city now overtaken by bandits, and a cave system that hosts both a rift to the Far Realm and a different rock than residuum that can make a different magical drug than suude. Emon is if you took the aggressively mid vibes of Washington, DC and transplanted them to the inconvenient location and city of refuge for flaky people who avoid gluten for non-medical reasons of Los Angeles. The second Percival Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III invents the motorcar that sumbitch is going to have traffic bad enough to summon Tharizdun. Also there's a literal pit of fire that's been burning for 30 years that both hasn't been adequately addressed but also doesn't really seem that interesting. Like oh a bunch of dragons destroyed your city? Big deal. Draconia got so fucked up it doesn't exist anymore, and at least Westruun has some fucking charm. At least Pike and Grog actually lived there, whereas Vox Machina got a house in Emon and proceeded to spend their time literally anywhere else.
Here is a brief list of places on the planet of Exandria in the Material Plane - not even across Critical Role's main campaigns/EXU, which includes such non-Exandrian places as "living city of people who mind-melded and escaped to the Astral Sea during a century-plus-long war of the gods"; "Ligament Manor"; "Ryn's groovy pied-a-feu, man I wonder what made the scorch marks on that furniture, anyway", and "THE MOON THAT IS ACTUALLY AN PRISON FOR A THING THAT EATS GODS AND IS POSSIBLY HATCHING" - that are more of a place than Emon:
Jrusar: 5 spires no waiting, sweet cable car system, city almost entirely destabilized by goo creatures as part of an overly complicated plot to blow up the aforementioned moon
Bassuras: (literally "garbagetown") Run by Mad Max gangs and everyone is cool with it; regular sandstorms; one of those gangs apparently sits atop a hive mind and NO ONE has examined this (except for them)?)
Whitestone: has a tree planted by one god over a buried temple to another god that was corrupted in the name of a third, shittier god; overrun by zombies but it's fine now; streetlights and two bears that are allowed to do whatever the fuck they want.
Yios: The canal system of Venice meets the colleges per capita of Boston meets the orcs from your fantasies, also there's some kind of kitchen-based organized crime ring so intricate it could be its own campaign (so, also like Boston).
Vasselheim: literally no one understands what the fuck its government system is. Old as balls. Temples everywhere! Temples full of trees. Temples full of blood! Temples full of an old guy who will kick your ass. A sphinx that regulates the monster hunter mini-game. Presumably the giant titan full of the ancient cannibal dwarf city is like, still there, as a new fixture, since I don't see how they're moving that.
The arctic: where teleportation doesn't work, there's a river of lava in the middle of the snow, ancient ruins full of snow globes full of actual people, and the Chaos Bisexual Emerald - and that's just a smattering of what Eiselcross has to offer.
Since this is about space and not time we can toss Aeor and Avalir too, since they once were places, and while we're at it whatever the fuck is going on with the Shattered Teeth and its permanent fog cloud and fish dream cult and capitalist shipwrecked merchants.
And, of course, any arbitrary square millimeter of Wildemount, frankly, has more Mostness than the entirety of Emon could muster under absolutely ideal conditions. But for the sake of one place per region, let's hand it to Rosohna (city of eternal night for practical purposes, built over the Evil God Headquarters); Uthodurn (underground! Giant goats! Elves and dwarves, living together, mass hysteria!); Hupperdook (steampunk gnome party city); Nicodranas (Fjord, Jester, Veth, Marion, and Yussa literally all live there at once; plumbing used to be courtesy of an imprisoned marid...but watch out); and Blightshore (Blightshore).
In conclusion: Emon is boring, nominating it was a mistake, there are literally sealed gods in other parts of the world and also way better taverns, good night, and what the fuck.
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cryptotheism · 8 months
Note
I’ve been doing some of my own research particularly on the formation of the new age religions. One name I see come up a lot, especially in relation to high control groups, is Edgar Cayce. Do you know much about him, his beliefs, and his followers? I would understand if he’s kind of outside your wheelhouse but I figured it’s worth asking, who else would even have a chance to know what this stuff is.
Cayce is an early to mid 20th century clairvoyant and spiritualist who is interesting because of how inoffensive and boring he is.
He managed to thread the needle of "out there enough to be interesting" but also "not so weird it rots your brain." He's espoused Atlantis beliefs, and some oddball race essentialism, but compared to his contemporaries, he's downright white bread.
He was notably pretty careful about how he presented things like his claims of clairvoyance, often sticking to claims like "I believe" or "I feel" to avoid getting semantic trapped. Or sued.
Honestly his most outlandish beliefs are stuff like "crystals contain magical energy" and "there is an afterlife" and "I can talk to ghosts Sometimes". Which are all beliefs you can find on the average Los Angeles city bus.
He was still a spiritualist grifter, but compared to the average televangelist he's almost cute.
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atvace · 7 months
Text
Lady Dior and the Seven Dilfs
Chapter 9: Arrive and Ride
Masterlist
Tumblr media
Warning: sex
The sound of the plane landing finally becomes music to everyone's ear. the ass of the plane opens up revealing a few cars and new people you're not familiar with. Let's talk about you, who wouldn't be in shock after getting edged by your lieutenant's knee? yes, that's it. that is the reason why you've been SLIGHTLY quiet for the rest of the ride. But a girl had to be honest, you want more than that.
Soap and Ghost walked towards an athletic man and greeted each other, "Alejandro!" He smiled, "Sergeant Mactavish." The guy looked like in his mid-30s, had a Mexican accent. from afar, You could see he has a wide forehead, a perfectly balanced sharp nose, keen sharp eyes with perfect jawline. his shoulders are broad. he had those compression shirts beneath his vest which made you melt staring at his bicep is well seen. his haircut, God his haircut is perfectly aligned with the shape of his head. you wanna ride-
"Dior!" Soap's calling dragged your senses out of the daydream. You shyly reveal yourself to the sun and walk towards the others. Alejandro has his eyes locked on your figure as you walk by. "This is Dior, a new re-" "Assigned FBI." You smiled at Alejandro and lent out your hand. "Ay, ¹Dios Mio. Nice to meet you, ²cielita." He locks eye contact with you, softly accepting your hand kissing your knuckle like a gentleman. "I am pleasured too, ³señor." You smiled at him.
You deducted him deeper in up close. you could smell his bergamot musky scent, his eyes is brown but turns amber when hit by sunlight. His hair is neatly combed and his hands are veiny. you wonder how they feel when it's playing your cli-
Alejandro chuckles and lets go of your hand slowly before looking over to Ghost. "Lieutenant! Laswell says they call you Ghost."
Soap pointed his thumb to Ghost and laughed, "Actually, I think he prefers to be called-" "That'll do." Ghost cuts Soap off. which made you raised your eyebrow. Huh, you do in fact had any no idea about Ghost's whereabouts except him being british, tea person, ginger biscuit and all.
He gestured the three of you to follow him. "Welcome to City of Souls." He exposes his cheeky smile while walking towards his truck. Soap looked around at the military activity thats going on around them, "I've never been to Mexico." Alejandro raises his eyebrow at his remarks.
"This isn't Mexico, this is Las Almas." He raises his hand showing a few green hills from the distance. "Shepherd's contractors are inbound to reinforce. They're bringing hardware. It'll need a room." Ghost looked over Alejandro. "Relajar Hermano, my base is your base." The Mexican man stops in front of his car.
"Good, now Where can we know anything about the missile?" Ghost asked again. "Cartel safe house. We'll talk about that in my base, hermano." He opened the door and lent his hand to you. "Ladies first, please." He smiles at you softly. "⁴Gracias, el señor." You blow a kiss to him as you enter the car.
Soap got around the car and entered by your left side as Ghost on your right side. there was a driver already inside whilst Alejandro giving orders before entering the shotgun of the car. The air in Las Almas was a little less polluted than in Los Angeles back in your FBI days. you had no trouble settling in the environment hence you're quite used to it.
"This is my second in command, Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra," He looks at the three of you from the rear mirror. "Ola, señor." You cooed and Rodolfo smiled at you. "⁵tengo miedo de los fantasmas" Rodolfo said quickly shifting his gaze to Ale.
You snorted to yourself and felt Soap and Ghost's eyes on you, "Ah, 'm sorry." you rubbed your eye. Alejandro pursed his lips and looked back at Soap, "You know Spanish?"
"Uhh, no." "No." Soap and Ghost answered. "Well, a green bird taught me how to form a word or two." You shrugged. He laughs softly and puts on his seatbelt, "You'll manage." And by that, Rodolfo pulls up to the destination.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
You were enjoying watching the scenery that extends in the mirror of the car watching small shops, flower shops, little cafes, and restaurants that you passed by. but eventually, you got a little tired of keeping your head to yourself trying not to lean to either of the men by your side.
Soap notices your little gesture of uncomfiness and slides his rifle to the other side of his legs so it won't bug you, "You can lay your head on my shoulder if your neck is sore, Dior." He softly said to you. Ghost bit the inside of his cheek while side-eyeing the two of you.
"Oh, no no no. the cielita can use this." Alejandro opens and rummages the inside of his car dashboard quickly. You tilt your head in curiosity and perk up when he reveals a pink Hello Kitty neck pillow. Your heart instantly melts and you reach it from his hand.
"Alejandro, this is so cute," you wore it around your neck and closed your eyes. "Fluffy too.. Thank you so much." You squeezed the pillow as Alejandro chuckled. "I got that from gift exchanging. Los Vaqueros does that every time we celebrate an achievement." He leaned back to his seat.
Soap patted your head before looking back at the window. His pupils constricted at the sight of a white carry truck with 4 men holding guns. His palm grasped at his own rifle and looked straight at the 'target'.
"White truck, four armed in the back-" Alejandro quickly tilt to Soap, "Ay, hey- ⁶tranquilo." He held his palm as Soap let go of his rifle again. "Easy... that's normal here." He said leaning back to his seat.
You were looking at Soap's sudden tension and then back to Alejandro. "Guns on the streets are jurisdiction of the police. " He marked, "Where are the police?" Ghost asked.
Alejandro clears his throat, "Well, Las Almas has a very serious problem. There are few here to uphold the law and many of those who resist corruption..." Ghost looks at Alejandro, "... disappear." He ends.
You look at Soap, "What about the military?" He asked. "Well, because we are well-trained, soldiers are recruited by the narcos." Alejandro rested his head watching the streets. "Why not you?"
Ghost's question made you and Soap glared at him. Even Rodolfo sighed in defeat whilst Alejandro tried not to smile, "We grew up here. They call us Los Vaqueros...cowboys." You raised your eyebrow at his answer.
"Save a horse, ride a cowboy." You said in a relaxed tone. now they're glaring at you but Alejandro nervously rubbed his forehead, "I like you, cielita."
A few minutes went by, your group found themselves waiting for a red light. On the other side of the road, there was a mother and a kid buying balloons with someone holding a gun beside them. Ghost and Soap exchanged looks, "Kids, guns, and balloons.."
"That's a new one," You replied at Soap's remark. "⁷Narcos use generosity to win over the people," Alejandro cooed in. "Even the children?" Soap raised one of his eyebrows. "Especially the children." Rodolfo continued.
Another red light made Rodolfo stop the car. You peered over to Ghost's side of the window and gagged after seeing a dead body being covered with written white cloth, smeared red with blood. "Jesus, what the fuck is that." Ghost looks down on you, 'She tortures people with her heels but gags at a covered dead body...' he thought.
"Narcomantas." Alejandro shortly replied, "Cartel Cloths." Rodolfo translates. "Messages from El Sim Nombre, warnings, marking territory." You saw another narcomantas as they passed by, "Our streets are laced with death." Alejandro narrates.
"Whose El Sin Nombre?" Ghost looks at Alejandro from the rear mirror. "El Sin Nombre, The Nameless. leader of Las Almas Cartel." He replied while biting his lips, looking at the huge beautiful graffiti saying 'EL SIN NOMBRE'
"Where can we find him?" Soap tilts his head. "...or her?" You pursed your lips, poking the neck pillow. "You can't. No one knows who they are but they are everywhere." Alejandro said whilst Rodolfo nodded in agreement. "Is this person an individual?" You raised your eyebrow. "Perhaps, we still never know because they're everywhere." He shrugged.
"And that is a challenge. Los Vaqueros loves challenges!" Alejandro snickered and gazed at Ghost from the rear mirror. "With your mask, you'll fit in well here, Ghost." He finishes. but as he said that, you saw Soap doing the 'cut it out' hand gesture. which made you knit your eyebrow at the sudden awkward pause. you tilt your head to Ghost who now has his eyes down to his knee.
'Ghost's mask is a sensitive topic, no good.' you thought to yourself.
Rodolfo slowed the car down watching a road blockage just a few ahead of them. Alejandro seemed frowned at the sight but he gestured to take a turn, "Military checkpoint. Turn right, don't engage them." He ordered. "Yes sir." You watched a few civilians being stopped by the military.
"Why?" Soap looked out of his window, "Some troops are in the pocket of El Sin Nombre. Like I told you, they're everywhere." Alejandro explains again. "My resources is still finding clues and intels regarding of El Sin Nombre. let's hope they found something important."
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Settling into Alejandro's base, he said it was sectioned into multiple buildings to make it slightly more private. You walked towards the light spacious hallway that connects the kitchen and the meeting room. You saw your duffle bag already gently placed on top of your bed. "Finally, inner peace..." You mumbled before falling into the soft mattress. "Dior? This is Rodolfo. Colonel Alejandro wants us to regroup in the meeting room." He knocked on your door softly which made you irritatedly punch the bed. "Ay, coño." You mumbled while getting up again, "Coming!"
You got out of your room with an unpleasant mood, as Soap walked towards you with a small metal box in his hand. You were a bit puzzled about his gesture, "Could you brew this for Ghost? I think he had a car sick." He said in a concerned tone. You held back your laugh, "the lieutenant? Car sick? What is he, five?" You took the metal box and made your way to the kitchen with him.
"Aye, I used to get car sick too in my early 20s." Soap filled the kettle pot with tap water and placed it into the stove, "He's in his early 30s? I thought he joined the military earlier than all of us combined." You furiously tapped your foot to the floor. "Let's not be mean to him, poor guy went through a lot." He turned the stove in.
You scoffed and cackled at his statement because hell if he knew what Ghost did to you whilst he was deep asleep, he would had a stroke on the floor. "Soap, what do you think about him." You watched him lean to the counter next to you. "Ghost? well, he's serious all the time. You know it." He shrugged and playfully tapped his finger to the counter.
"I mean, I've been here for less than a week. people be 'Ghost is scary, Ghost is this, Ghost is that' and I wouldn't find him scary at all" You rub the back of your head. "He's goofy, trust me. Whenever we went to a bar, He would be there just to eat the peanuts." You tilt your head slowly to Soap and scoff in laughter. "What?" "You heard me right. I bought a bag of peanuts as a joke once and he ate them all in the base." He smiled at your reaction.
"You hate Graves, why" Soap looks down on you with a cheeky smile. "Thought I told you already." You fiddled your finger to Ghost's metal box of tea. "That was Shepherd," You parted your mouth into an 'Ooh'.
"He's American." You stated coldly.
"Dior, you're from Los Angeles."
the two of you paused for a few moments before letting out a muffled laughter. "Could you tell me a little about LA?" He leaned closer to you, "Well, It's twice more chaotic than New York. gamblers everywhere, drugs are illegally normalized, and so many kidnapping cases. It's wild crazy but I managed." You shrugged yourself, "I had a...colleague, once." Your voice faded a little lower. "She was detecting...some kind of illegal explosives transaction. It's in Chicago but one of the parties was in LA." Your gaze falls to the floor.
"...She was ambushed." You muttered but still loud enough for Soap to hear. "Could've saved her if only I was tall enough to climb a certain window. I was wearing flat combat boots that time, I haven't worn any heels to work." You weakly looked up at Soap who softened at your story.
"And since then I learned how to run, jump, and even kill people with my heels." Your eyes sharpen. "Was underestimated, but those people are six feet under now." You bit your lip and looked up at Soap, "Am I talking too much? I'm so sorry-" "Dior, it's okay." Soap rested his hand on your head, giving you a gentle pat.
"I'm sorry for your loss, must be...hard for you." He smiled at you softly. "I think doing those.. stuff in heels must be hurt. and you defeating me and the others back in that field showed enough that you are capable of being who you are right now. I think your...colleague would be proud of you, right now." Your eyes moisten a little at his comforting remark. you laughed it off softly at the comfortable moment he built for you.
He's right, no matter how the demotion has taken a chunk of your mental, you're still as perfect as you were back then. you should be proud of how far you've become. Losing or missing a piece along the way might hurt you, but one day you'll find a bigger brick to build yourself even better.
As you two were locking eye contact, out of a sudden you both screamed in terror when the bakelite top bead flung into the air from the overheated kettle pot, hitting the hanging lamp and dropping right in front of your foot. You jumped to the counter as Soap quickly turned the stove off preventing boiling water from splashing all over the stove.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
"And with that being said, does anybody have any question?" Alejandro turned his tablet off as Rodolfo turned the projector off and stood behind Alejandro. Soap shrugged whilst Ghost was just sitting in the corner and you were doodling random drawings in your notebook. "I think that's enough. All we had to do was wait for your intel, no?" You raised your eyebrow. "Correct, I think they should be back by tomorrow before sunrise." He sat on his seat, sipping coffee. There was a slight silence before you realized something.
"Soap do you remember when we tried to eavesdrop Price-" "Captain..." Soap sipped on his Gatorade. "...I mean, Captain Price." You bit your lip in regret, "I overheard missiles were from Russians." Alejandro raised his gaze at you. "Your point is?" Soap smiles at you, he likes it when you get into critical thinking. "...Ghobrani was talking with Russians when Ghost marked him off with the missile that Graves drove..?"
You created a staring contest between Rodolfo, Alejandro, Soap, and you. Alejandro re-opened his note and cleared his throat, "Ghost what do you know?" Everyone gazes at him wearing sunglasses and a cup of tea in his hand that you brewed for him earlier. "Is he...asleep?" You held your chest in concerned. "Nah... I'm pretty sure he's dead."
⊹₊。ꕤ˚₊⊹
The night washes over the sky, your laptop clock shows '22:13'. you rolled over your bed with a slik light green robe to find a working comfort food. the good 'ol American mac n cheese. your mini mission is simple; sneak to the kitchen, use the microwave, leave. then you can continue to watch Scream Queens in your tab. And that's when it hit you. "This is the best idea I've ever had in my entire life!"
That's the worst idea you ever had in your entire life. You spat out the warm mac n cheese out of your mouth to the trash bin, wiping your lips with a tissue. it tastes unpleasantly weird. you figured that it tastes like that because it's been in your bag for nearly 3 days, it probably got soaked or expired. You washed your dishes after throwing away all the remaining mac n cheese.
"Cielita, why are you awake?" Alejandro walked passed you and rested his palms to the top of your head. "I uh, I'm sorry for using your kitchen without your permission. I craved something out of the sudden..." You looked up at him while turning off the sink. "Instead of asking for my permission for the cocina, could've ask me for food instead," He ripped out a napkin and took your hand. gently drying it from the water.
you watched his hand brushing against yours with the dry napkin as a barrier, he then toss it to the trash. "Let me show you a comfort food my mama used to cook." He smiled at you.
God, you're melting to his words. Hes the finest act-of-service man you could ever imagine God has created. You watched him going through his kitchen cupboard taking out a few ingredients.
olive oil, conchas, tomato sauce, parmesran and 2 jars that you're unsure of the content inside. "What's in this?" you pointed at it whilst he was heating up the pan. "The green one is jalapeño, exotic spices and his friends," He tapped the other jar with yellowish liquid inside. "This one is chicken broth with blackpepper, red pepper flakes, and dried oregano." he explains.
"I have my sopita salsas half-ready in the fridge for moments like this." He gave you a cheeky smile. You watched him closely. heating the oil into the pan, adding the shell pasta in, pouring a cup of water and waiting for the pasta to soften. "You wanna watch closer here, cielita?" He patted the empty kitchen counter. You pursed your lips into a thin smile and walked towards him.
You did what he said, sitting in the kitchen counter watching him cook. you could smell the jalapeño doing God's work into the pasta. you felt guilty that he heard your stomach growling.
After a few minutes in, he poured in the chicken broth and let your stir it. "Smells good doesn't it cariño?" He rested his hand to your thigh watching you taking a good sniff of the soup with the wooden spoon. "Yeah, it does." You put down the spoon and stir it gently.
"I think it's ready for the tomato sauce." He effortlessly opened the canned red sauce and began pouring it gently before continuing stir. When the soup formed, You took a smaller spoon and took a small amount of the soup, blowing it gently to cool off before tasting it. "...I think it needs garlic?" He raises his eyebrow before taking your spoon and licking it himself. Your face blushed fifty shades of red as he hummed to himself, "Must agree, I'll get the cloves."
After a few minutes of brewing, he decided to turn off the stove and let you taste it first. "Have a bite." He took smile pieces from the pan with a spoon, aiming it at you. Smiling in excitement, you leaned and blew the hot pasta from the spoon he held for you.
After chewing and shifting the pasta around your mouth for a good moment, you raised your eyebrow in surprise, "It's flavorful but in a good way, wow you're a good cook." He laughs at your compliment, "And a good cowboy." He quickly turned the stove off and shifted away to get the bowls.
You'd be lying if you say you're not flustered. He knew how to scoop your heart once in a while. "Come, have a seat." He dragged the chair for you.
He lit up a scented candle and lit it, "Is this some kind of a candle-lit dinner?" You smiled at him settling down to his seat across from you. "Now that you find it that way, then consider it as a yes." His sharp eyes soften every time he sees you.
You both ate the warm sopita in silence. It was a comfortable atmosphere, you two enjoyed each other's company. A few times whenever you took a bite, he could've sworn he saw a star being born in your orbs. the way you hummed and glinted a smile at his food, softened his heart.
"You like it, cielita?" He looked down at his bowl, "If I don't, I wouldn't be here. Honestly, I never expected someone like you to...cook. I thought you were the take-out kind of guy despite all the military stuff" You scooped up the pasta to your spoon again. "Well, no offense. I went through military too." He raised one eyebrow and chuckled.
"I aspire to be a good son for my mama. That is why I started to learn how to cook for her every time she's too sick to cook." God, something about this man is drawing you in. You should ask him what kind of hex he's using on you because it's damn well working. "Your mom must be proud of herself to have someone like you as her son," You smiled softly and picked up a spoonful of the food you both made.
He clicked his tongue in annoyance before realizing he hadn't prepared a drink. "Is there any preferred drink you'd like to have? Forgive me, I got carried away." He finished his food and got up. "Honestly, I don't mind anything." You ate the last few remains of the sopita in your bowl. "Wine?" He opened a fridge with multiple bottles that worth hundreds. "Red, would probably do..." You took your bowl and stood from the chair.
"Ay, no no no. You don't do this." He stops you while taking your bowl out of your hand. "Sit, princessa. let me serve you."
You are MELTING like an iced slushie under a hot summer in Florida. Watching his athletic figure swaying in the kitchen back and forth, his back muscles and bicep are wrapped nicely in a black collared shirt he is wearing with the sleeve rolled to his elbow. If he's giving you these gentleman treatments again, you're definitely folding.
Popping the bottle and pouring it to the glass, he places it down for you and one for him. You both clink the wine glass. After spinning it slowly and smelling the scent, you look at him with a glinting smile. "Chåteau Camou?" He raised his glass to you and sipped, "You know your drink."
"Well, I must." You laughed and shrugged it. He examined you for a few moments, giving a pause for a few minutes. You looked up at his eyes gazing deeply to you. his eyebrow is intimidating. at this point, it seemed like a staring contest, but you don't really mind. You like the way he looks, he's deadass a hot Mexican.
"Stop looking at me like that," You chuckled and leaned to the seat. "Like what?" He smirked and took another sip of his wine. "Like you want to have sex with me." You hid your smile by biting the tip of your thumb.
His smirk slowly turned into a cheeky smile, flashing you with his teeth. He laughed and rubbed his forehead, "Ride a cowboy to save a horse? how about you come sit here and we'll see where we going." He shifted his knee and tapped his thighs. You're fearless, You've got nothing to worry. It's not like he means his word anyway.
You got up from your seat and walked slowly towards him, watching his veiny hands slithering his knee up to his thigh. You bit your bottom lip and lend out your hand, he held it softly and pull you gently towards him. You sat in his lap as he places your hand to his chest.
"Eager, are we." He whispered as you leaned closer. You brushed your nose close to his cheek, breathing softly to his touch. you rammed your fingertips from his chest up to his neck, he tilts his head to you and stare. He has a brown dimming eye, the way his warm breath surfaced to your chest and neck sent electric down your spine. He grinned and placed his thumb on your chin.
There was a heavy tension between the concerning amount of space you two had. He wanted to lean closer but you kept on teasing him by dodging his lips away from you. He grunted before getting a hold of your jaw, "Stop moving, ⁸niñita."
"Make me, papi." That snapped something inside of him.
He gripped your ass, getting off the chair and carried you whilst you wrapped your legs around his waist. with no waiting, he bit your neck devouring every spot exposed. You whimpered at the pleasure hes giving whilst he still carried you with his other hand in the back of your head, stilling it so he could get a taste of you.
walking towards his presumably his room, he pushed open the door with one leg and locked it. He shifts his mouth and bites to your chest making you whine, gripping his broad shoulder like there's no tomorrow.
"You asked for it, cielita." He whispered to your ear, dropping you to his bed before kissing you passionately. you slithered your hand around his chest, up to his shoulder and bicep, feeling every single one of his body heat against yours.
nibbling your bottom lip furiously, he unbuttoned his shirt and left his chest exposed. Your abdomen and his brushing against one and another, stroking you dry but enough to make your panties damp. "Holy shit-" you pulled away from his kiss. "May I?" He tugged the ribbon that ties your body to the robe. "Only if you can make me cum." You pinched his cheek and he gave you a smug laugh.
"Bet." He pulled it off and witnessed a goddess in her lingerie, "Like what you're seeing?" You smirked at his parted lips. "The 141 has been keeping this treasure all to themself, ⁹no lo hacen?" He chuckled while tugging the vibrant color of your panties.
taking his time, Alejandro snucked his nose to your briefs, taking a deep breath to get ahold of your scent. you yelped when he slid his index into the entrance of your folds. "¹⁰huele tan bien, cielito." You raised your eyebrow and chuckled, "Nah, they don't...touch me. I mean Ghost did but not this far." you admitted. You saw his eyes rising from your thighs in surprise. "Then let me give you what Ghost didn't, no?"
He finally lifted the lace before devouring you down to his bed, flicking your clit and gripping your inner thighs defensively. You gasped softly at his moves and muffled groan. "Dios, ¹¹sabes tan dulce." He muttered beneath you.
Impatiently, he yanked your panties away and gruesomely polished your entrance. he stretched your folds with his finger, sucking you inside out while you tugged his hair holding back your moans.
His hitched breath brushed against your sensitive clit which made you feel a knot building up in your stomach. he pushed himself deeper as your release melted against his face.
"¹²Chica come so easily, hm?" He got up licking your remaining sweet sextillion-dollar fluid. "I bet you come easily too, papi." You smirked under him. His lips slowly pursed into a smug smirk, "¹³Ay coño, you don't know what you signed up for." He quickly unbuckled his belt, pulling it away from his pants before pushing both of your wrists down the mattress.
"What are you-" Your words were cut off when he flipped you over and tied your wrist down with his belt. "Let's see how far ¹⁴puedes ir." He slids his thumb to your entrance as you whined into the mattress. You could feel him taking off his pants but every time you tried to peek, he would grab you by the jaw and make you look front.
"No peeking, princesa. Let me.." 'SLAP' He spanked your entrance followed by your loud moan. arching your back enough, you could feel his tip trying to fit into your trench. "¹⁵Preparar, cielita." He pushed it in which made your ass slightly vibrated. "Fucking hell- It won't fit." you whimpered trying your best to keep your knees up.
"Really?" He smirked and pushed more of his length in, "Jesus- Please tell me tha' all- Oh Lord." You whimpered between your moan, feeling so stretched from the inside. "That was just half, ¹⁶hermosa." He pushed his length in again. "This is full."
You let out the loudest, softest moan you could ever let out. Alejandro was triumphant witnessing that. He kissed your shoulder and placed his hand on your lower stomach, circling it between. "You feel this bulge, ¹⁷cariño? you're tightening around me..." He pulled out half of his length and pushed it back slowly, grunting every few moments.
You rolled your eyes to the back of your head feeling high up in the sky, whilst he filled the void of your insides so slowly and rhythmic. "Faster, papi." His eyes widened. "Say again, ¹⁸belleza?" He stops with his whole length inside. "I said, Fas-"
He pulls out and slams himself into your cervix mercilessly. You had to gawk out a messy moan while feeling him holding back your tied wrist, bullying your insides wildly. The sound of wet skin slapping at each other filled the room, the way you felt ecstasy and a knot building inside you had gone dumbfoundedly filthy.
As he thrusts into you like a little fuck toy, you couldn't see shit. you were buried into the mattress deeply, feeling yourself overstimulated to the point where you couldn't tell if you had came or not. He fucks you so good you turned dumb at this point.
"¹⁹ven aqui, guapa." He flipped you over and pinned your wrist above your head. Now you're seeing the beautiful man above you, fucking you with your legs above his shoulders. His sweat forming around his forehead, the way he grunted and his ears turning red. you loved the way his abs and abdomen moved and smashed against you.
"This is what you longed for, cariño? this is what the ²⁰maravillo Ghost can't give you? let me show que hombres de verdad looked like."
He kissed your mouth while fucking you like a whore, squeezing your blowsy breast that peeked out of your bra. You let go of the sloppy kiss and moaned uncontrollably. "Ah, 'm gonna come."
"Then fucking come for me, mami." He whispered and bit your earlobe which made you feel tingles. He thrusted in you, slamming your insides a few times before you let out another loud lament as your juices came out. He pulled out and dunked his 7-inches to your stomach being proud his sword had weakened you, letting his thick vanilla ooze around your stomach and hips.
You breathed out heavily, feeling so much emotions penting up in your head and sex. He chuckled before leaning down on you to take his belt off your wrist. feeling freed, you closed your eyes and bit your lip. "Wow.", He places his forehead to your knee, planting soft little kisses around you before looking up at your gaze. "Wow?" He smiled.
You tilt your head to his bedside, looking at the digital clock that drew at 2.30 am. he noticed this and layed beside you, not forgetting to give you a peck on the lips and forehead. "Rest?" He spooned you from behind. "Rest." You smiled weakly.
"I'll wake you up in an hour and half so we have enough time to clean up, como suena eso, chica?" He presses his nose to the back of your hair and wraps his hands along your waist. "²¹si si..." Your head was too high in the clouds to translate any words outside English.
As the moonlight shines through his dark curtains, you and Alejandro were sound asleep. enjoying each other's company, one and another. Clearly unaware of someone hearing you moaning a little too loud.
some spanish translation 101໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -。꒱ྀི১
(forgive if I got some wrong)
~ Relax - Relajar
~ How does that sound - como suena eso
~ What real men - Que hombres de verdad
1. Oh God - Dios mio
2. Sweetie - Cielita
3. Sir - Señor
4. Thank You - Gracias
5. I'm scared of (him) Ghost - Tengo miedo de los fantasmas
6. Easy (calm down) - tranquilo
7. drug trafficker - Narcos
8. little girl - Niñita
9. dont they - no lo hacen
10. smells so good - huele tan bien
11. taste so sweet - sabes tan dulce
12. (beautiful) girl - chica
13. oh fuck - ay coño
14. (this) can go - puedes ir
15. prepare - preparan
16. beautiful - hermosa
17. dear - cariño
18. beauty - belleza
19. come here beautiful - ven aqui guapa
20. marvelous (masculine) - maravillo
21. yes yes - si si
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mapsontheweb · 6 months
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Number of Spanish Missions in California and Baja California by county/municipality
by mexidominicarican8
<div class="md"><p><strong>California:</strong></p> <p>The Spanish missions in California formed a series religious outposts or missions established between 1769 and 1833 in what is now the U.S. state of California. The missions were established by Catholic priests of the Franciscan order to evangelize Indigenous peoples backed by the military force of the Spanish Empire. Civilian settlers and soldiers accompanied missionaries and formed settlements like the Pueblo de Los Ángeles. Indigenous peoples were forced into settlements called reductions, disrupting their traditional way of life and negatively affecting as many as one thousand villages</p> <p><strong>Baja California:</strong></p> <p>The Spanish missions in Baja California were a large number of religious outposts established by Catholic religious orders, the Jesuits, the Franciscans and the Dominicans, between 1683 and 1834 to spread the Christian doctrine among the Indigenous peoples living on the Baja California peninsula. The missions gave Spain a valuable toehold in the frontier land, and introduced European livestock, fruits, vegetables, and industry into the region. Indigenous peoples were severely impacted by the introduction of European diseases such as smallpox and measles and by 1800 their numbers were a fraction of what they had been before the arrival of the Spanish.</p> <p><strong>Mexico:</strong></p> <p>The First Mexican Republic secularized the missions with the Mexican secularization act of 1833, which emancipated indigenous peoples from the missions. Mission lands were largely given to settlers and soldiers, along with a minority of indigenous people. Most of the missions in Baja California were abandoned and are currently in ruins. Cities like Loreto, Mulegé, La Paz, and San José del Cabo were formed near/around Spanish missions</p> <p><strong>USA:</strong></p> <p>Many of these missions were restored in the mid 20th century. They have become a symbol of California, appearing in many movies and television shows, and are an inspiration for Mission Revival architecture. Concerns have been raised by historians and Indigenous peoples of California about the way the mission period in California is taught in educational institutions and memorialized. The oldest European settlements of California were formed around or near Spanish missions, including the four largest: Los Angeles, San Diego, San Jose, and San Francisco.</p> </div>
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matthewgrantanson · 7 months
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True Grit, Los Angeles -- January 16th, 2023
Etsy
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damn-these-eyes · 1 year
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garcia mini market
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happyoracle · 7 months
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Apartment for rent in Mid-City Los Angeles
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vintagelasvegas · 10 months
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The Desert from Arrowhead Trail, Nevada, 1931
Postcard from Oakes Vegas Studio, Las Vegas.
Routes though the southwest in the 19th and early 20th century were known as the Old Spanish Trail, the Mormon Trail, the Old California Trail, and the Arrowhead Trail. All of them passed through Las Vegas, which offered water from its Big Springs and green grass for animals.
In the mid-1910s, the Arrowhead Trail or Arrowhead Highway was created for automobile traffic. This was the first all-weather road in the west, connecting Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles prior to the establishment of the numbered highway system. Las Vegas Blvd North mirrors the former the Arrowhead Hwy north of the city. South of Las Vegas the hwy traveled close to the future paths of Boulder Hwy and US 95.
Arrowhead Trail, americanroads.us. The Arrowhead Trail Highway to Las Vegas, quehoposse.org
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anna-scribbles · 9 months
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was about to read chap 2 of call it even but ao3 decided to self destruct anna how will i go on
that is so tragic that i will just have to post a whole sneak peek of ch 2 for you here!!!!
Adrien loved Ladybug.
He loved the smooth timbre of her voice and the firm set of her eyes, the way her mouth would dig its way deeper into a scowl the more she tried not to laugh at one of the rare jokes he managed to pry beneath her red-and-black spotted armor. He loved the way she spoke of justice with such reverence, of peace with such passion. Adrien loved the idea of Ladybug, at least—the thought that there could be a person who embodied so much of what he cherished, the grace and goodness and compassion of his childhood. He loved what Ladybug stood for. What she pretended to stand for.
Sometimes, Adrien thought that he could have loved Ladybug if he didn’t hate her so much.
There were times, though—like now, her red fist redder with his blood, cold disdain smeared across her face—when Adrien thought that he’d have hated her regardless, this nameless thief who masqueraded around his city as a hero. There were times when Adrien was certain he could never have ended up anywhere but at the other end of her fist, if only so that no one else would have to bear the brunt of her brutality.
“Get up,” his father’s voice hissed into his earpiece. “Don’t just lie there like an invalid. Take her miraculous!”
“Me-ouch,” Adrien wiped some of the blood off his face and grimaced, rising to his feet. “I guess your pledge to protect the citizens of Paris from danger doesn’t extend to animal cruelty.”
Fury lit up across her face, instant and red. Of all her buttons he’d learned to press, none ever worked quite as well as calling her out on the hero facade. And today, now that he was getting a good look at her, she was more agitated than usual, all her movements impatient and sharp.
“Don’t you talk about danger and cruelty,” Ladybug spat, setting her yo-yo spinning in a razor-sharp circle of light. “That misunderstood-tragic-kitty act is as fake as your stupid smile. We all know you could put an end to the danger anytime you felt like it.”
“Then you have misunderstood me, my lady,” He watched the time-worn nickname worm its way beneath her skin, upheaving a vulnerable, messy sort of frustration. Adrien lengthened his baton and lowered his stance. “This can’t end until I have your miraculous.”
Ladybug let out a yell and swung her yo-yo in a blinding arc at his torso. Adrien intercepted it mid-air with his baton, pulling the staff loose from the wire and scampering past her to the other end of the rooftop. He would do almost anything to avoid getting entangled in that thing; it was near indestructible and Ladybug wasn’t usually very keen on treating her captives kindly. His father, also, was not very keen on his cataclysm being used outside of their specific battle strategies. Adrien, in general, was not very keen on making either of these people any more angry at him than they usually were.
“Eat up, my angels!” M. Pigeon yelled up from the sky, riding atop a massive cloud of pigeons. “Taste the delicious cuisine you were always meant to have! No longer will the pigeons of Paris be resigned to breadcrumbs and cat food!”
“Hey!” Adrien yelled indignantly. “Nothing wrong with cat food!”
Ladybug made a sound that could almost be taken as a snort, but when he looked back, her expression had schooled itself back into righteous anger. She lifted an eyebrow, challenging him, but pulled herself into more of a defensive stance. She always liked to take everything in before she made a move.
“It’s okay to laugh, you know,” Adrien grinned wide and assumed a jovial stance, taking stock of the angle of her feet, the aim of her gaze. She was smarter and stronger than him; he’d always known that. But he was quicker with words and knew where to aim them. “It must be an incredible drain on your energy to keep pretending you don’t find me funny.”
“You sure think a lot of yourself for someone who just admitted to eating kibble,” Ladybug scoffed, eyes trailing the flock of birds passing over their heads.
“Don’t knock it until you try it, my lady,” Adrien said. “For a hero, you’re incredibly quick to judge.”
“For a villain, you sure do love stupid small talk.”
“Well,” Adrien mused, “Maybe there’s more to both of us than meets the eye.”
“Doubt it,” Ladybug said lightly, and she spun out her yo-yo, knocking Adrien’s feet out from under him and leaping to the roof of a neighboring building.
Just then, a fleet of pigeons swooped down from the sky and descended onto a nearby outdoor restaurant, littering the rooftop with feathers in their wake. Pulling himself up, Adrien watched with a measure of horrified wonder as the pigeons devoured all the food on the tables in a matter of seconds like a pack of feathered piranhas.
“Are they supposed to be, like, carnivores?” Adrien yelled, the image of a pigeon tearing through a sausage burned into his mind. Ladybug, predictably, didn’t answer.
He vaulted after her, trailing her from rooftop to rooftop as they both dodged the swarms of pigeons terrorizing tourists and stealing every bit of food in sight. Sometimes, the akumas remembered that they were on Adrien’s side and actually tried to help him take Ladybug’s miraculous. But just as often, it seemed, they were more interested in general destruction and chaos, causing as many problems for Adrien as they did for Ladybug. The pigeons, Adrien tended to think, were more of a personal handicap than anything.
“ACHOO!” Adrien sneezed, his still-broken nose sending an unexpected jolt of pain through his system. “Ow,” he groaned.
“Ha!” Ladybug spun around and kicked him in the chest, flinging him several meters back and over the edge of the rooftop. Slamming into the side of the building, Adrien dug his claws into the brick to slow his fall, pulling himself back up. When he finally made it over the ledge, Ladybug had her feet planted firmly and was throwing her yo-yo into the sky.
“Lucky charm!” she yelled.
In a shower of luminescent pink and white light, a polka-dotted Easy-Bake Oven landed primly in Ladybug’s hands. The way the hope sort of died on her face was almost enough to make Adrien burst into laughter, and it was really only years of media training that kept his expression schooled.
“Happy… ninth birthday?” Adrien offered, and the glare that Ladybug shot him honestly made the whole thing worth it.
“Shut up,” Ladybug snarled, and then she turned her gaze back to the battery-powered confectionery oven as if it might start speaking to her. “How the—”
“On your right!” Adrien yelled, and Ladybug glanced in his direction as a swarm of pigeons slammed into her from the left, knocking the lucky charm out of her hands. Adrien quickly scooped it up and vaulted to the next building.
“You menace!” Ladybug growled, swinging behind him in swift pursuit.
“Name-calling!” Adrien tutted over his shoulder. “Not very heroic of you, I have to say.”
“I’ll show you heroic,” Ladybug muttered, and then Adrien felt a sharp tug on his left ankle. He’d only just looked down to see her yo-yo line wrapped around his leg when she sent him flying backward through the air, the toy oven flung from his hands as he braced for impact.
Adrien slammed into the pavement, pain rocketing through his shoulder. His baton clattered down next to him, and he blinked the black away enough to see Ladybug standing up on the roof again, staring at her lucky charm like it was a math problem she was trying to solve.
“I, for one, am loving this game of kitty-in-the-middle we’ve got going,” Adrien called up at her. He extended his baton and vaulted back up to the roof where she stood, ignoring the splintering pain in his muscles. “My turn next?”
Ladybug groaned, shoving the oven under one arm and setting her yo-yo spinning with the other. She swung it out at him and he jumped, almost stumbling when he landed on his throbbing ankle. He could try using his cataclysm to disintegrate the roof and make her lose her balance, but he wasn’t supposed to activate it until she had three minutes or less left on her timer.
“Get it?” Adrien asked, swiping his baton at her legs. Ladybug jumped deftly away. “Because we’re throwing the lucky charm back and forth? Like, monkey-in-the—”
“I get it!” Ladybug snarled, wrapping her yo-yo line around a nearby balcony and tugging, hard. Adrien had only seconds to lift his baton up in a makeshift shield when the bricks all came clattering down on him, along with a few tables and chairs and plates of food.
Suddenly a swarm of pigeons separated from the huge flock in the sky and descended upon them, devouring the sandwiches and chips at alarming speeds. Adrien’s stomach panged with hunger—while the rest of him panged with pain—as he remembered that he hadn’t actually gotten to eat lunch.
“Hm,” Ladybug said decisively, like the feeding pigeons had imparted some sort of divine wisdom upon her. “Yeah, okay.”
She was gone before Adrien could dig himself out of the rubble, swinging away with her magic Easy-Bake in tow and leaving him to deal with her mess.
“What are you doing?” Father yelled into his ear. “Follow her! Don’t let her out of your sight!”
“Of course,” Adrien muttered, unearthing an arm from the mess of rubble and feathers. “Resident bug-catcher, on it.”
Loud-mouthed and brightly colored as she was, Ladybug could disappear when she wanted to. And, though he’d spent the better part of his teenage years committing her habits to memory, Adrien could swear that tracking her never got easier.
Sometimes, when she’d do this—try and shake him off while she figured out her lucky charm—Adrien would spend the whole five minutes looking for her, tearing through the city until a wave of light flooded the world and let him know that he’d lost without even putting up a fight. Those were the times he’d be punished the worst for losing. The punishments had only gotten worse as he’d gotten older; Adrien had a lot more to lose these days.
After the seventh or eighth building or alleyway Adrien had ducked into, he started to feel the familiar tug of dread in his gut, mud in his veins. There couldn’t be that much time left, now—he’d been stupid, and reckless, and now it would all have been for nothing. His father’s silence in his earpiece was deafening, ice-cold and heavy. He was doing it again. And especially now, especially today, he couldn’t—he swallowed down his panic.
On a whim, Adrien landed on the roof of a pavilion near the park, circled with concrete pillars and backed up to the brick wall of a building. He ducked his head in and bit down a gasp when he saw a flash of red inside. She was—she was here.
He waited, breath frozen in his lungs, but the attack didn’t come. Ladybug was murmuring to herself, fussing over what he presumed to be the lucky charm. Ladybug was here. And she hadn’t seen him yet.
“Cataclysm,” Adrien whispered, setting his palm alight with inky destruction. And then he charged.
In one swift motion, Adrien used his baton to knock both the yo-yo and the lucky charm from Ladybug’s hands, sending them clattering across the pavement as he slammed her body into the wall. She growled and pummeled her fists into his face and gut, sending stars of pain shooting through his vision.
Adrien extended his baton and smashed one end into the pavement at their feet and the other diagonally into a concrete pillar of the pavilion. He shoved the length of it as hard as he could acoss Ladybug’s torso, pinning her against the wall. She coughed and spluttered, ripping at the baton and hurling expletives his way.
It wouldn’t hold her for long, but maybe for long enough that he could—
Adrien lunged for the lucky charm—that stupid, polka-dotted Easy Bake oven—and scooped it up with his left hand, hovering his right palm in the air just centimeters above it.
“Careful,” Adrien warned, and Ladybug’s eyes widened.
“You evil, idiotic, worthless waste of breath—”
“Yes, fine.” Adrien waved her off. “I’m not interested in that. I don’t want to fight. I think we should talk.”
“What are you doing?” Father snarled in his ear, and Adrien winced. “End this and take her miraculous!”
Ladybug looked like she agreed; the glare she leveled at him sent ice down his spine.
“Talk,” Ladybug laughed humorlessly, fists still tight around the baton. “Right. You always want to talk.”
“I want to talk,” Adrien agreed, keeping his composure level despite the anxiety in his bloodstream and Father’s voice in his ear. He even threw in a smile for good measure. “Obviously we both know how this”—Adrien gestured to Ladybug and himself, and then to the greater generally-in-shambles city—“goes. And I imagine that it involves many more people than we’d both prefer.”
Ladybug looked at him with some intense combination of anger and bewilderment.
“Are you… trying to apologize right now?” Ladybug asked. “For being a terrorist? The thing you’re currently doing?”
“No,” Adrien said, taking a great deal of effort to keep the frustration out of his voice. “I’m not apologizing. I’m just recognizing that you seem to care about the safety of civilians, and so do I, and so I think we should be able to find some common ground and settle this in some way that doesn’t involve them.”
“The only reason they’re involved at all is because you keep attacking their city!” Ladybug shouted, her voice a lit flame. Her earrings beeped—two out of five. “What are you talking about?”
“Adrien,” Father growled dangerously in his ear, “stop this immediately.”
“Don’t play dumb, Ladybug. We both know you’re smarter than that,” Adrien pressed on. “There’s no one here to fool. If you give back what you stole, this can all end—”
“Adrien, stop!” Father yelled.
“You’re insane!” Ladybug shouted. “I never stole anything, and—and the very last person I’d ever trust to talk things through with is you.”
Adrien’s temper rose hot beneath his skin, his ears flat against his head. A rumbling began to shake the ground beneath their feet.
“And this is what you want instead?” Adrien shouted. “The whole city in danger? Us fighting like this, forever?
“Adrien!” Father seethed.
Something shifted in Ladybug’s gaze, her eyes set with an infuriating self-righteous zeal that dropped a rock in Adrien’s gut.
“I think forever is a gross overestimation,” she said. “In fact, I believe you’re already out of time.”
Ladybug smirked, and a high-pitched ding sounded in Adrien’s arms.
The Easy-Bake Oven exploded with popcorn all over the pavilion, and a torrent of pigeons descended on the microwaved feast, choking the air in beaks and feathers until cracks splintered through the pillars. Ladybug wrenched the baton from the pavement and jousted it into Adrien’s stomach, sending him gasping to the floor, but not before he kicked at her legs and took her down with him.
They tousled for a few seconds before a feather sauntered down through the air to brush right up against Adrien’s nose—he could swear his nose was like a magnet to the godforsaken things or something, seriously—and Adrien, with all his might, could not stop the earth-shattering, full-body sneeze that followed.
The sneeze—understandably—loosened his grip on Ladybug, who—also understandably—used the opportunity to pull her knee up to her chest and kick him in the stomach, sending him flying several meters into a pile of pigeons.
Adrien blinked, Ladybug’s red form hazy in his watery eyes. Why did the allergies have to happen, like, instantly? Why did it always have to be M. Pigeon?
“A ‘bless you’ would’ve been fine,” Adrien remarked, feeling around for his baton with his non-actively-cataclysming hand.
“Hmm. I’m not really in the mood to bless you, I think,” Ladybug said. Adrien blinked again, and she was closer than before, yo-yo spinning triumphantly at her side. “I’m thinking you could bless me instead.”
In a swift motion, she lassoed him by the waist and hurled him through the air, several seconds of freefall before he made contact with something warm and firm. He felt the moment his cataclysm was released and panicked for a second, thinking that he might have accidentally touched a person. But, no, when Adrien opened his eyes, he only found the ashy remnants of M. Ramier’s pigeon-feed bag in his palm. Despite himself, Adrien sighed with relief. Awful as she was, Ladybug was reliable. She’d never manipulated his cataclysm to hurt another person, only to deakumatize people. Though he knew Ladybug wasn’t above hurting innocents, she’d always seemed to care about her public image.
“Chat Noir!” M. Ramier screeched, now that all the black bubbles were gone. “What are you doing here?! Help! Ladybug!”
“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you!” Adrien put his hands up, placating. M. Ramier’s eyes were still wide with fear. “Let’s get you down from here, okay?”
“You’re safe now, M. Ramier,” Ladybug landed firmly on the rooftop, polka-dotted Easy-Bake in tow. She snapped her yo-yo around the black butterfly and gave Adrien a pointed look. “He won’t hurt you anymore. Stray cats know when to scram.”
“I’m harmless as a declawed kitten,” Adrien told M. Ramier, pointedly ignoring Ladybug. “I wish you well.”
read the rest on ao3 (when it comes back up)
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