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bettyfrommars · 6 months

Text

I'm on Fire

biker!eddie x fem!artist!reader

Part 17: A creature of love, I can't be tamed

masterlist playlist

18+ONLY, series typical violence, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex with someone other than Eddie and reader, hate-fucking (consensual), oral (m receiving), sexual harassment, biker!steve, biker!billy, protective!eddie, rocker!nancy

word count: 6.4k

songs: I Hate Myself for Loving You by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts, Wild Child by W.A.S.P. and Cinnamon Girl by Type O Negative

The second half of your first night back at the Velvet Hammer heats up with Eddie on stage, Charlene on the premises with Billy, and Steve working through his emotions in a moment of carnal desire.

authors note: It has felt so good to get back to writing this story, I missed our biker boys so much. It will probably be another week or two until the next part, but you won't have to wait too long. Thank you for your patience, I love you.

There came the sound of shrill feedback from the stage, and the drummer twisted his stick around his fingers before clapping the high hat. You took your break and met Eddie over by the carpeted hallway. The two of you huddled together, out of view from the front half of the bar, including Charlene and Billy.

“What’s Steve going to do?” You hushed, feeling the familiar anxiety rise inside of you that someone might get hurt again.

“Nothing for now,” Eddie exhaled. You put your hand on his chest, and he held it there. “You let me worry about Steve and Charlene, you have enough to do. I won’t let anything go sideways in here tonight.”

You told him about what you’d just learned from Shana, about Charlene being part owner of the Velvet Hammer, and he gave a slow blink, dragging out a long, ragged breath. “Why does that not surprise me,” you could almost hear the wheels in his brain turning. “She can’t have this place, it’s ours,” he growled, walking you down the hall and clanking open the heavy metal back door to the alley.

“But,” you started. Eddie pulled a pack of smokes out of his front pocket and sparked a flame from his zippo to light the end. “Isn’t it too late for that? It sounds like she already took it?”

You held two fingers like you were making a peace sign for Eddie to pass you a smoke and he raised his eyebrow at you curiously. You gave a nod, answering his unspoken question, and he put a second one between his lips to light it for you before passing it over.

You took a tiny drag and coughed smoke out of your nose at first, but then the second inhale was smoother. Thanks to so many nights at the Hammer, your throat and lungs were sufficiently coated with tar and ready for the challenge.

The other owner of the Hammer was a well known real estate investor and builder named Murray Bauman, and he was a friend of the MC. They’d done several “jobs” for him over the years that were clean by MC standards, but dirty enough to ruin his reputation if they came to light. Murray was also notoriously unfriendly with the Gregson’s, and Eddie wondered how much Charlene had paid, and what kind of scandal she’d dug up on Stephen, to make him give up his share like that.

Eddie tilted his head back, exposing his throat, to take a long, thoughtful drag, looking up at the clear sky that was blinking full of stars. “I wish I could go back in time before I ever met Charlene, and avoid her at all costs.”

“I don’t know,” you looked down and kicked the heel of your shoe against your toe. “She’s awfully determined. I think she would’ve found you anyway. Plus, I don’t think it’s you she wants anymore.”

“I feel responsible though,” Eddie muttered, blowing smoke out through tight lips. “For everything that’s happened to the people around me because of her.”

The sound of Nancy saying something into the mic, followed by the crowd cheering, came muffled through the door, and you really wanted to change the subject, to pull him out of his dark thoughts. “I’d love to see you play tonight,” you told him right before both of your cherries glowed orange at the same time in the dark.

“I don’t have my guitar here,” he stated the obvious, sucking his tongue on the roof on a sharp inhale, angling his head back to blow smoke up while keeping his eyes on you. “But I might sing one or two with her. Just for you.”

“You can sing too?” Your eyes got wide like a little kid watching the twinkling lights on a Christmas tree.

“Hi, baby, have we met?” He scoffed, slipping his bottom lip through his teeth to repress a grin, and then he winked at you and smashed his smoke on the brick wall before throwing it in the dumpster. He caught you by the hips and pulled you flush to him. “I mean, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

—--------

Back on his stool, Steve rolled a toothpick between his lips while he scanned the crowd, and did his best not to look over at Billy and Charlene. He wasn’t sure what was eating at him more; the fact that she had the nerve to show up after everything, or that she was there with Billy.

The crew from Lucifer’s Own were known for doing the dirty deeds no other MC would touch. They ran a high-end escort service on the outskirts of town, and did a lot of blow and opiate smuggling over the border. It was also a front for an underground fighting ring that was dirty and rigged, and sometimes, the fools who participated ended up with broken bones, or had their lights turned out completely.

Billy Hargrove and Steve went way back, and they’d actually been friendly acquaintances for a while back in high school, until Billy had pursued a girl Steve liked at the time just to piss him off. Also, to prove to Steve that he could take whoever he wanted. “Nothing wrong with a little competition, right, Harrington?” Is that what this was? Was Billy escorting Charlene around just to rub it in Steve’s face?

“Yeah, well, you can have her,” Steve mumbled to himself under his breath, thoughts racing so fast that he was starting to talk to himself, head bent to work the end of the toothpick with his fingers. “Good luck with that one, buddy, you’ll need it.”

There was more feedback from the speakers. “Hey there Hawkins, who is ready to rock?” Nancy purred into the microphone, one hand gripping the fretboard of her guitar before she slung the strap around her body. People shouted and cheered, and there were a few high-pitched whistles of encouragement.

The bassist with the band looked like a younger version of Eddie, but with a mane of black hair that was thick with tight curls, and the drummer had a black goatee and long, straight hair way past his shoulders. The backup guitarist looked like he was cut right out of the James Hetfeild playbook.

“We’re gonna start out with a little something familiar to get y’all warmed up,” Nancy said into the mic. “This one is called I Hate Myself for Loving You.”

The crowd roared, pounding their fists on the tables. Nancy said a countdown before she began a slow clap to the beat and the drums kicked in, deep bass vibrating in the walls.

When Steve looked up, he saw Charlene making her way across the room, either for the payphone or the restrooms, and Steve straightened up, wondering if he should say something to her. He went up to the bar and patted Thumper on his broad back, asking him to watch the door for a few minutes. Thumper was three beers and several shots in, but was not yet showing any signs of inebriation. He fisted a handful of his graying beard and told Steve it was no problem.

“Midnight, gettin' uptight, where are you?

You said you'd meet me, now it's quarter to two

I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you…”

He followed but he hung back, hiding in the crowd until he saw her go into one of the bathrooms. When you and Eddie came out from the alley, you found Steve leaning against the wall that was heavily papered in band flyers, next to the payphone.

Eddie was walking behind you,his hands firm on your hips, moving his legs in time with yours. You both came to a halt at the sight of Steve, and you had to shove off, back to work, but Eddie took your hand to kiss your knuckles before you walked away.

“Everything cool?” Eddie asked his friend, checking around to make sure no chaos had ensued while he’d been outside with you. There was a huge crowd there, packed in like sardines. All of the tables and bar stools were occupied, and plenty of people were taking advantage of the standing room only, blocking most of the walkways.

“I’m not sure yet, man,” Steve put his head back against the wall, Adam’s apple jutting out. “But I’ll let you know.”

“I called Van and told him to get over here with Devlin,” Eddie let him know. “Just in case more of Lucifer’s Own try to cause trouble.”

Steve only nodded, absently, his eyes twitching to the bathroom door every so often. Eddie clapped Steve a few times on the arm before turning to watch the band as he pushed his way through the crowd. Nancy made her fingers into devil horns in the air at him and Eddie returned the gesture, raising his arm high.

“I think of you every night and day

You took my heart and you took my pride away…”

The crowd was stomping their feet to the rhythm and belting out the chorus. Nancy detached the mic from the stand to make her way across the stage.

The second Steve saw the door open, he took long strides across the hallway to keep Charlene from exiting, pushing her back inside the single-person bathroom. She did not protest as he braced the door and locked it behind him, turning to face her with a tight jaw.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Char?”

“What do you think I’m doing here?” She hushed it, dropping her gaze as if suddenly she was afraid to look at him. “I missed you.”

“Jesus Christ, Charlene, you need to stop.” He rubbed his hands down his face, exasperated. “I’m sorry for how I treated you at the hotel, but this needs to end.”

“But what if I don’t want to stop?” She closed in on him, lifting her hands to hold his face, but he blocked the effort, restraining her at the wrists. “What if I want you so bad, it hurts?”

He met her eyes. “You miss me and you thought fucking Billy would be the answer?”

“We’re not fucking, it’s not like that with him. Not like it was with you.” She struggled a little in his grasp just so he would tighten his grip on her.

Steve scoffed. “You mean, not like it was with me and Eddie and your husband and every other dude you’ve spread your legs for in this town?” Steve wasn’t one to judge, not with the amount of pussy he’d run through over the years, but still, showing up with one of his rivals was a low blow.

Charlene slammed forward so that Steve’s back hit the door, her breath hot and urgent on his neck. “No one fills me up like you do. I need your cock to split me open one last time, Stevie, please.”

She sank to her knees, kissing down his chest as she went, and he let her, releasing her wrists so that she could make quick work of unbuttoning his Levi’s. She licked around his balls and nuzzled her face in the hair at the base of his thick shaft, making hungry gasps of need as she did so.

He hissed when the fat head of his cock sank into her mouth. “Juss…just one more time,” he groaned as she lapped him up. She hummed around his length and nodded, looking up at him, agreeing as her lips strained to take the measure of his girth.

“I know you’re angry, Steve,” she flicked her tongue out over the ridge a few times like a poisonous snake about to strike. “I want you to take it out on me.”

He fisted a handful of her hair, tight, so that he controlled the movements of her head, and it made her whimper with pleasure.

—------

The next song Divine Filth sang was an original, a real headbanger that had Nancy growling into the mic and jabbing her devil horn fingers in the air. The bass guitarist’s fingers strummed the keys while the drummer spun his sticks high in the air and caught them. You noticed that a few of the male patrons were choosing to go outside to take a piss, which meant there was another line at the bathrooms again, but you were too busy to go over and check out why.

While Erika was on her break, it was your responsibility to go over and check on Billy, since Jackie was working the other side of the room. Two more of the Coffin Kings had just arrived and Eddie was out in the parking lot having a talk with them, being that it was hard to have a conversation inside with the band playing.

You made your way over to Billy’s table, noticing that Charlene was nowhere to be found. One side of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin while he watched you approach, and you wondered if he knew who you were and who you belonged to. You also wondered if he gave a shit.

As you got closer, you noticed that he had a pronounced scar from his eye to his jaw, and he didn’t have a ton of tattoos like the other boys, but there was the word “mother” above a heart with a dagger through it just under the sleeve of his t-shirt on his bicep and a Lucifer’s Own insignia on his opposite forearm.

He was slouched down a bit in his seat, knees spread wide, voice raised to be heard over the music. “You must be War Machine’s old lady,” he gave you a lift of his chin.

“You are correct,” you said with your best customer service smile.

“Damn,” his hand made a cage around the pack of smokes on the table so he could pull it toward him. His eyes locked onto your face, unwavering. “That son of a bitch always had good taste.”

“If you say so,” you checked over your shoulder, expecting to see Eddie charging over with that dangerous scowl on his face, but he wasn’t inside yet. You cleared your throat. “Can I get you anything else?”

He ordered another beer for himself and a tequila for Charlene, even though you knew she was much more of a wine drinker.

“Just put it on Charlene’s tab,” he said with a wink, alluding to the fact that she was practically your boss now. “But this is for you,” and before you could reach for the 20 dollar bill he had in his hand, he was stuffing it into the waistband of your shorts, fingers grazing your bare skin, watching the discomfort wash over your face as he did so.

You turned on your heel without another word, bee-lining back to the bar, when Eddie stepped through the main door so abruptly, you almost crashed into him.

Devlin and Van moved around the two of you while Eddie put one hand on your lower back and the other cupped the back of your neck. “You okay, baby?” He mumbled, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

You nodded, but then Eddie looked over in the direction you had just come and saw Billy there, flicking the flame on his lighter and watching the interaction between the two of you. You knew what Eddie was looking at by the way his body tensed. “Did Billy say something to you?”

“I had to wait on his table while Erika was on her break,” you were pulling your boyfriend away as you were talking, practically dragging him back to his seat at the bar. “Nothing happened, I’m fine. I just missed you.”

On stage, Nancy lit into a mean guitar solo.

“You sure?” Eddie’s stare was hard.

“Hey,” you grabbed Eddie’s face, making him look at you. “Baby, can’t you see? He wants to start trouble. Just ignore him. Please, for me.”

“Did he touch you?” His jaw muscles bulged and a dark fell over his brown eyes, making them almost black.

“No baby,” you hummed the lie. Eddie had quite a bit of common sense, more so than Steve when it came to affairs of the heart, but you knew that someone would get hurt if you told him about the way Billy had slid that money into your shorts. You had no doubt that Eddie could handle himself, but you didn’t want there to be any more fighting; everyone had already been through enough. Plus, Billy was not the first guy at the Hammer to overstep, and he wouldn’t be the last. Sadly, that was the nature of the work, you’d come to realize.

Eddie took a breath and lowered his forehead to yours, slotting his fingers around your ears so that his thumbs grazed your cheeks. “I’ll be good, sweetheart,” he promised.

Everyone clapped at the end of the song and then you heard Eddie’s name being said over the speakers.

“We’re lucky enough to have the frontman for Corroded Coffin here with us tonight,” Nancy started. “And he said he might get up here for a song or two. What do you say, Munson?”

The crowd went wild at that suggestion, and some even chanted his last name, punching fists into the air. Nancy motioned him on stage with a few scoops of her fingers.

“I guess I’m doing this,” he said, parting your lips with his tongue for a brief but firm kiss before he made his way to the stage. The James Hetfield guy was already taking off his guitar to hand it to Eddie before he could protest, and they clapped hands together in greeting. Your “old man” was adjusting the strap over his shoulder when he looked out over the sea of heads and caught your eye.

“I love you,” Eddie mouthed, taking the pic off of the chain that he had dangling around his neck.

—-------

Five minutes earlier, Steve had Charlene bent over the sink in the bathroom, jeans low on his hips, yanking her head back by the throat as he jackhammered himself inside of her.

“Tighter,” she whined, and his fingers closed in on her windpipe. He’d pushed her thong to the side and was spitting every so often so that he could watch it slide down her slit and mix with the frothing wet mess of her arousal where his cock sank into her. He didn’t need the saliva to lube his brutal pace, but he liked the idea of spitting on her, it helped him work through his hatred.

“God Steve, you’re so fucking good, fuckkk,” she dragged the last word out as hips clapped onto her with rapid, forceful grunts, making her whole body jerk each time he made contact.

He slowed the pace for a few thrusts so that he could spit again, and then he used his thumb to rub the saliva around the pink hole that tightened at his touch. He’d never been with a woman who had every inch of hair removed like her, she looked like some kind of porn star. He wanted to be in her ass one last time, but it felt too tight and warm where he was. He was close.

He let go of her throat and clutched her hips on either side in a way that would bruise, angling to finish himself off.

“You’re such a fucking whore for my cock,” he bit out. He wished she didn’t feel so fucking good. He wished that his disgust for her didn’t also turn him on in a way that made him uncomfortable.

Charlene’s eyes rolled back in her head, orgasm mounting rapidly as he buried himself base deep to a point where the line between pleasure and pain was blurred. She knew this was a farewell reminder, and it made her cry out his name.

“Fuck Steve, I’m cumming,” a few more pumps and she was exploding around his length, legs shaking at the way the wave crashed over her, making her see white.

“Get on your knees,” Steve told her, his hips stuttering. When she was down in front of him, he jerked himself the rest of the way off onto her outstretched tongue, ropes of cum painting her chin and dripping down to her cleavage. He made her lick the rest of him clean, and then she sucked her fingers.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah, hold your fucking horses,” Steve shouted, pulling his jeans up. He helped Charlene get her bodysuit back on and zipped up. He almost kissed her, but then he remembered who she was.

He checked himself in the mirror and slicked his hair back before letting her know she should wait a minute until after he was gone before she followed him out. She was cleaning the mascara that had leaked down her cheeks, and was about to apply more lipstick, when she caught his eyes on her in the reflection.

“What if I told you I had a gift for you?” Her expression was coy.

Steve sighed. “I don’t want anything from you, Char. This was it, I’m done, I mean it.”

She rolled the red lipstick out of its gold tube. “What if it was something that would change your life?”

He thought about that, wetting his lips. “Listen, we’re never gonna fuck again. I don’t care if you buy me a Ferrari.”

“Well, it’s better than a car,” she huffed a small laugh. “Let’s just call it a…parting gift. A way for me to say sorry for everything I put you and Eddie through.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and put his back against the door. “Yeah, well, if this is about to be some grande gesture from you, I’d like to know what the catch is.”

She turned to him, fixing the ends of her hair around her face. “No catch, not this time,” she took a step forward, holding her black clutch in one hand. “Listen, I know it sounds childish and stupid, but I think I…I think I fell in love with you.” She furrowed her brow as if the sentiment didn’t make sense to her, as if she’d never grasped the weight of the words before.

Steve couldn’t help himself, he rolled his eyes and barked a laugh, thoroughly amused.

“I can’t change the past,” she tried to push her chest out, to get her statuesque posture back. “But I can try to make it up to you. To both of you.”

“Yeah?” Steve gave her a bored shrug. “Personally, I think you’re way past the point of redemption.”

“Maybe,” she pressed her lips together and took hold of the door handle. “I guess we’ll see.”

—------

All of your attention was eyes front on Eddie as he leaned over to discuss something with Nancy, lengthening the strap on his guitar as he spoke. You barely noticed someone trying to make their way through the crowd until Steve bumped into your shoulder, making you sway on your feet.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he caught you and helped you find your balance. “I didn’t see you there.”

Steve looked…disheveled, and his face was flushed, as if he’d just run around the block. There were lines in his hair from raking his fingers through it so many times.

“You good?” You called after him, but all he offered was a “thumbs up” over his shoulder.

It was barely a minute before you caught sight of Charlene coming out of the hallway, following in his wake. She had a pink flush to the pale skin of her throat, almost a perfect handprint impression, and your brain was busy putting the pieces together when Nancy got back on the mic.

“This one is called Wild Child,” Nancy started on the guitar and people in the crowd got crazy again. The Hell’s Belle next to you whistled so loud, it almost blew your eardrum out. You weren’t too familiar with the band W.A.S.P. before Eddie, but you knew the song, and waited eagerly to hear his voice as he leaned in, moving his fingers along the strings.

“I ride, I ride the winds that bring the rain

A creature of love, and I can't be tamed

I want you, 'cause I'm gonna take your love from him

And I'll touch your face and hot burning skin

No, he'll never ever touch you like I do…”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he sang the first bit, hair hanging down his shoulders, muscles flexing under the ink that covered his forearms and hands. When his eyes opened, he found you in the crowd, and your heart swelled at the way he cracked a smile around the words at the sight of you.

“So look in my eyes and burn alive, the truth

I'm a wild child, come and love me

I want you…”

God, he was magic up there. He looked like a natural, holding that guitar in his hands, the way his fingers flew deftly to each note.

And he was all yours.

The chorus came and you sang the words, smiling so hard already, your cheeks hurt. You’d never known your eyes to “sparkle” like a cartoon before, but you felt like that’s what they were doing.

“My heart's in exile, I need you to touch me

'Cause I want what you do

I want you”

Someone grabbed your elbow, and you spun around to see who it was.

Jackie had a full tray in her hand, trying to balance it amidst the moving bodies. “Hey, are you on the floor right now? Don’t mean to be a bitch, but I need you. A table full of jarheads just showed up.”

“Oh shit, right,” you’d honestly forgot where you were for a moment, you’d been so caught up in that Munson Magic. You took another glance at the stage, wanting to catch Eddie’s eye, but he was looking down at his hands, concentrating on where they worked the guitar.

The table in your section that Jackie mentioned had seven guys in their mid-twenties sporting that type of “high and tight” haircut that you saw almost exclusively with members of military or law enforcement, and you took a deep breath, because you never knew what the vibe would be for those types of men who visited the Hammer. Either they’d be extremely polite like they just came from church, or they’d be vile and disrespectful.

“What’ll it be tonight, boys?” You asked, sidling up to their table. “Buy one pitcher of draft and get the next half off.”

They all turned to appraise you, not caring that the way their lewd stares locking on your body and tits made you uncomfortable.

“See, I told you,” the dark haired one said to the one in the red and white striped polo shirt. “The bitches here are super hot.”

You gulped, doing your best to restrain from looking as disgusted as you felt while they talked about you like you weren’t even there.

“How much for you to sit in my lap?” One of them asked.

“How much for you to suck me off?” One of them whispered, and the whole table guffawed into the type of laughter that was not warranted for something that was so not funny.

You checked over your shoulder for Steve, and he appeared to be escorting someone out who’d just been cut off. There was a bench outside, and he always had them wait there while he called a member of their family or a taxi to come pick them up. The guy was having a hard time getting his legs to work, and Steve had to practically carry him out.

You glanced up at the stage when the other song ended, and you could tell Eddie was searching for you, and so you stuck your hand up in the air to catch his attention.

“This one is for my girl,” he pushed hair out of his face and the sentiment made you freeze. A goofy grin stretched across your face and you let out an actual giggle. You were very familiar with the opening notes of Cinnamon Girl by Type O Negative.

“So, a pitcher of beer, then?” You asked, distracted, but in a much better mood than you were a few seconds ago. The guys at the table were too busy being crass to decide what they wanted to drink, so you chose for them. They agreed on the pitcher, and ordered a round of shots.

You kept your attention on Eddie as you made your way across the space, and your heart was in your throat at how proud you were to be his. His voice was deep and powerful, and it seemed like no one could pull their eyes away. The air was a bit humid inside, and you could see a sheen of sweat on his skin already glistening, bangs sticking to his forehead. He’d taken off his Coffin Kings cut and shirt, so he was up there in a ribbed, white tank of the Hanes variety, exposing the wash of dark tattoos over his shoulders and arm muscles that bulged from hours upon hours of manual labor.

“I want to live with a cinnamon girl

I could be happy the rest of my life with her

A dreamer of pictures, I run in the night

You see us together, chase the moonlight…”

At the bar, you considered letting Van and Devlin know that there were some guys there who might start trouble now that Steve was distracted, but then you remembered that you were the bad bitch who stabbed Craig in the balls and brought him to his knees—-you could handle a few young douchebags.

You gave Shana the drink order while Eddie’s deep voice bellowed, “my cinnamon girl, my cinnamon girl…” to the collective swooning of the crowd.

You waited on two other couples, lingering in the middle of the room so that you could see Eddie more clearly, dragging your feet before you had to return to the guys with the matching haircuts.

You took a cleansing breath and squared your shoulders before heading back. You tried not to be bothered by the way the dudes checked you out as you put the drinks down. When you were finished, the guy closest to you, with close-set eyes and a thick neck, ran his hand up the back of your leg.

“Hey,” your stare hardened on him and you stepped away, eyebrows pinching together. “No touching.”

The guys all snickered at that, as if it was so funny that they all knew they weren’t supposed to touch the staff, but they still got away with it.

“No he’s sorry, really,” said the tall, skinny one who hadn’t spoken up yet. His face was unreadable, you couldn’t tell if he was being a shitheel or not. The table fell silent for a beat. “But we would really like to know how much it would cost for handjobs, all around. Is there a group price for you girls?”

More idiotic cackling.

You turned to leave them, to go find Steve, to let him know you needed his assistance, but the one with the blonde hair and Limp Bizkit shirt caught you by the arm, digging his fingers in, and yanked you back so that his other hand could roam the curve of your ass. “Just a little feel, baby, we’ll tip good, I promise.”

You pushed him off and were just about to yell for Steve or Thumper when you saw the guy across the round table get his face smashed into the wood, so hard that blood splattered and you could hear the sick crack of breaking bone.

You were surprised to see Billy there, standing behind the one who was clutching his broken nose and wailing. He was smiling, cigarette bobbing between his lips. “I think you bozo’s should apologize to the lady.”

You hadn’t heard the music stop, didn’t realize that the commotion had drawn most of the attention to you.

In a flash, the guy in the Limp Bizkit shirt was ripped from his seat, and there was Eddie, picking him up by the throat to punch him across the face, sending him flying.

The impact made saliva and possibly a tooth go spitting from his mouth and you screamed at the shock of it.

“Eddie look out!” You shouted. The tall one was about to take a cheap shot at Eddie’s ribs while he sank another punch into the guy’s jaw, but you came down with your serving tray as hard as you could and nailed him.

“Holy shit,” Steve cursed when he stuck his head inside to see what the commotion was. Thumper was nowhere to be found, and Steve figured he was taking a piss. Starting brawls inside the Hammer was not protocol. Bouncers were always encouraged to take everything outside, but now it was too late.

“Get her out of here!” you heard Steve’s voice, he was talking to Devlin, and then you were being pulled back by cautious hands, away from the chaos.

One of the jarheads was just about to break a beer glass over Eddie’s head, but Billy showed up out of nowhere and kicked him in the back, sending the asshole flying right into Steve’s awaiting fist. The guy’s body crashed into a table, shattering glasses, and making the other patrons scatter.

“You better leave this one for me, Harrington,” Billy smiled and wiggled his tongue. “Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours.”

Billy was helping them, and that was a twist you hadn’t expected. Perhaps it wasn’t so much for them as for himself, since you could tell Billy had been looking for a fight all night.

Steve got one of the other guys in a choke hold and began to drag him outside. Billy made wide eyes at one of the leftover trouble makers and charged after him, making the guy shriek like he was about to pee his pants before running from the building.

While the one Eddie had been punched was babbling at the foot of unconsciousness on the ground, he took hold of the one with the close-set eyes and the thick neck who had rubbed your leg first.

Eddie had been watching, and quick to cut off before the end of the song to jump down from the stage in a blinding rage.

Devlin held you loosely by the arms, but you shook him off, and stood next to Shana and Erika, continuing to keep your distance for the sake of Eddie and Steve’s peace of mind, and wincing each time one of the other dudes took a hard hit from one of the Coffin Kings.

Eddie took the guy by the shirt and sent a punch into his stomach. Mister Thick Neck doubled over but then Eddie took him by the throat and slammed him into the nearest wall. Eddie had his fist winding back for a punch when Steve shouted his name to get his attention.

The rest of the dickheads had been escorted outside by a few Hell’s Belle’s, while the rest of the crowd kept their distance. You saw Charlene in the far corner, touching up her lipstick in a compact mirror, seemingly unphased by it all.

“Not in here,” Steve pleaded with Eddie, breathlessly. “Like you said.”

Eddie’s eyes were black and cold like that of a shark. His mouth trembled with the urge to actually bite into the guy’s face, to mutilate him with his bare teeth and make him beg for mercy.

Eddie banged the guy's body into the brick wall again, locking him there with his forearm. “Apologize to my girl,” he growled.

The buzz cut guy coughed and struggled, having a hard time breathing. “I don’t know who your girl is, man,” he was only able to squeak out a mild protest under the pressure of Eddie’s grip.

“Your waitress,” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth.

The guy against the wall tried to turn his head to look for you, but Eddie squeezed his face. “You don’t get to look at her,” Eddie fumed. “Just say you’re sorry.”

Multiple desperate “sorry’s” followed, and then Eddie told Steve to get the guy’s wallet to take all of the cash out. A quick count said there was about a hundred bucks.

“That’ll be her tip,” Eddie announced, dragging him by the shirt collar to take him outside with the rest.

They were all told to empty their wallets of their cash, and Steve made a scene of noting the addresses on their driver’s licenses.

“I have a memory like a steel trap,” Steve lied, pointing to his temple, grabbing the guy in the red and white polo by the side of his neck, getting up in his face. “If you so much as walk by this place ever again, or tell the cops about this, you’ll see me in your nightmares. Now, get the fuck out of here before I call your mommies.”

You sank in next to Eddie’s side just outside the main entrance, and he put his arm around you. “Will things ever calm down around here?” You asked with a heavy sigh, watching the broken group scurry and limp away down the street.

Eddie gave a low laugh and hugged you a bit tighter. “God, I hope so, baby.”

Divine Filth started another song, to try and get things back to normal, and most of the crowd returned to their drinks as if there had not been actual bloodshed just five minutes ago.

No one but Shana heard the phone next to the cash register ring over the sound of the music, but after a few seconds, she shrugged by you and Eddie to stick her head out and scan the sidewalk.

"Steve?" She craned her neck to look for him.

"Yeah, that's me," he came from around the back side of the door, flicking his cigarette, knuckles split and bloody again.

"Some guy named Dustin called," she said, merely passing on a message. "He said Suzie just went into labor."

-----

Love love you all for cheering this story on, hope you enjoyed this one. Your thoughts and reblogs are appreciated and cherished.

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Taglist: @notsobubblybaby @unfocused81 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer@manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare@chaoticgood-munson @emxcast @rhirojo @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @falling-solar-system@secretdryrose

@whatwedontdointheshadows @miarosso @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @goldyghoul @chloe-6123 @kelsiegrin @chelebelletx @stylesxmunson @kurdtbean@dandelionnfluff @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @eddiemunson95 @sidthedollface2 @hideoutside @truffleshuffle12 @tenthmoon @texasblues@emilyslutface@mmunson86@onegirlmanytales@laylaloves-ed@dashingdeb16@eddiiiieeee @ick90 @dashingdeb16 @polyestermonster @trixyvixx @atomickaratel8dy @kiyastrf94 @allthingsjoeq @eddiesxangel @razzieth @corrodeddeadlydoll @erinekc @angietherose @sllooney @writinginthetwilight @moonbeamsandmayhem @brianamunson92 @joannamuns9n @bellalillyrose @alba8688 @chevelle724

#I'm on Fire #Eddie munson fic #Eddie Munson series #biker!eddie #biker!steve #Stranger Things fic #Steve Harrington smut #biker au #90's au #Nancy Wheeler #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson fanfic #Spotify #protective!eddie #jealous!eddie

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paperbag880 · 1 year

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Arthur Morgan x male reader

Hunted away

I love me some crusty, cowboys. Not only because I want to look like one, but just look at em.

I'm thinking of making this kind of like series type of thing

Summary: Hunting an elk is a one thing, but sheltering a coyote is another.

Genre: fluff?

Warnings: swearing

Series...how long? Idk. Pt 2 is in production = never a good thing to hear from me ✌😗

[1][2]

Hunter. That's what was your profession in the wild west filled with murder and beauty that's being forsaken. You must admit it's not the greatest job but it keeps your mouth full and the law away.

As a hunter, you came across shady people from time to time, after all, the forests are your second home, but this one seems normal. Normal but... unconscious... His stallion stood in front of him as a shield against you and your mare. "Back off." You said while sliding down your saddle and waving your hands around to shoo the horse away. With a few heads flicks the horse backed away but his ears were down dramatically. Your mare noticed this and went by your side, her own ears down. You've noticed the occasional warning air bites she gave him, you were very grateful for her.

The stranger seemed alright with only a big bump on the back of his head. Someone must have bonked him on the head which made him unconscious but you're not sure if he fell immediately after the blow or rather after he managed to get away. Nevertheless, you couldn't leave him there alone as wolfs are having pups this time around and they're starving.

"A'right, cowpoke let' get ya away from 'ere." You've managed to swing him on your shoulder and set him on your mare in hopes he won't fall off. The guy's station kept protesting and neighing aggressively. You grabbed his rains with slight difficulty but after giving him your apple he calmed down enough. "Come on boy." Whilst clicking your tongue you kicked your mare to move.

You were out there to hunt an animal not to bring an injured one home with you. You really hoped this guy has nothing to do with the law, even if he looks like an outlaw.

Arthur woke up, not in his tent but rather under a wooden roof. He tried to sit up but his spinning head brought him back down on a not-so-comfortable mattress. He could hear faint footsteps tapping around in the other room. His eyes roamed around the room for his belongings which lay right next to him. He sighed in relief as it seemed that everything was still there.

The footsteps got closer and Arthur tried to sit up again. There in front of him stood a man with a plate of food. "Oh...you up." The man said as he froze in his stride. He wasn't expecting him to get up so soon, it hasn't been even half a day and he's up. Gods know how long was he out before you came.

"You hungry?" You've asked him awkwardly. As much as you hated it you're not one for social interactions. Arthur hummed he was quite hungry and by his inspection, you didn't look like a dangerous fellow or one with venom laying around. You gave him the plate and sat down in front of him in an old wooden chair.

"Thanks." Arthur thanked you and dug into the food. His gruff voice put you off guard but not by long as you heard horses coming to your house. You've noticed how your host froze and listened to the sound as well. Your eyes locked with his. Your face held no malice just an unknown disappointment.

Before he could say anything you got up. "Stay 'ere and don't make a sound." Leaving the other man alone you stepped out of your house and as expected, there in front of you stood the sheriff and his two apprentices. The sheriff was about to walk on your porch. "Gentlemen." You've greeted them with a slight bow of your head.

"Ah, Mr. L/n! Sharp ears as always." The sheriff spoke he slowed his walk and eventually stopped in front of your porch's steps. He leaned on one of his legs whilst pressing his side on the closest wooden pillar next to him. His thumbs were stuffed into his belt idly. You haven't said anything but look at the man in his very familiar eyes. "You haven't, by any chance, ran into a scrawny-looking fella with a blue shirt, have you?" The sheriff tilted his head at you, whilst correcting his hat.

You scoffed in disgust. "With all due respect sheriff, I thought you knew I ain't messin' with the law in any way. Not even with the mutt cowpokes, you tryin' 't get." You walked passed the sheriff after you finished your sentence. "Now if you don't mind imma go and cut some logs." You grabbed an axe that was nearby.

"Pretty horse you got. Is it new?" The sheriff said while pushing himself off of the pillar. On the outside, you haven't been fazed by the question but on the inside, you knew what he was trying to make you confess.

"Yes, Mr. L/n, the horse is new. Got 'im a couple days back. What? You interested in 'im?" You turned your head with a questionable look placed on it. The sheriff laughed and looked at his horse who's been quietly standing by the other two horses of the party. He started to walk towards you in a goofy way.

Up on being close enough, he patted you on your shoulder as he kept his hand on it. "As tempting as that sounds Mr. L/n, I don't need another." The closeness of you two felt personal. "I ain't gonna always save you, M/n!" The sheriff whispered so only you and he can hear it.

"Who's the eldest, you or me?" You glared at the sheriff. His concerned face was genuine and held no malice, just like you towards your guest. The sheriff sighed and patted your shoulder again and pulled away.

"A gray stallion? Get rid of 'im as soon as possible. They don't bring fortune." The sheriff said out loud with a smile and tipped his hat at you. You knew he wasn't talking about the horse but rather your guest and the owner of said horse. "Have a nice day, brother." The sheriff, your brother, said as he mount his horse. His two 'little helpers' bid their goodbyes as well. "Come visit me sometime, Edeline would be ecstatic."

Edeline, your niece, sweet little devil. You laughed and tipped your own hat their way. "Till next time brother. Gentlemen." The sheriff smiled at you, and the men and started to gallop away from your home.

Not long till they were out of sight. You didn't wish to go inside, not unarmed at least, so you stayed true to your words and went to chop some logs. "Might as well." You mumbled and prepared your logs and axe. Your hands swung up and we're ready to fall.

"Thanks for not giving me away." You missed the log and almost hit your leg. Your guest's voice being the reason. You looked up at him frustrated, some of your outgrown hair falling to your face. "Oh, sorry partner. Wasn't ma intention."

Your guest had his head poking out of your window whilst leaning on it with his arms. "Wha's your name cowpoke?" You said irritated and collected your posture. You've stuck the axe into the tree stump, you chop your logs on, quite aggressively. You were just done with chopping. Your guest noticed your hostile mood and brought his hand up in defense.

"Arthur Morgan. 'M not a threat." He said in a higher pitch. You nodded at him and grabbed the fallen log to place it back. You've unstuck your axe. Arthur waited for your introduction but never got it. He laughed at your silence before he heard you speak.

"You should be off. Your head ain't hurtin' that much if you up and standin'." You said and finally hit the log from before, slitting it in two. "Before the law comes, 'ere again, you'll be gone!" Your eyes met his as you turned on your heel and went to the horses to feed them. Bored of your axe.

Not long after you picked a bale of hay you heard the door get shut. A little voice in your head nudged you to get your gun out but the other trusted that you are safe. Just in case you held the knife you opened your bale with close, not trusting either side of you.

"Uh... Thanks for not lettin' me die I guess." Arthur said standing in front of your makeshift stables. He watched you work and how delicate you have been with his horse.

"Yeah, you welcome. 'M not expectin' a payment." You said as you patted the beauty of a stallion before your mare got jealous and bit the horse. "H/N!" You exclaimed her name surprised as she bit very close to your hand.

Arthur laughed and leaned on the wood of your stables. "Seems like someone's jealous." Arthur patted your mare. "Easy girl. You have quite the pretty horse." He praised your mare and you felt proud of her. "I once had a mare myself."

This little piece of information caught your interest as you calmed the riled-up stallion and lead him a bit further away from your mare. "Wha's her name?" Arthur followed you and stood next to you.

"Her name was Boadicea. She... passed away, unfortunately." Arthur's voice was sad and you noticed it immediately. You kind of regretted asking.

"Sorry to hear that. Your stallion is quite catchy as well... Protected you from me." You tried to lighten to mood a bit. You could hear Arthur snicker and the gentle pats he gave his stallion. The man looks like a jerk but really now he seems like gentle man who babies his child. Quite endearing.

Arthur coughed to hush the awkward silence away. "So uh... Do you need any hel-" Before he finished his sentence you cut in sharply which made the man raise his hands up in defense.

"I said, 'm not expectin' any payment, cowpoke!"

"Easy there, I'm just tryin' to be nice." He hissed back. Taking offense yet he wouldn't hurt you as he didn't need to. "Look, the head still hurtin' and I can't go back just yet." He pointed a finger at you and frowned. "You're stuck with me so I might as well help ya a little."

You walked closer to him and stood so close that you could easily head-bump him, your eyes dangerously bearing into his. "Do not threaten me on my own land, cowboy!" You said lowly.

"I'm not threatenin' you, partner." Arthur spat the 'partner' out. His eyes never left yours. You must admit you respect the guy.

You leaned back. "Grab your gun." You walked away to the back of your hut as Arthur stood there confused. "We oughta hunt."

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x male reader #x male reader #rdr2 #rdr2 x male reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x y/n

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spitefulwriters · 3 months

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JJ Maybank x Kiara Carrera (1.4K) JJ and Kiara living their next life (or, snapshots after El Dorado, a series)

They hadn’t talked about anything that happened at Kitty Hawk. It wasn’t like him and Kiara to say the things anyway. But then again, it was.

Apologies through glassy eyes and shiny smiles. Hands sliding to faces and shoulders, whispered words of wanting. Words he was finally ready to hear, words he could finally say back.

They hadn’t said it again though, not in the light of day. JJ thinks he could right now, gazing at sunset streaking through curls of bronze and gold. Kiara’s knees drawn up, palms dug in the sand as she leans back and stares at the ocean with a smile, despite the crashing tides they both know are ahead.

She edges closer like she heard it in the silence, sand dusting over their hands as she covers his with hers. She’s always beat for beat with him, often a beat ahead of him. Even when they were just gangly limbs and unruly hair racing on the playground, when they were the last two left to burn down a joint. When he’d hurled beer cans and insults and she said, I love you.

She floats a grin his way, lays her head on his shoulder. And it’s something, he thinks. Something to tell him it was all real. That she’d pressed her lips to his, that he’d sighed into her hair. That those words were whispered in the woods.

But then, everything else was real too. It all happened – all of it – and nothing’s quite the same now. Tattered loose ends and darkened corners. Lurking ghosts and faceless fathers, bruised arms and locked cabins. No matter the glittering gold that followed them from El Dorado.

It’s only been a couple weeks, deep wounds and open cuts. Some that festered, that had been there all along. And some torn open, brand new. Some in a good way.

“You gettin’ in?”

JJ shrugs, rests his head on top of hers. “Only if you are.”

They might as well still be on the far edge of that playground, wordlessly finding a space in the sand as the rest of the Pogues bob up and down in white capped waves. It feels the same for a moment, John B’s wild laughter lifting through the breeze, Sarah’s shriek as she falls off his shoulders. Cleo with arms outstretched, challenging the massive wave rolling through, Pope right by her side with a grin. It’s hard to feel like they’ve lost when it feels like this too.

They’d found stolen moments like these, legs pressed together on the plane back to the Banks, hands tangled under the table, lips brushing in the hallway.

It isn’t as if the other Pogues don’t know something’s going on, probably had known for a while now. But JJ doesn’t mind it, having something just for them. He so rarely has anything for himself.

“John B seems a little better. Sarah too,” Kiara says absently to the wind, like she’s seeing what he’s seeing. The light scattering across the water, even with the dark depths below.

Her eyes flit to the sand, watching the bubbly water edge at their feet. She stares at their reflection and he sees it. The one who’s not really any better.

It cracks him open in places he thought he’d gone numb, parents deceiving, disappointing, disappearing. But this isn’t him now, this is Kiara. He can’t afford to fall apart – never could, did it anyway – and he slips his hand from hers only to pull her closer with an arm around her shoulders.

“It’ll all work out.” He couldn’t believe it the last time he heard those words, abandoned and fatherless on a dock – no it’s not…but maybe in the next life. Well, the next life’s here now, and he has to believe it for them.

It’s how she looks at him that terrifies him. Like she believes him too.

He kisses her, just ‘cause he can, ‘cause he’s spent half his life wanting to. Because he wants to get better at this whole in the daylight thing. Even if kissing it better isn’t the answer. Or maybe it’s exactly the answer they need.

The Pogues are all but blurs in the distance, but someone focuses in on them anyhow, a wolf whistle echoing across the water.

Kiara chuckles against his lips, whispers, “I think the jig is up.”

“Whaddya mean,” he murmurs between kisses. “They totally buy we’re friends.”

“Sure.” She laughs, rifling a hand through his hair. “Friends kiss sometimes.”

“Friends totally kiss,” he quips, “just ask JB or Pope.”

“Hey, now–” She shoves at his shoulder, but he catches her arm, drawing her to his chest with a laugh.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he breathes out, whispers in her hair as he tightens his arms around her, “C’mere.

She sighs, saltwater hair tickling his cheek as she buries her face in his neck. “You’re not my friend, y’know.”

“Damn, Kie. Only known ya since grade school and all.”

She pulls back to meet his eyes, a smile quirking on her lips. “I mean you are, of course. But you’re just…” Running a thumb over his cheekbone, she tucks a lock of blond behind his ear. “Y’know?

He hums. Nods. Thinks about how it’s been that way for a long time now, at least for him. “Yeah. You too.”

Kiara wasn’t really one to mess with ghosts. Spirits were meant to stay where they belonged. Invisible, hidden.

Kiara. I need to know you’re okay.

It wasn’t the first message, and it wouldn’t be the last. No hiding from this one. Proof of life, it’s what her mom wants. Probably wants much more but knows better than to ask.

Sunlight muddles through the kitchen at Sarah’s condo, the condo that they’d said was temporary. Haunted by those ghosts that should remain invisible, stay buried in South America instead of living in vaulted ceilings and subway tile. She knows she and JJ feel the same way, but she doesn’t know if that means they’ll be on their own. They haven’t gotten that far, and yet, she’s gone a lot further with him than anyone else. Thinks, maybe he has too with her, in a way.

You too, he’d said. And it’s all she needs. JJ, when he’s all tangled bed head, dragging into the kitchen. When he’s gnawing the crust off his toast, crumbles speckling beneath him. When he swoops to the fridge to get a drink, presses his hand to the small of her back. Brushes his face against her hair, if just for a moment.

It’s the way her back warms from his touch, the way her hair flutters from his sigh. How she wants to hold him and touch him and kiss him, how she knows this hollow feeling won’t be there forever. Proof of life.

She’s known this feeling before, this loneliness. And JJ was there, even when he wasn’t. Maybe it was the same thing that year at the Kook academy that it is now, just the thought of him that sparks her to life.

It happens sometimes, maybe because she’s seen him unconscious more times than she’d like. An uncontrollable urge to watch him breathe or hold a palm to the thrumming in his chest. Feel his warmth and his life. Sometimes in odd hours of the night, sometimes in the middle of breakfast. She thought she’d made it so she didn’t need anyone.

“God, I love the burned pieces,” he mumbles through a mouthful of toast, pouring his juice. He’s barely put the drained glass down when she’s got her hand on his cheek, crowding his space. He’s caught off guard, but he’s quick. Snakes an arm across her back, fists her curls in his hand. When his lips find hers, she reminds herself that whatever they have, whatever they are, it’s hers. She chose it, when her world had been nothing but pre-made plans.

He looks at her like he does, and she thinks about that lonely year again, when she thought she’d never get this look back. Thought they’d had their last night in the hammock together, buzzed and flushed and clumsily pressed together. How he never left her, even when they weren’t talking, when she was sure he hated her.

She doesn’t owe her parents. She doesn’t hate them either, hate isn’t the word. Later, her thumbs hover over her phone’s keyboard, mentally listing off her lasts with them.

I’m okay, is what she types, finally. It’s partially true.

-Reese (SW#2)

#jiara #jiara fanfiction #jiara fic #jiara oneshot #jiara fanfic #jj maybank x kiara carrera #jj maybank x kie carrera #jj maybank #kiara carrera #jj x kiara #jiara obx #jiarasource #obx #obx fic #obx fanfiction #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction

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nights-nonsensical-ramblings · 9 hours

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okay so I watched the knuckles series (by following the example of the pirates of course ) and I have to say while it was a very enjoyable watch, I have no clue what I watched and I’m mostly confused and have come away feeling mostly neutral. I don’t hate it, but it hasn’t dug its hooks in like other sonic things have for me.

Like some bits I very much enjoyed watching and would happily see again and others I couldn’t stand and dread the idea of watching again.

there were plenty of moments where Knuckles went against what I adore about him, and others that perfectly capture what I adore about him. Boy was so adorable though. Loved lots of the expressions he made.

okay I’m gonna get a bit more specific from here and cuz I got no clue what’s going on with the tagging and it gets long I’ll put it under a cut.

So it’s kinda hard for me to remember what happened, but I will say I love wades mother, she was amazing, loved her and Knuckles’ dynamic and would welcome it if she appeared again. (Also, new headcanon unlocked that knuckles is such a mamas boy he’s a magnet for motherly figures)

I really am not a fan of his sister Wanda tho. The childish sibling banter did entertain me at first (and made me think that knuckles was going to reflect on his relationship with his brothers) but it went on too long and just made Wanda feel like she never matured past being a bratty teenager. (And judging by what I’ve seen I think she’s gonna be on ‘top _ worst sonic characters’ lists for a while)

my opinion on Wade himself hasn’t really changed. I have no strong feelings towards the guy

We didn’t get as much as I wanted, but I loved the Wachowski family stuff. I needed so much more of knuckles being the trouble kid and the family trying to help.

It’s pretty annoying that the start of the show set up Knuckles learning to chill, be a kid on earth and settle in with his new family. Only to drop it basically immediately and the closest thing it has to a resolution is Knuckles finding his jam.

and yeah, I could see plenty of moments where they had the perfect opportunity to explore knuckles on a deeper level but chose not to. But I am glad they at least hinted at it with those expressions I keep raving about

On that. Cuz Pachacamacs appearance was what springboreded what was going on in a different direction. What is going on here? Is this a Knuckles thing? But Wade speaks to him to, but that was under knuckles’ guidance? I think? So can anyone in this world talk to spirits? Can only certain people be spirits? I mean. One Knuckles got over the initial shock he accepted the fact he was talking to a dead tribe member (I’m also sad that nothing was done with the idea that in this universe Knuckles and Pachacamac were alive at the same time) I got so many more questions on how spirits work in here, but I’m just gonna move on. (Although, maybe this sets up knuckles speaking to Tikal 👀. Or maybe his dad or even his mum.)

But considering what Pachacamac’s role is in the games making him so comedicly focused felt weird. Yeah this universe has different events. But still feels weird cuz of how we know Pachacamac.

I don’t even know what to say about the whole fire powers fire demon (who’s heavily implied to be iblis) I need way more time to think what is going on. Like does any of the pre existing lore apply? If so those are some WILD implications. If not, did that mean they just made this guy like iblis cuz it’s a fire creature that fans will recognize??

A minor thing but I can’t hear our house without thinking of the chemist warehouse add. And a few of the other songs are strongly associated with other things and I couldn’t help but think of them when they played. I don’t see this as a good or bad thing. It is just a thing.

hmm. I had more thoughts but after that ghost tangent I can’t really remember them. I guess I’ll have to come back later with another post if I get them back.

So, for now my closing thoughts are: it’s not a terrible show. Lots of writing choices I disagree with, but I don’t nessicaily think they’re bad. And there’s definitely enjoyment to be found (more if you watch it with some friends) but it’s not really to my taste. Especially with how much irs advertise as about knuckles and then not. Some moments made me very happy some made me want to nope out some I don’t even know.

congratulations to Wade fans, I’m gonna find what bits I wanna cherry pick and I’ll be on my merry way.

#knuckles the echidna #knuckles series #knuckles spoilers #knuckles wachowski #knuckles series spoilers #night’s sonic stuff #Night’s analysis

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thewordswewrite · 2 years

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Lonely Is Our Lives

Chapter 1 - Wild Side

Pairing | Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

!!VERY IMPORTANT A/N!! | I want to preface this by saying I DO NOT condone Billy’s actions throughout the series. I DO NOT condone his violence or abuse, ESPECIALLY against Lucas but also including Max and the others. At the time season two came out in 2017, nearly FIVE years ago at the time I'm writing this, I was very angry and frustrated at the world, resentful of a younger sibling, and disconnected from the people around me so I kind of latched onto Billy as a character and what he represented. I absolutely DID NOT understand what his actions against Lucas truly meant and I DID NOT register it as the racism it was. Knowing what I know now I've decided to write a fic where Billy is able to let go of some of his anger and have someone there to check him and his actions in order to set him on a better path. I wrote this for me as a bit of a redemption fic for both of us.

Playlist | Link | Chapter One: Songs 1-4

Summary | One fateful 1983 night you narrowly escape death on Steve Harrington’s property while Barbara Holland is presumed dead. Left jaded and angry, you carry on towards your senior year in a haze of sex, drugs, and alcohol just to get through the day. But, when Billy Hargrove moves to Hawkins, Indiana during the fall of 1984 things get worse before they get better.

Warnings | explicit language, angst, abusive parents, smut 18+ minors DNI, heavy drug and alcohol usage

W/C | 3.3k

A/N | I 100% understand if Billy is not a character for you and you hate him but I’m finally in a place in my life where I feel like I can write him as someone other than an angry, abusive asshole. This isn’t all sentiment tho cause Dacre Montgomery is a gorgeous human being and I did immediately think he was unnecessarily attractive. He doesn't end up perfect but he’s not horrible. -Smoe

Beer and sweat overwhelmed you as you stepped into Tina’s house. The place was a blur of half-assed Halloween costumes and booming music. Immediately, you felt your face twisting into a grimace; parties like this weren’t really your scene, not anymore. Last year, though? You’d be eating this shit up. And it wasn't because of the drugs, or the alcohol, or the sex because you still partook, heavily and often. No, it was because you could genuinely say you hated the majority of Hawkins High’s population; nothing they cared about felt like it mattered anymore.

You hadn't meant to see what you did but being in the wrong place at the wrong time can screw over anyone. All you’d done was go to one stupid party at Steve Harrington’s house and decided to sit with Barbara Holland when she slit her hand open trying to shotgun a beer. At the time. you thought her mildly pathetic and increasingly awkward as the space between Steve and her ‘best friend’ got smaller. Now all you could muster was regret.

You tried. You really, really tried, but one slash of that…thing’s claws and you couldn't hold onto her. Your arms ached and blood gushed from where it had dug into your flesh, through muscle, and close to bone. Barb was dead and you were bleeding out next to Steve Harrington’s pool as he and Nancy Wheeler had sex inside. The only reason you’d survived was that you finally screamed loud enough for one of them to hear and call an ambulance. You were in the hospital for almost two weeks before you could go home and now, almost a year later, you were left with five jagged scars stretching about an inch from your jugular, down your shoulder, and onto your chest. The official story was a bear attack. What a fucking joke.

Since then, you’d gotten close to Steve and Nancy which was the entire reason you’d come tonight. Steve had wanted to ‘pretend like we’re stupid teenagers’ and you’d decided to play along. So here you were dressed as Sarah Conner from The Terminator, drinking stale beer and third-wheeling for the happy couple. Nancy was already going hard, cup after cup but Steve managed to wrangle her over to stand with you where you were chainsmoking by the window.

“You having fun there, Nance?” You asked with a chuckle.

“So much!” She smiled but her eyes were sad, a look the both of you had mastered well.

Steve smiled, oblivious, and kissed her. He then looked over to you and raised his eyebrows, finally remembering you were there and passed you a beer. “How-uh, how bout’ you? Talk to anyone yet?” He asked, searching your face with concern.

“Getting around to it. Just gonna finish this and I'll be out there!” You gestured at him with the beer and smiled sarcastically.

“You said you’d try,” Steve deflated. “I’m trying, Nancy’s trying. Why can’t you?”

“Yeah,” Your laugh was hollow as you took a drag of your cigarette. “She’s trying real hard.” Steve opened his mouth to argue but looked over at his girlfriend staring off at the bustle of people and frowned.

A boy clad in leather and a mullet caught your eye as he pushed his way through the crowd, but his eyes weren’t on you, they were on Steve. Tommy H trailed behind him and wrapped his arm around The Terminator’s shoulder. The two of them stopped in front of your group and stared down Steve.

Tommy clapped the new kid on the back and smiled. “We got ourselves a new Keg King, Harrington!”

“Yeah, that’s right!”

“Eat it, Harrington!”

You watched as Nancy rolled her eyes and walked off, leaving Steve to gape at the offenders before locking eyes with you. “I’ll be back, or…just find us if you feel like it.” With that, he went after her and left you alone. The taller boy scoffed and looked away, shaking his head.

“So! Looks like we match, Keg King,” You smiled sarcastically and blew your eyes wide. The boy looked back at you with disinterest and mild anger as he smoked but his eyes gave you a once over and his body language began to shift.

“This here is Billy,” Tommy smiled and introduced you. Billy, seemingly perturbed by Tommy’s hand still latched onto his shoulder, shook him off.

“Billy…?” You lead on, sipping your beer.

Billy’s face broke out in a grin and he flicked his tongue out to wet his lips. “Hargrove. Billy Hargrove, sweetheart,” His mood took a complete 180° and yours only grew worse.

“You dethroned ol’ Stevie, huh?” Your voice was bored and you leaned on the wall behind you as you finished off your cigarette, soaking in the last fleeting scent of clove that cut through the musk of the room. Billy angled his body towards Tommy and with a jerk of his head sent him on his way, his stare never straying from you.

“Guilty,” He was still smiling as he stuck a Marlboro Red between his lips and lit it with his zippo. You returned his smile ruefully and couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his arrogance. As if being Keg King fucking mattered. Charm was rolling off this kid in waves and you couldn't help but feel suffocated. “So, did you come here with a Terminator or just Risky Business?”

You plucked the cigarette from his lips and put it between your own, “No Arnold to come and whisk me onto the dancefloor. As for Risky Business? Well, it seems they’re a bit occupied at the moment.” You couldn’t blame Steve and Nancy for your shitty night, not really, but you were still left out to dry no matter how much Steve had tried to assure you you wouldn't be. Hell, Nancy had even admitted to you that she didn’t want to be there but was doing it for Steve and you still managed to be pushed aside.

“This King Steve I’ve been hearing so much about doesn’t seem to live up to his reputation,” Billy leaned closer, invading your space as you smoked his cigarette. His forearm rested on the wall next to your head, his face mere inches from yours.

You took advantage of the proximity and exhaled your drag into his face. “Well, you seem to be living up to yours,” His eyes fluttered closed as the smoke ghosted across his face.

When he opened them again, you were greeted by those baby blues you were sure others had fallen over themselves for. “Which is?” You quickly searched his eyes, finding nothing you hadn’t seen before. Adrenaline, lust, rage: nothing special. Yet somehow you’re still disappointed as if he could've been different. The same. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught your friends storming through the crowd.

With a small sigh, you push off the wall Billy had you nearly boxed against, forcing him back. “Well, as fun as it's been, King Billy,” You paused, finally breaking eye contact to look around the room. “I must be off. You understand, right? Responsibilities and all.” You gestured in the direction of Steve and a very drunk Nancy, arguing by the punch bowl as you lazily walked away.

You approached them, watching as Steve tried to pull a cup of punch from Nancy’s hands. Before you could even open your mouth to speak, the cup went flying and Nancy’s pristine white outfit was covered in stark red.

You grabbed Nancy as she stumbled back. “Woah, hey, Nance, let's go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up, yeah?” You lead her to the bathroom, Steve trailing behind you with his head hung low. Once you got inside, Nancy wet a hand towel and started a futile effort to remove the stain.

“Nance, I'm sorry,” Steve tried, running a hand through his hair.

You continued to watch in pity as Nancy failed to remove the punch from her shirt. “That’s not coming off, Nance.” You tried to take the towel from her but she pulled away roughly.

“It’s coming,” She grunted. In the year you’d known them you had never seen Nancy get even close to drunk so her volatile mood surprised you.

Steve sighed clearly put out. “Come on. Let us take you home, okay? Come here,” Nancy struggled against his hold. “Let me take you home.” You rolled your eyes at his lovesick tone.

“You want-, you wanted this,” She slurred, eyes droopy as they looked up at Steve.

“No, I didn’t want this. I told you to stop drinking.” Steve’s voice was trying to keep the conversation light but the mood stayed heavy. The three of you bickered often but never had it felt so serious.

“It's… bullshit. Bullshit.” Nancy looked sullen and your rigid stance softened at her doe-eyed stare.

“It's not bullshit, Nance,” You tried rubbing her arm but she slapped you off. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and you felt your face begin to heat in anger.

“Bullshit!”

Steve shook his head, “No, It's not bullshit, Nancy.”

“No, you. You’re bullshit! Both of you.” She pointed between the two of you with a shaky hand.

You could see Steve’s heart crack just as his voice did. “W-What?”

But you were livid. “What the hell, Nancy.”

Her eyes were empty, looking at her boyfriend. “You’re pretending like everything’s okay. You know, like we didn't…like we didn't kill Barb,” Nancy’s voice broke and she turned her attention to you. “And you were only there to get drunk and fuck! You almost died and you still haven’t changed at all.”

You’d changed. You’d changed more than either of them had even tried. Before, nothing really mattered to you; people were meant to be sucked dry of their worth and thrown aside at your desire before you didn’t care. You had worked and actively tried to be better. If not for yourself then at least for Barb. Because that’s what she deserved: better.

You leaned over and trapped her against the sink. “I get that she was your friend and you’re drunk,” Your eyes narrowed at her, “But you’re dancing on a fine line right now Wheeler.”

Steve shoved you off of Nancy and regained his spot in front of her. “Everything can be okay, Nancy.”

She laughed and looked away. “Yeah, like, it's great. Like we’re in love and we’re-, we’re partying,” Her voice began to soften and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Yeah, let’s party, huh? Party. We’re partying. This is bullshit.”

“‘Like we’re in love’?” Steve’s voice was barely above a whisper as he took Nancy’s face in his hands. The sight was stomach-turning even for you.

“It’s bullshit.”

“You don’t love me?”

“It’s bullshit,” Nancy reaffirmed.

Steve’s eyes steeled and he pushed past you and Nancy. “Steve, wait-,” You tried but he didn't listen, leaving the room and slamming the door shut behind him.

Nancy turned back to the mirror and began scrubbing at her shirt again. “You go too. Go party. Have sex, do drugs. It’s all bullshit.”

You laughed, hard and fast. “Come tomorrow, Wheeler, you’ll be real sorry for this.”

Nearly shoulder-checking her, you followed Steve out the door. Your blood was hot with anger as you made your way back into the crowd and your eyes landed on Jonathan Byers talking to some goth chick. Good enough.

“Byers!” You shouted and he whipped towards you. “You’re here for Nancy, right?”

“I, uh,” He stuttered but you didn’t have the patience for that.

You rolled your eyes and held a hand up to silence him. “Yes or no?”

“Yes!”

“She’s in the bathroom drunk off her ass and dead set on ruining all her relationships tonight. Take her home.” You threw your thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the bathroom and stalked towards the punch bowl.

Fuck it. If she wanted you to party, you’d party.

“What’s in this?” You asked a toga-clad boy.

“Pure fuel! Pure! Fuel!” The boy screamed and you shrugged, satisfied.

Drink after drink you kept dipping your cup into the bowl until you felt your senses go fuzzy, your mood starting to turn. You felt a smile pull itself onto your face and you broke your way into the crowd searching for a distraction. For your Terminator. When you found him, he was holding another girl close, smoking in her face, and swaying to the music. Determinately, you tapped on the girl’s shoulder and leaned down to her level.

“Mind if I cut in?” The girl turned, at first in protest, but when her eyes locked with yours, her mouth snapped shut. She mustered a glare at you before walking off.

You laced your hands around Billy’s neck, almost challenging him to push you off. After a few moments, his hands found your hips and you leaned into them, letting him guide you to the thrum of the music. You let yourself succumb to the atmosphere and closed your eyes, leaning your head up towards the ceiling. Billy pulled you flush against him and you finally opened your eyes to find yourself once again staring into the crystal clear blue ocean of Billy Hargrove and you think, maybe you can see why people would fall over themselves for him.

His tongue flicked out over his lips, a habit you took notice of. “What made you change your mind, sweetheart?”

“It’s all bullshit anyway, isn't it?” Your breath coasted over his face in such proximity. “So, fuck it, let's party,” You didn’t give him time to respond before you were surging forward and clashing your lips together. Nothing about the kiss was soft, not your chapped lips or the scruff of his mustache; it was full of anger and need. His fingers were gripped in your hair and you were practically grinding in the middle of the packed room until you pulled away, both of you heaving in breaths.

He didn’t even utter a word when suddenly Billy was pulling you along through the crowd, weaving left and right around drunken teenagers and out of the house towards his Camaro. A flash of California caught your attention as you went around to the passenger side of the car. Filing that away for later, you climbed in the back seat as soon as it was open and met his lips with your own when both the doors were finally closed. His hands held your face as yours worked on undoing his belt, quickly loosening the buckle and moving on to unbutton his jeans.

“Help me with mine,” You panted.

You didn’t need to change. Sex and drugs were good.

He helped guide your jeans down as you shimmied your hips to get them over your ass and down your legs. He then moved to the hem of your shirt and panic flared in your chest before you stopped him.

“Don’t bother, we won't be here that long.”

Billy scoffed but dropped his hand. “You sound so sure.”

“I am,” You smiled at his annoyance and kissed along his jaw, swinging your leg over his hips, and settling on his lap. You rolled your body atop Billy’s to the beat of the bass inside and relished in the moan you coaxed out of him as you sucked a hickey into the soft skin of his neck, right over his pulse point. Billy’s fingers soon found themselves slipping past the elastic of your lacy underwear and down to your clit, where he moved them in tight circles, eliciting a surprised gasp from you. He kissed you soundly, tongue painting the inside of your mouth when he reached his fingers down even lower and into your awaiting entrance, drawing out a long broken moan from your lips.

“Billy, I need more,” You demanded.

Hastily, Billy removed his fingers from inside you and leaned forward, cradling the small of your back. Opening his dash, he pulled out a strip of condoms and tore one off. He freed himself from his jeans and rolled the condom on before shoving your underwear to the side and sinking you down onto him. The car filled with moans as you both moved in tandem, each selfishly chasing after your own orgasm. One of your hands was occupied rubbing frantic circles into your clit and the other was tangled into Billy’s curls holding his mouth against yours as you kissed. He moaned into your mouth before pulling his head away to look down at where the two of you met.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” His hands were kneading the flesh of your hips, holding you firmly and forcing you to move at the vicious speed he set. You felt the dull ache of where his fingers would definitely leave bruises but you couldn't find it in yourself to care when you had left at least three prominent hickeys higher on his neck than you knew he could conspicuously cover.

“Don’t stop, don't-, harder…please!” You moaned, too close for Billy to even think of slowing down. Spurred on by your cries, he complied, picking you up and plunging you down to meet his forceful thrusts, which grew harder with each passing second.

Your orgasm came quickly, thanks to your deft fingers and Billy’s pace, but he was cumming right along with you not long after, his hips snapping up into you and stuttering into a stop as his breath labored. The car was quiet other than the sound of your combined heaving and musty with the smell of sex. Your vision was hazy with pleasure when you lifted yourself off of him and pulled your underwear off to clean yourself up. You threw the dirtied lace at Billy’s chest and huffed at his confused stare.

“Keep 'em. I don't care.” Billy smirked and shoved them in the pocket of his jacket. You raised your eyebrows, not expecting the action.

“For later,” He explained. You’d thrown them at him more to try and crack at his fuck-all persona, not for him to actually take but you didn't mind. He wasn't the only guy in Hawkins with a pair of your underwear.

With practiced ease, you put your jeans back on and fixed your hair in the reflection of the window, only to find Billy staring at you, one hand behind his head and the other holding a lit cigarette. You stared at him, contemplating whether to take out your own cigarettes. After smoking most of them just trying to get through the night, you only had four left in the carton. It’s a party.

“Fuck it.” You pulled your pack from where it was kept safe in your bra and licked your lips, sticking one of them in your mouth and savoring the taste of clove. These were a treat. Billy leaned over and lit your cigarette with his own burning one.

“Thought King Steve had Wheeler and you wrapped around his dick,” Billy probed, adjusting himself to look at you.

“Steve doesn't even have Nancy wrapped around his dick,” Stretching across the seat you sighed, rubbing your tired eyes. “And definitely not me. It’s more of a…” You trailed off. Post-sex brain was ready to spill your life story but you were not on the same page. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh no, please,” He smirked. “Do tell.”

You shook your head and spun around, preparing to get out of the car. “It’s been nice California but we’ve still got school tomorrow and I'm not trying to be dead on my feet.” In a moment of rash thinking, you surged forward and captured his lips in a kiss, pulling away before he could reciprocate and give his cheek a few playful slaps.

You opened the car door and stepped out, “Let’s do this again sometime, yeah?” With a final tight smile, you slammed the door shut and strode off back into the house to find Steve to take you home.

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kylesvariouslistsandstuff · 1 year

Text

Thoughts: Joel Crawford Is *Not* Directing KUNG FU PANDA 4

Not too long ago, a Swiss Universal movie slate was making the rounds... KUNG FU PANDA 4 was on there, as the movie is - and has been - scheduled for release on March 8, 2024. The slate curiously listed Crawford, who directed PUSS IN BOOTS: THE LAST WISH and THE CROODS: A NEW AGE, as director.

He is not directing KUNG FU PANDA 4, per a recent interview with him and LAST WISH co-director Januel Mercado... Perhaps whoever made that slate up in Switzerland made a little mistake. It happens, we're all human.

This seemed somewhat fitting, though... Crawford took over both the CROODS and PUSS IN BOOTS sequels, and him being handed the torch for KUNG FU PANDA seemed right.

THE CROODS: A NEW AGE was originally set to be directed by Chris Sanders and Kirk DeMicco, who wrote and directed the first film that came all out the way back in 2013. We're actually inching right towards its 10th anniversary, which makes me wonder... Where does the time go? And, #2, will we get some sort of CROODS 3 announcement to commemorate? Their CROODS 2 was set for various fourth-quarter 2017 release dates for a good while, until DreamWorks had their rough week in January of 2015... When they - in response to the box office performances of several movies released over the previous few years - shut down a whole studio (Pacific Data Images), rearranged their slate, and cancelled multiple in-development movies. THE CROODS 2 managed to hang on... But then... The Comcast acquisition happened a year later. Changing heads, changing administrations, projects killed in transition... THE CROODS 2, a sequel to a movie that made nearly $600m at the worldwide box office, was *surprisingly* one of those movies... It was on the grounds that, supposedly, the crew just wasn't feeling it.

This allowed Chris and Kirk to move on to other things, namely the 20th Century-released THE CALL OF THE WILD for the former (it's actually a pretty solid old school adventure movie worth checking out, even if the dog being CGI is a bit iffy for you), and Sony Animation's VIVO for the latter. (I dug VIVO as well.) THE CROODS: A NEW AGE was confirmed to be back in development in September of 2020, with Crawford taking over directing duties, making his feature directorial debut. Crawford had no involvement with the first CROODS, but was a story artist on all three KUNG FU PANDA movies, and was also a story artist on SHREK FOREVER AFTER... So he had some SHREK in his resume when being given the PUSS IN BOOTS assignment. More on that in a few...

Crawford worked off of a story from Sanders and DeMicco, though, and it seems like it was more or less the one they were developing for their 2017 CROODS 2, just with some changes here and there. There was a pencil test for the movie done by none other than James Baxter that leaked online about a few weeks before DreamWorks announced the revised CROODS sequel was back on track, and it seems like it was more or less what we got... Just a little different. The girl in the pencil test is presumably an earlier version of Dawn Betterman, she is a lot more modern-looking. It's as if the Crood family had stumbled upon a family in the 1950s. The duo were quite involved, all things considered, but just didn't direct. If anything, Crawford kind-of semi-rebooted THE CROODS... A franchise that was only one movie and a 2D-animated Netflix TV series at the time. This gave the caveman family comedy a fresh coat of paint, if you will, and it really worked out. Crawford's approach was noticeably different from Sanders and DeMicco's. Those who were onboard with Sanders/DeMicco missed that touch, those who weren't all that fond of the first film found the sequel to be a significant improvement. I personally really like both for those reasons, they both bring something of their own to this very base-level concept.

So that brings us to PUSS IN BOOTS: THE LAST WISH. Previously, that was set to be a much different film, a sequel titled PUSS IN BOOTS 2: NINE LIVES & 40 THIEVES. An Arabian Nights adventure, it was to be directed by the first PUSS IN BOOTS' director, Chris Miller. He also directed SHREK THE THIRD alongside Raman Hui. In early 2014, DreamWorks had it pegged for a holiday 2018 release, until that bad week in January happened. It got removed entirely from the release schedule, but was still in the works per Antonio Banderas in an interview months later. The Arabian Nights movie got thrown out along the way, and after the Comcast acquisition of DreamWorks, Illumination founder Chris Meledandri started to get involved with the SHREK franchise and would have a hand in determined its future. There's something kind of amusing about that, by the way. Melendandri, prior to founding Illumination in 2007, was an executive producer on the first few Blue Sky films, of course that includes ICE AGE. I was rewatching ICE AGE a little while ago, and am watching the sequels for the first time (I'm over a decade late!), and that first ICE AGE is very similar to SHREK. In that, it's a big, annoyed, cynical guy with an itch to scratch, and an annoying smaller critter being a pain in the ass for most of the journey. Even as a kid back in March 2002, sitting in the theater, I caught that right away, like "Hey, this is a lot like SHREK." There's a similar vibe in Disney Animation's BROTHER BEAR, to go off on a tangent: Big teen bear Kenai, annoying little bear cub Koda... It's also set at the end of the Ice Age. There are mammoths in it. Coincidence is such a funny thing.

Anyways, where was I going with that? Oh yeah, ICE AGE. Similar to SHREK. Chris Meledandri was exec producer of ICE AGE, and went on to exec produce the next three Blue Sky movies (ROBOTS, ICE AGE: THE MELTDOWN, HORTON HEARS A WHO!) before setting up Illumination... Chris Meledandri, after Comcast's acquisition of DreamWorks, becomes more involved with the SHREK franchise in particular and not DreamWorks as a whole. PUSS IN BOOTS Dos was announced once again in early 2019, with Bob Persichetti attached as director. This was *hot* off of SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE, which he was one of three directors on. Persichetti, appropriately, was head of story on the first PUSS IN BOOTS. Seemed liked the best choice possible, but he appears to have had no part in THE LAST WISH, only a - presumably - archival recording of him voicing the "Oooh" cat, who makes a brief cameo in Mama Luna's place. I wouldn't be surprised if the film embracing a more SPIDER-VERSE-inspired stylized look and feel was his idea, coming off of that very film.

But I sense a pattern here, of sorts. Crawford breathed, with the help of his crews, a new life and zest into both THE CROODS and SHREK. It looked like he could've done that for KUNG FU PANDA 4... But, he said in that recent interview that he's not directing, and he's interested in playing around in the world of SHREK some more, which *could* imply that he is directing the fifth SHREK movie, whatever they decide to call it. He's not working on anything at the moment, that there are original ideas to pursue (his resume is currently two feature sequels, it'd be cool if he pitched a wild and fun original movie of his own, but he was also being quite vague.

KUNG FU PANDA 4 has at least one director, but for whatever reason, we don't know who that is just yet. The movie has got to be deep in production if it is coming out next spring. Sometimes with animated movies, we know who is directing. Right off the bat. But some studios, or their distributors, just say "So-and-so, coming out sometime in 2024!" That's basically all we heard about KUNG FU PANDA 4 since last year... It was a tweet that the movie was happening, an image of Po, and a release date of March 8, 2024. Keep in mind, this date sandwiches the movie in-between ELIO (a Pixar film, 3/1/2024) and SPIDER-MAN: BEYOND THE SPIDER-VERSE. (3/29/2024)

Does Jennifer Yuh Nelson, director of KUNG FU PANDA 2 and 3, return to helm the sequel? She has been supervising director on Netflix's LOVE, DEATH & ROBOTS, so I'd imagine she's been busy. Her last feature film, as director, was a live-action flick called THE DARKEST MINDS. Without googling, I think it was a Y-A movie? Hey, you wanna know something funny about Jennifer Yuh Nelson? She got her start as an assistant animator on... Various Golden Films/Jetlag animated fare. You know, those movies based on public domain stories that were cranked out in the early '90s to capitalize on the Disney adaptations? Yeah! She's credited on things like Jetlag's 1994 CINDERELLA and their 1995 ALICE IN WONDERLAND movie. She later graduated to TV shows such as SPICY CITY and SPAWN, was a storyboard artist on the film DARK CITY, and then started her DreamWorks tenure as a storyboard artist on SPIRIT: STALLION OF THE CIMARRON. Her first assignments being in Golden Films "fool the granny at the dollar store" movies goes to show... You gotta start **somewhere**!

KUNG FU PANDA 3's co-director, Alessandro Carloni, could be a candidate. Already heavily involved with the first two films, and several other DreamWorks hits, was director of the ill-fated ME AND MY SHADOW... He'd be great, but what's he up to now? Directing THE FOURTEENTH GOLDFISH for Skydance Animation, apparently. He was supposed to direct their debut film LUCK, but John Lasseter apparently - true to form - kicked him off the movie; or changed it up so much that Carloni decided to walk away from it. But yeah, that's apparently what he's up to, so I think that rules out KUNG FU PANDA 4 for him...

Maybe, on the off chance, the directors of the first movie came back. Or at least one of them. Mark Osborne, John Stevenson... Osborne previously worked on THE LITTLE PRINCE. He was - as far as I know - directing ESCAPE FROM HAT for Netflix. Previously a Blue Sky project, it entered production in 2018. Not a peep since... Was this a casualty of Netflix's ongoing animation purge? Stevenson recently worked on a short called MIDDLE WATCH, and is helming a picture called THE ANT AND THE AARDVARK, for - apparently - a 2024 release. So he's out of the question.

Who else could it be? One look at KUNG FU PANDA 3's story credits could give one a rough idea. I see that a lot of the time in animation, folks who were involved with films on the story artist/storyboarding level get graduated to director for the sequels. Barring Crawford, it could be any of these people...

Or someone whom we would not expect whatsoever... I wonder why they're quiet on this... And also that RUBY GILLMAN: TEENAGE KRAKEN movie that's supposed to open 3 1/2 months from now... And whatnot. DreamWorks is like super-secretive with what's coming, these days, to the point where you don't officially hear a thing until... Maybe 3-4 months before the movie in question releases! I like that, though. Kinda. It's like guessing games. It reminds me of the early 2000s when you only knew what maybe the next 1-2 Pixar movies were when a new one was around the corner.

All I know is, I was quite shocked when KUNG FU PANDA 4 was announced a while ago. I know that the third movie collected over $540 million at the worldwide box office, and that in the world of American feature animation, it's never really over. SHREK 5 is coming, TOY STORY 5 is coming, FROZEN III is coming, ZOOTOPIA 2 is coming, there's a third LEGO MOVIE in the works despite the 2nd mainline movie flopping at the box office. It never ends, and if it ends in a way where a sequel absolutely *can't* be made without some serious retconning? Like HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON: THE HIDDEN WORLD? Oh, easy, do a streaming series set in the modern day that's well past Toothless' passing... Or do a goddamn live-action remake then. Anyways, yeah, these things don't end, but with the way KUNG FU PANDA 3 wrapped things up... I didn't know where it could go from there, though that new series - THE DRAGON KNIGHT - exists. I haven't watched it, I don't have Peacock. Is it any good?

I love the KUNG FU PANDA movies, personally. The first one is particularly resonant for me, because I see a lot of my autistic self and my life in Po himself, and the second film always makes me an emotional mess. I wrote extensively about that elsewhere. I was initially kind of ho-hum on KUNG FU PANDA 3, but the more the first two clicked with me, the more I found a lot to love in the third movie, even if it is a little uneven to me... But a fourth one? I love this world, the characters, the kinetic action that came with each movie, and everything else. If DreamWorks' artists really push the stylization we saw in the third film and beyond, we could be in for a real treat. Bring it on, I say!

Who do you think could direct KUNG FU PANDA 4?

#kung fu panda #kung fu panda 4 #puss in boots #shrek #dreamworks #unorganized thoughts

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silentcrowsilentravens · 2 years

Note

you write for nica?!

how about nica and the reader was dating before any of the stuff in curse of Chucky happened and then the chucky stuf happens and we cut to the show and the reader and nica reunites while chucky isn't possessing her and she just asking for help and the reader to save themselves and idk

sorry if it's confusing thx

NICA MY BELOVED <3

Nica Pierce with a s/o that was dating her before the events of Curse and Cult, and reunites with her during the series. Uh... we're just gonna pretend that one scene with Malcolm didn't happen for this. And the flirting with the dude in Curse.

(Gender neutral).

Warnings: some blood.

Masterlist here!

It’s been four years since you were last in Hackensack. You used to drive through it to visit your long distance girlfriend, Nica.

Ex-girlfriend, you suppose. Though, the two of your never broke up.

...She was arrested for killing five people. She claimed that it wasn’t her, it was... “Chucky”. A Good Guy doll.

You used to have one of those. It was a hand-me-down from a cousin you never speak to. You dug it out and threw it away after you heard the news. To put it lightly, having it around put a bad taste in your mouth.

It’s difficult to put belief into the whole killer doll claim, of course. It sounds completely absurd.

(Although admittedly, part of you does want to believe Nica).

“Here’s your room key.”

You really need to stop thinking about it so much. Especially after all the time that’s passed. But this city makes you think of her, even if she didn’t live in it, even if you’ve never spent time with her here.

You remember how excited you’d be to see her.

“Thanks.”

You remember how when you would occasionally stop at hotels—much like the one you’re currently standing in, you’d talk to her on the phone before going to sleep.

One night. You’re only staying for one night. You’re too tired to keep driving. Tomorrow, you’ll finally reach your new apartment.

Picking up your suitcase, you begin making your way to the room.

A door slowly opens somewhere behind you.

You don’t plan on paying it any mind.

"Wait!"

That is, until you hear that voice behind you.

Are you simply imagining things? Is it because you were just thinking about her?

“Please, I-I need help.”

In utter disbelief, you turn around.

"...Nica?"

There she is, Nica Pierce, dragging herself out of a room a bit further down the hall.

She's clad in a long black coat that, if you weren't so busy standing there with your jaw hanging open, you might've thought didn't look like something she would ever pick out for herself.

There’s blood on her face. You can’t tell if it’s hers or not.

When she realizes that it's you, she looks cautiously optimistic and relieved.

You spare a glance over your shoulder before hesitantly approaching. "What are you doing here? Is-is that your blood?”

“...No.” At the expression on your face, she quickly continues, clutching onto the leg of your pants. “I didn’t do anything, though! Chucky did it! I’m not a killer.”

"...Nica..."

"You believe me, right?" Her voice shakes. "I didn't do it. I would never."

If the Chucky claim is as wild as it seems, if Nica did murder her family and then some, what's to say that she won't do the same to you?

But if she is innocent, if she does need help, how can possibly you just leave her here?

You look into her wide blue eyes. They’re shining. There’s desperation there. Fear.

You swallow, then repeat your other question. “How did you get here?”

“Chucky’s wife drove us after she helped him sneak into Harrogate. She’s here. Not now, she just left, but she’s staying here. She has short blonde hair and-and—”

"Does she look like Jennifer Tilly?" you ask, thinking of a woman you had passed on the way in.

"Yes! Yes, exactly like Jennifer Tilly. If you see her, you need to stay away, okay? She’s dangerous. I have to get away before she comes back.”

If this ends poorly... Well, you can’t say you didn’t know what you were potentially signing up for.

“Okay. You can come into my room,” you tell Nica. Her shoulders drop in relief. “Where’s your chair?”

“I don’t have one at the moment.”

"I've got you, then. You’re okay with me picking you up, right?”

Nica nods. You see a single tear slip out and travel down her cheek as you scoop her into your arms.

“Everything’s going to be okay now. We’re going to figure things out.”

You still have a lot of questions, but you’re going to save them for now. Best not to linger in the corridor any longer than you already have.

#x reader #gender neutral insert #nica pierce x reader #child's play #child's play x reader #chucky tv series #nica pierce #curse of chucky #cult of chucky

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waitingforwinterwinds · 1 year

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ASOS; Steel and Snow: 25 DAVOS III (pages 343-354)

Davos recovers in the prison cells of Dragonstone, has a concerning chat with Melisandre, and then gets some gossip from Stannis's newly fired Hand.

The cell was warmer than any cell had a right to be.

??? Oh shit, right, Davos got arrested (his) last chapter. The downside of a chapter a day reading, you kinda forget stuff... but then again, some folks forget stuff between chapters even when they devour a 500 page book in like two hours.

But Davos could not complain of chill. The smooth stony passages beneath the great mass of Dragonstone were always warm, and Davos had often heard it grew warmer the further down one went.

That makes sense if there's still active magma zones under Dragonstone. Given the presence of obsidian the area was volcanic, rather than purely tectonic, in origin.

Underground gets pretty warm if you dig far enough, deepest artificial point (deepest hole humans have dug) is like, 12 Km deep, but they had to tap out because the heat was turning the ground basically liquid, any further and they might as well have been digging magma. There's one site, iirc, where humans were digging by hand, not remote machinery, and they had to abandon the site because the heat was so intense. Might have even been the same site pre-machinery, idk.

I will not linger long, he remembered thinking. I will die soon, here in the dark.

There's some kind of irony, I think, in Davos going from surviving horrible condition in the ocean, no protection from the sky, to underground and roasting. Water&Air > Fire&Earth

... nicest prison stay anyone has had in the series thus far... are we sure he's under arrest and not under house arrest so the heat can drive the chill from his bones? Oh, right, the cell is rat infested an kinda nasty, so he's definitely under-arrest arrest.

Oh hi Melisandre.

"The way the world is made. The truth is all around you, plain to behold. The night is dark and full of terrors, the day bright and beautiful and full of hope. -"

TNiDaFoT = 🥛

"- Against him stands the Great Other whose name may not be spoke, the Lord of Darkness, the Soul of Ice, God of Night and Terror. -"

So legit the Night King? Or is the Night King just his Champion?

The great ruby at her throat seemed to pulse with its own radiance.

ruby = 🥛

... So she might have been able to firebend wild fire? Cool Beans. Unfortunate she wasn't there, but politics.

... And Davos is back to questioning gods, and tired of it all. I do like that GRRM purposefully leaves it vague on what is an isn't real with the gods. are they gods or just something powerful, are they real or just built from faith and coincidence. It makes the world feel more real in a lowkey magic way, cause yes there's magic and dragons, but the Big Questions are still something people can only answer for themselves.

"- the red woman burnt Lord Sunglass, and Lord Bar Emmon is fifteen, -"

I just misread that as "and Lord Lemonbar is fifteen." I might be in need of snacks...

... Lord Alester Florent is not that bright, is he?

"He has no choice." "You are wrong, my lord. He can choose to die a king." "And us with him? Is that what you desire, Onion Knight?" "No. But I am the king's man, and I will make no peace without his leave." Lord Alester stared at him helplessly for a long moment, and then began to weep.

Davos. Is just. the most Ride Or Die person in the entirety of Westeros, and Stannis doesn't deserve him.

poor Alester. But Davos is right, Alester really stepped over the line. Unfortunate truth or not, the Hand of the King is a glorifies secretary, not the king themselves, something as big as surrender during war times? that's a King's Choice Only kinda deal, and Stannis... well, Stannis is Stannis.

#a storm of swords #steel and snow #a song of ice and fire #davos seaworth #a chapter a day reading #asos #asoiaf

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gingersnappe-9 · 2 years

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In a Crowd of Thousands: Lessons Learned (5)

Din Djarin/Mando X Fem!OC ; Star Wars/The Mandalorian Universe

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4 K words

Warning: none

A/N: chapter banner by @followwhereshegoes

The blood continued to pound inside her ears. It felt as if the ground would fall out from underneath her. The landscape smeared together in a maddening wash of brown and some color Ava was only vaguely familiar with. Even with her eyes slammed shut she could still see the horizon hurtling towards her. The air would rush past her ears. Her stomach turned and flipped. And no matter how hard she tried, Ava couldn’t seem to bring enough air into her lungs. They burned, contracted, yet fought with all their strength to pull in even the smallest gulp of oxygen. Her thoughts were running wild. Everything seemed to be going awry, like there was a glitch in the circuitry, some faulty wiring or something.

“Ava.”

Someone’s quiet voice began to pull her conscious mind forward and out of the chaos. A great boom sounded off in the distance. Ava trembled even harder, her nails dug into her palms deeper, surely drawing blood. Her body shook, it felt like everything was on fire and yet frigid liquid pulsed through her veins. It was too much. Everything was too much.

“It’s alright… It’s alright. I have you.”

Only when Mando spoke did she realize where her body even was relative to his. Her meager pack was held tightly to her chest and Mando’s arms wrapped around her securly. His entire torso seemed to eclipse her body without even trying, enveloping her in a small cave perfectly designed to keep her close.

For a few moments, Ava relished in the sensation of the cool beskar pressing into her neck. The contrast in temperature seemed to tame the raging heat burning through her body. Her fingers un-clenched slowly, her joints creaked under the release of pressure. Ava tentatively opened her eyes. She cautiously took in her surroundings.

They had made it to the ground. Ava did everything within her limited power to try and reassure herself that she was in fact on solid ground, she was safe, and everything was with her… right?

Her heart once again slammed in her chest. It felt as if a vice grip was constrincting her lungs. In a fit of panic, Ava moved erratically in Mando’s grapes, causing her skull to knock against Mando’s nearly impenetrable beskar helmet. The pain throbbing from her temple was secondary.

“Cut it out! You could be hurt, you have to stop moving and let me do a proper scan.” Mando’s voice couldn’t reach Ava. Not at that moment. Nothing else in the entire world, the entire galaxy could have mattered less to Ava than finding what she was looking for, hoping remained with her.

They’re still here. They have to be. Oh Maker, please let them still be with me.

The thoughts rang out in Ava’s mind as she scrambled to search for the chain around her neck and find the familiar weight of her necklace resting peacefully on her chest where it had always been, and rightfully belonged. Her next thoughts turned to the contents of her pack. When she reached inside, the familiar fabric brushed against her knuckles. A sigh finally escaped Ava’s lips. Knowing her most precious belongings hadn't been lost forever brought Ava the same relief of that first gasp of air after holding one’s breath for too long.

“Really? That’s what you almost got yourself killed for?” Mando’s hand invaded Ava’s pack and yanked out the well-worn piece of cloth. The flash of red danced like a ribbon. Ava watched it flutter through the air for a moment, a streak of crimson against the fading blue of the sky. “You could’ve died and all because of this lousy piece of scrap?” Even through the modulator his voice was clipped, ringing with irritation and frustration.

Ava did not care, “It’s none of your damn business!” She screamed out and forcefully took the scarf back and cradled it to her chest, just above where her pendant rested.

“Do you have any idea how insane you sound! ” Her eyes welled up with tears as Mando continued berating. “It’s just a damn scarf, and we almost died because of it!”

“That's all I have left you asshole!” Ava’s voice rang out through the forest. It cut through the air with the piercing sound of her pain and fear echoing across the terrain. “I have nothing. No memories. No family. I left what little I ever really had behind because of you! I’m risking my life because of you! So I’m sorry if I tried to save the few things that have gotten me through my miserable existence!” Ava’s voice echoed through the quiet wood. Her pain was loud enough to render the Mandalorian silent. She stared at that unyielding T-visor, and unlike the other times, it stared back at her with a blank expression. The strange sensation she’d become accustomed to feeling around Mando fizzled to an almost numbing sensation. Tears threatened to fall down her cheeks, but Ava held fast. “Come on, we have to find Fett and the kid. They shouldn’t be far and we’re losing light.”

Any and all feelings Ava held were violently shoved down into a deep, dark hole where they would no longer interfere. If her emotions nearly got them killed, then this so-called adventure would be entirely worthless.

Realizing she was still nestled very much in Mando’s lap, Ava thrust herself up onto her feet. The Mandalorian only paused for a brief moment. Ava peaked out of the corner of her eye to the leer at the chrome helm and still felt nothing. She suddenly, and briefly -- but only as brief as a blink of an eye – felt lonely.

She sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The Mandalorian rose to his feet, pressed a few buttons on his vambrace, and marched on towards the sunlight to where Ava could only assume was Boba Fett and the child’s location.

It had only been a short while since Boba had heard the thundering crash of the Razor Crest’s final descent from the sky. The child had even whimpered in concern at hearing the chaotic sound echoing through the relatively calm woods.

“It’s alright, Young One. We will find them soon.” Boba cradled the small creature in the crook of his arm, impressed at how unphased the tiny tike had been about the whole ordeal. He had seen seasoned veterans, assassins and clones alike break down in fear and confusion at lesser events, but this little thing in his arms seemed rather unaffected at being jettisoned from an uncontrolled spin.

Luckily, Boba couldn’t detect any strange heat signatures or seismic activity so he activated his homing beacon and almost as soon as he did, locked in on Mando’s. The four of them reunited in a matter of minutes, but what Fett saw was more worrisome than the loss of their one and only form of transportation.

Boba passed off the child to Mando the moment the little one clapped eyes on his caretaker but the green armored Mandalorian was more concerned with the girl.

“What happened? Why didn’t you eject?” His question was not necessarily directed at either of them, but it was Mando who responded immediately.

“Ask the girl.”

His voice was harder than normal. Each word punched out with the intent to hit with deadly accuracy. Boba noticed the slight shift in Ava’s posture, the way she curled her arms around herself and her pack tighter. She kept her eyes towards the ground after Mando’s response.

“My dear, are you alright?”

Boba took a small step towards her, removed his helm, and gently tipped Ava’s chin up so he could look her in the eye. One thing he knew for certain: you could read a great deal from looking someone in the eye, and Ava’s were indeed telling him a great deal. There was sadness, and a considerable amount of it. Fear for certain, Boba had become highly attuned to all forms. What struck the older man most was that her expression seemed glazed over. The girl he met on Tatooine had the clearest eyes. Certain and full of fire. Part of her was very far away. Even the child sensed something was amiss when he reached his arms out for Ava even as Mando held him.

Her voice was mellow and steady, “We need to keep going.” It gave Fett the chills. But he did not press further, his instincts warning him it would lead nowhere. So the party pressed on.

Luckily for them, it was not the first time he’d visited Dressel. As their small troop marched forward, Fett explained how he had been hired for a job by a wealthier merchant to take out whoever was making threats against him. Fett noticed the more he talked, the more Ava’s shoulders would relax, the softer the crease between her brows became. So he continued: The further into his hunt he got, Fett learned it was the merchant’s wife. The man was cruel to her, beat her and paraded her around like a trophy. So in hopes of running him out of town, she hired someone to make veiled threats, little did she know he would hire a prolific bounty hunter with Mandalorian armor. But the mercenary knew all too well what it was like to be used as nothing more than a pawn. He knew that existence too well and made a decision. Instead of killing her, Fett orchestrated a scenario in which the husband believed he would be safer on a different planet after finding his wife brutally slain in their private quarters. Just after his departure, a body in the husband’s clothes was found burned, leaving his Dressel assets to his newly widowed wife.

“How do we know she’ll remember your little favor? It’s been some time.” Mando remarked, ever the optimist and intent on pointing out the length of time that had indeed passed since then.

“When I left, she had become one of the wealthiest trade merchants in the region and finally free from her pathetic excuse for a husband thanks to me. And be rest assured, I left her quite satisfied,” Fett thought back to the double meaning of his words fondly – how the moonlight fell across her face, how soft her hands were from a life of privilege, the raw beauty of her smile – before he remembered he was in the company of a young lady. “I have no doubt Lady Omera will honor my request.” He finished after clearing his throat and his mind.

Fett could see Ava was growing weary. The walk had been long and the light was continuing to fade. Thankfully, they didn’t have much further to go. Perhaps a klick or to at most.

The older man continued to observe her. The way she took in the sight of the tall trees with branches that stretched out into the thinnest, and greenest of needles; the fallen twigs that gently crunched underfoot. How as the sun began to set further, peaking through playfully casting everything in a warm light, it shone across Ava’s youthful visage igniting her eyes. She really was a lovely girl. The sunshine brought out the faint freckles that marked her skin from all those years of toiling under the Tatooine suns. Her hair had been swept back and wrapped up in a well-loved scarf, the rest cascading out the back like a deep dark river. For as lovely as she was, it made Fett realize she was so much younger. So much more unaware of the ways of the galaxy. How truly brave she was to take the word of two obviously dangerous strangers.

He made a promise to himself many years ago to not get attached. Attachment leads to pain. Love and caring only leads to grief and sorrow. But oh how sweet it was even for that short while. So he made a new promise. He would modify the rules of the bounty. He would protect her as fiercely as he could. His responsibility to look after, provide for. No longer just a body to keep warm. Sentiment would be sidelined, but consideration would not be overlooked.

She was his ward just as the child was Mando’s.

Fett placed a hand gently across Ava’s shoulder. “My dear, if you would like, we can continue on with some of the simpler lessons.” Fett kept his voice mellow and light. He was fully prepared for her to say no and that would be perfectly fine by him.

“Alright.” Was the only word she said in response. Her eyes never strayed from the path ahead of them.

Fett couldn’t help but cast a small and crooked smile. “Alright then. We should go over names of the royal family. Starting with Senator and King Bail Organa and the Queen Freya Organa.”

They made it to the small city just as the sun had set below the horizon. Din was surprised at how quickly they’d arrived. The child had grown ancy and hungry towards the end, whimpering and gesturing for food soon. Ava never complained, never dragged her feet, and never gave Din so much as a sideways glance.

Fett had traveled ahead to announce their arrival as well as explain their situation. Din was left behind to escort Ava and the kid to the merchant woman's estate once Fett had sent him a confirmation. He spent the walk behind Ava, only grunting out left, right, or just up ahead. The last time Ava had spoken was when she and Fett were reviewing the names of the royal family. The names of those she would hope to call family. Ava’s voice was clear, repeating after her teacher slowly to ensure she pronounced every name correctly. Once they reached the heart of the city, Fett went on ahead and Ava returned to being a selective mute. The remainder of the short trip was made in silence. But Din watched her nonetheless.

She held her chin level with the road as they made their way to the merchant woman’s estate. Her gait was smooth and even. She was walking like they had practiced on the Crest. She held it in well but Din could see that her feet were growing tired – walking through sand and rubble required different muscles than trudging through undergrowth and trodden dirt – Ava tried to hide it as best she could, but a small limp was starting to develop. He remembered that feeling.

The way ill-fitted shoes rubbed the skin of one’s foot raw. The irritation and incessant pain of blisters that felt as though they would never heal. The nagging reminder when the shoes were slipped on only to aggravate the wound all over again. But she did not complain. She did not whine. She was toughing it out, if only to keep from talking to him.

Before long, the small traveling party turned onto a street with houses finer than the rest of the buildings they had passed previously. The coordinates Fett has sent to Din indicated the large mansion at the very end was their final destination.

They passed through a decent sized gate with a standing attendant and everything. Din was rather impressed at how thorough the security was. Cameras placed in optimal positioning with limited chance of blind spots. Another attendant came to walk them through the house once they had made their business known, but only after the attendant relayed information through an earpiece.

The house, more like a villa, was opulent. The woman had clearly done well for herself. There were lavish carpets that one’s foot sunk into. Tapestries and ornamental painting hung from the impossibly tall walls. Light poured in from the floor to ceiling windows and there were lush plants lining the hallway every few steps. It was by far one of the nicer establishments Din had the fortune of visiting.

He noticed the way Ava’s eyes drank in the sight. It was her first time off-world of Tatooine. She gazed with an almost child-like wonder of the delicate flowers that sprouted from the fine planters. Din watched her breathing change to deeper breaths, inhaling the soft and syrupy scent of incense.

As he tread behind her and watched Fett introduce her to the lady of the house, something odd came over him. He continued in his silent observation. Ava was holding the child while she spoke with the woman, thanking her for her hospitality. The manner in which she conducted herself threw Din entirely. Ava was poised. Her voice was clear with well formed dictation; with excellent posture and her face bore an expression of contentment, as if it was second nature to speak to someone of such high standing.

When the hell did Fett have time to teach her all that?

Din couldn’t claim to be an expert in proper etiquette and manners, but he had conducted business enough with certain sorts to know what someone was acting. Ava was as natural as they came. Her composure, grace and elegance suddenly reminded him of someone long ago. The sounds of a parade floated through his mind when Fett turned to him with an outstretched hand.

“-- my partner Mando, who is accompanying us on our journey.”

Din had to snap his attention back to the current matters at hand. He finally studied the woman, Lady Omera. Not much shorter than himself, but just slightly taller than Ava. Her dark eyes were highly focused as she too studied Din. Long ebony hair was pulled back from her proud face; she was indeed a handsome woman, Din could easily see how Fett had been charmed by her.

“Welcome. I’m so pleased I can be of assistance to you. My only regret is that you will be staying with us for such a short while.”

“I must apologize once again for our hast but if we are to ensure safe passage we must leave tomorrow morning if we are to make it to the star port on the Veridian Liner.”

One of Din’s more important question had been answered. They would travel to the star port on the other side of the great lake via the commercial cruise liners, saving them three days of walking. Based on Din’s readings, the journey would take them only one day and night across the lake. How Fett would manage to get them off-world still remained a mystery.

The sooner we reach Canto Bight the better. For everyone. Din thought to himself.

“No matter, I’ll make sure you’re well provided for on your journey. Your rooms are being prepared but I have been told that you, my young lady, are in need of some provisions and clothes. Is that correct?” Omera’s voice was inviting as she gestured to Ava with nothing but her satchel and Grogu in hand.

Ava seemed to hesitate before she spoke, “I don’t want to trouble you, My Lady.”

“No trouble at all, Sweetheart. My daughter is grown and I miss being able to spoil someone. It will be a treat for both of us.”

Din and his partner stayed behind while they settled into their rooms while Omera took Ava under her wing. He was hesitant to watch her go, but he watched as a small smile crept across Ava’s face once she’d passed off the child to him once more. The icy exterior she’d donned since the crash was slowly being melted away by Omera’s generosity and sweet disposition. For once, Din was glad to have met an old acquaintance of Fett’s.

The child took a long and undisturbed nap as soon as he was laid in his pram. Even Fett was grateful for the comfortable accommodations and the relative safety that Omera’s security provided. The evening came fast, the adrenaline from the day had drained from Din’s body completely. The realization that the Razor Crest was gone finally hit him.

That ship had been his home for years. The one place in the entire galaxy that was his and his alone. Din remembered the day he purchased the ship with the credits he’s stockpiled away after months of bounty hunting without so much as a day's rest in between jobs. It was a piece of validation for himself to prove he could succeed and make his own way in the galaxy, dictate the terms of his existence.

Every ounce of blood, sweat, and measly credit he’d poured into the Crest’s care was worthless. It was gone.

An attendant knocked on Din and Fett’s shared door. He let them know Lady Omera had decided for an informal dinner that would be served shortly on the terrace. Out of respect for his host, but mostly Fett’s insistence, Din walked down and no sooner that he did was he breathtaken.

Ava stood looking out from the railing of the terrace at the scene that lay before her. The green of the trees parted against the deep blue of the great lake. The final rays from the sun reflected and bounced off the subtle waves and ripples like a million crystals. The wind ruffled the hem of Ava’s new dress. It was much simpler than the clothes Lady Omera wore but they suited the girl. The fabric was a warm color with some sort of well softed leather corset secured over the shoulders that draped down the front and back into two panels. Din was especially happy to see her wearing a pair of boots that appeared brand new and properly fitted. He wouldn’t have to worry too much about her feet anymore should there be more walking in their future. Lastly, her hair was braided up and wrapped up neatly in the scarf she’d nearly gotten herself killed over.

Having just processed the loss of one of the few possessions he cared about, Din suddenly felt awful for the way he’d spoken to Ava after they’d landed. The callous way he trampled over her emotions with his words sent him into the deeper recesses of his mind.

The meal was spent in relative silence outside of the soft music playing through some unseen system. Lady Omera and Fett did most of the talking. Catching up and reminiscing over their well-executed scheme. The kid was more than happy to scarf down every bit of food the servers placed in front of him then promptly fall asleep early. Din watched Ava out of the corner of his eye, careful to not give away his observation even if she couldn’t see his face. But it was the strangest thing, ever since they’d arrived on this planet, Din didn’t feel that feeling around her as much. When they’d first met, it was as if Ava always knew when Din was looking at her. It was as though she could find his gaze through the beskar. Now, it felt like there was something, or rather, someone, blocking it. Not that he would blame her.

Too lost in thought, Din almost didn’t catch Omera’s statement of, “Oh I do love this song.” And Fett, ever the two-faced charmer he was, stood up and offered a hand. The lady of the manor gladly took his hand and the pair swayed to the gentle rhythm.

Memories faded into clarity in Din’s mind. Laughter. A woman with dark hair patiently teaching him how to not step on her toes. A man scooping him into his arms and spinning with the woman all together.

His family.

An idea fluttered into his head. But it was idiotic. Stupid. It would be utterly moronic. And yet… it might just work.

Without realizing it, Din had stood up and gently stretched his hand out to Ava. She looked up from her plate with a rather confused expression on her face. Only after a second did she quickly jerk her head back.

“Ava.”

Din had never heard his voice so earnest and quiet. The sincerity behind it not only surprised Din, but Ava as well. She turned her head ever so slightly towards him. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at his hand before gingerly placing her palm atop his. He guided Ava up and into a steady rhythm in time with the music.

Neither of them noticed or very much cared that Fett couldn’t help but give a crooked smile. It didn’t matter how many times Ava looked down at her feet or if she stumbled into Din. Nothing else really mattered other than a warm feeling turning in Din’s chest.

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General Taglist: @phandoz @athalien @rosiefridayrogersunday @tanzthompson @littlemisspascal @radiowallet @andiesturgss

Crowd of Thousands Taglist: @luxmuse33ndee @phandoz @deepknightclod @niall7inches @the-socially-awkward-dragon @ahtanosoka @paledonutpastakid @myguiltypleasures21 @lekkus @littlemissoblivious @grogusyogurt @lokis-army-77 @kitttypalace @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @hell-al

Din Djarin (all) Taglist: @elinedjarin @wander-lustbabe @phandoz @mcueveryday @deepknightclod @paledonutpastakid @myguiltypleasures21 @kitttypalace @hell-al

#anastasia au #the mandalorian #star wars #star wars au #fanfic #mando #star wars anastasia #gingersnappe writes

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sunnidaydreamer · 1 year

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Hyrule Warriors

The game came out in 2014 for the Wii U, but we all know that.

I’ve written before about Hyrule Warriors, a thing I brought over from my old account, but I have more.

We know the gameplay is repetitive, not for everyone, and after a while makes my thumbs hurt.

But mowing down so many enemies, taking out GIANT bosses, especially since they’re bosses we know from the series…

So much dopamine(for me at least).

But I get where people are coming from, the combat could have more nuance to it.

I never had a chance to play the games before Breath of the Wild, I’d love to some day, and while I know it isn’t canon, Hyrule Warriors is canon to me!

There are so many things the game does right, I think.

It’s a love letter to the series, and it shows.

They only have five characters that were made for the game(Lana, Cia, Volga, Wizzro, and Linkle), and the rest are characters from the various games.

The original characters feel like characters you might find in the games, depending on the style of the game.

But that’s where we start to run into some problems.

I’ve seen it all over: the story is not that good.

I’ve also seen people say ‘Well, it’s a spin-off’, ‘Well, it’s a Warriors game’ ‘What do you expect?’

And I say, no. Spin-offs, Warriors games, they can have good stories.

A little more effort could have gone a long way.

Cia could have had more depth to her than she had. They could have dug deeper into the war element. Gave us little interactions in between levels. Maybe even interactions between characters not in the storyline(I’m not sure how this would work but I’d kill for some meta between Volga and Young Link since Volga is based on Volvagia. Maybe some manga references? Eh? Maybe?).

Flesh out the story more.

Maybe even do more things like Cia and Linkle’s Tale. Do Volga, do Sheik, do anyone. Give us more story. Flesh it out.

I want to know MORE.

What was Volga’s life like? What happened to make Wizzro? What the HELL was Zelda thinking, abandoning her soldiers who looked up to her and leave them and Impa to worry and think that was a good idea? Girl what were you thinking?

(You were gonna add Sheik to the roster anyway, how could you not, no need to shoehorn Sheik into the story mode just to have them there)

Adventure Mode is HUGE there are SO MANY levels. I saw a video where it took someone over A THOUSAND HOURS to 100%. Holy shit. Did adventure mode need to be so big? There are so many maps.

Also why does Link get so many alternate weapons and everyone else gets bupkis? Zelda and Lana each get three, Impa and Ganondorf get two, everyone else gets nothing.

Some characters I guess I get it; Wizzro I can’t see using anything else, or Zant.

But come on there are surely other things you can give other characters.

Give Volga a war axe! Give Ghirahim double swords! Something!

Also some of these alt weapons are, in my humble opinion, shit.

The dominion rod for Zelda makes no sense to me. The spear and summoning gate for Lana suck, and the spinner and great fairy for Link are just bad. Great fairy’s hit box is just too big, the spinner is hard to get good damage on.

Lana’s summoning gate makes no sense to me, I can’t figure it out even with guides.

I just… some of these weapons.

And why does Link need so many?? Who was asking for Link to be bottled by the great fairy? Or for Epona to become a weapon?

Also, other Warriors games have mounts, why not this one? The owl statues are a little too far apart to really work, and with so much ground to cover mounts would be so helpful. Maybe even have different styles depending on characters(Link, Zelda etc get horses, Ganondorf get his horse and not an Epona recolor, Ruto has someone carry her).

Let’s look at other stuff.

The fairy system. It’s cute enough. Is it ever explained in depth anywhere and I just missed it? I know for Young Link the fairy power thing is broken, but is it really useful anywhere else? You can get through story mode without it, was it just put in for adventure mode?

And skulltulas! Oh my god I hate skulltulas! I get they’re a reference to the series(Ocarina of Time having them and I think another game) but why are the conditions to get them so difficult? Why are their locations sometimes so obscure?

Let’s talk Bosses.

The Imprisoned. Oh LORD the Imprisoned.

I hate it, I hate it so much. I hate how when you knock it down it chases you. I hate the red lightning thing it does when it walks. I hate its big squishy toes. Whenever there’s a timed mission that it’s in it feels like it takes so long to kill it, like it knows you’re on a crunch.

Phantom Ganon

Can anyone tell me how to do the deadmans volley? I can’t pin down the prompt or when to hit it back. I hate when it splits into four, and for me, it seems like that’s its favorite move it’s all it does!

Ganon

He’s alright I guess. Final boss, lots of health, makes sense. What is the move where he barrels across the field and starts to glow, does anyone know what I’m supposed to use for that move?

Manhandla

The most irritating, aggravating thing I have ever seen.

The way it runs around while laughing, the FUCKING BULLET SEED NO MATTER HOW FAR AWAY YOU ARE.

I hate it.

Gohma

Eh, it’s fine. Not too hard, easy tells.

King Dodongo

Once again, it’s fine. Sometimes takes forever to open it’s dang mouth, and that’s annoying for timed missions but whatever it’s fine.

Argorok

Annoying, but not terrible. Can be trouble if it catches you in the flamethrower stream though.

Helmaroc King

Another that can be annoying but like Dodongo has easy tells and isn’t too hard.

I don’t really like the upgrades system, all the item grinding. It makes sense, but some of the items associated with character power ups kinda confuse me.

Volga needs Zelda’s Crown for one of his, why? Cause dragons like shiny things? There are a couple others but that one stands out to me.

RUPEES.

Is there a way to grind them good? Because you need SO MANY for character leveling. And it always seems like there are characters that need grinding.

Yes I know, that one corner in Master Quest Map, but there have to be other ways.

Characters. Let’s talk about the original characters, shall we?

Cia. Oh boy.

While I’m sure it was not meant with malicious intent, making her dark-skinned when evil is very poor taste. Same with over-sexualizing her. We see in her Guardian of Time that she’s pale, Lana’s skin tone in fact. Yeah, her top has cutouts showing the tops of her breasts and clavicle(and a very dumb looking hat but so is her other hat).

Her evil outfit shows so much skin, and I don’t think Nintendo would let this slide in a canon game(Great Fairy is about the most we get, but I’m not an expert on Zelda character models).

And what was her goal? Was it Link(as in the in game incarnation of Link), or was it the Hero’s Spirit in general? Add the triforce(for some reason. I think I need to replay Story Mode…).

She and Lana are two parts of a whole, yes? Lana is Good Part, Cia is Bad Part. Lana explains this, saying ‘I am the good that was pushed out of Cia’s heart’, give or take. So how, unless I’ve missed something, how is Cia good again at the end of the Wind Waker storyline?

And I know that Ganondorf was influencing her, but isn’t she a little too easily forgiven? She started a whole war! Countless people died(as is the nature of war)! She brainwashed two people(does Wizzro count as people?), maybe more! I know Ghirahim did, and he was working for her at the time.

How does she even SURVIVE? Didn’t she dissolve/disappear/evaporate at the end of the main story?

Lana

She’s Cia’s Good Part. She’s sweet, and supportive, and kind of a third wheel to the obvious Zelda x Link action. Because it’s obviously implied over the course of the story that they have some sort of growing feelings, and Lana sees it. I think they were going for love triangle, but it might have been cut down, either for time or for other reasons.

I would have liked to know more about her, aside from the Cia connection. Make her more of her own person, since a lot of it seems to rely on the connection between them. I would have loved to see her first days separated from Cia, finding out about her new sense of direction, what drew her to Faron.

There are so many directions they could have gone with her, and I wish we’d gotten more.

Her outfit also stands out, seemingly more appropriate for a magical girl anime than a Zelda game. With a little more work it could have fit better, but I think they really wanted her to stand out from Cia. The problem is, she stands apart TOO much. I’ve seen multiple people say they didn’t understand the big reveal, when Cia’s mask is knocked off. That they apparently have the same face, but that was too little.

Why’d they change Cia to be taller, why’d they give Lana bright blue hair? There are ways they could have made them similar but different. Maybe give Lana a closer hair color, make them the same skin tone, same eyes! There are ways to make them different, but still make the reveal more of a reveal instead of a what happened moment.

Volga

We know very little about Volga, and he’s supposed to be Cia’s General, her right hand man. Couldn’t we have gone a little more into him, both before and after brainwashing? For as strong as he’s supposed to be, for all the fear shown by the normal soldiers when he appears, shouldn’t we see more of him? More of him devastating the army or being otherwise well known as a fearsome enemy?

I’d have loved a Volga’s Tale, where we see his point of view leading up to Cia, maybe more of his breaking through the brainwashing as we see near the end of Cia’s Tale. More of his relationship to the Dinolfos and Lizalfos he leads.

There was so much they could have done to give us more, but like with Lana I think they had to cut stuff for time.

His design is peak, though I would love a helmetless skin. Or maybe an armor-less skin. Also some of the recolors are shit, like for real. I get they are referencing past characters but some are so ugly.

Wizzro

Wizzro, if I recall, is a cursed ring. Like the ring is the Real Wizzro, the form he takes is just the culmination of souls he absorbed. And it was Cia’s magic that gave him form. But he was hidden in Volga’s caves by the Gorons, who somehow got hold of the ring. And they kept their eye on it hard, like they KNEW when Cia was there and automatically assumed she was there for the ring.

But, maybe because he’s made of so many different souls, he’s a backstabber even when brainwashed(as much as a spirit can be brainwashed). Like he even tries to ditch her for Ganondorf in one mission(and I think Ganondorf tells him to fuck off).

And couldn’t they do more with his shapeshifting? Like I know he pretends to be Zelda and Lana at one point, but there’s so much potential there.

He’s also supposed to be many spirits in one right? Wouldn’t it be cool to see them, I don’t know, have different personalities? Like maybe speaking through the main body somehow? Or separating and being used for an attack, like Cia has the Dark Links?

Linkle

Linkle was designed as a female Link. I can see why they steered away from that idea, maybe too much too soon. But they could have connected them, like making them siblings or something. That could have been a whole story! Maybe have Linkle’s Tale intertwine with the main story somehow. Like, have Linkle’s Tale, then have her join the main party at some point.

But I guess that would have meant more stages, and maybe they didn’t have time for that. But they could have connected them somehow. Give a Link a family! The only one that had one is Link from Wind Waker, that I know of. I guess Twilight Princess Link had Rusl and his family as a sort of adoptive family, but it’s not a confirmed thing.

Wouldn’t it have been cool, having siblings Link and Linkle, fighting side-by-side?

Also, maybe a different name? Linkle sounds like a throwaway name, like they weren’t even trying.

Her weapons are fun, the crossbows at least.

Her sense of direction issues, and insistence that she’s the Hero are kind of annoying, to me at least. I’m sure others find it endearing though.

That’s about all I can think of for now, but if anyone has anything to add feel free! And please no discourse or arguing. This is just my feelings.

#hyrule warriors #the legend of zelda

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bignewsupdates · 9 years

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Warning — The Three “Didis” of Jagadguru Kripalu Parishat are Up to No Good

The Greed of the Three Unmarried Crones Knows No Bounds — Now They are Telling New Lies to Trick New People

My favorite Shakespeare play is “MacBeth.” Maybe it’s because I had a wonderful English teacher in 12th grade who really dug into the various characters and their motivations.

For example, he stamped an impression of the three witches in Macbeth into my mind that I’ve never forgotten. He said they were likely “camp followers.” These were women who followed around armies and provided the men with “services,” including cooking, cleaning, and sex.

If you know the play, you know it’s ultimately about human greed — and the destruction created by unquenchable greed for power, name, and fame. While people are murdered so that Macbeth can rise to power, he and Lady Macbeth slowly go insane because they are so evil.

Today this play reminds me of Jagadguru Kripalu Parishat — which has been driven from Day One by the unstoppable greed of Kripalu Maharaj for sex, money, and fame. And now that he’s dead, his daughters have taken over the greed game. Their current ONE BILLION dollars in cash and property isn’t enough for them — as they song goes, they want “More. More. More.”

And how are they continuing the greed game? One way is by telling lie, after lie, after lie.

And this brings me back to the three witches in Macbeth. Like them, the three daughters of Kripalu have been camp followers all of their lives — curiously never married — why? Because no one wanted them? Or because they were already “married” to their dad? Or both? They certainly provided all the right services all of these years.

(The photo above is of the head witch of the threesome — called Bharti Didi or Vishaka — in the middle surrounded by two of her many servants. She's receiving a bogus award that JKP paid to receive.)

Now they have been elevated to beyond camp followers to leaders of the pack. And they can only keep the con game running (out of greed) by telling lies.

Again this is reminiscent of the three witches of Macbeth. As you may recall, Macbeth’s downfall begins when he runs into the witches who drop several hints into his mind about his potential to become the King of Scotland. After he shares their pronouncements with Lady Macbeth, the greed begets a series of murders and mental illness.

Here’s what Macbeth says upon first laying eyes on the witches:

What are these,

So wither’d and so wild in their attire,

That look not like th’ inhabitants o’ th’ earth,

And yet are on’t? Live you? or are you aught

That man may question? . . .

By each one her choppy finger laying

Upon her skinny lips. You should be women,

And yet your beards forbid me to interpret

That you are so.

Then they drop a few lies into Macbeth’s ears — which begins his downward spiral toward destruction.

And just like the three hags of Macbeth, the three crones of Kripalu are whispering lies into the ears of their preachers — who are whispering them into the ears of their followers. All for one purpose — to continue to delude people so they can snatch all of their money.

Here are the new lies being propagated by JKP’s three crones and their minions:

Kripaluji had many preachers but he never ever made disciples and he never gave initiation to anyone. After his death, his work is being carried forward by a trust, not an individual

Prakashanand Saraswati is a disciple of Jagadguru Shankaracharya Brahmanand Saraswati (a sanyasi). Jagadguru Kripaluji Maharaj was a family man and a Vaishnava

Although Prakashanand Saraswati met Kripaluji Maharaj a few times, there was never any formal relationship between them. There were many holy men who came in touch with Kripaluji as they were impressed by his irrefutable devotion towards God

JKP cannot be held responsible if any godman falsely claims that Kripalu Ji is his guru

I can hear them chanting now as they try to dupe more gullible people:

“Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble …

Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw.

Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,

For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.”

Here’s the truth (and I have proof of all of it):

Kripalu created his preachers in his image. He gave them a handwritten instruction book to study and told what to say in speeches (I have copies of many of the preachers’ speeches). Each and every one of JKP’s preachers was created in his image. Period! Since his death, his work is being carried out by each one of these people.

Prakashanand Saraswati was briefly a disciple of Jagadguru Shankaracharya Brahmanand Saraswati in his 20s. When Guru Dev died, he wandered around. Then found Kripalu, who he latched onto. Kripalu was happy to employ the wanna-be workhorse in his “mission” to “make millions of dollars” together — words Prakashanand wrote to Kripalu in a letter I have (in a safe deposit box). Kripalu was a rapist and conman, who let others raise his kids while he gallivanted around India raping girls and women.

Prakashanand Saraswati and Kripalu were thick as thieves for decades.

JKP can and will be held responsible for the damage it has wrought in its 60 years of existence.

Nothing good can come from these three women’s scheming. If I were you — I’d get out while you still have your life and your sanity (oh, and, of course, your life savings).

Here’s a tip to the “didis” — why don’t you just take the billion dollars your dad already stole from people and go away for good? Go live full-time in your big house with the hidden rooms in Mussoorie India — you know the one: where you let Prakashanand Saraswati hide out. The world doesn’t need any more witches like you creating lies, stealing people’s hard-earned money, and just generally creating mayhem wherever you go.

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samanthamarkle92 · 11 months

Text

Hey everyone! Still looking for a test reader for Their Scars. Haven't posted a whole lot from it, so here is something different. I almost put in a different prologue that was going to imply that Collin and Kayla’s paths crossed when they were kids. After some debate, it seemed way too convenient and unrealistic, so it was scrapped. This is what the scene would have been. Trigger warning: features abuse of a child.

The young boy walked the hallway of the tenement, dragging the bag of laundry. His mom was cooking dinner, and dad had left to find a job in a different part of Australia.

The whole country had been unstable for almost as long as he could remember. There were no real jobs anywhere outside of small towns and villages. And everyone knew that you could never trust anyone else out there.

He sighed as he passed the bathroom where someone was being sick into the toilet. The smell made him want to gag.

Collin shifted his bag onto his other shoulder, going past a series of rooms. Then he heard it; crying. The door was open, and he went inside. He knew of the danger, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling that someone needed help.

A girl, maybe a few years younger than him, was sitting in a bathtub. She looked like she was naked, but he didn’t care; he only wanted to help her.

She looked up at him with tears streaming down her face, and Collin realized that her eyes were bloodshot. She had red marks on her arms, and bruises around her wrists. Her hair was messy and wild, hanging in wet strands around her face.

“You okay? I heard you crying." Collin stepped closer, and the girl tried to curl into a ball. She was naked, and the water in the tub was red.

"Please leave me alone!" The girl whimpered, turning away from him. Collin stopped, unsure what to do.

There was a loud crashing noise, and then another crash, followed by a thud.

Collin ran to the bathroom doorway, peeking his head out. The hallway was empty.

“He hurt me….” the little girl sobbed quietly.

“It’s okay. Come with me, my mum can help you.”

“He’ll kill me if I leave! Please don’t make me go.”

“Come on, please!” Collin grabbed her hand. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She sniffled, wiping her nose. “Okay…”

Collin wrapped a towel around her naked body, seeing a thin rivulet of blood running down her leg.

Collin grabbed another towel and held it against her waist.

“Hold this between your legs. It’ll stop the bleeding. Can you stand up?”

She nodded. She was trembling slightly, so Collin helped her to her feet and dug one of his dad’s t-shirts out of the laundry bag . He handed it to her and watched as she put it on. The two kids were almost at the door when a man burst in from an adjoining door.

“What are you doing in here, ya little shite?” he grabbed the girl by her arm.

“Let me go! Let me go!” the girl struggled, trying to get free.

Collin ran back into the room to try to grab her, but the man snatched him up by his shirt and tossed him roughly back out into the hallway, slamming the door loudly.

“Get away from her!” Collin yelled, holding his hands out to block himself from falling over. He heard the man start to laugh, and then the girl started screaming.

“No!! Noooo!”

Collin ran as fast as he could to the flat, nearly falling over himself when his mom noticed him.

“Col, what’s wrong? Did one of the older boys beat you up again?”

Collin spilled out his story.

“Mum….there’s a little girl…some guy hurt her…she was screaming!”

He looked at his mom, hoping she didn't think he was crazy. He'd seen some pretty strange stuff growing up, and he'd seen adults fight too, but he had never seen a grown man beat someone up before. He wasn't sure why he felt so strongly about helping this kid, but she looked really scared.

His mom put her hands on his shoulders.

"Where was she?"

"The floor above us, in the wing facing the front yard! We gotta help her, mum!"

Collin saw his mum dial some numbers on the phone. Was she talking to the police? He couldn’t tell. His mum then went to her room and he saw her coming back out with a box. He saw her take his dad’s gun out; he had left it so they’d have protection against burglars or whatever. He thought that meant they should be ready for anything.

“Mum?”

“This sounds dangerous, Collin; we can’t just wait for police. Do you know the door number of the flat?”

Collin nodded. He told her the number. They would go in the front way.

“Okay, Col; stay close to me. If there are other people in the building, don’t go near them. You hear me?”

“Yes.” Collin answered obediently.

Collin followed his mum up the stairs and into the hall.

“Mum! There’s the laundry bag! I dropped it when the guy tossed me out!” he said, pointing to it. Collin’s mum went to the door that the bag was closest to. She knocked on it hard several times, and when nobody answered, she kicked it as hard as she could.

The flat was empty.

“Is there anyone in there, Mum?”

“No. I have a bad feeling about this. Go wait for the police at the main door, okay? Don’t leave the building, and don’t talk to strangers!” she told him firmly.

Collin agreed reluctantly.

***************

When the police arrived, everything felt wrong from the get go. Collin was too nervous, but his mum told him to tell them what happened. He told them all the details; what the girl looked like, how she had cried, her fear when the guy came after them, and their desperate attempts to escape. Collin had to pause to wipe the tears away from his eyes.

The cops asked all sorts of questions. Had he seen either the girl or the man she was with in the building before? Collin didn’t know. Collin even showed them the bathtub and the towels he had handed the girl.

One officer took Collin aside, while the rest kept searching the flats.

“Have you ever seen someone like this before? Have any of your friends seen anyone like this?”

“No sir.” Collin said, wishing he knew more of what was going on.

The police let Collin and his mum go back home after awhile. As soon they got to the flat, his mum locked the door and sat him at the kitchen table. The dinner that were going to eat was cold, but neither of them felt like eating. She looked at her son worriedly.

“We need to talk, Col.”

“About what?”

“About what happened. You know how your dad and I taught you how to stay safe so no one would kidnap you? That’s very important. Especially in life right now. People will go after girls like this and they’re not always good things. A lot of times, people will kidnap kids and bad things end up happening to them.”

“What happens to them? Why can’t the police keep people like this away?”

“It’s hard to explain. I just think that what might have happened.”

“So what are we gonna do? Is the police going to find her? What’s going to happen to her?”

“Well, we can look for her if she is still alive; we can ask our neighbours if they know where she lives. But there’s nothing we can do.”

“I tried to save her, Mum!” Collin said, starting to cry.

“Calm down, baby. I know you did.”

He continued to wail. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t been stupid enough to run home instead of trying to fight, maybe this wouldn’t have happened to the girl. Maybe she’d been found.

“What you did was very brave, my little soldier. I know you’ll do a better job than most boys your age.”

“Don’t say stuff like that. You’re making me feel guilty.”

His mother hugged him tight.

“Now you mustn’t be afraid anymore, okay?”

Collin nodded and his mum gave him some dinner and sent him to bed.

Collin saw the girl’s eyes and the bloody bath water in his nightmares regularly. But his mum had been right about one thing; he was a brave little soldier. In fact, when he grew up, he was a great one.

#original character #wattpad #romance #post apocalyptic #australia #ocs #alternate scene #kids #child abuse #child trafficking #human trafficking #tw sex assault #prologue #tw blo0d

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books-of-the-great-leviathan · 1 year

Text

Chapter 34- Luca

***

A village.

Hells, he thought, because there was no overwhelming reason not to stop. They didn't have enough food to keep going, however much further the going was, and he himself could see the way the forest transitioned to alpine scree a scant few hundred meters up. If there was no game or foraging down here, there wouldn't be up there, either.

The stream widened downslope, a dramatic eruption of whitewater and jagged boulders, becoming a plunging, leaping cataract that split into several smaller tracts. In the distance Luca made out the glint of a waterfall. The mountain's shoulder fell in the full evening sun, illuminating the thatch and tile roofs of the village.

It was a seam of simple whitebrick buildings bounded by small meadows and grazing-patches for touga, cedar bough fences, conical wattle-and-daub beehives surrounded by glimmering clouds of bees. All was strung together by a series of dirt paths and rope bridges, spanning gorges, linking together the flanks of the village into a whole.

All was quiet, the deep hush of empty air and falling twilight, the snort of touga as they snuffled at their feed, the distant clang of harness bells.

"Think it's safe?" Niive asked flatly. "They might attack us with those pitchforks over there."

"Look." Luca pointed to a path winding down the mountainside, all the way to a slice of beach and ocean at the mountain's foot. A natural harbor. "If Isabella followed us, her navy could easily dock down there, out of sight. They could be waiting for us to show our faces-"

"If," Cereza said. "I don't think she's here. This is...right, this place. It's right that we came here."

She blinked, then grinned. "And I for one am starving."

Luca looked at Sirin for support. She shrugged.

"Useless, the lot of you," he said. He studied the sea again, but there was no sign of the Leviathan, no stormclouds or lightning. Could their overland path have outrun the beast? "Fine. We go into town. We buy food. We leave. We don't linger. We don't mingle."

He undid his kerchief and pulled it over his head, shielding his face.

"What are you doing?" Cereza said.

"Cee, every town in Lapide has a painting of our faces."

"Look at this place! The last time they got a painting of our faces, you were ten years old." She dug her elbow into his ribs, then began down the incline, toward the path. "Besides, that scarf makes you look stupid. Come on!"

Niive hurried after her, her wings hidden, to catch her round the waist and whirl her with a shriek in an airborne circle. Alois followed, then Puppy, bounding at his side.

Luca gave Sirin another glance and found her standing, rigid, her black eyes narrowed.

"What's wrong?" Luca said.

This place. It reminds me- Her fingers curled to her palms. Reminds me of another.

"Alkona?"

She nodded. Luca took her hands and felt her shiver at his touch. Her fingers were cold. "We really don't have to go," he murmured. "I can find...grubs, or-"

Sirin gave him a wicked little smile and tugged her hands from his. I'd like to see you eat a grub, she said, and strode past him, after the others.

A few whispers chased them as they entered the village, but the old man tending the bees gave them a smile and a nod, and if any eyes lingered on them, it was only for a moment. The streets were scattered with people, laden with baskets, leaning from windows to call down to friends below, children racing along with paper kites bobbing behind them. Luca lifted his head to watch them go by, and saw the strings of painted pennants hung between buildings, the long flags dancing from weathervanes. Charms hung from doorways, chiming in the breeze.

The women that passed all wore bright colors and garlands of mud lily, moonwort, and wild duskrose, their hands inked with swirling symbols. The small chapel of the Triune was aglow with candles, a priestess walking her circles inside. In the village square all was festooned in more flowers, more pennants, kites in the shapes of monsters and sea-beasts tied to door handles and hitching posts, market stalls and windowsills.

The grandest kite of all groaned and billowed above, made of painted paper framed with lightlock. It had to be twelve feet long or more, a serpentine form with fangs agape and eyes aglow, scaled in crimson, tethered to the well at the square's center.

"Triune," Luca said. "It's Nagidanze."

"It's...what?" Alois asked.

"Nagidanze. Serpent's Dance. It's the night the Triune defeated Nagizi, the moon-eater. She was a beast from the glowlands, a serpent of monstrous size. When she ventured toward the surface she found the triplet moons casting a light to rival any she'd encountered down below. She grew jealous, and ambitious, and reached her head above the waves, and plucked the moons from the sky like fruit, swallowing them down in an instant. The Triune couldn't have that. They gathered poisonous flowers-"

He brushed a garland with his fingers. "-and with a handful of stars granted them their glow until they shone brighter even than the moons. Try these, they said. They're grander than those dim little moons. You want light? Take this down to the glowlands. Nagizi couldn't help herself. She swallowed the flowers, and when the poison made her sick, she spat the moons back out, into their proper place. Tonight marks the anniversary of when she was tricked, and it's always celebrated with-"

"Moon cakes!" Cereza cried.

She streaked past Luca, headed for the small open-air cantina on the far side of the square, where an old woman crouched over a steamer, pulling moon cakes from the fragrant steam. When Cereza returned her arms were full of cakes. She was already halfway through one, taking ravenous bites of the dough and sweet ginger.

"Only cost me a silver hairpin," she said. "Worth it. I died for these, you know. Oh! Look at those sashes over there! Do you suppose those are phosfly shells worked into the embroidery? I think so. I hope so! Come on, Niive- oh, Alois, would you hold these? I don't want to get sugar everywhere..."

She and Niive and Alois hurried off, leaving him with Sirin. She stood, a little hunched, staring at the kites, the flowers, the gaggles of villagers around them, drinking at the cantina or picking through the market or simply heading home from the fields. Luca put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the well, nearly upsetting the bucket a woman had placed there.

"Oh, sorry," he said. She gave him an evil look and moved on. "Well, that's done it. Now we'll have to leave."

You don't like this? Sirin waved a hand at the festivities.

"Of course I like this. But our being here puts these people at risk."

You always think that, Valere.

"Well, it's been something of a pattern."

You, and me, and doom. We are triplet companions, like the moons, like your gods. Never one without the other pair.

"I wouldn't go that far."

I would.

He regarded her. "You really think that?" he asked her softly. "About you and me?"

She raised her eyes. There is no you and me. There can't be.

"Why not? Triune, Sirin, why not?"

She sank down next to him on the broad lip of the well. You build. I destroy.

"You healed me. You saved my life."

I did not want it for a cause, like you would. I wanted it because-

"Because?"

Her hands wound into fists, then opened again.

Because I could not bear a world without you, she said. Because I could not imagine facing the sun in a world where you were gone. I did not save you. I destroyed my fear. It was not good. I am not good like you.

"Sirin-" He sputtered a laugh. "Sirin, I'm not like that, I'm not..."

She furrowed her brow.

Luca let out his breath. "I just want to impress people. Scrabble for scraps of what I can save so I feel less afraid, so I have something to belong to. Words and winged ships. It's all a trick, a show. So I'm not ashamed. So I can sleep at night. But you..."

He slid down next to her, bracing his elbows on his knees. "You have power. You can make a difference. And it's not through sacrificing yourself."

He paused.

"I meant what I said, by the stream," he told her, softly. "Every word."

Sirin said nothing. Her eyes were downcast, dark in the lengthening shadows. A group of children played nearby, decorating one another with flowers.

One of the boys ran over with a basketful. "You new here?" he asked.

Luca nodded. "Just passing through."

"Here. You need to wear them." The boy gave him a bunch of duskrose, the color of a sunset. "So Nagizi doesn't eat you tonight."

He gave Sirin a sideways glance and scampered off, rejoining the others. Luca held out the flowers to Sirin.

She looked skeptical. What am I supposed to do with these?

"You heard the boy. You wear them. So Nagizi doesn't eat you tonight."

She snorted, then fell silent, pensive. Luca sensed she was thinking.

"What?" he asked.

Sirin nodded at the playing children. They trust you. But they're afraid of me.

"They just don't know you." He reached out, brushed his finger down her cheek, let his hand drop. "Show them. Weave them a story."

She frowned, but held out her hands. Two of the girls whispered to one another, watching her. Darkness unfurled from Sirin's fingertips- formless and hazy at first, then sharpening, entwining, becoming the winged, dancing forms of birds. Flocks of them, billowing, elegant, the synchronized dance of gulls in flight, never colliding, ever in balance.

The children's eyes grew big, One of the bolder girls ran her fingers through the shadows, gasping as she touched them.

"They're cold!" she said.

"They're magic," Luca said, and the girl laughed, and Sirin ducked her head. The gesture did nothing to hide her smile. The children hurried off, and Sirin's birds dissolved, shadow seeping down the stones of the well to pool at her feet once more.

Cereza's laugh rang through the thickening crowd- more villagers pouring in, more stalls built and filled, the twang of stringed instruments and tambourine clatter filling the air as shadows lengthened. The first of the three moons was already a radiant disc overhead, the second a ghost-crescent. Soon the third would join them. Luca glimpsed Cereza chatting with the sash-merchant, working her wiles on him no doubt.

"Let's go rescue the poor man," he said, and straightened. "Come on."

I thought you wanted to leave.

Luca shrugged, not missing the way she eyed him sidelong. "And miss the music?"

Anything for a song, Valere.

He held out his hands; his heart gave an unsteady jag as she reached out to take them. "Anything," he agreed, "to see you smile like that."

The evening gathered, the mountain air clear as springwater, the roar of the river lending a pulsing undercurrent to the festival. Shadows became dense, deep-blue, all the deeper for the flare of candles; they underlit Nagizi's kite, the effigy alive as it twisted and coursed in the wind. Spirits flowed, sweet with honey and bitter with a drop of lillem-sap to sting the lips and whisper of venom. Girls twirled by in skirts of embroidered ruffles, scattering flowers and rounds of steamed bread painted with dyes, swiftly fallen on and scrabbled up by onlookers.

One boy crowed as he broke open his bread and held up the coin hidden inside, to the crows of his friends; they hoisted him onto their shoulders and paraded him for the crowd, brandishing flagons of spirit. Luca caught the occasional glimpse of Cereza and Niive and Alois, hands held in a string like they didn't want to lose track of one another in the crowd, Puppy threading between their feet.

Luca felt like one of the kites loosed to the breeze. The crowd buoyed him from booth to booth, from blankets spread on stoops, from windows thrown wide and ledges arrayed with festival offerings. Bread and drink and fresh sugared fruit was pushed on him, boys and girls dancing by to plant wine-wet kisses on his cheeks.

Sirin was ever near him, like a shadow herself; she didn't dance or spin, but watched so hard she seemed to hum, as if drinking their surroundings in with her entire body. A street magician let off a burst of light, and she flinched, her face illuminated crimson, her eyes lit like small fires. Light filled the shadows, the seams of darkness between. All down the mountainside the world seemed aglitter with candles. They lined paths and bridges, set onto the rock shelves overlooking the river, like the land was the sea and it reflected the night sky. The firmament was a coursing tapestry of stars, as bright as Luca had ever seen them on the open ocean.

His head swirled with stars as he stared at them. Maybe he'd had too much to drink, or maybe it was Sirin. He watched her as she laughed, silent as always, at the street magician's next trick: a conjuring of Nagizi, an eruption of crimson toward the moons above, jaws wide as if to swallow them down. The serpent-god dissolved as her jaws clashed shut; glowing motes of light cascaded down to cover the cheering crowd.

Sirin looked up at Luca, still grinning. This is fun, she signed.

"Isn't it?" He pushed closer. "Sirin, you're-"

He cut off as the music became louder: a brazen rhythmic beat, drum and tambourine and singing strings. The crowd began to chant again, and clap, and stomp at the cobblestones. At the square's entry, it parted, revelers shuffling aside. Three costumed figures emerged forth, young girls dressed in sapsilk, loose hair woven with springs of cedar. Effigies of the Triune. They led a touga between them, one at its haunch and two more at its head. The animal was collared in wreaths of flowers, its flanks daubed with blue paint.

Luca nudged Sirin. "They never do this part in Valeris. It's an old ritual. Older than the Triune, I think. From the Sundered Empire days, maybe before."

The music pared down to a single drum and tambourine as the procession neared the well at the center of the square.

"Now," began one of the girls at the touga's head. "We defeat she who ate the moons. We feed the dirt its due, so it might flower again come summer next."

She drew the sickle at her belt, a wicked crescent of steel, gleaming in the candlelight, and held it high. "I call Sola. I call Ina. I call Yuna. I feed your islands and I feed your seas, and I feed your people, too. Take this offering so all might begin again."

She bent, and with one quick movement slashed open the touga's throat. The other two girls held on as the animal screamed, blood gouting across the stones and turning the girls' robes slick and red; it collapsed to its knees, shuddering, and the girls caught it, lowering it to its side.

Sirin's grip clenched on Luca's arm. He glanced at her. "All right?" he asked her, softly, and she nodded, dark brows drawn together.

A priestess approached and set a censer by the touga's head, filling the air with the mingled scents of blood and smoke. The girl took her sickle and slit the touga open, plunging her hands into its body. She dug and sliced and reemerged with its heart, steaming in the cool night air.

The musicians plunged into a tune, strident and raucous, and the crowd churned around Luca and Sirin: people whirling toward friends, linking hands or arms, laughing and chattering. Sirin looked up at Luca with brows raised.

"There's a reason this night is called a dance," he said. "You see that heart? It's holy. But not just anyone gets it. We've got to earn it."

He held out his hands. "We've got to dance for it."

Sirin shook her head, eyes wide. I do not dance, she signed.

"Tonight you do!"

I cannot dance.

"I can. Unless you're too scared?"

She grinned, sudden and savage. Luca's heart felt full with moonslight as she took his hands and held them, hard. Her grip was strong and callused, and at the first twang of the mandolin she dug in her heel and swung him round, into the dance. He gasped, the sound lost; it burst into a laugh as she swung him again.

All at once they were in the thick of it. It was a reel, hooked in arms, partners coiling close, then releasing, then coming back together. A lift, a swing, a whirl; feet tangled with feet. Sirin's palms were slick against his arms, and as he pulled them into the next pattern of the dance her eyes sprang wide. She shook her head.

"It's all right," Luca called. "I know this one."

She shook her head again, harder, and Luca laughed. They whirled past other dancers; his shoulder knocked another couple, and they stumbled, and Sirin looked mock-aghast. The world became a blur of candlelight and flower garlands, fish-scale spangles like scattered stars, the burn of spirit on Luca's tongue.

He swung Sirin again, and she swung with him. She fought prettier than she danced- her feet were light but her legs were stiff, her hands gripping his arms so hard her nails bit into his flesh. He didn't care. He spun her, and her limbs forgot their awkwardness. Sirin laughed, a silent cackle, her head thrown back, her face alive like he'd never before seen.

She half-fell against him, her face pressed to his shoulder, her body pressed to his. He felt her pulse through him, close as his own. Her arm looped round the back of his neck, hand slipping through his curls. Her skin burned against his; she turned her face and he felt the brush of her mouth to his throat, to his pulse.

Applause burst around them, and a gabble of voices. An old man tapped Luca's shoulder.

"They like you two," he yelled over the music, gesturing toward the effigy Triune. "They want you to have the heart this year."

Luca clasped Sirin's hand and pulled her through the crowd, toward the girls and their dead touga. They'd been cooking the heart over a small brazier, the air rich with the scent of roasting, and at Luca's approach they sliced it and lifted it forth and tipped it into a small basket full of herbs and crushed spices and pink salt.

"Thank you," Luca called, taking the basket. He presented it to Sirin with a bow, and she returned a mock curtsy.

"Cheeky," he said. "Hungry?"

Not for that.

He faced the crowd and proffered the basket. "The Triune bless us all tonight!" Children rushed forward, dirty faces and sugary hands, and grabbed for the roasted meat. Luca let the basket go, watching as the children vanished with it into the crowd.

He threw his free arm over Sirin's shoulder and spun them again. The dance broke up around them, reforming as the tune changed. Another reel. Luca and Sirin ambled toward the outskirts of the square, kicking at the scattered flowers underfoot.

They reached the edge of the crowd, the streets quiet after the clamor of the dance. Now Luca heard the rushing water, the crash of the distant sea. He hesitated, then ran his hand over Sirin's hair. It felt smooth and dense under his palm, ridges of scar tissue like cedar-bark. Her eyes were soft in the haze.

"I wish this could go on like this," Luca told her. "Forever."

She smiled, all rue this time. Nothing is forever, she spelled against his chest.

"I know. That's why it's a wish."

Wishes and dreams. Count them against the ocean, Valere, and you come up with hands full of seawater.

"Cynical monster."

Foolish prince.

"I love it when you insult me."

Then you'll die a happy man.

Sirin's muscles were hard in her arms. She could crush him, he knew, snap bones, but she held him like she might a bird.

"I wish I'd known you all my life," Luca murmured. "I wish I'd known you before."

I would have killed you before.

Luca laughed, brushing a fleck of pollen off Sirin's cheek. "What a way to die."

Don't say that.

"Then what shall I say? Shall I regale you with stories?" He paused, his fingertips light on her skin. Still they swayed, though the music had long since changed. Body to body, hands twined in hair, so Luca could scarce tell where he ended and Sirin began. The dancers were a bright mass at the corner of Luca's vision, but here at crowd's edge the shadows crept in. "Maybe a song?"

If you sing I will straighten that crooked nose of yours.

"But I've grown so fond of it."

Something tells me you're making light of my threats.

"Never." He smiled at her. She didn't smile back. She studied him, a crease between her eyebrows. "What is it?"

Now all I can think about is how much I wish there was more time. Her eyes were bright. I'm glad I didn't kill you.

He let out a laugh; it sounded like a sob. His throat was tight. "There is more time, Sirin. There's time for us. Whatever you're afraid of, we can weather it together."

I want to believe you.

"So do. That's the only way."

She had no more words. She bent her head, her forehead pressed to his temple, her cheek to his cheek. Luca brought her hands to his lips.

He kissed her knuckles, her palms, the pulse at her wrist.

Shadow unfurled from her hands, stinging his face, but he didn't pull away. Did she feel the racket of his heartbeat? She had to. Ah, Triune, she felt everything, didn't she? He sure as hell felt her, the heat of her, the give of her against him.

He thought of her standing knee-deep in the river, standing before him and not looking away. The white froth against her brown legs. Wet with river-water. His head swam; he felt weightless, tumbling, as if struck and sinking once again. Was he drunk? He couldn't be sure on that matter, but he'd never been surer of anything, never wanted anything more than to bring her face to his, to bring her mouth to his, to kiss her here in this dark.

Still, he hesitated. But there was no reality here, no end to the night, not under these stars. His hands weren't his own. He reached for her. She let him, and Luca let the bloodrush come at the sound of her soft gasp as his hands found her face, then fell to the lines of her body under rough linen. His fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt; she lifted it for him. Skin, soft and scarred and warming as he traced the curve of her breast.

Lower. This time the gasp was not soft. This time she took his wrist in her hand and did not draw away.

He thought he whispered her name. She could not whisper his. Her fingers tightened round his wrist. Her mouth was a breath from his.

Luca remembered the way she'd looked at him, naked in the forest, the haze of sunlight, the force of her gaze burning him where he stood. She looked at him now, her dark eyes lightless. Some shift. Some decision, he thought, made and settled.

A chill traced his nerves.

"Sirin-" he began.

A voice cut him off. "There you are! I- Oh. Saints."

Luca let out his breath, counted to ten to give his body a chance to not be quite so obvious, and turned. Alois stood behind them, his face lightly flushed. Someone had given him a wreath of emberwort, the petals glowing like coals against his black curls.

"I'm...I'm sorry," he said. He paused, then hastily pulled the wreath from his head and stuffed it into a pocket.

"What is it?" Luca asked. His voice was unsteady; Sirin's hand gently settled on his side, just over his ribcage.

Alois pointed to the chapel, its doors thrown wide and tied back with tassels of flowers. An old woman in blue robes stood in the doorway- the priestess they'd seen walking her circles.

"I think I found something," Alois said. "Something important."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure." Alois shook his head. "I think you'd better come inside."

#tales of the great leviathan #grave of the great leviathan #books of the great leviathan #fantasy fiction #original fiction #serial novel #chapter 34

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mt-musings · 1 year

Text

Bluebell

Chapter 37

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, more tags to be added

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

37. Disarm

Gideon stared at the girl across from him in the narrow diner booth, staring out the window. She was thin, her black curls wild, freckles more prominent for how pale she’d become. She wore a black sweater that was at least four sizes too big for her and a pair of ripped jeans, both clearly worse for wear. Her sneakers were dirty and too small, judging by her stride walking in and the left hinge of her glasses had been repaired with scotch tape. There was a fading bruise on her chin, right below the healing split to her lip.

“Are you going to tell me what happened to your lip?” He asked, trying to catch her eye, to get her to look at him. She’d refused to do so since he’d picked her up.

“Nope,” she replied, popping the P. He sighed.

“If you’re being mistreated—“

“What does it matter? It’s not like the next placement will be any different.”

“We can find you a better placement. I can call Robert right now and work it all out.”

She didn’t answer, just continued staring blankly out of the window.

“Bebe—“

“Uncle J, just leave it, okay? It doesn’t matter.”

“It absolutely does matter.”

“Just—can we talk about something else? You’re here because of those murders down by Akron, right? The dude with the machete?”

“It’s not an appropriate conversation to be having.”

“Why not? It’s in all the papers.”

“Because you’re ten.”

“So? It’s not like I haven’t seen people hacked up before.”

Gideon sighed.

“How’s school?”

“Boring. Every time I transfer they’re always reading Catcher in the Rye. If I have to read it one more time I might finish Reagan off myself. I’m starting to think Hickley was on to something.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

They both looked up as the food arrived. Gideon thanked the waitress as Bebe dug in, not bothering to wait for it to cool. She ate too fast, like she was scared it would all disappear.

He’d have to call Robert.

“Do you have any new leads? ‘Cause I was thinking maybe you should get the lab to test for bisphenol in the first hundred microns of the bone. I mean, the amount of osteoporosis present in the last one doesn’t fit the profile of the others, unless there was a contributing environmental factor that accelerated bone density loss.”

“We’re still working on it. I’ll see what I can do, I have a contact down at the lab that owes me a favor.”

“Tell them to check for phalates and pesticides too, they can also lead to bone loss.”

“How’d you learn all that?”

“They got computers at the library here, you can find pretty much anything on them. Only decent thing about this place.”

She turned back to her food.

“Got anything planned this weekend?” Gideon asked.

“Like what?”

“Don’t you have games on the weekend? I thought you played soccer.”

“In Virginia, when I was six. Besides, I’m at the high school. Everyone in my class is almost four years older than me. They’d wipe the floor with me.”

“What about at the Parks and Rec department? It’d be good for you to do something with kids your own age.”

“Why? They’re boring, and I’d rather go to the library. I have to think about college.”

“That’s still a ways off.”

“Not really. Unless WitSec screws up my transcripts again I’ll be applying in three years. Two, if they let me skip Sophomore year like I want to.”

“Three years is still a long time.”

“Not that long. Then, once I finish my I can join the Bureau,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“You have to be twenty-three to join the Bureau.”

“Not if they make an exception, which they do for special candidates. And I have an IQ of 174 and have been studying forensic analysis since I was nine, so they’d be stupid not to.”

“And what if we find him before then?”

“Then I’m going to be an archeologist and study genomic trends in the evolution of early hominids, or go excavate old tombs or something. I don’t know."

"I thought you wanted to be a concert pianist, like your dad? You were always so talented."

"Can’t really consider it as long as Shit Head keeps sending me vertebrae, can I? Plus, it's not like I can practice anymore.”

“We’re going to find him.”

She stared at her plate for a long moment, a white knuckled grip on her fork.

“You know, I got in trouble last week? For ‘ignoring’ my history teacher? ‘Cause she kept calling ‘Adrienne’ and I just got used to Madeline. And by the time I get used to Hanna it’ll be Sydney, or Julie, or Claire. This is my fifth placement in less than three years.”

“I know, kiddo. I’m sorry.”

“Why can’t I just come back to Virginia with you?”

Gideon felt his heart break a little at the words, at how small she sounded, at the tears welling up behind her eyes.

“You know I’m on the road all the time with cases.”

“I can take care of myself. I promise, you won’t even know I’m there—“

“You know that’s not the problem. No judge would sign off on it. You’re still a kid, you need someone looking after you.”

Bebe just stared at him a moment, defeated, before turning back to the remainder of her meal. It was the same argument they’d had a dozen times, the same heart-rending conclusion. But she always asked, even though he knew she knew what the answer would be.

He took her to the bookstore next door while he called Robert from Witsec to see how quickly he could get her moved. She disappeared into the poetry section, shoulders slumped.

“How fast can you move B39567’s placement?”

“The kid? He sent another one?”

“No. But she’s showing signs of abuse. Won’t say anything but it’s pretty clear.”

“Shit, alright, I’ll see what I can do. It’ll probably take me at least until the morning though. You good with keeping her until then?”

“Of course. Just let me know what you come up with.”

“Will do. I’ll call you when I have something.”

He hung up. Gideon sighed and turned around, looking for wherever Bebe had wandered off to. He found her at the back of the shop, engrossed in a thick volume. He watched her for a moment, noting the way her brow had softened for the first time since he’d picked her up, how she looked nearly her age, just eleven, despite the fact that she was tearing through Witold Gombrowicz’s Cosmos. That she resembled her father so much in that moment, book in hand, that he could almost hear the old, crackling vinyl copy of Debussy playing in the background, the scent of Panamanian cigars thick in the air.

Gideon still remembered how Rasmus had doted on that little girl, remembered the look of unadulterated joy on his face when he and Liliya had first introduced her, how happy he’d been to be a father. He’d watched his friend shift, as if his world had a new gravitational pull centered in his daughter, how his life revolved around what was best for her.

He wondered, if he had lived, what Bebe would have been like. She’d always been clever and curious, but she’d grown morbid and withdrawn since her parents’ deaths, sharp and secretive.

He turned away, towards the anthropology section that was little more than a shelf and a half. They didn’t have anything on the genomics of early hominids, but they did have a book on the mummies of the New Kingdom. He grabbed it without flipping through it, crossing back to where Bebe still read, cross-legged on the floor.

“Come on kid, we’ll take it to go. We’re going to go pick up your stuff and get you set up at the hotel while Robert finds you a new placement.”

She stared at him a moment, no relief in her expression, only resignation, before double-checking her page number and getting to her feet. He handed her the other book as he lead her to the counter, digging his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Thought maybe this way you could get a head start on that archeology career,” he said, raising a brow.

She huffed a laugh, the corner of her mouth barely twisting up in the hint of a smile.

---

It should have been a textbook takedown.

Spencer didn’t know when it had all gone so wrong.

Cassie had rounded the corner first, gun drawn and the unsub had leapt out and pistol whipped her. She dropped to the ground, gun clattering out of her hand. He’d kicked it out of reach.

Spencer had never been a good shot. He’d failed his recertification more than once in his time with the BAU, something he was thoroughly ashamed of.

He fired twice, trying to focus keeping his gun steady, on aiming and following through. The first shot missed, the second grazed his bicep. He whipped around to face Spencer, gun aiming straight for his chest and he braced himself, hoping the vest under his FBI jacket would catch the worst of it, his mind instinctually calculating the amount of force he was about to be hit with considering the make of the gun and distance between him and the barrel.

He couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d stared down the barrel of a gun, after being beaten and forced to dig his own grave, panic seizing him. Even if the unsub shot him in the vest—at this distance it still could be enough to kill him. And that was if he aimed for his torso at all. A head or neck shot would leave almost no room for survival, and even a shot to the thigh could sever the femoral artery and leave him with minutes before he bled out.

A shot rang out, but there was no pain, no force to throw him back. Instead he watched a spray of viscera explode out of the top of his head before he dropped like a stone. Cassie still lay where she’d fallen, gun still pointed at the place the unsub had been only a second before. She lowered her arm, eyes searching his face.

“Are you okay?” She asked, pushing herself into a seated position. There was blood streaking down her face, one eye already purpling and swelling, and she was asking him if he was okay.

He was still frozen to the spot, eyes wide as he took in the damage. He was still stuck halfway between his panicked memories and the scene in front of him.

Morgan burst into the room from the door at the other end, followed closely by Hotch who took one look between the unsub dead on the ground and Cassie dazed and bloodied and dropped his grip on his gun in favor of his walkie talkie.

“I need medical in here stat, I have an agent injured and a dead suspect,” Hotch said, cataloguing the unsub’s wound. “Who took the shot?”

“I hit him in the arm, Cassie hit him in the head.” He just nodded.

Morgan crossed to Cassie’s side and crouched in front of her, examining her face. It was bleeding profusely from the laceration under her eye, but that was to be expected of a head wound. Still what concerned him was how unfocused her gaze was.

“Alright sweetness, how many fingers am I holding up,” he asked, holding three up. She looked at them a second before answering dryly.

“Too many.”

Morgan snorted. “Sounds like you might have a concussion.”

“Feels like one,” she groaned, words coming out slightly slurred as she clumsily holstered the gun still in her hand, “What happened to my other gun?”

Spencer crossed wordlessly to where it had ended up on the other side of the room and handed it to her. She hummed something indistinct by way of thanks. She tried to examine it but gave up after only a few seconds and holstered it underneath her other arm, dropping her head back against the wall and letting her eyes slip shut.

She murmured something indistinct.

“What was that?”

Spencer slid down the wall to sit next to her, examining her face for himself. The laceration wasn’t as long as he’d first thought, though it was fairly deep. She’d definitely need stitches—he’d have to make sure they had a plastic surgeon do them to make sure there was minimal scarring. He knew how much the bothered her.

He shrugged off his jacket, flipping it inside out so he could press the soft cotton lining to her cheek to attempt to stop, or at least slow the bleeding. He knew it wasn’t sterile, that he was introducing all sorts of bacteria to the area, but he also knew that injuries to blood-rich areas like the head were more likely to lead to death by exsanguination. He’d judge by the amount of blood running down her neck and pooling in the hollow of her collarbone that she’d lost about 300ml.

She melted into his side and groaned, making a face as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Said I fucking hate Ohio.”

Morgan laughed, shaking his head, and even Spencer cracked a smile.

---

Spencer had insisted on being the one to accompany Cassie to the hospital, not that anyone had particularly fought him on it. He’d insisted on staying by her side throughout everything—the consult, the CT scan, the stitches.

Cassie had insisted on an MRI as well, though she’d struggled to articulate why. The concussion diagnosis had been fairly glaring and the doctor seemed inclined not to argue with either of them. Spencer knew enough to insist on physical and digital copies of both the tests for Cassie’s perusal later.

The doctor had found zygomatic bruising on the MRI—no doubt why Cassie had insisted on it—but said it should heal naturally in the next month and a half as long as the inflammation was kept in check. She’d prescribed a strong anti-inflammatory drug as well as a narcotic pain killer for the bone bruising and for the flight home, which she said would make the concussion more painful.

She’d taken both before they boarded the jet and curled up on the couch, pulling the neck of the oversized Harvard sweatshirt he’d found in her bag up and over her head to block out any light. Spencer wanted nothing more than to hold her, to be close enough to assure himself that she was, in fact, okay. But he couldn’t, because they’d both decided it was better to not tell the team. So he sat at the table with JJ and Morgan and Prentiss playing cards, sneaking glances at Cassie whenever he got the chance.

Hotch gave them a few days off when they landed—it had been a few cases since they’d had a proper break, not just a handful of paperwork days. Spencer had assured both Hotch and Gideon that he’d make sure Cassie got home safe, something that elicited raised eyebrows but no further prying.

Morgan had been far less subtle, yelling “See ya, Lover Boy!” from across half the parking lot. Spencer had just ignored him, focusing on making sure they got to the train station in one piece. He didn’t know if it was the concussion or the strength of the painkillers, but she wasn’t exactly steady on her feet, or present. She curled into his side on the train, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

By the time they made it back to his apartment it was dark. He left their bags by the door to deal with later and led Cassie to his room. He made sure she was perched on the bed before crossing to the bathroom. He returned with a damp washcloth and gently scrubbed the remaining blood from her face and neck, from where it had pooled along her collar. He apologized each time she flinched, doing his best not to aggravate anything further. He pulled out a clean pair of his own pajamas for her to change into, closing the door behind him as he crossed to the kitchen and retrieved an icepack and a pair of water bottles.

He knocked on the door to his room, waiting a few moments before cracking open the door. Cassie had managed to change, though she’d put his old CalTech shirt on backwards, her bloodied clothes left in a heap. She was curled into a ball at the end of the bed.

Spencer turned down the sheets, setting the water bottles on his bedside table next to the ice pack. He coaxed her up and under the sheets, making sure she was propped up enough to help with the swelling.

He pressed the icepack into her hand, guiding it to her cheek. “Keep this on, it’ll bring the swelling down. Would you mind if I hopped in the shower before joining you?”

She shook her head. He grabbed her clothes and dumped them in his hamper, trying not to be struck with the simple domesticity of the action. It took him precisely seven minutes and forty-eight seconds to wash the remains of her dried blood from his skin and change into pajamas. He tiptoed back to the bed, expecting Cassie to be asleep. He climbed into bed, pressing a featherlight kiss to her forehead.

She hummed, slowly blinking her eyes open. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“How’s your pain level? The doctor said we should be concerned if it went up more than 2 points on the pain scale.”

“It’s okay. About the same.”

“That’s good. Tomorrow I’ll go out and pick up some omega three and antioxidant supplements, they’re supposed to help accelerate at least the first stages of healing. You should also increase your daily protein intake. I can swing by your place, too, if you give me your keys, and grab you some comfy clothes and anything else you might want for the next week or so—“

“You don’t—I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow.”

“What—no, Cassie. You’re hurt, you need someone to look after you.”

“I’m okay, Spence. I’ll just sleep. You should enjoy your days off.”

“Hypersomnia could be an indication of more severe or worsening symptoms. Besides, I’d enjoy them more with you, knowing you’re okay. Just let me take care of you, alright?”

Cassie just stared back, her lower lip trembling. A tear streaked down her cheek, then another.

“Oh no, Cass, is it your head?” He asked, panic flooding him. Sudden worsening symptoms could indicate a brain bleed and she’d been hit right by her temple, which gave the highest chance of hemorrhaging. The doctor had said the CT and MRI had been clear, but she could have missed something that got exacerbated by the flight and the pressure inside the cabin.

She shook her head slightly, wincing at the motion.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s not. Please?”

“I—You’re taking such good care of me and it’s just—I know how to take care of myself and get by because I’ve been doing it since I was a kid, but I don’t know how to let someone take care of me.”

She dropped her gaze, fingers tightening on the icepack as she pulled it from her face. Spencer felt her words like a punch in the gut—He’d practically raised himself, after his dad left. He’d been the only person he could truly count on. He loved his mother fiercely, but her condition had made it impossible for her to ever play a consistent caretaker, and more often than not meant that he took care of her.

He was sure growing up in foster care wasn’t much more consistent.

“Hyper-independence is a really common reaction to trauma, especially when experienced in childhood. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I also don’t ever want you to feel like you have to suffer alone. I’m here for you—I want to be here for you, to take care of you. Please, let me.”

“I’m—I’m trying.”

She swiped the tears from her face harshly, forgetting about her bruised cheekbone and fresh stitches. She swore, the curses a jumble of English and Ukrainian, pressing the icepack back to her cheek.

“This is worse than being stabbed. I need my brain and it’s so stupid right now,” she whined.

Spencer couldn’t help but huff a quiet laugh at her scrunched up, angry face. She glowered at him for a moment before her face softened.

“I mean, it, I’d rather be stabbed than have garbage brain.”

“Then you better listen to the doctor and rest, so you recover faster.”

“I always listen to you. Mostly.”

“Alright. Rest and let me take care of you.”

She snorted, closing her eyes. “Are you tired?”

“Not yet.”

“Would—would you read to me?”

“Not Child of God,” he said, smile evident in his voice.

“No—no. You pick, just—just want to listen to you.”

“Alright. Just hang on a second,” he said as he got up. Cassie gripped the blankets tight for a moment, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. Spencer shook his head and laughed as he crossed to the living room. He scanned the shelves, finally settling on an anthology of Pushkin he’d purchased after devouring the one she’d gifted him. Not in Russian, but he supposed it would do, for tonight.

He walked to the entryway where he’d left their bags and dug out both of their phones and chargers—even with a promised three days off it was best to be prepared. He paused over Cassie’s open bag, looking at the transparent yellow bottles nestled on top of her hastily folded clothes. Diclofenac for reducing the inflammation and hydromorphone for the pain. He knew it was the generic for Dilauded, knew that the doctor had over-prescribed, knew what a bottle like that would run for.

He picked up the bottles and just weighed them in his hand. Then he shook his head, plugging in both of their phones before returning to the bedroom. He set the pill bottles on the nightstand nearest Cassie and climbed back into bed. She curled up next to him, head on his chest, arm around his waist, eyes still closed.

He wrapped an arm around her as he started to read, tracing loose patterns across her skin. She was fast asleep barely a half hour later, her hand gently gripping his shoulder, her breath warm against his chest.

He marked his page before closing the book and setting it aside. He could, of course, finish it in another half hour if he read at his usual pace. Instead he just stared at Cassie asleep on his chest, absently playing with her hair.

The bruising was worse now than it had been in the hospital. Her right eye was nearly swollen shut and blackened, as was her cheek and temple. Stitched shut the laceration was only two inches long, running from under her eye up to her temple.

The single blow had been hard enough to bruise bone, to leave her dazed and unsteady and nearly incapacitated, but she’d still made the shot.

If she hadn’t—

His stomach lurched at the memories of the graveyard, of the sting of ropes against his wrists, of woodsmoke and burning liver.

He leaned over before he could sink any further into his thoughts, grabbing the bottle of Dilaudid. He shook one into his hand before shoving the bottle back on the far nightstand and dry swallowed it before chasing it with one of the water bottles.

He knew he shouldn’t, knew he’d been working so hard to stay sober,cbut in that moment all he could think of was the both of them dead on the ground, their brains splattered all over the concrete.

He’d jump back on the bandwagon tomorrow. It was only one pill, after all and it was less potent than the stuff he’d been using before. It was just a brief stopover to get him through the night.

He kept telling himself that until he drifted off into fuzzy, dulled sleep, arms still holding Cassie close.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #multichapter #slow burn

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frogtanii · 3 years

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a soft jazz melody buzzed over your group’s heads as you entered craft los angeles, the pretty hanging lights casting a warm glow over your deep red suit.

the restaurant was lovely, as expected, and also very very full. scanning the dining room, you were surprised yachi had even managed to get a table at all but apparently management pulled some strings to make this all possible.

a little drop of anger pooled in your gut at the thought. the higher ups had the funds to allow the house to go to an impromptu fancy (and extremely expensive!!!) dinner but they wouldn’t give you the time of day when you were sending them letters and emails, appealing for equal pay.

“hey,” kuroo’s soft, baritone voice sounded from beside you, nearly scaring you out of your skin. “are you alright?” your first thought was to just say you were fine but dr yamada’s words rang throughout your skull, unprompted.

take a moment, assess how you feel, and only then do you share. if you don’t want to, then don’t but don’t lie either. it doesn’t do you or anyone else any good. i hope you’re actually listening brat, this is important.

you mentally rolled your eyes at the old memory. you were so combative back in highschool, never really understanding the purpose or benefits of therapy so you used to battle yamada at every turn. as time went on, his badgering and sarcastic nature pierced through your walls and the rest was pretty much history.

“yn?” a quick glance back at kuroo revealed the open concern written all over his face at your silence, his hand hovering over your shoulder as though he’d been reaching out for you but stopped himself. once he caught you looking, he quickly dropped his arm and shoved it into the pocket of his slacks while averting his eyes in embarrassment.

“sorry, i was just thinking about something negative. i’ll be okay though!” you responded with a small smile, internally cheering when the hostess came by to seat everyone before you could hear his response.

the beautiful hostess brought the group to a large table near the back, handing out the menus before telling you who your waiter was going to be and disappearing. you chose a chair near the end, swiftly flanked by atsumu and kuroo. sakusa, bokuto and oikawa took the seats across from you and everyone else filled in accordingly.

a pang of sadness shot through your heart as you watched kenma sit the furthest away from you next to yachi and osamu. you’d promised yourself that you would give him time but... how long would it take? what if he never came around? did he even want to be friends with you anymore?

your depressing thoughts were broken by the waiter entering and taking everyone’s orders. you couldn’t help but wince at all the prices on the menu ($60 steak!!!), but you took a bit of comfort in the fact it was all coming out of upper management’s wallet.

it took a moment for everyone’s courses to come out, but once they did, everyone dug in. the table would be mostly silent if it weren’t for the occasional quips from sugawara and oikawa but otherwise, a feeling of awkwardness blanketed over the group.

the blame for the uncomfortable atmosphere could very easily be attributed to meiko’s presence. she sat by yachi, clad in a lime green bodycon dress and black strappy heels, her outfit in stark contrast to everyone else’s more classy options.

when the waiter had come around earlier, she refused to order any real food, instead opting for bottomless champagne, her request causing sugawara to tense up at the opposite end of the table. before you could say anything to him, sakusa leaned over to whisper something that had him relaxing back into his seat.

you couldn’t have kept yourself from smiling if you tried.

anyway, time seemed to fly, and even under the oppressive discomfort of the room, you still managed to share a few laughs with your seat mates over the incredible food.

somewhere in between polishing off your main course and waiting for dessert, your bladder came calling your name. “hey,” you called to atsumu, his attention immediately snapping up to you in concern. “gotta go to the bathroom.” he gave you a nod and a sweet smile as you stood and maneuvered yourself to the small hallway leading to the women’s restroom.

the bathroom was silent when you entered as you quickly scurried into one of the suspiciously clean stalls to relieve yourself. a squeak signaled the door opening but whoever arrived remained at the mirror, not bothering to venture any further. you continued on your business before leaving the stall only to come face to face with...

meiko.

“oh, i was wondering when you were going to come out,” she grinned, false saccharine sweetness dripping from her words. she stood leaning against the sink counter, preventing you from washing your hands.

you barely kept yourself from rolling your eyes, moving forward to get to the sink. “wow, it’s so lovely to see you too! now, do you mind?” your patronizing tone apparently didn’t sit right with meiko because in an instant, she was on you, one of her hands wrapped around your throat.

frozen. you were frozen in place, muscles locked and unable to fight back like you knew you were capable of. somehow, this time, your fear and anxiety gripped you, keeping you still as her acrylic nails dug in and pierced your skin.

“stay away from what’s mine or this will be so, so much worse,” meiko sneered into your ear, giggling maniacally at your short, choked breaths. with you so out of commission, she dared to tighten her grip, your eyes rolling back into your head as your hands shot out to weakly fight against her hold. she studied your trembling expression for just a moment longer before letting go, allowing you to slide down to the floor as you scrambled for air.

your vision was swimming but you managed to catch meiko giving you a cheeky little wave as she exited the bathroom, the door making a loud bang as she left.

black crept up on the edges of your vision, the sheer amount of energy it took to keep yourself conscious quickly dwindling. thoughts drifted aimlessly through your head as your eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

did the boys even notice you were gone? did they even care? what if no one came to find you and you were left to die on the floor of this beautiful restaurant? what coffin would they pick out for your funeral? what music would they play? how many people would be in attendance? would anyone even come at alll?

at that, the darkness finally won over, dragging you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

℗ poker face

frozen

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