#shark sayin stuff

[flyin-shark]

how does it feel to be tumblr famous now

Thanks for the question autistic-fuckwad. I’m enjoying the popularity :3

#shark sayin stuff

[drivinmeinsane]

Don't Go Breaking My Heart

※Chapter One ※ Holland March x Jackson Healy ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※ { next chapter }

※ Summary: Even during the most wonderful time of the year, Holland March can't help but be clumsy. A stressful hospital trip to set the detective's re-fractured arm leads an unfortunate revelation about his relationship with Jackson Healy.

Part of the Butterfly Effect collection. Can be read as a standalone.

※ Rating: T for mature topics. Concluding chapter will be rated 18+ for mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Fluff and Angst, Established Relationship, Period-Typical Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Injury, Canon-Typical Alcohol Consumption, Reference to Religion, Typical Idiot Holland March, Insecure Jackson Healy, Holly just wants her dads to get their shit together, Mention of Christmas, Collaboration

※ Word count: 3,673

※ Status: Complete/Multichapter, Chapter 1 of 2.

※ Author's Notes: I'm back with another Healland collab with @danime25. She was a huge contributor to the outline and to the proofreading of this fic! This was originally going to be a bonus fic for our separate 12 Days of Goosemas projects but we (mostly I) needed a break from the seasonality of it all for a couple of days.

Holland had never been particularly fond of Christmas, even before the house fire that had taken his wife. He never would have expected to find himself being a participant in any festivities, and yet here he was, seated on the couch with the trappings of the holiday scattered around him. His daughter is laying on the floor in front of the television set flipping through the latest Nancy Drew book. His partner is tucked under his arm. They are all wearing appallingly merry sweaters. Holly had insisted, and neither he or Jack could deny her something so simple.

The appearance of Jackson Healy had really turned the March household on its head. Holland had been quite content to drink himself into an early grave, but then the other man had, quite literally, knocked some sense into him. Now, he is finding himself doing things like “paying the bills”, “being a better parent”, “celebrating holidays”, and “cutting back on his drinking habits”. He takes a long pull of his spiked eggnog. It’s Christmas, he could be allowed the indulgence, besides, he’s not the only one drinking tonight. Healy has his own glass of the stuff.

“This ain’t very festive,” his partner says suddenly as the men on the screen harpoon the shark’s fin.

Holland supposes that Jackson is right. Jaws isn’t the typical Christmas movie. He still decides to push just for the sake of it. “You don’t like seeing some idiots getting eaten by a shark?”

“I’m not sayin’ I don’t like it, March,” Healy argues back, clearly a little drunk. “I’m just sayin’ that it ain’t very festive.”

“So what?” The private investigator asks, rising from the couch, glass empty.

Intent on a refill, he crosses the room to the kitchen. Behind him, Healy drains the rest of his glass before following suit. Holland can hear the other man’s back pop in protest from across the room. Life hasn’t been kind to the bruiser. They meet at the counter. Both men’s glasses are placed side by side on the polished surface.

He takes a swallow of rum directly from the bottle before pouring a healthy measure of it into his cup. He sets it aside to fetch the eggnog from the refrigerator. Holland returns to his drink to find Healy adding a splash of alcohol to his own glass. The nog swirls into the rum easily, he doesn’t bother with stirring. He pours for his partner when the other man tilts his cup at him in a silent request for eggnog.

Feeling the weight of the rum bottle, the PI decides there isn’t enough left for another serving. He is poised to throw the remainder of it back when Healy’s hand on his arm stops him. The other man’s grip is strong.

“Careful,” he grouses.

“I was just going to get us another bottle,” Holland protests. He flashes a winning smile and a wink at the shorter man. Charm was unlikely to work here, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

Uncoordinated, his partner puts his glass back on the counter and puts his now free hand on the collar of his sweater, holds onto it.. “You,” he clears his throat, “you’ve gotta try staying a little sober for tonight. We got, y’know, plans.”

“Relax, I’ll be fine,” Holland says with a half-smile.

Briefly checking over his shoulder to make sure his daughter is still enthralled in her book, he bends down and meets Jack in a brief kiss. The other man tastes good, like spiced rum and eggnog. He pulls back only for his partner to tighten his grip on his sweater and draw him back in for a second kiss. It’s a little messy when the bruiser brushes his tongue over the seam of Holland’s lips, but he lets out a moan that he wishes was quieter at the sensation. The older man is having a hard time keeping it together. His partner has a way of making him feel at least twenty years younger.

In the other room, Holly turns up the volume on the television. The sound of yelling and the clanging of metal in water gets louder. It provides the cover Holland needs to drag a hand from Healy’s chest to his stomach, right above the waistband. He’s drunk enough to slide his hand right under the other man’s Christmas sweater and swirl his fingers through that rich forest of hair that adorns his soft stomach. The bruiser has just the barest trace of sensibility left and redirects Holland’s wandering hand out from under the fabric and to his waist instead. He is not deterred in his capture of his partner’s mouth. 

Somebody is moaning. It might be him. It might be Jack. He’s too out of his mind to tell, drunk on spiked eggnog and arousal.

“I love… your sweater,” Holland says in between kisses. It’s not exactly what he meant to say and Healy looks at him like he’s lost his head entirely. It’s a sobering moment, enough of one that he decides he’s going to need a second bottle of rum. The first is nearly empty and the PI is going to need a couple more drinks for courage. “I’ll be right back, let me grab another bottle.”

His partner tenses up initially at his words, but sags back. Jackson lets go of him and gives him a little shove towards the liquor cabinet. “Fine, knock yourself out.”

Briskly, he sets off. He’s so consumed with thoughts of how he’s going to finally tell the other man that he loves him that he doesn’t notice the wrapping paper strewn out on the floor. He goes down hard, slamming his previously broken arm into the wall on the way down. The detective makes a wounded, little noise when he makes contact with the carpet. The air is knocked out of him and his arm is throbbing with such pain that he feels like a strand of blinking lights.

“Jesus, March. I didn’t mean it literally,” comes Jack’s voice from somewhere above him. All he can do is let out a wheezed utterance of the man’s name. There is a rapid discussion between his partner and his daughter. His head is swimming and he suddenly feels sympathy for the men on the boat in the movie still playing in the other room. He was really too harsh in calling them idiots, just look at him.

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbles before trying to sit up only to let out a piercing yelp and fall back to the floor. He can’t string the words together to ask for a trip to the hospital so he settles on making a siren noise with his mouth. It gets the point across.

“Shit,” Healy groans. “March, we’re going to have to get you up. We need to take a trip to the uh… to the hospital. Holly, can you get the keys? I can’t drive like this.”

Holland feels him wedge an arm under his back and wrap the other around his chest. He is bodily hauled to his feet in a smoothly effortless motion. He often forgets just how strong Jack is. The other man murmurs apologies and soothing words when he wails in pain at his arm being jostled.

Stars erupt across his vision as he’s escorted out the front door and into the back of his Benz. He falls flat on his back across the leather seats, dazed from alcohol and pain. It’s a comfort to him when Healy wedges himself into the vehicle after him and carefully guides his head to rest on a broad thigh before combing calloused fingers through his hair. The PI distracts himself while Holly drives on backroads and sidestreets to the hospital. In the part of his brain that’s not consumed by his current predicament, Holland’s glad she’s taking the extra time to avoid traffic. It wouldn’t look remotely good for an unlicensed thirteen year old with two drunk, old men in the back to be pulled over.

To help pass the time and to distract from his throbbing arm, Holland mindlessly sings. It’s a mixture of half-remembered songs he had heard on the radio and some improvised verses when he forgets the actual lyrics. He doesn’t have to see the other man’s face to know that Healy has to be gritting his teeth at the warbling voice filling the vehicle, even still the bruiser's hand doesn’t falter as he strokes Holland.

Upon arriving at the hospital, the detective gratefully allows his partner to help him out of the vehicle. He ends up clutching onto the shorter man as though his life depends on it. Through the haze of pain, he can make out the shapes of a couple of the nuns serving as nurses at this facility. They’re lingering in front of the building. He can feel their disapproval from here.

Holland remains cradled against Jackson’s chest as the other man soothes him with a tenderly calm “Easy, March, I got you.” before directing his next words to the girl waiting behind the wheel. “Park the car and meet us inside.”

The injured man can hardly walk under his own volition, head swimming, completely relying on Healy to support him into the waiting room and up to the check-in desk. His arm is dangling at an awkward angle with each dragging step. The appearance of it does not improve when the other man props him against the counter. The receptionist has a politely horrified expression on her face as she unceremoniously shoves a clipboard at the both of them. He can’t help but notice his partner is sporting a similarly nauseated face. A functioning human arm would not be moving around the way his is.

“So uh, pretty sure my partner has a broken arm.” He hears Jack tell the woman. Holland helpfully waves the limb in question to demonstrate the point just in time for his daughter arrive to reprimand him.

“Stop doing that, that’s gross and stuff,” Holly snaps.

March pushes down the pain and drunkenness for just long enough to scold his daughter, “Don’t say, ‘and stuff’, sweetheart.”

“What was that, March?” Healy asks, clearly not paying attention. Holly and the receptionist share a look.

“Don’t say, ‘and stuff’,” he replies, mostly ignoring the other man, “Just say ‘stop doing that, Dad, that’s gross’. Isn’t that easier?”

Immediately, he hears the bruiser start to speak before he cuts himself off. After a pause, he sheepishly speaks. “Oh, uh.. Your dad’s right, Holly,” he says, sounding choked.

With a long suffering look, the receptionist tells them that a nurse will come collect them shortly and to have a seat. His partner gamely drags him to a chair in the waiting area. Holland groans at the thought of having to wait while his arm continues to plague him. He’s barely seated before Holly shoves the intake paperwork into his good hand. The words on the paper are nothing but smears of black against white. He lets out a helpless whine and offers the clipboard back to his daughter for her to fill it out. God knows that she’s done this for him enough times to do it in her sleep. She takes it back with a frustrated sigh.

After Holly takes a seat in the chair beside him, Jack leans into his space, way too close to be appropriate. “Hey, you doin’ okay? I know your arm hurts, but you alright?” He takes hold of his hand and gives it a strangely, business-like squeeze. He doesn’t let go and instead just… clings to it.

Holland tries to give his partner a reassuring smile, but he’s sure it comes across as a grimace. Spots are floating across his vision in bright, sizzling flashes. The PI is feeling simultaneously more sober and faint as the minutes pass. His arm had just barely been freed from the cast before tonight’s re-fracture of it.

“Mister… March?” A nun approaches the group.

Holland stands up and winces in pain as the movement jostles his arm. “That’s me.”

The nun makes a gesture to follow her down the hallway and he does. He doesn’t even look back, knowing that his partner will be right on his heals. They’ve become damn near inseparable since they had finally danced around some of their mutual feelings. He makes it past the doorway, but Healy does not. The nun stops the other man at the door with a curt “Family only.”

Holland whirls around to see the woman physically blocking Jack. His temper flares, but before he can come up with a protest, the bruiser is already speaking.

“He’s my partner…. My business partner. We do business. Wherever he goes, I go.”

The nun scoffs and suddenly Healy looks cowed, all of ten years old again in front of his teacher, being lectured for holding another boy’s hand. He’s looking down at his battered shoes in a show of submission that makes Holland feel sick.

“I’m sure you do. But as I said. Family only,” she says, booking no room for argument. She silences Holland with just a look. His mouth audibly shuts as she glowers at the two of them in turns, tapping her foot impatiently.

“I’ll go.” Holly says, coming up to the small group. “C’mon dad.” She trails them down the hallway, leaving Healy to slink back to his chair in the waiting room.

Setting the fracture goes as smoothly as it can be with Holland as a patient. Despite his best efforts, he fails at keeping still and quiet. There’s screaming and flailing on his end of things and barely bitten off curses from the doctor’s. Eventually, sweating and hopped up on pain meds, the arm is secured once more in a cast and he’s turned over to the supervision of his exasperated daughter.

Holly promptly takes him by his good arm and drags him down the hallway into the waiting room where chain of custody continues and he becomes Healy’s responsibility. He can’t help the slightly drugged smile that spreads across his face at the sight of the gruff man.

“Doc said it’s not nearly as bad as what you did the first time you met, but he needs bed rest, and to stay away from the bottle for a while.” Holly rolls her eyes, knowing that her dad has at least been putting in a good effort in reducing the amount of alcohol that he’s been pouring down his throat.

Relived to nearly be done with tonight’s ordeal, Holland shuffles close to his partner and leans against him. He’s desperately craving some reassurance and comfort. He can’t bring himself to care about the heavy presence of eyes on the two of them. Two grown men should be able to have friendly contact without everyone getting upset.

“Let’s get him in the car,” Jack says to Holly, ignoring Holland further by shrugging away from him to walk out the door.

Stung, Holland follows after him. Surely the events of tonight wouldn’t have been enough to keep rattling the other man. Jackson Healy doesn’t get bothered, not like this. He’s always surefooted and reliable. Perhaps he himself had done something to personally upset him. Yeah, he had gotten a little drunk and hurt himself in a typical March fashion, but usually they would just laugh it off together.

The trio gets to the parked vehicle, and Holland shunts himself into the back again. He doesn’t bother to listen to the conversation between his daughter and his partner over who will be driving. His mind is too focused on pinpointing exactly where the night really went wrong.

He startles out of his thinking when Healy settles himself into the front passenger seat. It looks like Holly will be the one to drive them back to the house. Holland can’t help but feel as though he got slapped in the face by the other man’s decision to sit in the front rather than join him in the back again.

Leaning forward, he presses the side of his face into the headrest. The leather is cool under his cheek. “Jack, what-”

“Just sit back, March,” the other man responds before he can get all of his sentence out. It seems like everyone is determined to cut him off tonight.

Merry Christmas, Holland thinks bitterly, letting himself flop back against the seat. The ride back to the house is silent aside from Holly’s occasional sighs. Jackson keeps his eyes focused straight ahead through the windshield. He doesn’t speak a single word after shutting him down, doesn’t even make a noise until Holly hits the curb in the driveway by accident and forces an involuntary grunt out of the man.

“Christ,” Holland grumbles, getting out of the car as soon as it’s put into park.

He tries to initiate contact with his partner once they’re all on the porch waiting for Holly to unlock the front door, The PI is desperately hoping that the other man won’t slide away from him again. Slowly, carefully, he leans on him. Relief floods him when Jack doesn’t move. The porch is bathed in darkness, making it difficult to make out anything distinctive, and besides, it’s not like the neighbors haven’t seen already seen the two of them be affectionate with one another anyway.

A glance over at the man he’s leaning on reveals nothing blatantly transparent. Healy’s face is carefully blank. Even still, Holland can make out the tense set of his jaw. It’s enough to worry him further.

Holly gets the door open and immediately darts off to her room after dropping the keys in the bowl in the entryway. Holland is carefully escorted over the threshold by his partner who calmly closes and locks the door behind them. They’re left standing uncomfortably on the tile while Healy seems to be looking at everything else but him.

Fed up, the PI reaches out and takes the other man by the collar of his Christmas sweater and hauls him in for a kiss. He normally doesn’t have to fight for affection like this. Healy is still against him. He doesn’t resist the kiss but he doesn’t exactly return it either. The bruiser pulls away after a moment.

“You should go to bed, March, it’s late.”

“Come with me,” he instantly responds. He needs his partner with him. He hates nothing more than sleeping alone. It always makes him think of those sleepless nights right after Holly’s mom had died. He takes an unsteady breath and wraps his arms around the other man. “I love…”

Healy’s fists clench at his side for a moment before he hooks a broad hand over Holland’s shoulder. He holds it there while he’s hugged. Holland all but burrows against him. He feels the exact moment when the other man relaxes just a little and gives in. “Alright, I’ll stay with you for a while.”

“A while? What do you mean a while? I thought we had plans for tonight.”

“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep,” Jack supplies, nudging at him to walk to the bedroom.

“What about after?” He questions, his worry surging back up into his throat. Jesus, what he would give for a drink right now.

Unsurprisingly, his partner doesn’t respond right away, lost in his own troubled thoughts. He pulls back the covers on the bed for Holland, correctly assuming that he would struggle to get under them on his own. The other man doesn’t so much as look at him while he works his own holiday themed sweater off over his cast. Maybe he did something so heinous in the past few hours while inebriated and injured that Healy doesn’t find him attractive anymore? Could that be a possibility?

The younger man finally answers Holland’s question, abit unwillingly and still not looking at him. “Probably gonna clean up the living room.”

“Hey. Don’t be like this… Please.” He stops himself from reaching out, realizing that it likely wouldn’t do any good right now. He awkwardly drags himself into bed, motioning for Jackson to join him.

With clear reluctance, Healy sits stiffly on the bed with his back against the headboard. He looks down at his clasped hands. “I’m not your wife, March. I’m just your business partner,” he says suddenly without any preamble.

Holland is left reeling. “I... do you think I don’t care about you? About us? Is that what this is? Because I do. I care about you. I lo-,” he bites the confession off before it can fully escape.

“Care all you want. That nun was right, we’re not family. We can’t be real family.” The other man seems taken aback by his own outburst. He clears his throat unsuccessfully, poised to get off the bed, to flee from the conversation.

“Healy…” The detective’s heart breaks. This feeling is devastating. He’s not sure what to say. He can’t just tell a joke or make an asinine quip to smooth this over. He can’t argue that his partner is wrong. Even in his current, foggy state he knows that people won’t accept their relationship as being a legitimate one. It’s not going to be like it was with his wife. The silence hangs in the air.

Finally, the other man reaches over and gives him a pat on the shoulder. It's similar to one that another man would give a friend, nothing more. Reassuring but detached. “Look, March. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

“Fine,” he agrees hollowly. He rolls over, putting his back to the man sitting beside him. He doesn’t want him to see the tears that have decided to start streaming from his eyes. Despite his best efforts, he can’t fully contain his sobs.

Healy doesn’t leave his side while he cries. Through his tears, he keeps looking at the analog clock on the bedside table. Every minute that passes feels like an hour. His crying slowly abates and he’s left to slip into an exhausted slumber.

{ next chapter }

#the nice guys #the nice guys (2016) #ryan gosling #holland march #jackson healy #russell crowe #holland march x jackson healy #healland #ryan gosling fanfiction #holland march fanfiction #the nice guys fanfiction #.collab with danime25 #.my work #.my posts

[know-the-way]

Like… here’s the thing, I get it. Covid came and fucked everything up - any momentum that any franchise might’ve had got the emergency stop button pushed on it and it sucked for everybody. So maybe hoping for another film or series is asking too much - shooting for the moon, pipe dream, etc. I’m (reluctantly) willing to accept that.

But… ya know… there’s a few things I feel could perhaps be accomplished within the realm of greater possibility. Of which I have created a short list.

*clears throat* *turns on powerpoint*

For your consideration:

1. A Reunion Special - just a chill, cozy little hour or two with the whole gang to reminisce and reflect (and maybe clarify some of the gaps and misunderstandings for Crypt of Tears… please? 😀).

Worst case scenario - it’s the last sentence of the final chapter; a goodbye and good luck.

Best case scenario - reignites interest & maybe entices some funding out of the woodwork (*wink wink, nudge nudge eh?*).

2. Spare Gag Reel? - You’re telling me these idiots spent like 80% of the time cracking up and ruining and takes and you nEVER WANTED TO SHARE WITH THE CLASS?

No, I know there’s weird rules and agreements that have to be made and actors have to individually consent to it being shown (at least in the states, maybe Australia’s different), but like… please tell me someone kept some of it. Please tell me it wasn’t trashed in haste… ‘cause then you will have wasted what could’ve been a giant serotonin boost for so many young, neurodivergent queer women/nb folks, a few lads, and some lovely senior citizens. And just sayin’… I would pay cinema ticket prices to see that.

So. Just food for thought.

3. The Alternate Takes/Deleted Scenes - Those rumors can’t have come from nowhere. Don’t be shy.

The X-Files did it, too. You get caught up in not wanting to jump the shark that you nosedive right under it instead (i.e. that kiss could’ve happened and it would’ve been just fine). So it’s okay, really. No one’s gonna be mad (I think)… we just wanna see it.

I’m even down for stuff that never got filmed, but was in the og script. I will eat every bite of what you put on my plate, I promise.

4. A Combination of All Three - ✌️😚😎

In conclusion - @ Every Cloud/ABC/AcornTV/Whoever Else… please. And thank you.

#mfmm #listen… i just don’t see the harm in sharing #maybe there is though #but if there isn’t… demand is hopefully requesting supply #demand has also had some wine so…

[shokuhimaru]

Single Dad MHA headcannons

My Hero Academia single dad headcannons! I'll make another part soon but heres the first part! Enjoy!

Izuku Midoriya:

♡ I can see Izuku always having you in All might merch

♡ Im sayin he got the all might baby bottle, the bib, shit he probably got you an all might decorated crib.

♡ I can see you and Todoroki's kid being friends

♡ Bakugo once tried watching you but once he saw that you looked a little bit like Deku he left

♡ "Shhhh its ok baby all might, daddys here"

♡ Just the best dad ever <3

Katsuki Bakugo:

♡ Hes the type of father that tries to censor his mouth but never can

♡ "DAMN DEKU ALWAYS PARADING HIS GODDAMN BABY AROUND"

♡ When you were first born this boy cried- Im sayin whole ass sobbing bro

♡ He will never put you down bro-

♡ "B-bakugo can I hold our baby just for a s-" "YOU HELP THEM FOR 9 MONTHS ITS MY TURN NOW"

♡ He got you mini gym equitment

♡ "BAKUGO THEY DONT NEED THAT!" "start em off young tho"

Shoto Todoroki:

♡ He thought that freezing milk then giving it to a baby was smart...

♡ He once heard you crying and he actually asked "Whats wrong?" and waited for a response

♡ He may be kinda new to this father stuff but hes trying his best

♡ He once brought you around Fuyumi, Natsuo, Endeaver, and his mom and omg-

♡ Todoroki was so proud when you kicked, punched, and squirmed away from Endeavor

♡ Rei Todoroki and Fuyumi were so happy about the baby that they already had a bunch of toys and snacks for you

♡ "Aweeee little baby doesn't like mean old Endeavor huh"

Eijiro Kirishima:

♡ He once brought you to the gym with bakugo T^T

♡ "WHY THE HELL DID YOU BRING A BABY TO THE GYM???" "BAKUBRO COME ON MAYBE IT CAN WORK OUT TOO!"

♡ He once tried feeding you a protien shake XD

♡ he once tried doing your hair but failed miserably so he just ended up styling yours like his 💀

♡ He always allows you to play on his phone

♡ You once sent a text to bakugo "dcvfdsdgtygrsfestgyesrvef" and when he saw kirishima out he yelled at him

♡ He always tries singing you lullabies but he ends up just playing baby shark T^T

♡ Just a good father! He wont ever stop loving u

Denki Kaminari:

♡ He bought matching Pikachu pajamas

♡ He once tried changing your diaper and you peed on him 💀

♡ He is the sweetest dad- he would take late night drives to calm you down

♡ He once left a guitar in front of you and all you did was pluck the strings (he thought it was adorable)

♡ You may just be a baby but istg he would do anything for you

♡ He once bought you a mini Louis Viton purse

♡ He once brought you to the park and when bakugos kid pulled your hair denki straight up cried for you

♡ "OMG MY BABYYY! YOUR KID PULLED THEIR HAIR APOLOGIZE TO THEMMM"

Author-Chan: I'll make another part soon T^T it was so hard to write these but i did it ^^

#kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #denki kaminari #izuku midoriya #todoroki shoto #dad bakugou #baby reader

[juicezone]

hi!!! mm 🌈 🎨 🎮 for ask game? (for tl an av if both of u wanna answer!!)

🌈 What mythical creature would you rather be? (Hybrid, Fairy, Dragon, etc) 🦈 hmmm i think. id wanna okay is sayin iw anna be a merman but like a shark merman too predictable cos. if yes then i wanna be a griffin cos cat bird ^^ 💥 DRAGON DRAGON DRAGON ID BE THE SCARIEST EVILEST DRAGON EVER OR OR ID BE LIKE A CERBERUS >:)

🎨 What's a piece of agere gear that you really want to have/try? 🦈 ohhhh. ok. i want. i want either like those removable crib sides or like.. i want a space related mobile ok. just chilling for the baby brain. TIGGER PACI I WANT A TIGGER PACI SO BAD ACTUALLY 💥 i want those like idk. the magnet sticks n balls u can built with i guess I WANT STUFF I CAN BREAK!!!!!! i want someone to build me towers and stuff for me to destroy. i want a nerf gun an someone to shoot

🎮 Do you struggle to play pretend or are you super imaginative? 🦈im pretty good at it!! i have lots of ocs so im pretty much an expert at playing pretend ^^ 💥PLAYING PRETEND SUCKS AND ITS BORING ON UR OWN!!!!!!!! I WANT SOMEONE I CAN SHOOT WITH A NERF GUN!!!!!!

#tl posts #ty for the asks friend hi!!! hi!!! :D!!! #av <- #I WANT!!! VIOLENC!E #tl: ^^ av: >:)

[popculturebuffet]

Velma Season 1 Review (Review for Weird Kev27)

Hello all you happy people and for this fine start of april we're looking at something that's been long overdue.

So something I've only expressed a little on this blog is that i'm a massive scooby doo fan. While I grew up with the world's greatest great dane and really loved mystery inc, over the last few years i've gone from simply appricating the series to being a massive fan with a decent amount of knowledge. Together with @jess-the-vampire we watched EVERY scooby do movie, we've binged most of the shows and i'ts given me an apprication for the franchise as a whole.

So naturally the first new series since i became a scooby head was a cause for .. cautious optimsim. Yeah while I liked Mindy Kaling's previous work with The Mindy Project and felt the idea of an adult scooby doo series had potetial the combination, i was tredpedatious as adult series can mean "excellently plotted comedy where you can have a plot about abusive parenting, bi erasure and the mafia in the same episode as a country set slaughter fest, said abusive parent putting dildo's everywhere because he assumes that's what gays like and an extra horny shark man who statistically has boned half of every room he's entered. "… and sometimes you get show's whose whole identities are random cruel violence, dickery and

Sadly.. Velma ended up this way, with the trailers presenting a show that not only didn't really care for Scooby doo, but picked the most obvious ways to deconstruct it while loudly scremaing

In lieu of actual adult conversations or themes. It had specks of those but it was mostly just obessed with proving how clever clever it was. So let's talk about tha tunder the cut eh?

Yeah while we WILL be hanging around for Scooby Doo, we are not talking Velma.. yet. I haven't even braved it just yet, as a combination of the counltess dickheads crticizing it for being "woke"…

The series making everyone but Fred POC was a GOOD idea .. it just seems couched in a lot of jabs that come off as them having never watched a damned scooby doo show past where are you. I'm not sayin gi'ts required to watch thousands of hours of scooby doo to make an SD property, but watching a FEW episodes of more recent series to make sure your stuff is fresh and checking to make sure yoru ideas are either new or a diffrent enough take on an idea to work. While i'm not sure if the writers of recent series like Mystery Inc, Be Cool and Guess Who? have seen EVERY scooby do thing, it's clear al lhave seen enough of the franchise and know it well enough to play with it, from making it a cosmic horror story , to a wacky comedy with Fred and Daph tweaked signifigantly, to a team up show that has Malcom McDowell take our heroes to a distopian future where Shaggy and Scooby have no tonly surivvieed this long but are fighting to the death.

I will give Velma a shot eventually and likely cover it too, but for now me and Kev just weren't all that invested. He might have me cover it later and if he decides not to I might still just do it anyway, but for now that's just not something i'm going to be doing

Instead.. .we're covering something that DIDN'T get released. Yeah as a special treat i'm taking a quick look at Scooby Doo and Krypto Too. SDAKT was supposed to be another scooby doo direct to video film, coming out to allign with the Super PEts MOvie, which I also need to see at some point. Problem is it was made during WB"s Tire Fire years, and it along with a HEX GIRLS MOVIE MY GOD YOU MONSTERS WHY DID YOU CANCEL THIS, were scrapped, and the latter was nearly complete.

That would've been the end and given the project was never even ANNOUNCED, as is common as Warner only tends to announce sd movies a few months before release, and Warner's Habit of locking good animatoin in indiana jones vaults.

Thankfully some brave soul we still don't know leaked the film, which not only leaves potetial for more of the stuff they've refused to release to get out there, but was a nice hearty fuck you to a company and president who prides trying to stop bleeding money in the sleaziest way possible over actually making things tha tmake money. I"ve been vocal as hell about The Warner Bros Discovery Tire Fire so you better belive me and Jess watched this asap. And if WBD had a problem with that.. they PROBABLY shoudl've let the film actually come out then instead of destroying months and sometimes years of effort and locking it in crate to make 5 dollars, as their's legally nothing they coudl do. They did try to remove the film, but this being the internet once it was out there they couldn't undo it and it's already in the wind as it damn well should be.

So naturally when Kev, after several diffrent ideas I won't say in case we end up going with them at some point, suggested this I was all on board. But when you strip away all the controversy what do you get?

WEll you get a pretty decent Scooby Doo Team Up Film. Scooby Doo DC Team UPs are far from new, going as far back as the Scooby Doo Movies, and only increasing once warner started syndergizing it's propertie smore While a LOT of it is naturally fitting team ups with the world's greatest detectives including a full on reunion movie for batman brave and the bold that I love dearly, they've also teamed up with the flash, wonder woman and even had a dc comic ENTIRLEY DEDICATED to team ups that featured my boys the doom patrol among MANY other deeper cuts and currently have one just for batman and the bat family.

It's still weird though to see them team up with Krypto, but not unwelcome. It helps for me at least that as a big comcis nerd.. I fucking love Krypto and as a teen got a two pronged attack that made me a lifelong fan of the pooch: Krypto showed up in Geoff John's run of teen titans as Connor's loyal canine (with Clark having given Connor his dog), and a mostly realstic dog who just happens to have kryptonian powers nad wear a cape. The other was the opposite an da series that's only grown on me with time, Krypto the Super Dog. While meant more for the preshool set, Krypto was still a LOT of fun, going in a more silver age direction, throwing in things like Streaky, Supergirl's cat in the comics, and Ace the Bathound and best of all the Dog Stars of the Universe, who I was shocked to fine werent just made up here to serve as Krypto's own Legion of Super Heroes.. actually existed in the comics. Why they haven't been brought back I don't know. you look at a bucnh of dogs with weird super powers in space and tell me it's not gold.

So finding out this existed was great. And honestly even putting aside the stupid shelving.. it's a solid DTV Scooby Film. i've watched all of them, not hyperbole, and while i've seen far better, including the recently released trick or treat scooby doo, this is still a fun entry.

The plot is kinda simple: The Gang visit Metropolis just as the Justice League has gone missing and no other heroes exist in this universe because plot convience. Our heroes are summoned by Daphne's old friend Jimmy Olseon to help Lois Lane look into this. Lois is perfectly played here too being fast talking, no nonsense and only not investigating herself because 80 thigns are going on at once with all the supervillians running riot. Jimmy less so as he thinks hea nd daph are together and has been telling people such when they never reallyd ated. We also get Fred being jealous of which I have some notes on.

I won't talk much about it. It's bad, it shoudl feel bad and the only saving grace is it's not DAPHNE IS JEALOUS OF SOMEONE BEING INTO FRED WHILE THEIR NOT TECHINCALLY A COUPLE PLOT #98. Seriously it happens a LOT. A LOTTTTTT.

We also get our usual parade of supsects: a foodtruck lady running challenge of the super fries, the local valet whose tired of super cars because Green Arrow apparently has a SECOND arrow car just for metropolis, and what have you. The main suspect and treat of the film though is Lex Luthor. Lex is played to hammy perfection, not only trying to buy the hall of justice but being open about being a buisnes scumbag and eventually being forcced by circumstance to work with our heroes, wtih him and velma playing off each other really well. Lex is easily the best part of the film. He also gets a great moment as while shockingly he's NOT behind it, his assitant mercy who in this continuity is in love with him and was tired of Lex being more buisness luthor and less mad scientest luthor was behind it to try and do an evil scheme since he wouldn't. I mean.. I can't see her complaint: Buisness scumbag luthor is STILL miles ahead of piss in a jar luthor.

Still it's a nice motive.. and Lex was not only AWARE the whole time , he only let it play out to see whta she could do and hacks her robots for her plan easily… then reveals he let her plan go ahead to buy time for his: to demolish the hall with giant robots. Naturally she loves this and they get together. It shows off both versions of luthor great: the cold buisness man who uses hsi money and cleverness as a weapon, and the mad genius who hates superman and wants to destroy something only tagnetally related to him out of spite. his evil dog rex even turns out to be a robot and knowing Krypto was around he put a chunk of kryponite in him and the robots

Krypto himself.. works really well and is the heart of the film. While Luthor is EAISLY again the best part, Krypto's main traits are shown off: he's loyal, loves his master and the feeling is mutual. Krypto was left behind by clark for his own saftey after the fight that sent the group into the phantom zone, and it's clear all Krypto wants is his master back. He dosen't get a ton of characterization fo ra movie based on him, but it's nice seeing his inherent bravery and invunerbality contrasted with the gangs cowardice or his confusion when in one bit , Shaggy triggers the kitchen, the JLA's danger room , and it makes it into an actual kitchen, with his confusion bein ga nice hint at the gag. We also get a real solomon grundy who just wanted to pet dogs. And how can I not relate to a fellow swamp monster who just wants to pet dogs?

The climax is great, wtih our heroes and various red herrings stepping in, a truly climactic figh tnad hero much like his master powring the fuck through even at his weakest. We get a heartwarming reunion.

Scooby doo and Krypto Too isn't a top tier, one in a millon DTV scooby movie but it's still an excellent one. And while NO FILM deserves the sheving WBD heaped on it, this film is an easpecially galling example of that and if you can find it out there, go do so. It's a fun tight 90 minutes. We return to our reguarlly scheduled nonsense in an hour or so. Thanks for reading.

#velma #scooby doo #scooby doo and krypto too #krypto the superdog #lex luthor #superman #dc comics #shaggy rogers #velma dinkley #fred jones #daphne blake #mercy graves

[adultswim2021]

Let's Fish | May 14, 2007 - 12:30AM | Special

The fifth and final-ish pilot for Adult Swim’s “Night of 1000 Pilots” stunt was Let’s Fish, a live-action/animated hybrid starring Brendon Small and Scott Adsit as two hapless fishermen lost out to sea. Brendon is Scott’s cameraman as per the opening sequence, though It’s not terribly clear if they are producing a professional fishing video or if they are just pals filming their fun fishing trip for posterity. It doesn’t really matter. The idea is that these two guys are stranded out to sea and they encounter various wacky animated characters. Some of them are teased in said opening sequence with scenes we do NOT see in the pilot. 

So the idea is these two live-action guys in a live-action boat are set adrift in a cartoon ocean with cartoon seagulls, sharks, and various other denizens. Brendon is the more laid-back of the two and fortune smiles upon him regularly. In the beginning of the show, Scott is waxing poetic about his impending doom while stranded in the middle of the ocean with nothing more than his emergency cracker. He looks up to find Brendon licking an ice cream cone that he somehow forgot he had, somehow not completely melted (the show implies that they’ve been stranded for a very long time). When he offers Scott a lick, he pompously turns his nose up at it, presumably disgusted by Brendon’s germs.

This spins into an argument about him being weird about food, which segues into the first of one of our main comedy set-pieces: Scott shares his fantasy about being in a fancy restaurant. This fantasy is depicted as though the two are actually sitting in the (animated) restaurant together. When Brendon points out that Scott is racist because his servant is the only black man in the restaurant, Scott gets very defensive and sweaty. This makes things worse, as his psyche spirals out of control, imagining all kinds of terrible transgressive caricatures just from Brendon’s suggestion. For my money, a fairly strong start to the show, though “fat retarded Hitler” might make some uneasy.

There’s two more sorta main scenes in this program: the first is a Cuban family floating around on a ship made out of junk, seemingly of their own design. It seems as though their paths cross often, as they don’t consider themselves “rescued” when they show up. They have plenty of food, and scold our two main characters for asking for even a little bite, as they are Americans and have so much more wealth than the Cuban people (even though they literally have nothing, other than that cracker).

The Cubans are animated characters as well, further establishing the idea that Scott and Brendon are the only two live-action characters on the show. The Cuban patriarch sings a cheery song about what he plans to do when he gets to America, which devolves into him taking over the country as a dictator and starting World War 3. This sequence features a shot of Brendon and Scott in a convertible filled with caviar, and they react mildly to it by putting their hands up as though the sensation of the slimy stuff covering their appendages is unbearable. For some reason, I don’t know why, THIS is the single shot that is absolutely burned into my brain from this show. It lasts literally two seconds, but whenever Let’s Fish crosses my mind it is entirely summed up with this shot. Again, I don’t know why. I guess it’s meant to represent the mild, inescapable  clunkiness of live-action portrayed against an animated backdrop (Overall I think it works; I’m just sayin’).

I should say, this song is pretty good as far as these things go, and there’s a reason for that: Mark Rivers created this show. He’s the guy behind the music for Moral Orel, and Mr. Show, and others. He also wrote this. He’s actually quite accomplished as a writer; if you look at his IMDB page it’s just a litany of good shows and shows you’ve heard are good but never watched. This is the only thing I can think of where he’s the only credited writer. He’s got the goods.

The last bit is maybe the weakest of the three “sketches’. I’m calling them sketches, everyone. Are we okay with that? They are captured by natives who are all non-racistly white Boston sports-fan types. They seemingly don’t speak English, except they do occasionally exclaim rude epithets. Scott and Brendon are about to be dunked into a big boiling pot, like Bugs Bunny before them. When the boys desperately try to consume their emergency cracker as one act of pleasure before meeting their demise they wind up fighting over it, causing it to get crushed and land in the soup (actually clam chowder). The crumbled cracker pleases our natives, and our heroes are saved and allowed to make their escape from the island. 

Why did this one fail to be picked up as a series? Well, it was voted fifth place, so that probably had something to do with it. I’ve done some light googling on the matter, and the fact was that Brendon and Scott were both rather busy with other shows, and I keep finding uncited claims that that was the real reason.

I quite liked Let’s Fish, but I don’t feel like I absolutely needed more of it. It could have been fun if they simply recast the show from episode-to-episode, just plugging in whoever happened to be available as our boatniks. Good idea? Fuck you. It’s a GREAT idea.

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #let's fish

[destiniesfic]

Hi, hey, henlo! Thank you for indulging my ask game-related curiosity and sorry about the scare, lol. That last glimpse of your creative/writing process was particularly interesting, and it does make a lot of sense - imo the only thing more impressive than your storytelling/plotter skills = your skinchanging magic, applied to characters.

I can't do the headless chicken dance over the update because I'm in "no moving on to the next chapter until you're done commenting on the previous one" jail [does it suck? ...I mean, I feel like a starving, shivering, barefoot 19th century street urchin outside a lively patisserie, pressing her face against the window, so yeah,you could say that, ha. Is it silly? Kinda- but I feel like I'd be taking something away from the entire experience otherwise]. So I thought I'd do something else and try to speculate on what's going down based on the song + edit [because historically, accurately predicting stuff is definitely a thing I do]. Now,the result of that was that a) I got curb-stomped by a bunch of Jinx feelings ["My throat's so fuckin' dry from sayin' sorry/Wake up a different person in the morning/Forget every lesson daddy taught me/I never learn, I just make it worse" + "Oh no, should've stayed home" 😭 Forget Silco, *I*'ll fight everyone,real or not,for her, SHE'S JUST A BAB I E ;A;] + got curb-stomped again when a few of their buddies joined in: more specifically, the idea that she might lose Vi sooner rather than later, that all that "red on red on red on red" vortex might swallow her whole- maybe temporarily, maybe not. Can't imagine how that would come about, and what [if any] part Jinx's mysterious visitor [the Top Shark-wannabe?] might have to play in it, but yeah. I'm just microdosing on whatever I can at this point [ also thinking about that sheet of paper in Silco's pocket + Jinx's "Who?Viktor?Oh,Viktor" is still periodically echoing in my mind]

Thank you so much for answering the rest of my 579 asks, too. I'm on the last leg of this whole thing [went to my first Con today], but I can't wait to sit down and throw more unhinged energy your way.

[Also!! Book recs!!🥺 I love book recs, thank you times infinity! +To be continued]

Always, Playlist Anon! (Although I know do, in fact, know your name now. You keep commenting on anon though, would you like to remain Playlist Anon?) No worries on the ask scare, and I'm glad that you seem to be having a good time on your travels. First con is so exciting, I hope you wore shoes that were good for walking in. That's my number one con tip. 😊

I hope you enjoy the book recs! It's a weird pairing of recs for sure, but at the very least you should have fun with Six of Crows.

And I'm happy to have all the speculation on record, but you know I can't say anything without spoiling you. I can absolve you from your comment duties, though? If that helps? You could read the chapter then? (As a side note: I'm interested that you came away with mainly Jinx feelings, which is completely understandable, but didn't mention that some of the song lyrics might also apply to Caitlyn, who canonically drank too much and made a fool of herself last night.)

Thanks for the ask, I always enjoy them very very much. Hope you're well!

#playlist anon #anonymous #ask

[gallavichthings]

We’re back! After a short break, we’re back in full force with this series! Please enjoy our interview with the lovely @wehangout​, an unique writer in the fandom, author of stories such as Coming Undone, One by One, Help Me (Tear down My Reason) and the Our Souls series. Oh, there are two surprises this time...

GT: What can you tell us about yourself?

J: A bit about me ... I'm in my thirties, married with two kids and two cats, and I desperately want a dog. Life has yet to give me one, though I continue to wait ever impatiently. I live in New Zealand which legit might be the best place to be as of the last eighteen months or so, just sayin'. I love to read and write, I love all animals but have a weird phobia of sharks, and I'm currently bingeing Lucifer, so tag your spoilers, friends!

GT: Yes, from what I've heard from a friend in New Zealand, things are as controlled as possible there, which is great!

How old are your kids? Is it hard to find time to write with them around?

J: They're 9 and 5, so with them both at school that does give me my days to write, but I tend to have more motivation at night, haha. Once my youngest is in bed for the night I'm good to go. My oldest is a bit of a "gamer" so she does her thing and I do mine.

GT: Oh good, they're somewhat independent enough then.

I love cats, so I must ask you to please tell me more about yours. 

J: My babies 😻 They're getting to an age where I don't know how long they have left and I want to talk about them all the time, haha.

This is Chiko. She was found tiny and cold on the side of the road. The vet first thought she was about 6 weeks old, but after a check up realized she was about 6 months! She was so tiny she was only allowed half a cup of cat food a day. Now she's a queen.

And this is my Moe, Moses, Malloy-loy. He's a fighter and has cost us so much in vet bills, but he's a big baby, the best napping companion, and the most handsome.

GT: They're amazing, I love them. 

You said you like reading and writing. Is that books too or mainly fanfiction?

J: Oh, for sure books, too. My first fandom I wrote seriously for was The Outsiders, I'm a huge HP fan (Death of the Author very much applies to both here), and I have a giant pile of to-read books, haha. I've written original stuff, too ...

I think fanfic is just easier, though? For both reading and writing. With writing, fanfic gives that instant gratification, whether from readers or beta readers - there's always someone willing to give it a go, unlike with original writing. They don't need to be introduced to new characters, new situations, etc. I think the same goes for why I read for fanfic, too. It's easier and quicker for me to submerge myself into a good Ian and Mickey fic than it is to pick up an unread novel. I'm part of my own problem lmao.

Plus, to be fair, there are so many fics and writers in this fandom that wow me more than a lot of books do.

GT: Do you aspire to publish your own original stories one day?

J: I mean, that's the dream. I just find it so difficult, and not just the lack of instant gratification. Even finding someone invested enough to beta or bounce ideas around with is hard. I feel like, until you've made a name for yourself, not many people are interested in your original writing.

Technically (lol) I am published. I've placed in a couple of writing comps and one of them published my short story in a journal along with a bunch of others and some poetry. That was cool.

Plus my best writing is usually in second person, and that's hella frowned upon in original fiction lmao

GT: Why do you choose to write in second person?

J: It's not really a choice, to be honest. I struggled so hard with the constant he/him pronouns the first time I tried to write M/M romance that I followed in the footsteps of a friend and gave second person a go. Trying to do the whole "he went over to him, cupped his face in his hands, and a sigh fell from his lips" thing messes with my head. Like, who is who? I can't do it without constant proper nouns and that just gets messy, haha.

I have huge respect for literally every other writer in the fandom for being able to write Ian and Mickey's love story in third person pov, but even when I try I slip into second without realising it half the time. I mean, the first time I wrote in second person was a good eleven years ago and now it just feels ... right. You know?

GT: It's certainly unusual! Not a lot of people doing that.

How did you get into Shameless?

J: Through tumblr. I was fading from SPN and Destiel, and I guess a few of my mutuals were, too, because my dash was full of Don't and Together and epic club kisses. Ian and Mickey ruined me before I saw a single episode lmao.

GT: Same thing happened to me. When did you start watching it?

J: Right between season four and five.

GT: So you also suffered the 5x12 heartbreak.

J: I did! And then, like many, I stopped watching unless Mickey was there, haha.

GT: Yeah, I think many of us did that

What did you think of the last two seasons?

J: I mean, they got married and lived happily ever after, so I can't complain. I think, for me at least, after the shit-show of s5 it was all very whatever. The worst of the worst had already happened, so if we got great stuff (and we did, for sure) then yay ... if we got not great stuff (and again, we did), then it wasn't a surprise, you know?

I wasn't terribly invested in anyone else's storyline, to be honest, so as long as Ian and Mickey were good, I was good.

GT: What's your favorite season?

J: Four. I mean, they still had their issues, but every scene between them in that season is iconic. Many were problematic, but the change in their relationship from the second they saw each other again was just beautiful.

GT: Do you have a favorite episode?

J: Those s4 episodes kill me for the Ian and Mickey stuff, but for an episode as a whole, I'd go with 10x12 Gallavich! To be honest, I'm an Ian and Mickey fan, not a Shameless fan.

GT: I can relate.

What made you want to write for them?

J: Ooh, that feels like so long ago that I have no idea! I think it was probably just my love for writing and love for their relationship combining.

GT: What do you like best about writing Gallavich?

J: I love the endless possibilities of them. No matter what kind of AU we stick them in, their characterisation still works and they always end up madly in love! It could be the 1800s, or Mickey might be a witch, maybe one of them is a serial killer. It doesn't matter because they fit in everywhere and they always end up together.

GT: He could be a witch and a serial killer. ;)

And what's difficult about writing them?

J: Ooh, Ian's POV lmao

Witch and a serial killer - love that idea 😂

GT: Where do you find inspiration for your fics?

J: Usually other fics/books/writers. Sometimes a line in one fic or book will make me think of something else entirely and then a whole fic idea will come about.

Or even someone's AU will make me think of another completely different AU that doesn't relate at all, haha.

And then other writers. They just inspire me in general. I want to be able to write like them and tell stories like they do and that makes me want to try, you know?

And often a fic will give me such intense feelings that I want to evoke that kind of feeling through my own writing and for people who read my writing.

GT: Which Gallavich writers or fics are your favorite?

J: My favourite writer is pink_ink (@palepinkgoat​). I'd follow her anywhere. Literally. Her last fic was ABO, which I don't like and refuse to read, but someone talked me into giving hers a go, and ... phew, it was so good. I also love devovitsuasartes (their originality is mind-blowing), @loftec​, J_Q, @romanticalgirl​ (though they don't write for Shameless anymore), and Shamelessquestions [@goodkwuestion​].

My fave fics ... yikes. My all-time favourite is Our Freedom in My Sight by lilbatfacedgirl. Ugh, it's so good and I'm working myself up for a reread. Also, Lost in Translation is a go-to, the Four Eight series inspired me to start writing Ian and Mickey, and the little things give you away by kissteethstainred simply kills me.

GT: Lost in Translation is one of my all-time favourites

What about your own fics? Do you have a soft spot for any of them?

J: Ooh, maybe my most recent fic, Thicker than Forget, but maybe because it's my most recent? But also maybe because it's somewhat cheerful and has lots of banter and it's so different to things I've written in the past. It all came surprisingly easy and it just feels super chill and makes me happy to think about. It didn't feel like work at all. It was so fun and easy to write - the banter is chill, the attraction is obvious, and the love is real. The hardest part of writing that fic was getting the ice-cream flavour names because the American Baksin Robbins website wouldn't let me on lmao.

I also wrote a Band of Brothers/WW2 AU for GW a few years back that I've since taken down. It might be my fave thing that I've written, but I took it down, made it original, and used it for a writing competition. It's one of the ones that came third, so worth it, I guess, haha.

GT: What are some of your favorite tropes?

J: Oooh, yes, I love that. Enemies to friends to lovers, mutual pining, and fake dating would be my faves.

GT: Do you have any pet peeves when it comes to reading Gallavich fics?

J: Okay, I totally have pet peeves. I could make a list. First-person pov, not using paragraphs, not using an oxford comma (though I can look past that one), draggy beginnings where it takes forever for the story to really begin, lyrics littered throughout the fics ... there are more, but I'll hold back lmao

GT: Tell us a bit about your writing process. How do you start a fic?

J: My process is a mess. Sometimes I plot/bullet point the entire fic, other times I just write and see what happens lmao. The only constants I have are that I need to know how the fic ends before I can get fully invested (even if I'm not sure how I reach that ending!), and I need a solid first line. I can't write anything until I have a first line that I love.

GT: How do you choose your titles?

J: Usually from songs, occasionally from a phrase in the fic, once or twice from poems. The amount of time I spend going through song lyrics is ridiculous, tbh.

GT: What kind of comments do you just love to get?

J: I mean, I for sure love all comments obviously, but the ones that quote bits of my fic back to me absolutely make me warm inside. When they comment on what line or what scene they loved, and I can compare that to how I felt writing it - it's just such a good feeling. I also still love the i-don't-usually-read-second-person-but comment. I've had a bunch of those and I get a little thrill every time I convert someone 😂

GT: I can totally see why that would make you happy!

Alright, what's next then? What have you got planned?

J: I was planning something for all 7 days of GW, but real life got in the way lmao. I do have one WIP I want to get back to, but I don't want to give too much away about that. Other than that I need @shamelessbigbang to do another round this year, because that seems to be what inspires me most 😂

GT: Whatever you make for GW I'm sure will be great! And since I'm the one who runs it, let me assure you if you finish your things at a later date lots of people will be equally happy. Content is content. The idea of GW is to give everyone who needs a bit of a boost, so we all win at the end.

Ok, that was my last question. Thank you so much for doing this. Any final words?

J: Just thank you! I love, love, love reading these, so to be included in one is amazing! It was a lot of fun, and I'm sorry I took forever to get back to you after each question lmao. And for anyone who reads my writing - 💜💜💜 it's so very appreciated!

GT: It was my pleasure! Happy writing!

#gallavich #ian x mickey #shameless us #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #gallavich fanfiction #shameless #wehangout #writer's spotlight

[cricketnationrise]

Congrats for 100 followers! Lardo and Chowder's bathroom, 5.28 am?

shared bathroom, 5:28am

Lardo trudges into the bathroom in a kegster-induced haze - they need water before crashing and there is a stash of cups in here for that very purpose for them and Chowder. They're so ready to drop, Lardo is only vaguely annoyed that Chowder left a pile of Sharks stuff in here. The occasional pile of teal clothing isn't a problem normally.

But right now its in front of the sink. Lardo tries to nudge it with their leg when the pile of clothing makes a noise.

Alright Lardo, fortify. And focus.

Squatting slowly to investigate (and not fall over), Lardo's bleary eyes focus long enough to register that it's not a stranger in their bathroom before gently shaking Chowder awake.

"Chowder?" they croak.

"Nuuhhhgghh."

"Dude, roll over or something - I need the sink."

Executing an impressive wriggle, Chowder flops enough out of the way for Lardo to get the elixir of life. Taking pity, they get a cup for Chowder too. Chowder's 15th shut out meant the kegster was in his honor.

Chowder only went upstairs when Cait made him around an hour ago. But he definitely shouldn't sleep off that much of a kegster on the floor of their bathroom. It's unbefitting of such a SMH Champion, Lardo thinks. In their cross-faded and sleep deprived state, Lardo knows the best option is to roll Chowder to his doorway and then pull him at least onto his carpet.

It takes all the muscles Lardo doesn't have to get enough momentum for the first roll, but they keep at it. A series of shoves (and one kick) later, Chowder is at the doorway - still fast asleep. Stepping carefully over limbs (don't break the starting goalie), Lardo steps lightly into Chowder's room, the teal doing their headache no favors. Grimacing, Lardo gets their hands under Chowder's armpits and starts to pull.

"Lards?"

"Holy shit!" Lardo whisper-screams as they drop Chowder unceremoniously and spinning around, heart racing,. Lardo's eyes finally land on Cait, looking at them confusedly from Chowder's bed.

Trying to get their breathing back to normal Lardo manages to say, "He was blocking the sink."

"Sure, sure," Cait says. "But why did you drag him so far?"

"Rolled 'im first."

Cait just raises one eyebrow.

Lardo will go to their grave saying that rolling him matters. "Jus' sayin'. Rolled him first. Didn't seem right to leave the starting goalie on the floor of the bathroom. 'specially after that last beaut of a shut out."

"Oh," says Cait. Then she climbs out of bed and kneels next to Chowder. She leans over his face, brushing some hair out of his eyes tenderly before saying firmly, "If you don't get yourself in bed right now, I'll make sure Bitty doesn't make you a pie for two full weeks."

Chowder's eyes wrench open as he leaps off the floor like he was electrocuted and dives into bed, burrowing into the blankets immediately. Cait pads softly back to bed and rapidly tucks herself around Chowder. They're both asleep again almost at once.

Lardo is left blinking next to the doorway. They'll process that later, and heads back into their room, closing doors as they go. It's only after Lardo's in the perfect spot in bed and halfway asleep when they realize:

Their water is still on the bathroom counter. Fuck.

#lardo #chowder #caitlin farmer #charmer #omgcp #ficlet party #purple-is-great #prepnursey #smh #kegster mornings #the haus #bitty's pies are no joke

[thiswasinevitableid]

98. I’ve been hired to kill you, but you don’t seem that concerned???

Super/vigilante/mercenary au? I feel like it would be really cool if one of them has known the other’s secret identity for a while but doesn’t have anything against them. The two have also been becoming /close/ friends with mutual pining, so the hit is actually just a good excuse to reveal their identity before asking them out. Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go! I tried to work in as much of this as I could

Content warning for mentions of guns and mentions of death

It’s a dark and stormy night, because of course it fucking is.

Indrid steers the borrowed car down the street, rain hammering the car while his heart tries chiseling it’s way from his chest. He doesn’t want to be here, circling the block like a shark on a reef, the light from the top floor, left corner of the apartment building telling him there’s no pretending his prey isn’t home. He doesn’t want to think about the instructions he burned, the lethal object hidden in his clothes.

He doesn’t want to kill Duck Newton.

“Excuse me, but I have a rather odd question; which of these trails is the least traveled?”

The ranger looks up from the map between them, grin friendly and a little lopsided, “Lookin to do some birdwatchin or somethin?”

“I like to draw but I, ah, I also get easily overwhelmed by crowds.”

“Try this one” The man circles a trailhead, “not super popular this time of year. Watch out for mud.”

“I shall, thank you.”

He didn’t.

Which is why he’s back in the visitor center, trying to get enough of the mud off so that driving home isn’t miserable. Worse, the ranger from earlier walks in, takes one look at him, and snickers.

“I tried! Truly, I was careful, but there was this-”

“Patch of stones in the trail?”

“...Yes. How did you know?”

“Fell flat on my ass two days ago thanks to them. Wait here a sec.” The door swings shut, then opens again while Indrid is rinsing mud from his glasses. The ranger holds out a packet of body wipes, “this’ll get the worst of it.”

“Thank you ranger...Newton.”

That same smile, reaching a pair of mismatched eyes, “Just call me Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Indrid parks in a spot far from any streetlights or cameras, pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and starts towards the apartment complex.

“These are fascinating.” Indrid peers over the edge of the dock at the early blooming bulbs.

“Glad you like ‘em, thought they might be alley after you showed me those drawings of the marsh.”

He imagines Duck seeing the flowers on his rounds and thinking not of the seasons, the weather, the way their petals look near the water, but of him. It’s the sweetest thought anyone’s ever spared for him.

The lobby door opens easily, courtesy of the copy of the keycard left in his mailbox. He knows he should take the stairs; fewer people use them.

He calls the elevator.

“Duck? The sign on the door is, that’s just temporary right?”

“Nope.” Duck sets his hat on the counter, runs a hand right through the grey streak in his hair, “they’re closin the whole park until further notice, which is probably gonna be never. Laid all of us off.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay.”

Even Indrid could tell it wasn’t. That from their occasional conversations, Duck’s work was akin to his heart, kept life flowing through him on even the roughest days. The assignment had told him not to worry, that he was almost doing his target a favor, ending a life he wanted over anyway.

Indrid knocks on the door, tossing his options about in his mind as slow footsteps approach. He could do what he was sent here for. Or he could offer Duck Newton something to brighten his days.

The door opens, Duck standing there in boxers, a plain white t-shirt, and a confused expression.

“Indrid? Jesus, come in, you're fuckin soaked. This is some storm.”

“At least it will help with the drought.” Indrid closes the door, slips off his shoes, lets Duck take his sweatshirt to hang near the heater, angling his body so he won’t see or feel the handgun tucked in his waistband.

“Yeah. Assumin it don’t just mudslide all the hills that lost their cover durin fire season.” Duck sighs, plops down on the couch, “sorry, ain’t exactly in a chipper mood.”

“That’s sort of why I came to see you. I, ah, I wanted to see how you were getting on after the park closing.”

Duck gestures to the messy apartment, then at himself.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you got enough money to reopen the park indefinitely.”

He chuckles, “I wish I did.” He picks up a small, wooden ship, “goodness, did you make this?”

“Yep. Know it’s an old man hobby but, uh, I dunno. I just like makin stuff. Putting things into the world, even if it’s just a model ship on the shelf or a mint plant on the windowsill.” His smile is tired, but there’s a determination to it that makes up Indrid’s mind for him. He’s about to make his offer when Duck adds, “mind grabbin me some water since you’re closer to the kitchen? Cups are in the middle cabinet.”

“Of course.” Indrid crosses into the small kitchen, mind wandering to what their first date will entail as he sets his hands on two glasses.

The cold metal at the base of his neck hurtles him back to earth.

“Someone set you up, slim.”

“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Duck’s hand goes instantly to Indrid’s gun, pulling it free and tossing it away before roughly patting him up and down. The barrel on his skin never wavers.

“Duck, please, I, I can explain.”

“No need to. Thought you seemed familiar, went diggin and found out who you work for. Bet you thought I hadn’t seen your nine mil, but I ain’t lived this long by bein careless.”

“I don’t understand. The file they gave me didn’t say anything about this.”

A bitter chuckle, “Wasn’t always a ranger, slim. The fact they didn’t tell you that makes me think they’re hopin I off you, not the other way around.”

“But, but I didn’t do anything.” The crack in his voice is why he was never cut out for this, he told them that, over and over again.

“And you ain’t gonna.”

“Duck please I, I wasn’t going to do what they told me.”

“If your bosses are who I think, then helpin me would be a goddamn death wish on your part.”

“It would have been worth it. One date with you would have been worth whatever they did to me if they caught me after I ran.”

“That’s mighty funny” the barrel disappears, and the ghost of a kiss takes it’s place, “I was busy weighing whether askin you out was worth the risk of gettin shot.”

Duck sets the Glock on the counter as Indrid slumps against it, turning to find the ranger watching him carefully.

“What do we do now?” He sort of wants him to kiss him, sort of wants to storm out and find whoever thought he could be gotten rid of so easily.

“I say we-” Duck freezes as three, sharp knocks come from the door. He crouches to the floor, Indrid following him. The ranger grabs Indrid’s gun from the floor, whispers, “stay put, follow my lead.” Then he calls, “who is it?”

“I have a package for you to sign for, Mr. Newton.”

“Be right there. Actually” he lowers his voice slightly, “uh, Indrid, you’re right by the door, could you-”

The shot breaks the wood right where Indrid’s head would be. Duck fires two shots, both of them sighing when there’s a tell-tale thump of body meeting carpet.

“Glad yours had the silencer. Buys us some time, but someone is bound to come outta their apartment eventually and find the fucker.”

“Our hitmen also have to report completion within a certain time frame or back-up is sent. And no, I can’t do it for him, it has to be voice contact.” Indrid stands, calmer than a moment ago; this part he knows.

“Good to know. In that case, slim,” he raises an eyebrow, “think it’s time you and I take a vacation.”

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

“You really got no clue what they’re after you for?” Duck winds them along highway 50 as the sun peers anxiously over the horizon.

“None.” Indrid fishes out the roll of mini doughnuts he bought near Donner Lake, the first place Duck had deemed safe to stop since they left the coast. They’re in his car, Indrid knowing full well the one he borrowed has a tracking device installed, “I’m mostly a numbers man; they give me scenarios and I give them likely outcomes. I, ah, I also helped with clean up, but I suspect they did that when they were annoyed I’d given them what they thought was an inaccurate prediction. I don’t like the aftermath of disasters, even if they’re small. And I was never, ever assigned a hit until last night” He worries a hangnail, “I thought they were satisfied with my work. Even if they weren’t, they could easily do away with me. There was no point in sending me on a fake mission and hoping you’d kill me instead.”

“Unless they got something against me too, which they could.” Duck drums on the wheel, “I, uh, I joined a, uh, guess you’d call ‘em a vigilante group when I was younger. I was eighteen and they recruited me, sayin how there were certain folks who were chosen to protect the world from evil. I avoided it for a few years, but they were persistent, and honestly I thought I could make a difference. That we were just protectin folks who the system didn’t. And we did. Kinda.”

Indrid offers him a doughnut, which he takes and chews before continuing

“Trouble was, not everyone agreed on who needed protectin. It got so convoluted and so goddamn dangerous that I decided I wanted out. Wanted to spend the rest of my life makin things grow, lookin out for the woods, that kinda thing. It almost worked. But if I could go back in time to talk to that kid, I’d tell ‘im there are enemies you can’t unmake, things you can’t undo.”

“Very true.” Indrid murmurs, “I suppose I’d tell myself I did not blame him for throwing in with who he had to in order to survive.”

“Pretty sure that’s what you’re doin’ now, too.”

“No.” Indrid shakes his head, “right now I am on the run with someone I like a great deal.”

Duck flashes him a smile, flips the blinker to turn them into the only sign of civilization for miles; a cluster of buildings calling itself Cold Springs Station. The groggy teen at the counter gives them the key to a cramped cabin.

Indrid tosses his bag--the one he hid in the trunk of the borrowed car, knowing the likely outcome of his visit would involve flight of some kind--down on the right side of the bed, Duck doing the same on the left. It’s only when they’re under the covers, both half-asleep, that he notices he forgot something.

“Drat. I meant to stick something plush in my bag. I, ah” he blushes, “I sleep much better with something to cuddle.”

A strong arm drapes over his waist while Duck tucks his head under Indrid’s head, “how’s that?”

Indrid winds his limbs around him, feeling like a little kid who’s just had his favorite teddy bear returned to him after hours of tearful searching, “perfect.”

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

The plan is to weave through the Southwest like a drunk bee before turning North; they need to put off visiting any places with friends or family for as long as they can. They spent a morning on the floor of a run down motel with a map and some pens, marking off the safest routes and places they’d like to visit. Duck picks state parks, Indrid any place likely to have lots of sweet food.

Whenever they stop for the night, they never bother asking for two beds. While they’ve yet to go further, Indrid delights in waking Duck with a kiss on the cheek each morning.

On the Nevada border Indrid spends two hours playing Blackjack, counting cards enough to win several thousand dollars but not enough to get caught. In a pizza place outside of Salt Lake, Duck wins Indrid a stuffed mothman from a claw machine (“just in case you gotta sleep alone some time”).

And fifty miles from Alamogordo, they get into trouble.

Indrid carries his weapon near constantly, but he really didn’t think he needed it at the Motel 6 Breakfast Buffet. When the man waiting for the waffle maker next to him says “outside, Cold, let’s get this over with” he goes still, wishing they’d at least given him time to eat.

Then he hurls his scalding mocha into the man’s face, striking him in the ribs and breaking his nose before he even hits the floor. Orange and red liquid splashes his face, two shots hitting the juice dispenser behind him. The other two assassins don’t get a second chance to fire; Duck takes out one with a chair, jabs the other with the splintered leg, and gathers both their guns with an ease that Indrid admires.

As they’re sprinting for the parking lot, Indrid slapping an extra two hundred dollars on the lobby desk in apology, he realizes admiration doesn’t quite capture his feelings. Duck is so calm in the face of danger, so commanding, and so very, very...hot.

The moment he allows himself that thought is the moment he dooms his focus for the remainder of the day. He contributes to the planning of their next stop, to driving and watching the mirror for cars that follow for too long, but his mind is back in the dining room, hoping Duck will turn the fire in his eyes onto Indrid, bend him over the beige table and take him while the people who tried to hurt them whimper and bleed on the floor.

“‘Drid? I’m gonna go shower, didn’t get a chance this mornin. You wanna scope out dinner?”

“Of course, but I fear it might be the vending machine special again.”

“Eh, I can live with that, especially if they got those Oreo packets.” Duck blows him a kiss and shuts the bathroom door.

Duck’s showers are between five and six minutes in length; Indrid’s certain he can get himself off in that time. He slips his pajama pants down, spits in his hand, and pretends the fingers pressing on his neck are not his own. That Duck’s voice is in his ear the same way it was that first night, low and so firm Indrid has no choice but to bend.

“You droppin hints, slim?” Duck leans in the bathroom doorway, towel around his waist.

He bolts upright, pants tangled around his knees, “Nono, I’m, I’m so sorry, I thought you were going to be a few minutes more.”

“Wanted to shave and forgot my dop kit. Now I’m kinda disappointed that I was gonna miss the show.”

“I, ah, I, it doesn’t bother you?”

“Thought we established we were into each other.” Duck’s smile falters, “wait, fuck, if you decided you ain’t I’ll back the fuck off.”

“No!” Indrid crawls to the edge of the bed nearest Duck, not caring how silly he must look, “it’s the opposite, I want you even more now than I did when we started this trip. After this morning I--ah, never mind. The point is, I would very much like to get you into bed sooner rather than later.”

“How about now?”

“Only if you…” Indrid’s brain screeches to a stop as Duck drops his towel. Now he understands where the urge to create phallic sculptures comes from; he wants to preserve this sight for all time.

“Glad you approve.” Duck chuckles, joins him on the bed, “gotta say the, uh, feelin’s mutual.” He slides a hand along Indrid’s dick, gone soft from his alarm, and lets out an approving groan as it hardens against his palm, “that’s it, sugar, get excited for me.”

“If I get any more excited I will explode.”

“Can’t have that, it’s a pain to clean blood off of walls by yourself” a kiss finds his cheek, “you got a preference for how we do this?”

“I, I’d like to, ah, receive. At least for tonight. Is that alright?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck growls, abandoning him on the bed and laughing when he whines, “gimme two seconds, slim, then I’ll take care of you.” Two condoms and a small bottle of lube bonk into Indrid’s foot, “packed those just in case. You’re gonna get one of ‘em out and open yourself up for me while tellin me just what got you so riled up. Shirt off, c’mon, get to it.”

The gruff tone means Indrid is blushing on every inch of skin by the time he’s fully naked. As Duck’s gaze moves over him, all traces of dominance wash away, leaving expression tender when their eyes finally meet.

“Christ, ‘Drid, you look better than ever coulda pictured. Shoulda been bookin more places with pools just to get you shirtless.”

“It’s January, dear.”

“Hot tubs, then.” Duck nudges him onto his back by kissing his shoulder, and the sight of the ranger above him reminds Indrid’s fingers what they should be doing. He fumbles the condom open, gasps when one digit feels like a massive intrusion.

“Easy slim, easy, you’re probably still tense from this mornin.”

“I thought that much was obvious.” Indrid grins as Duck bends to kiss his collarbone.

“It is, so start tellin me what got you so horny you jerked off the first free second you had.”

“It’s a, a bit embarrassing OH, ohthat'snice” he sighs as Duck kisses a slow trail towards his hips, “but I find the moments when you demonstrate a certain...ruthlessness in-incredibly arousing.” He wiggles his hips happily as Duck drags his lips across his belly.

“Keep goin.”

“You’re brave, and calm even when things are awful, and that makes me feel so very safe with you. But then there are those times when I remember how dangerous you could be, AHnnn” the second finger goes in easier than the first, “that when it, it comes down to it you are more seasoned in lethal matters than I am and I, you could render me utterly helpless, have me, use me, hurt me, but instead you offer me more tenderness than I deserve.” He glances down to where Duck’s chin rests on his chest, the ranger’s eyes overflowing with affection.

“You want the gentle me or the rough one tonight?” Duck tucks a strand of Indrid’s silver hair behind his ear.

“Rough.” It’s so quiet he’s amazed Duck hears it.

“Okay. In that case-”

“AHgod!” Indrid’s hand is pulled free as Duck first flips him over and then hauls him onto his knees.

“Hands on the wall. Now.”

Indrid sets his palms on peeling grey paint as foil crinkles behind him. When the head of Duck’s cock rubs his entrance he whimpers, hoping the prep was enough.

“Here’s how this is gonna go; I’m gonna use this cute little ass however long and however hard I want, and you;re gonna keep your hands there the whole fuckin time. You move, or you mouth off, and I shove some fingers in along with my dick just to remind you who’s boss.”

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid rests his forehead on the wall.

“It gets to be too much, say stop.” A kiss to his neck, “much as I wanna ruin you, wanna be good to you even more.”

“Understood. Now please, please fuck meEEEh, ohgoodnessAH, ahhhgod.” He scratches the wall as Duck stretches him open, the prep proving enough but only just and tears pricking his eyes by the time Duck bottoms out.

One hand stays on his hip while Duck’s right arm wraps around his chest, keeping them close, “Fuuuck, now I see what your job was; ass this nice, you were the fuckin cocksleeve for the entire Organization, weren’t you?”

“Not at all” Indrid rolls his hips at the taunt in Duck’s voice, “I was a very valuable asset.”

“Yeah, I’ll say you’re an asset.” A sharp thrust, the menace of which is broken by Duck giggling at his own joke, Indrid hiding his face in his arm to do the same.

“I say in, ahgod, an office all day, no one saw me, I was not h-hired for my looks, I promise you.”

“If you say so. I say it’s their. Fuckin. Loss.” Three thrusts and Indrid’s cock is dripping onto the pillows, and he moans as Duck settles into a demanding rhythm.

“Got another theory for you, slim.”

“D-do tell.” Whether the stammering is from his teeth clacking together or his thoughts being bounced around his brain from the force of Duck pounding into him, he can’t say.

“I think you stuck around as long as you did because you get off on it danger.”

Indrid sucks in a breath, whimpers, “No. I, I was there because I was apprenticed out and, as you knowOH it’s, it’s hard to leave such places.”

Fingers on his throat, pressing but not squeezing, “Liar. Bet you got off at least once a day, let everyone from the hired hits to higher ups cum in you as long as they made you think they could off someone. Oh fuck, heh, you like that?” Duck smirks as Indrid tries to fuck himself in time with the pumps of his hips.

“Yes, goodness, I’d never want it, only want you, but, but the idea is divine.”

“Too bad, because now you’re all mine and anyone who tries to take you is gonna be in for a world of hurt.”

His climax curls in his stomach, begging him to touch himself and free it, but he’s determined to be good.

“Duck, please let me cum, please, it’s so good but I can’t-”

“I’ll help you out sugar, don’t worry. But you gotta do one thing first.” Duck nips his ear, “say you’re my personal toy from now on. C’mon” the fingers on his throat tighten, “say i-”

“I’m yours, I’m your toy, only you can have me, you can do whatever you wish to me and I’ll take it with a smile, anything, sweetheart, please, pleasepleasepleaseAHhhhn.” His cum splatters on the wall, Duck’s hand leaving his dick the instant it does to dig his fingers into both hips and fuck up into him with ecstatic groans.

“That’s it sugar, take it, be good for me and lemme fuck you until you can’t move, ohfuck, fuck, ‘Drid, yes, fuckyes.” He holds him tight as he cums, breath warm against his back. Then he’s pulling out and slumping forward as Indrid falls back into his arms.

“Ooops” he snickers, spotting the cum, “still easier to clean than blood.”

“Indeed.” Indrid bites his lip, “I, that was wonderful but there’s one thing more I would like. Will you kiss me.” He looks over his shoulder to say it. Duck cups his face, turns it so he can bring their lips together. It’s far slower and twice as tender as anything else they’ve done together.

“Can’t believe I forgot to do that until now. Gonna kiss you silly.” Duck kisses him again as Indrid turns in his lap. When he pulls back, his face is serious, “Y’know, it’s easy to be brave and calm when I’m doin’ it for you. You make me feel like I can face any goddamn thing, long as it’s for your sake. That make sense?”

Indrid studies his face in the half-shaded light from the bedside lamp, sees the curves and colors, sees the man he was willing to run away for.

“Yes, sweetheart, it does.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #meet ugly #hitman au #I guess? #assassin au

[flyin-shark]

Damn not again :(

#196 #shark sayin stuff #fuck cops

[zzariyo]

Yeah can you, like, start tagging when you reblog stuff that’s about Sidon being toxic? He’s a fucking video game character and people can find comfort in a fake shark man if they want to because he’s not real. That post mocking people who like to think he’s gentle and silly and kind is so out of line. He’s not a fucking villain. Posts like that are hard for people to see when they have to cope with past trauma. We get it, you dislike Sidon, but please just tag your anti posts about him.

okay so I got this ask while I was actually going out the door and I wanted to wait until after I recuperated from eventz to answer

so like. I hear you. that's why I'll try to remember to use #anti sidon for anything that could remotely be considered anti sidon. since. it upsets ppl so dang much fjdhfksjkd

But I did reread the post a couple of times and I. Simply do not understand your anger at all anon I'm sorry JFJSJDH

There was no mocking. It was like "hmm I don't think fandom's take on Sidon is very accurate! 🤨🤔" and it didn't call him TOXIC it says that he exhibits toxic positivity cuz of trauma from his sister and whatever fjdjfjd it's not calling him evil or toxic or a villain anywhere at all ........just sayin that perhapse he's not like a super kind n charming himbo like everyone makes him out to be..... C'mon bro.......

You could also argue that BECAUSE he's a video game character, I can say whatever I want about him and analyze him however i'd like. Cuz it ain't like it's slander or Cancellation when the dude doesn't exist

That's not to say that I don't know what it's like when ppl hate a character u love or find comfort in (LIKE DUDE I LITERALLY STAN A CHARACTER THAT 80% OF THE HUMAN POPULATION HATES. SO) but there was no hatred or anything in that post. I also don't necessarily dislike him either. I just think that his character could (and should maybe a little bit) be looked at in other more complex, interesting ways than the key interpretation fandom uses. And I make jokes at his expense cuz I think it's fucking funny JFHSKJDKSHDJS

But YAH I think ur looking at it with Evil rose-tinted glasses. Uh

#im starting 2 get. weary defending nd explaining myself on this sort of matter #so im just gonna start blocking and deleting how i see fit after this even tho it goes against my personal code #LOL

[cowandcalf]

Writer’s Month 2020 - To Find A Way

Prompt No.1 – Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU

Flower shop au

"Ma, that's the third time you're calling! I won't arrive sooner, I'm on my way. On my way. Stop telling me to bring flowers for Aunt Christine. I have them, okay?" Danny's patience walks on thin ice. "I'm not demented and I feel kind of offended, you know? I'm a grown man." Danny pouts a little. His mother has a way of making him feel like the little boy he once was, day-dreaming with the tendency to be invested so deeply in his play that he forgot about the world.

"Daniel, I know my boy, okay? I know how work consumes you and I know you forget things. Flowers are not on top of the list of a detective. Don't make me ask Chin to save the day. Please, bring flowers and don't be too late." His mom's voice has a sweetness to it and Danny caves. She knows how she can twist him around her little finger. He can never be angry for too long if at all. "I promise, Ma. I haven't forgotten the flowers but I'll be an hour late. Work, Ma, yeah - I gotta go, uh-huh, yeah, bye Ma! Bye!" Danny makes kissing sounds and hangs up on her.

Shit. Flowers. Damn. Of course, he has deleted that task. The green stuff has dropped off his list between his first coffee and Chin's call about the body with no arms who’s terrified the tourists. The chief has been scared up with the rumor of a shark attack at the beach. He's had so many other important things to do. God. He can't show up empty-handed and he owes Chin already.

Connections are everything. He dials the number for emergency cases like this. "Kamekona, man, how are you?" He laughs.

His friend tsks him with this didactic tone the one Danny can't stand. "You need my service, brah, I can smell it. It'll cost you. You have to bring guests for lunch for seven days."

"You don't even know what I need!" Danny shouts with ruffled feathers.

"I know it's important to you and you gonna tell me what it is and I know I'll have less than twenty minutes to organize it. So, spit it out, hoaloha."

Danny feels Kame's smugness through his cell. "I need flowers, any flowers and I need them now. I'm on my way to a family gathering and I forgot the damn flowers. My mom’s going to kill me. I need something, anything on my way. ETA is fifteen minutes and I can't turn around. Any ideas? Let's make happen."

There's a pause at the other end. Danny hears Kamekona grunt and grumble. "There's one guy but, uh, you can't just walk into his shop."

"What? Who's that guy? He has a shop but I can't just walk in and buy stuff? Does he have flowers?"

"Kinda – "

"Kame! Don't drive me crazy. Are you my man or are you not?" Danny screams into his cell. Kamekona is always unperturbed by his shouting and that makes him want to yell into his phone even more.

"Give me ten minutes. I need to call him. He hates strangers. He won't let you pass. He needs my word you're a good guy."

"You're fucking kidding me, aren't you, Kame? Flowers, the guy sells flowers. God, why do I even ask, huh?" Danny scoffs and hits the wheel with his palm.

"You want flowers? You do as I say!" Kamekona's voice has changed. Danny jerks a bit with the seriousness in his tone. "He needs to know you're coming. Knock three times, have cash ready, and lose your badge and your gun. No questions."

"Jesus. Okayyy. Whatever. The main thing is to get the damn flowers." Danny gives in. “This guy has some serious issues, dude. Just sayin’”.

"His name is Steve, Steve McGarrett. He doesn't talk much. I'll make sure he's ready for you."

"Thanks, dude. I ow you. Yeah, yeah. I'll bring Chin and Kono for lunch." Danny hangs up and shakes his head. Good Gracious! He's sure he'll meet an incarnation of a hippie, chanting scary mantras and feeling utterly disturbed by the vibes of violence Danny's going to carry into his sacred space.

But he doens’t care. He’s good. He's safe. His mom won't be disappointed. His mood lifts. He's going to get his flowers. But he also sweats. His AC has given up on him this morning and he drives with open windows. He can bring his silver baby into the workshop only tomorrow.

The wind drives its fingers through Danny's hair. He turns the volume up and taps the rhythm of his favorite Bon Jovi song on the steering wheel. When the refrain blares through the speakers Danny sings along at the top of his voice 'lay your hands on me'. He performs a mean headshake and fist bumps the air 'lay your hands on me'.

He's ready for this Steve McGarrett.

Two hours later his mom still glows. Aunt Christine's smile makes the entire family happy. Normally she's grumpy and seriously hard to satisfy but Danny has achieved the impossible.

"Danny," his mom catches him alone in the kitchen, "tell me again how you've found a 'Torch Ginger'? I've never heard of that flower before. I thought you bring a nice bouquet. I'm so proud of you. You've made her very happy. Have you seen the intense red of the petals? Its incredible beauty?"

Danny kisses her cheek. "I'm happy you're happy. I have connections and yes, it’s a special kind of flower."

"Can you take me to this flower shop? I would love to get one of those bright red and magical looking plants, too." Ma Williams's soft laugh makes Danny hug her for a moment.

"I see what I can do, okay?"

Danny watches his mother walk out of the kitchen. He stares down at the tea towel but all he sees are the greenish eyes with the haunted look. Steve – Steve McGarrett. He recognizes a war veteran when he sees one.

Danny sighs and leans against the fridge. Kamekona's going to answer some important questions. A hippie, my ass. Danny feels slightly electrocuted by feelings and by the good looks of this hunk. The after-image that shows when he closes his eyes as if he has looked into a too-bright light bulb is the one of strained, corded muscles under inked skin.

TBC

Chapter 2

Also on AO3 - To Find A Way

#writersmonth2020 #h50 #prompt fill #mcdanno #ficlet #mcdanno ficlet #flower shop au #cowandcalf writes #writing challenge #i'm going to post it also on ao3 #part 1

[sharpen-jadescythe]

Operation Kitten, 1

Part One: The real story of what happened after Sharpen punched Mathias Shaw in the face. Continuation of the other SI:7 Seal story LOL

Jiroki, I’m sorry you had to find out this way. That the problem with Lux’ana Queenwing, a member of your guild posing as someone else? Yes, that can be traced back to me. But one upshot of this situation is, I finally get to be honest with you about something I was holding back. Not because I started things with us in a lie—no I would never do that unless lives depended on it. And they did, actually. I was protecting a lot of people so that’s why I didn’t tell you or anyone the full story, about me. Maybe that sounds like a lie a lover would tell you when he just happens to um, secretly be SI:7. Every time there’s a problem in your romance, he goes ‘Look baby, I had to lie to you in order to save lives.’ And I do know some agents like that. Those guys who use their jobs as an excuse, they’re filth. I guess if you think I’m filth too, I wouldn’t blame you. However, this is the truth. Alessandre and I were both trying to save Lux’ana’s life and the lives of her flock when she walked up to you that day and asked to join the Greyshields like it was nothing. Like Alessandre was just her friend and I had nothing to do with it. But it was part of a much bigger operation, love. Like you wouldn’t believe...

Al instructed me to pretend like I didn’t know Lux’ana, never met her. Al was going to serve as her reference. But now that cover of ours has unraveled some, and so much time has passed? I am going to tell you the truth. The real truth. Okay so, I’ll start at the beginning.

It's dangerous to talk about my work, so usually they give you a story to tell other people instead—not that this is it. I’m telling you everything, even my part in it. I’ve been called a himbo before, that sometimes I make dangerous or stupid decisions. But I see no point in lying to a woman I care so deeply for. I made some promises to you that I intend to keep. Just know that SI:7 gave me another version of my recruitment story, that I failed the swim test. That they threw me in a carriage for punching Mathias Shaw on the beach and sent me home. I embellished a little and said I got to keep the swim trunks. Because I look so damned fetching in that little blue and gold speedo, I guess my vanity sold me out a bit. It was a poor excuse for still having them anyway—as if SI:7, as powerful as that organization is, would let some recruit walk away with their standard issue uniform, even a… choice part of it, just to wear at pool parties. No, you can get picked up and arrested for that, seriously.

There’s a scene I was instructed to leave out, because my situation with them stayed tenuous even after my first mission. Yes, I did punch Mathias actually. That’s still true. But they didn’t give me a free ticket home with no muss nor fuss. That’s the part they asked me to tell my friends. What actually happened is they hogtied me, shipped me all the way out to Boralus which was the center of things at the time, then put me in a holding cell. After leaving me to cool down for a few days, they brought me before the man himself.

They brought me more standard issue stuff to wear, some loose cloth pants and a shirt. I was mad, and wanted some way to mess with them, so I ripped the shirt sleeves off. Which was a bit foolish, I guess. It does get pretty cold in Boralus. Shaw and the others had a barracks set up on the east side of town, close to the damp docks. Close to the Alliance ship docked there and all the cough-cough, handsome fair winds flowing in from the sea, if you know what I’m saying. (Fairshaw’s totally a thing, but you didn’t need an SI:7 Seal to reveal that secret to you. All I’m sayin’.)

To my surprise, they sent me in to see the head man without shackles on my wrists. I had a tight escort—this big Kul Tiran named Big Mack who took up almost the entire hallway, but I did also note that it was just one man and they’d fed me this whole time, treated me well, let me go out into the practice yard for exercise. They just didn’t let me mix with any of the other recruits. And another thing I noticed, all the people I’d trained with were gone. Even that annoying Dwarf guy Hael who couldn’t save himself in the water, let alone from being an obnoxious Dwarf stereotype, being loud and trying to get me drunk the night before the swim test and all that. (In fact, I think I remember telling him that, that he was playing up the Dwarf thing so much I was starting to wonder what he was trying to prove?) So anyway they dropped us all off the coast of Northrend, near Honor Hold, gave us the swim test and they all graduated, even that fool who tried to hang on my back like I was a Night Elf-sized wading board, and drown me in shark-infested waters? Geesh, what a world.

I teased Big Mack, said he looked like he wanted a sandwich. I mean, come on, how big did this guy really need to be?

“Hrmph. Need a third man for that, if it’s a real offer you’re making.”

I blinked. I… was Big Mack coming on to me? He laughed, and yes he did a good job of scaring the pants off me. Let’s not think about me, Big Mack and my pants off. Anyway…

Mostly, I was sullen. I hadn’t shaved in days. My green beard was scruffy and I knew my long dark green hair was kinda bedhead, too. If I didn’t get released right away, I was fully prepared to do something I promised myself I would never ever do, wherever I worked, no matter how tough things got—but damned if I was going to let them lock me up for no real reason, even if it was in the recruit’s barracks. If things were truly rough, then I was going to name drop my sister Wisthera Bane. They knew about her, of course, she was a master rogue in a leading Kaldorei spy organization. But they needed to understand that I was at the point of leveraging my sister and all her connections. Alessandre’s too, if I needed. He was a top assassin as I understood it. He helped run the Kaldorei Rogue Network with her, and they only really reported to High Priestess Tyrande and the Shando, Malfurion himself. Not the Alliance. Well, the Alliance wasn’t their first stop anyways. The Kaldorei people came first.

Big Mack rather roughly pulled out a metal chair for me and pointed with a meaty finger for me to sit. I had a little shock at first, seeing the important man I had punched waiting for me on the other side of the table. Arms crossed, that certain smirk on his face beneath that clipped brunette moustache, but this time, Mathias Shaw had a black eye. Well, it was more of a gray eye by now. The medics had it healing up nicely.

“You don’t just punch a man like Mathias Shaw in the face and get away with it.”

“Well.” I was stunned to be facing him. But I knew from our training that you never showed you were intimidated. However, I’d learned that from before in life anyway. “How do you punch a man like Mathias Shaw? Maybe next time I’ll stand my ground, should’ve stayed standing over you on the beach while you were flat out like a light.”

Mathias uncrossed his arms, sat up right in his chair. “Alright, Seal. You’ve had your word in. I’m letting you have your personality because it’s useful to us. Your freedom of speech in this situation is in my gift—you do get that, right?”

“I’m not an SI:7 Seal. I failed my test.”

“Did you, though?” Mathias cocked his head at me, smirking anew. So this was his revenge, the hitch. Why he was able to smile at me even with that black eye. Mathias was giving me the one thing that I hated most of all.

“I did so fail that swim test.”

“I’m not sure that’s how tests work? Right? I mean… doesn’t the teacher grade you? And if the teacher isn’t sure, then doesn’t the pass-fail decision fall to the headmaster? How exactly do those Kaldorei schools work, that you still don’t know?”

“Interesting line of inquiry, sir. But I’m immune to insults coming out of the mouth of a man that I punched.”

“Hold on now—we’re going in circles. Relax.”

I guess I did have my hackles all the way up already. I let my big shoulders sink down, took easier breaths. I glanced back over to see Big Mack still standing in the room by the door. I gave Mathias a look, that after everything, he wanted a bodyguard in my presence.

Shaw folded his hands on the table. “Yes, SI:7 has a reputation for letting some big arseholes in. Arseholes who bungle missions because they’re really in it for the gold, the chance to retire early after body-breaking work and then start up their own businesses. Security agencies and the like.”

“Yes! After only one year of service! Maybe two? But how does that serve the Alliance?”

Mathias nodded at me, that it was all true. But he also looked weary. That wasn’t a part of his organization, they way it was run, that he condoned. “If men get tired, we have to let them go. We can’t force them. And there’s this pipeline of ex-pats helping their buddies and the sons and daughters of their buddies to join up, just to make even more money. We’re trying to break that down from the inside. No offense, but Kaldorei don’t tend to rub each other’s backs like that. So, we’re aggressively recruiting your people. And before you think of threatening me with intervention from your sister in the Kaldorei Rogue Network, we know all about them. In fact, I made them, Wisthera and Alessandre. And the third triumvir rogue, Mistress Myrielle Fadeleaf? I trained her as well.”

I pointed his way, “Not how my sister tells it.”

He rolled his eyes, “Anyway. You’re young, you’re new to spywork. And seems it runs in your family. We recruited you because of your sister, Sharpen. You’re not going to catch us out with that, it was one of the main reasons. SI:7 didn’t go into it blindly.”

“But you just said!” I floundered for a moment, realizing my parachute was gone. “Corruption, back-scratching is rife in SI:7! That whole recruitment experience—nightmare—is not something I want to repeat in the field. I won’t serve!”

Mathias stayed calm, sucked his teeth and looked up thoughtfully before he spoke. Like he was indulging me. “Now. I don’t want to call you a himbo. I don’t wanna hurt your feelings. But let’s say that, unlike your sister, you are a man who would take orders. You would do it for the greater good, you would be incorruptible in that way. Sharpen, didn’t I just explain to you that I’m sick of the bad guys inside our organization? I want a real man. You.” He pointed at me with both hands, thumbs up like he was attempting to sell me a horse, fast. “You are a real man, Sharpen Jadescythe. A man we can depend on.”

#si7-seal #stories #operation-kitten

[lu-undy]

Chapter 8 - SBT

Here it is :)

"G'day, mate."

"Oh hey M! What brings you here? Need somethin'?" 

Mundy had found Eddy in his shop. 

"Nah, not really. I mean I don't need stuff so far. I just wanted to apologise." 

The short man behind the counter raised surprised eyes to his tall friend. 

"Why would you apologise?"

"I was a bit harsh with you maybe. You didn't deserve any of that." 

"What're you talkin' about? Nah man, it's fine!"

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah! Though uh, I'm glad you remember where my shop is, eh?" Eddy said and smiled wide. 

"Yeah, don't worry, I can't forget. Roight, better get going. I got stuff to do." Mundy answered and walked back to the front door of the hunting equipment shop. 

"Hey, M?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Good luck, but you won't need it!"

The Aussie nodded with a smile. 

"Thanks, mate." 

Back in his van, Mundy took a deep breath and turned the key in. He heard his campervan roar decidedly and started driving around in town. He had a few names who he knew could help. The first of them was a certain Phil Baxter. The man had ears everywhere for animal goods circulating around. Mundy drove to the pier. Phil had a small import/export business. Most of his activity had to do with bringing to Australia lamb derived products from New Zealand. But, there always was a but, it happened that sometimes his crates contained more than mere lamb chops… 

The Aussie parked his van and walked to the building next to the port where the seagulls flew by the dozen, trying to see if this tall man had anything they could snatch off of him. Mundy entered and took the stairs to the third floor. He went through a corridor, crossing paths with men in suits and ties as much as local fishermen. He finally stopped in front of a door and gave a short few knocks. 

"Busy!" The voice answered. 

Mundy pushed the door anyway and looked at the desk. Phil was giving his back to him, on his office chair and spun around to face him. 

"I said I'm bu--oh, bugger… I'll have to call you back." He hung up the phone and Mundy stepped in, shutting the door behind him. 

"Mundy, is that really you…?" The man in the light blue shirt and dark blue trousers and tie stood up and went to him.

"Yeah, it is."

"My God! How long has it been!" 

They exchanged a dear friendly hug. 

"Quite a few years now, I think." Mundy answered.

"More like a decade! What brings you here? Oh, and sit down of course, want anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?" 

"Coffee would be nice." Mundy answered as he sat down.

"Alright, just a second…" Phil resumed his seat and took his phone. He quickly composed a single digit number. "Vanessa? Yeah, 2 coffees in my office. One for me and one just black. You still like your coffee black, right?" He looked at Mundy who nodded. "Alright then. Ok, thanks." 

He hung up and raised his eyes and his attention to his guest. 

"Alright then, to what do I owe the pleasure?" 

Mundy removed the hat off his head and lowered his head.

"Uhm… I guess I should start by explainin' m'self a bit. I kinda disappeared for a bit of time." 

Phil listened carefully. 

"I uh… Things happened that meant that I couldn't continue doing what I used to. So I just stopped and uh… Yeah, well, I stopped everything. Sorry I didn't say it properly or anythin'."

"Whatever happened must have been pretty serious, eh?" Phil asked but before his guest could answer, Vanessa the secretary entered and put the two coffee cups on the desk. "Thanks Vanessa." 

She nodded, her eyes never leaving her boss's guest and exited. 

"Alright then, that's your cup, and that's mine." 

"Thanks, mate." 

"No problem. So yeah, go on…" 

Mundy took a sip and resumed his speech. 

"Yeah, I stopped everythin' and went off the radars." 

"Took a break?" Phil asked. 

"Kind of. I thought I wouldn't step in again but…" 

"But your sitting here in front of me and sharing a coffee means that you had to take a break off your break, hm?" 

Mundy nodded. 

"Yeah. Look, it's been ten years and I disappeared without sayin' anything which I guess makes me the worst kind of professional partner you could think of."

"But?" Phil anticipated. 

"But I need your help like before." Mundy said, embarrassed.

"What is it you need?" 

The tall man raised his eyes to the office worker. 

"Why the surprised look?" Phil asked. 

"I didn't expect you to accept helping."

"You think I'd hold a grudge or somethin'? Mundy, it's been ten years! I thought you'd got caught and died!"

"What?!" 

"What else d'you want me to think?! One day you're here, running after God knows who and then radio silence for a decade!" Phil exclaimed and raised his arms to the All-Mighty. Mundy sighed. 

"I-I'm sorry." 

"Mate, I'm just relieved you're not dead. You're doin' Nature's work in this country where no one else cares. If folks understood the importance of what Mother Nature is giving us, if they could understand that they're drawing more than her very breath, if they could see that they're bleedin' her dry, they'd bloody thank you at least."

Mundy shrugged. 

"'m not doin' this for the praise or the applause, mate. Not that I'm gettin' it anyway." 

Phil looked at him gently. 

"I'm bloody well aware. I don't know why you decided to stop and why now you're here in front of me. But if you need me, it'll be like the good old days for me." 

Phil stood up and went around his desk. He extended his hand to his partner. 

Mundy raised his eyes to the hand that was offered to him. 

"So, what d'you say?" 

The Aussie stood up and grasped the hand firmly before Phil hugged him dearly.

"Good to see you again, mate. So nice to see you alive and well…! You haven't changed a bit!"

"Well, I have a few more lines on my face now."

"But still no grey hair, eh? Lucky you!" Phil answered, carding his hair that had barely started turning grey on his temples.  "Alright then…! What d'you need?" 

The office worker regained his seat and faced his friend. 

"Have you heard of 'gators recently?" Mundy asked.

"Alligators?" Phil repeated. 

"Yeah."

"Nah, sorry mate. We've had sharks, snakes, kangaroos, dingoes and countless others but no 'gators… Actually, now that I have the M in front of me, can I ask you somethin'?" Phil looked his friend in the eye. 

"Sure." 

"Alright then." Phil rolled on his chair closer to his friend. "There's been a recent uh… spike let's say, in stuff that we were asked to transport." 

"From Oz? To where?"

"From New Zealand to Oz and, well, from Oz to itself."

"What?!" Mundy asked. "I thought you transported sheep stuff from New Zealand and back?" 

"That was true ten years ago mate. Now we also do internal shippin' within Australia." 

"Oh, wow, had no idea…" Mundy answered. "But yeah, tell me more."

"Basically, a lot of our trucks are hired here and there. It's not something we should be doin' strictly speakin' but as long as the client pays the gas and returns the trucks in good conditions, we're fine." 

"I see."

"Recently, it's not just mine but also the competition's trucks that we've seen drive along, side by side here and there. I've had a few employees tellin' that. Imagine, our trucks and theirs, drivin' side by side, what the hell…?"

Phil took a sip of his coffee. 

"So I thought the competition's been messin' with us. I took the phone here and gave a few calls. Turns out they were under the same impression as us. They were thinking that we were playin' with their nerves! Now, they might be bluffin' but…"

"Don't believe it?" Mundy asked. 

"Nah, not really. Somethin's fishy about it."

"I see. But what's it got to do with me?" 

"Well, they returned the trucks and they were spotless clean but, the other day, I had one of my men sent in one of them and as soon as he stepped in, he started sneezin' like crazy and couldn't breathe."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped up. 

"He's allergic to cats." 

"Cats?" Mundy repeated.

"Yeah." 

"Well" The Aussie chuckled. "What d'you want me to do with that?" 

"I don't know but it all seems to fall a bit too well. First we're asked to get some more things from New Zealand, then the cat's fur, and now you here…"

"Mate, you might be overthinkin' it. I can't possibly see how any of that is related. Alright, you got a bit of a bump in yer business, which is good, right? More means more money, isn't it? And then one of yer men is allergic to cats, hell, even I used to be like that when I was a kid. And besides all that, I'm enquirin' about alligators."

"You might be right…" Phil massaged his own brow with his fingers. "Might need a break." 

"Yeah, 'specially if you've had a lot of work recently." Mundy confirmed. 

"Yeah, nah… I'm really glad to see you back in the business though. I'll let you know if I hear more from your alligators."

"Thanks mate." 

Both stood up and shook hands. Mundy went to the door. 

"Oh wait, I got a new phone number for, y'know, special business. You might use that one if you ever need to see me. Here's the number." 

Phil scribbled it down on a post it note and handed it over to Mundy. 

"Alright. I'll keep that in mind, mate. Thanks. See ya!"

"See ya and stay safe!" 

The Aussie soon found himself in his van again, driving back to town. 

"Roight… If Phil hasn't heard about my 'gators, they can't have left Oz. Not yet. That's good. I still have my chances." 

He looked through his rear view mirror quickly and continued driving. 

"Then, next stop is to the usual reserves. The one to the west has swamps and water facilities so if the gators were caught, they should be there." 

He had worked with them before too. He just hoped they would remember him.

The Australian drove decidedly for a good hour or so. He felt a bit nervous as he came closer to the reserve. He was ashamed of his own self. Phil thought he was dead. Was he wrong? 

Biologically speaking, of course not. The man breathed and was in good health. But in his mind, not really. Mundy had been much closer to dead than he was to being alive back then. But could anyone blame him, after everything he had gone through? 

He didn't have the time to think further as the van stopped in front of the reserve. He stepped out and walked to the door where he knocked. 

"Oh, hello there, how can I help?" 

Mundy removed his hat and lowered his head in front of the lady at the reception.

"I uh… I was wonderin' if Matt was still workin' here?" 

"Yeah he is. Do you need me to call him?" 

"Yes please. Uhm, tell him that M is at the door, will ya?" 

"Sure!" 

The blond lady took her walkie-talkie and said. 

"Matt, there's a gentleman to see you here." 

There was a second of silence before a voice answered. The quality of the sound wasn't the best but Mundy could still clearly understand. 

"Who's that? I'm not waitin' for anyone." 

"The gentleman's name is M…?"

"Holy shit!" 

Matt cut on the spot and Laura seemed surprised.

"He must be on his way. Take a seat and wait for him if you want." 

"Uh, yeah, sure, thanks." 

Mundy sat on one of the orange plastic chairs in the hall and waited. A few minutes had passed when the sound of a car woke him up from his daydreaming. He heard it stop and its door was slammed shut. An instant later, a man flung the door open.

"M? Is that you?" 

"I don't know, d'you do remember me, eh?" 

"Mate, it's been so long… We thought the worst had happened to you, or that maybe you just stopped."

Matt threw himself at the Aussie who had just stood up and hugged him dearly.

"Well, I kinda did, yeah." 

"Come in, come in! The rest of the team's busy, we've been super full of work y'know but -- holy shit, mate, it's really you!"

Mundy raised his eyes and he realised that the young black man who worked there was now a full blown adult, no doubt about that. 

"Bloody hell, you grew up so much, Matt. It's hard to believe it's still you… Look at you now, big and strong, with a beard…!"

Matt looked up at the taller man. 

"And you haven't changed a bit, even your clothes are the same style…!"

It was all so strange. 

"How old are you now?" The Aussie asked.

"Twenty-five, man. It's been ten years!" 

They walked out and both embarked on Matt's jeep. 

"C'mon, I'll give you a tour!" 

Mundy nodded and accepted the invitation. The young man drove him around the wide area of natural decor that countless species shared. 

"Bloody hell, is this all of the reserve? It used to be so much smaller…! You guys used to have only reptiles, snakes, crocs, alligators and the like…"

"Yeah but we managed to get more land and more animals."

"Still have the reptiles?" Mundy asked. 

"Oh, yeah, heaps more now. We even got new generations of them." 

"Ah, that's nice. Been workin' hard then, eh?" 

"Yeah, kinda, but I'm not complainin'. It's a beautiful job." 

Mundy smiled. The young man next to him had grown indeed but some aspects of his character had remained, among which the passion he had for animals. 

Matt stopped the jeep in front of a big house. 

"Is that yer headquarters?" 

"Nah, more of a small one. Let's get inside and we can have a chat, yeah?" 

Mundy nodded and followed the young man. 

"So what's your job title now, Matt?" 

"I'm in charge of the crocs!"

"Really?! I remember you were terrified of them!"

"Yeah but I was taught how to handle them and I grew to like them. And I think they like me too!"

Both entered a room with sofas, a big table and a TV. It resembled a classic living/dining room. 

"Please M, sit down. Want anything to drink?" 

"Just water please."

"Alright, gimme a minute." 

And a minute later Matt came with two glasses in his hand. 

"Here you go…!"

"Ah, thanks mate." 

They both sat next to each other and took a good sip of their drinks. 

"Anyone else apart from you who's still working here?" Mundy asked.

"Yeah, most of the team is, I think. Oh, actually Dave retired."

"Ah, fair, the man was already too old back then." Mundy said. 

"Yeah, and Kate, she's havin' her third kid, she's out on maternity leave!"

"Kate? She's got kids?!" 

"Yeah, mate! Oh you've missed so much… We can do the catchin' up later. I'm curious, what brings you back?" 

"Well, business… I'm lookin' for 'gators and I wanted to know if you had heard anythin' about them." 

"What kind of 'gators?" 

"There's this bloke called Johnson. He owned some-"

"Yeah, Johnson, I know him. He called us a few times and we went there to help him out when he first got his alligators. Oh  shit… Don't tell me those ones got stolen?"

Mundy grimaced and nodded.

"Yeah… Yeah, they did."

"All of them?"

"All of them. Stolen right under his nose." 

"Bloody hell, M, those were the last ones!"

"I know, that's why I'm here with you."

Matt drank more of his water to digest the information. 

"So, heard of anythin' about them?" Mundy asked.

"No, I'm sorry, no one came with more animals. If anything we were super busy because of poachers ourselves."

"What happened?" The tall man asked. 

"They've been visitin' us more and more lately and they only take the good stuff eh. They know what they want these ones… I'm sorry, M, I'm probably adding to your problems here."

"Nah, nah, go on." 

"It started with some crocs. I was furious and felt absolutely powerless… Then came the antelopes, some birds, and even some panthers." 

"When did that all happen?" 

"In about a few months now, two, maybe three. We're seriously concerned now and standing guard durin' the night doesn't really help. The reserve is huge and we're not enough to cover it all entirely, even with volunteers…" 

"D'you have any leads about the thiefs?" Mundy asked. 

"No… Not really. You're gonna laugh but…" 

Matt hesitated. 

"Go on, mate, it's the same old me. You can talk." 

"Yeah… Well I've been prayin' for you to come back. Each Sunday when I'd go to church. I'd add a prayer, asking for you to not be dead and come back. I even thought of… I thought of quittin' my job here and takin' up yours basically."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped behind his glasses. 

"Someone has to scare the poachers away, we can't let them come and go like that, takin' whatever they want! And I remember how you'd always come and bring back the animals that had been stolen. It was magical, really. One day they were gone, the next day we'd call you and poof, they would re-appear…"

Matt smiled in nostalgia. 

"But then I realised that I had no idea where to start to be the new M, so I abandoned and just stuck to prayin'...."

"Well then I guess you have to go this Sunday and say thanks to the one up there, eh?" Mundy answered and his young friend smiled. 

"Yeah, guess so…"

Silence fell for a moment and Mundy downed the remainder of the water in his glass. 

"M?"

"Hm?" 

"Are you really back?"

The Aussie took a deep breath. 

"S'ppose I say yes, then what?" 

"Please find my crocs. They were a family… The bastards even broke the eggs they had laid…"

Mundy saw Matt's pleading eyes and found it hard to refuse. It was a grown man who was asking him but he saw the very young adult who would come and help during his holidays… 

"I… I can't promise, mate. But I'll keep you in mind. If I hear anythin' about them, I'll give you a call, ok?"

"Yeah… Actually, let me give you the phone number. They had it changed a few times I think since you were gone." 

Matt rose from the sofa and took a newspaper lying on the table. He tore the corner of a page and scribbled his name and the number. 

"There, if you call that, you'll have Laura at reception. Then ask for me and she'll call me on my walkie-talkie, same as she did today."

"Alroight, thanks mate."

"Let's get to the jeep, I'll give you a ride back." 

"Yeah, thanks." 

After a few minutes, Mundy was back in his van. He rolled the window down for Matt to speak. 

"Good to see you back, M. It's been too long. We've all missed ya here." 

The older man smiled. 

"Thanks, mate. I think I've missed it too somehow."

"See ya, M!"

"See you too, Matt!" 

The Aussie rolled his window back up and drove away, his thoughts still rolling. Matt hadn’t heard about his alligators so they weren’t in any reserve or zoo. Right then, Mundy needed to visit another person. It all felt a bit unsettling, walking back in his own steps, reviving friendships like dead plants. Now he was feeling the weight of the past decade. Time had continued passing, even though it had stopped for him. People had continued growing, Matt was now a man. Companies thrived, Phil was very successful. Mundy raised his eyes and looked in his rear view mirror. All those changes and he had stayed the same, like the gear of a clock stuck on midnight.  

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT