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meridiansdominoes · 5 years ago

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Showers of Starlight

Incoming blyla incoming blyla incoming blyla

This issssss the sequel to ‘Catch the Rain’ that was posted a few weeks ago! @thatfunkyopossum HAPPY BIRTHDAY UR MY FAVORITE <3

(this is like, 6k words?? Is that okay to post in this weird tumblr format?? It’s gonna be mad long... well idk,,, but here it is anyway on ao3 too in case you don’t want to destroy ur dash with a long post heh

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758554

Aayla finds her Commander standing out on the little balcony, dressed in civilian clothes and staring out into the city. Night turns Coruscant into an endless sea of luminescence. Air lanes become lines of shooting stars pressing onward in the darkness. Skyscrapers around them glow with the light of thousands of residents inside, creating trails of brilliance that ascend up towards the black sky.

By the time Aayla arrives at the complex that serves as the temporary housing for her officers while they’re on leave, the sun has disappeared from the sky, and she’s mentally exhausted. A full report to the Jedi Council takes effort and energy that she has to fight to produce, but she is required to give her debriefing before she can get some rest herself. She’s relieved that it’s over now, but there are still a few things to take care of. Her men need to be fully settled, otherwise Aayla won’t be able to sleep well tonight. She knows that Bly will take care of things, but she needs to verify their wellbeing for herself for her own peace of mind. Here on Coruscant they’re finally safe, and she has to remind herself of that somehow.

Though visiting Bly to check on the men isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If anything the thought makes some of her exhaustion leave her as she steps into the lift that will take her up to her Commander’s quarters. The journey upwards is smooth and quick. When the doors open on the correct floor, Aayla steps out and immediately finds one of her officers in the hallway, clad only in his blacks.

“General!” Captain Brine says in surprise, blue eyes widening. He snaps off a quick salute automatically. The effect is dampened slightly by the pillow he has tucked under his other arm. “What are you—oh. Looking for the Commander?”

Aayla nods. “Are you well, Captain?”

Brine shrugs.

“Well enough, sir. It’s a bit odd to not be on the ship, but the rooms are nice. Though the pillows leave a lot to be desired. I had to go find myself a new one.”

Aayla huffs out a tiny laugh.

“I’ll take your word for it, Brine. Could you direct me to Bly’s room?”

“The last one on the left, sir,” Brine answers without hesitation. He meets her gaze carefully, something unreadable flashing across his face. “He’ll try to keep working instead of getting some rest like he should. Maybe you can help him where I can’t.”

Aayla blinks at her Captain, but before she can fully make sense of the words Brine is already retreating towards his own room. He closes his door behind him, leaving Aayla alone in the hallway. She sighs and makes her way to the end of the hall until she stands in front of the very last door on the left.

It isn’t locked. The door slides open when she knocks lightly on the durasteel. She steps inside. The rooms that Brine had described as ‘nice’ are small and spartan in design. Nice is not the word Aayla would have used, but they’re a step up from the barracks to her men. There are three tiny spaces all hooked together—a small reception area, a tiny unused kitchen, and an even tinier bedroom. Aayla can see through the entire apartment.

Bly is nowhere in sight, although his armor is neatly stacked on the table in the little kitchen. Aayla hesitates for a moment, confused, until she notices the transperisteel door flung open against the far wall. Cream colored floor-length curtains hide the actual doorway from view. She makes her way through the apartment and pushes the curtains aside.

Coruscant is far too polluted for its inhabitants to see the stars that stretch above them through the smog. For some residents, the brilliant night is the closest they will ever get to seeing space around them. It is beautiful, in its own way. From the balcony of Bly’s window it seems as if he is poised on the edge of a glittering nebula, watching the colors swirl in hypnotic patterns and glitter quietly in the dark.

Bly is framed by the ambient light of the city. Aayla allows herself to just watch him for a nanosecond. She can’t see his face, but the light plays off of his tan skin in such a flattering way that she can’t avert her gaze. There’s a datapad in one of his hands. She raps lightly on the wall to alert him to her presence. He turns a little too fast, free hand jerking down to his side for a weapon that isn’t there right now. Once he’s seen her, he stiffens a little bit into a loose attention. One eyebrow raises slowly.

“General?”

Aayla doesn’t respond immediately, mostly because her brain stalls as she finally takes full stock of what he’s wearing.

He’s dressed in a loose white shirt with a low neckline that reveals his collarbone and the hint of a gold tattoo over his chest that disappears under the fabric. Her eyes pause on the smooth skin of his neck before she forces herself to drop her gaze—but that just makes things worse, because without the usual armor smoothing out the lines of his body she can see every muscle in his arms. His biceps are... impressive. She spends a moment just... drinking it in, because who knows if she’ll ever get to see this ever again. The tight black pants completing his outfit certainly don’t help her concentration.

Bly coughs suddenly. She glances back up to look him in the eyes. Now that she’s already thinking about such details, it’s hard to stop. The splashes of gold against the slant of his cheekbones is distinctly alluring. Aayla struggles to pull her thoughts out of the downward spiral and grimaces inwardly. She’s left him standing there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. She quirks one lek in a hasty greeting.

“At ease, Commander. I just wanted to ask you if the last of the reports have come in yet.” Aayla steps out onto the balcony to join him. She does, in fact, have the self-control necessary to keep her gaze from roving across his exposed skin this time, as tempting as it is.

Bly’s body language loosens. He leans against the railing again and taps at his datapad, scrolling through a list of reports. She can see tiny pinpricks of light reflected from the city skyline in his eyes. Aayla settles herself against the railing next to him as well, content to wait as he runs through his mental checklists.

She reaches out with the Force and grounds herself against his presence. It’s always bright and soothing and mellow to her in a way that she’s never felt before, not even among Jedi. She’s drawn to it. Today his mind is smooth, pulsing gently with peace and relief to finally be on leave. It’s rare that she gets to feel him in that state of mind. Bly is always concerned about something—about the men, about a campaign, about hyperspace routes, about shipping documents… about her.

Perhaps he thinks he is subtle, but Aayla sees far more than he realizes.

She notices when his gaze lingers on her, when he hesitates with his mouth hanging open as if he wants to speak before closing it and marching stiffly away. She notices when he bristles with anger and places himself between her and the foolish males that do not see the lightsaber in favor of inspecting her curves. She notices the fleeting smiles that cross his face when he thinks that she isn’t looking.

She wonders if he’s ever noticed the similar expressions that cross her own face.

There has been an odd tension in the Force lately. It’s a steady buzz, just present enough to nag at her as if ordering her to pay attention to something. It doubles whenever she speaks with her commander. Aayla thinks that she understands why now. Perhaps. Tonight is as good a night as any to either confirm or dispute her theory… if she is brave enough. If she is wise about how she approaches the subject.

It’s a risk, but it’s one that she’s willing to take. Determination floods her veins.

Bly sighs and looks up from the datapad with a nod of approval.

“I’ve got every report, sir. We’re good to go. I’ve even got the ship’s maintenance schedule here.” He grins wryly. “If only it were like this every time. The crew have sent all the records to me quicker than usual so that they can be off duty faster.”

Aayla chuckles.

“It would spare you a large amount of stress, at the very least,” she comments in amusement. Bly rolls his eyes.

“Force forbid,” he mutters. There’s something so easy about standing next to him, about the civilian clothing, about the casual conversation. Aayla feels a strange pang of jealousy. How easy would all of this be if they weren’t soldiers, if she were not a Jedi? She’s never doubted her purpose before, but Bly is the catalyst for many such thoughts.

Bly lifts his free hand to rub at his face. She glimpses a line of gold curling up his arm, disappearing into his sleeve. She reaches out to touch it without even thinking, brushing her fingers along the line and marvelling at how his something that should feel metallic and cold under her hand is warm and soft instead. She traces the tattoo higher, stopping just before she reaches the barrier of his sleeve. Part of her wants to follow it further. The thought abruptly makes her mouth go dry.

“It suits you,” Aayla tells him honestly. He freezes up. For an instant, she feels muscles bunching under his skin. She pulls her hand away quickly, afraid that she’s crossed a line, and reaches out with the Force to check if she’s offended him in any way. Perhaps the tattoo is in memory of a lost brother, or a hard battle that he hadn’t wanted to remember right now—

When she brushes Bly’s mind she finds it full of static. His thoughts are racing almost too fast for her to make sense of them. After a moment he seizes them and wrestles them into submission. He swallows once and nods at her politely.

“Thank you, sir,” he says. Calm, controlled. If she hadn’t glimpsed his thoughts she wouldn’t have known any better. But she does know, and the realization makes amusement and perhaps a hint of mischief course through her. If this is how he reacts to a simple compliment, she can’t imagine how he would be if she were to—

Force. Enough of that.

“Have the men gotten settled?” she asks quietly, retreating away from his mind for the time being. He straightens at the question, shoulders drawing back.

“Yes, sir. They’re alright.” Then he winces. “They’re… excited. We haven’t gotten a good amount of leave in a while. I was thinking of drafting an apology letter to Fox tonight, just in case.”

Aayla laughs.

“They deserve to have their fun,” she comments, leaning against the railing and staring out at the skyline in front of them. “We’ve had a busy few months.”

Bly drags in a deep breath and exhales slowly.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “They were getting tired. This will be good for them.”

“And for us,” Aayla adds. He hesitates, unsure of how to respond. She takes the opportunity to lean over him and pluck the datapad from his hand. A protest rises on his lips, but she shoots him a look, and he bites his tongue. “You deserve rest just as much as the rest of your men do, Commander.”

He nods in reluctant agreement, resting one elbow against the railing and slumping a little. He isn’t completely relaxed, but it’s more than he had been a few moments ago. Improvement.

Silence settles over them. It isn’t uncomfortable—on the contrary, it’s peaceful. A light breeze stirs through the air. Aayla glances up at her Commander, squaring her shoulders a bit. There is an opportunity here, a chance to act. She takes it.

“What would you like to do after the war, Bly?”

He blinks at her, taken aback. To be fair, she’s never asked him something like this before. During the heat and smoke and fire of a campaign she’d never felt as if it were an appropriate question to solicit. She watches him consider it. He glances down, picking at the loose white shirt as if suddenly unsure of himself.

“I’m not sure, sir,” he answers slowly. “I was created to be a soldier. I can’t really imagine myself doing anything else with my life. What… what would you like to do?”

Aayla hums.

“I suppose I will continue to be a Jedi. Though it will undoubtedly be strange. We’ve taken the roles of Generals so easily. Many will struggle to leave it behind.”

His expression flickers as something unreadable passes across his face.

“Will you?”

She falters.

Aayla will struggle. She already knows that, as surely as she knows that the sun will rise in the morning. Perhaps a few years ago that would have concerned her, but today she accepts it and wonders, not for the first time, if she even will want to leave it behind. Not for the power, not for the thrill of command, but for the men. For Bly.

The Council would be appalled to hear that. Quinlan Vos would be thrilled.

“I will not leave my men behind, even if the title of General is removed from me,” she tells Bly firmly. It’s so easy to be honest with him. It’s part of the reason why they work so well together. She sees something in Bly ease a little at her words.

“That’s good, sir,” he says. Without warning he tenses again, taking a shallow breath. “I don’t necessarily know what I want to do after the war, but I do know that it wouldn’t be worth my time if you weren’t there as well.”

Her heart stutters in her chest. He turns his face back to the skyline, as if immediately berating himself for the comment. Aayla resists the urge to reach out with the Force and find the true meaning of those words, to understand everything left unspoken there.

“In that case, I would welcome your company,” she responds quietly. Bly shifts his weight just a little. Some of the strain eases from his shoulders at her acceptance. His words hadn’t been an offer, not exactly, but it had been a bold statement—especially for Bly, who understands his priorities and selflessly resists the feelings that he so clearly wants to act upon. Aayla senses conflict in him, a constant battle between remaining stoic and throwing all caution to the wind.

It would be a lie to say that she did not feel the same thing.

There is a chain of command. There is a Jedi Code. There are rules, both dictated and not, that must be followed. In all her life she has never found herself wishing that it were not so until now.

Bly pulls away from the railing of the balcony, taking a step back. His tattoos gleam like liquid gold across his arms as he moves into a different light.

“I… I’ll get some rest then, General. You should too,” he suggests carefully. Too carefully. She is consistently impressed by his restraint. If it weren’t for his careful self-control she would have fallen a long time ago, but he balances her out perfectly in that as well as everything else. She doesn’t want him to leave yet.

She catches his arm as he tries to turn away with her own hand. Both of them freeze. Aayla looks down at her hand and is suddenly fascinated by the way the blue of her skin contrasts with the warm brown of his.

“Bly. Stay with me?”

She doesn’t have much right to ask that of him. It’s his room, after all. But Aayla doesn’t imagine the little tremor that runs through his body as he pulls his arm away. She lifts her head to meet his gaze and is stunned by the storm of conflict in his eyes.

“General… I don’t think…”

“Stay,” Aayla repeats softly. She ever-so-gently brushes at the edge of his mind again to make sure she isn’t pressuring him. She won’t force him into something he genuinely doesn’t want to do.

Bly’s mind is always so welcoming to her. She doesn’t even think that he’s aware of how readily it opens to her, of how easily it shares its secrets with her. For that reason she chooses to keep her distance for the most part, because she refuses to take advantage of him in that way. If she must reach for his thoughts, she keeps the connection as shallow as possible.

On occasions she’s seen his mind flare brilliantly when she’s nearby until he stuffs the light away under a grey shield of professionalism. She catches glimpses of it when he’s not being careful—when they’ve won a campaign and the men are celebrating in a fever, adrenaline and relief and the thrill of success spinning through the air. When she tells him that her recklessness had indeed been part of the plan and he only responds with an eye-roll and a fond chuckle. When he changes an entire battle strategy because she makes a single offhand comment about how she’s worried about destroying a beautiful forest.

Never once has she felt his mind grow heavy and dark with the sick lust that so many other men succumb to when she approaches. When desire does escape from the deeper recesses of Bly’s mind it is only visible for an instant as a bright flash of heat before he shuts it down without mercy. His respect for her is tangible even without a glance at his thoughts.

Right now, his mind is hesitant. She can sense that he wants to stay, but he is afraid as well. He’s worried for what he might do if he does remain, for what she might think, for what the men might say.

If only he could see into her mind. Aayla thinks a bit wryly that he wouldn’t be as afraid if he could feel her own thoughts on the matter.

“I would like it if you stayed,” she reiterates, just so that he understands that this isn’t an order, isn’t something that he’s required to accept. “Though you are welcome to get some rest if you wish.”

It’s a dangerous game that they’re playing. The attraction, the want, is mutual, otherwise it wouldn’t be as potent as it is. Aayla is tired of ignoring the bantha in the room. War takes and razes and tears down everything in its path. For once she wants to take something for herself.

Bly clenches his jaw and nods once.

“I’ll stay,” he acquiesces quietly. In the distance, faint police sirens become audible. Aayla can’t help a tiny smirk at the way Bly’s expression turns pained.

“There are millions of life-forms living nearby, Bly, I’m sure the men are fine. They probably don’t have anything to do with it,” she teases. He rolls his eyes.

“If I don’t get some sort of complaint in the morning I’ll be extremely surprised,” he grumbles. The grumpy amusement on his face is so utterly endearing that she steps forward without even thinking about it.

“Bly…”

His name comes out of her mouth with more warmth than she’d intended. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Aayla.”

She shivers. Her name rolls off of his tongue in the most delightful way. She draws a little closer to him, just enough to be intruding in his personal space. When he finally opens his eyes to look at her again she can see his defenses crashing down, crumbling as she reaches out to trace her fingers along the gold across his cheek.

He swallows hard as if bracing himself and reaches out a hand. His fingers brush against one of her lekku tentatively. She makes a soft noise of encouragement, and his touch grows a little more firm, sliding up to rest just at the junction of her skull. Aayla sighs. She leans forward and rests her forehead against his.

That makes him pause. His eyes go wide, as if he’s only just realizing what he’s doing. He jerks away from her so fast that she briefly loses her balance. The absence of his touch, as fleeting as it had been, makes her chest ache.

“Aayla, I—General. General, Force, this isn’t—I can’t. You have your—the Code, and the regs—”

Aayla exhales.

“And what if I wanted to choose, just for a moment, that they did not exist, Commander?” she asks him. “The time for hesitation is over. I will not sit in silence and wait until the war takes even you from me.”

Bly’s expression contorts. The edges of his Force presence go jagged.

“It isn’t that simple,” he forces out. “We could pretend all we want, but that wouldn’t change the rules.”

“Some would say that the rules are outdated,” Aayla counters. She feels a sharp flash of frustration. It’s tempting to let it stew and grow, but she does her best to let it go.

“That doesn’t matter, sir. We couldn’t ever… if anyone ever noticed, you would be stripped of both your rank and your title as a Jedi Master. I won’t be responsible for that.”

She mulls over his determined words with a sad fondness. He would give up everything he ever wanted just to keep her safe.

“Fortunately, you are not responsible for that,” she replies smoothly. “I am quite capable of making my own decisions. If I were to be expelled from the Jedi Order it would be because I chose that path.”

He stares her down, horrified. Then he narrows his eyes and sets his jaw.

“I would rather have you with me—with us, with the battalion—as a General and nothing more, than not have you at all.”

Aayla’s frustration comes back, stronger this time. She frowns at him.

“As I told you before, I will not leave my men behind, even if the title of General is removed from me. Nor will I leave my men behind if the title of Jedi is stripped from me. This is a risk that I am willing to take.”

Bly grimaces and tips his head back, sighing at the sky.

“Sir, regardless, I’m not—I’m not worth that risk. I’m a clone. This isn’t just inappropriate, it’s unfair to you, and I can’t—”

“That is not what I believe,” Aayla interrupts sharply. She feels just a jolt of anger, of outrage that he’s been conditioned to think like that. The emotion is difficult to banish. “You are worth far more to me than you could ever realize.”

He twitches and looks away fast. The rise and fall of his chest comes quicker now. His mind undulates with uncertainty and fear. The uncertainty is understandable, but the fear—that, she doesn’t understand. She steps close to him again and watches him tense, glancing at her as if worried of what she’ll do.

“What are you afraid of?” she asks in genuine surprise. She is just as new to this as he is, after all, and she wants answers. Bly lets out a stuttering breath.

“I don’t know,” he rasps. The words ring with honesty. An idea flits on the edge of Aayla’s mind. She reaches up to touch his temple. Despite everything, he leans into the touch.

“Let me see,” she requests. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares into her eyes. Ever so slowly, he dips his head in a small nod. Aayla closes her eyes.

When she reaches for his mind, his thoughts all but pull her inside. In an instant she’s deeper into his psyche than she’d originally meant to go. All of his emotions roll over her like a wave. She tries to pull away from them, but it’s too late, and she gets thrown into a whirlwind of sensation—

It’s overwhelming. The first thing to hit her is a tide of devotion so fierce that it feels like a firestorm against her own mind. A distinct longing is next, waxing and waning in strength as he struggles to keep it in check. Then there is a devastating clash of loyalty and restraint and desire and helplessness that makes her head spin.

In the center of it all, she sees herself.

It isn’t what she expects at all; isn’t even close to how she imagines herself in her own mind. She stands against an infinite stretch of darkness, lighting the way with her lightsaber outstretched as a brilliant blue beacon. She can sense Bly’s instinctual inclination to follow regardless of where she will lead—even if it means death, even if it means something worse. Through Bly’s eyes she is glorious and powerful and ethereal. Except then there is a sharp contrast, because she fights with all the vigor of a warrior but then she turns to look at him and everything goes soft and suddenly he is overcome by admiration and fondness and a hesitant, tentative love—

Aayla reels back. She struggles to stay above the sea of affection and desire and passion that follows after her doggedly, as if it can’t continue to exist without showing her everything now that she’s stumbled across it. She is jolted to reality. Both of her hands are curled tenderly around Bly’s skull. His eyes are squeezed shut.

She trails her gaze over his face. Aayla is flustered and panting. She had known that he feels something for her, but she’d never realized to what extent. His self-control is even more impressive now that she’s caught a glimpse of what he truly thinks.

“Bly—you—?”

He blinks his eyes open and immediately lowers them in shame.

That won’t do at all. Determination swells in her heart along with a strange sensation of desperation, because she’d known, but she’d never truly understood. He’d kept the full extent of his feelings carefully locked away, and when parts of it had escaped they had only implied a mere fraction of what was really going on inside his head.

She wants—needs—him to understand that it goes both ways.

When she enters his mind again, she lets Bly’s emotions wash around her instead of hitting her full force. She sinks deep, catching glimpses of memories and snippets of sound—

A battlefield shouldn’t be alluring, but with fire swirling around her and sparks drifting past them, she’s more glorious than anything else he could ever imagine.

He wishes that he could express the sensation that he feels whenever she looks at him like that, how his heart seems to swell three sizes and continue expanding until it’s all but bursting out of his chest.

Blue. Blue. Blue. He can’t get the color out of his head, can’t stop his eyes from trailing over her skin and noting all of her visible scars, can’t focus right even though he knows that he needs to concentrate.

She makes a bad call. Not even the best Generals are without fault. Brothers die. For all that he admires her she is still flawed, but somehow that doesn’t detract from how badly he wants her, from how much he cares. She is imperfect and scarred but he loves her all the more for it, for how she fights to become better with every breath she takes.

It’s raining. She looks happy. She looks at peace. Her eyes are bright. She’s beautiful. He wants to reach out and touch her. He aches because he can’t.

Nothing will ever come out of his feelings but he will content himself with the fleeting sensations of joy he finds when she presses her spine to his in the middle of a battle and fights with absolute certainty that he’ll be there to guard her back.

Jedi aren’t immortal and that has never been more obvious now. She is sick and miserable and tired. He convinces her to leave the bridge under his command for the day and go get some rest. When he drops by her room to update her on the Separatist’s movements she is sprawled out on her bunk, mouth hanging open and drooling. It is possible the most unflattering view of her that he’s ever seen. He hardly cares. He sits next to her anyway, a grin springing to his lips as she stirs and blinks up at him, surprised at his presence. There’s nowhere else that he’d rather be.

He hadn’t been created to love. Sometimes he wishes that he had been.

There. Hidden in that thought Aayla finds hints of darkness. She catches a hold of the trail of insecurity she had originally intended to follow and chases after it.

Chain of command aside, Jedi code aside, anything he feels for her is foolish. Bly is not unique, not special despite his rank. Even if there were no restrictions he has millions of brothers who all look the same, so why would she pay any attention to him at all?

He is Kaminoan property. There is no place for love in his purpose. He barely even understands the concept even though he knows the word. He couldn’t possibly offer her what she wants, isn’t worthy to even try. He’s just a clone, nothing more.

It hurts her to feel how deeply those thoughts are woven into his mind. She tugs at them carefully and feels him lurch. Somewhere in the real world she feels hands clutching at her shoulders, but she can’t focus on that right now.

She won’t be able to replace the thoughts, can’t destroy them as much as she would like to. Instead she presses her own thoughts over his, carefully so that he can sense every detail.

Gold is enthralling to her now. Her eyes get stuck on it automatically. She can only think of armor and tattoos and eyes and tan skin—and a steady presence beside her that she wouldn’t trade for the galaxy.

They are alone and desperate and fighting. Aayla pushes herself to move faster, to fight harder, to continue even though her limbs are shaking because she won’t let him die, not today. It would hurt more than anything to replace a battalion but it would tear her into pieces and leave her incapacitated to lose Bly.

It’s raining. She coaxes him to step into the open and tilt his head upwards. His Force presence goes still and calm as he stares up into the clouds above them. Raindrops settle in his hair like tiny glass orbs and scatter across the tattoos on his cheeks. She wants to reach out, she wants, she wants. She senses that he does too, but then he pulls away and she marvels at his control even though her chest contracts in disappointment.

He stands against a hailfire of blaster bolts, unshaken, grounding her along with the rest of his brothers, pistols blazing. She draws strength from his courage and pushes forward. She trusts him with her life. She knows with unshakable certainty that Bly will have her back.

It’s late. The hangar is empty except for them, seated on top of a LAAT with the hangar bay doors thrown wide open to show wide-open space above them. When she turns her head over to look at Bly she sees a wide-eyed awe on his face. He marvels at how different the stars look from here than on Kamino. His joy is tangible. Aayla only has eyes for him. She feels warm and happy and light in a way that she’s never felt before.

He smiles at her fondly and she feels faint suddenly, as if the single breathtaking, handsome, devoted expression is enough to stop her heart.

Love is dangerous because she is a Jedi. But she looks at him and decides that she doesn’t care.

Aayla lets him feel and see and understand every inch of her yearning, every ounce of her awe. His entire mind quakes under her touch. She feels the knot of darkness shiver and unravel a bit. She can’t get rid of it just yet. That will take time. She dares to hope that she’ll get the chance to try soon.

She comes back to herself. Bly’s hands are trembling on her shoulders. When she makes a soft noise of concern he wrenches them off of her and presses his fists against his sides.

“Aayla,” he groans, and he sounds absolutely wrecked. Like he’s seconds from falling apart. His eyes are bright and wide. They’re practically glowing in the dim lighting.

“I want you,” she tells him firmly, forcing every bit of blunt honesty into her voice as she can. She brushes her thumbs across his cheekbones and then lets her hands drop. “This is worth the risk to me, Bly. But it is up to you.”

She puts the choice in his hands and half expects him to turn away, to mull over everything he’s felt, to hesitate again.

He does not.

Instead, he makes a strangled sound, leans in, and presses his lips to hers.

It’s the last thing she’s expecting. She nearly stumbles as a result. His panic spikes into the Force until she grabs his shoulders and kisses him back.

The Force surges in a flare of heat and electricity around them. Bly exhales shakily against her. The brush of their lips is light and tentative. Aayla gathers herself, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and deepening the kiss. Their mouths slant together. One of Bly’s hands finds her lekku again and strokes it gently. Her knees go weak underneath her at the pleasant sensation, at the feel of his mouth against hers.

When they break apart, Bly is gasping like he’s dying and can hardly believe his own audacity. Aayla feels heat crawling up her neck. She can’t stop panting either, and she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

She’d hoped to get this far, to help him see that he’s worth it, that this is a risk that she’s willing to take, but she hadn’t expected any of that. This is unfamiliar to both of them.

“I—I didn’t—I—” Bly stammers out, and Aayla just blinks at him, because she isn’t doing much better.

Neither of them say anything for a long moment. Aayla can’t tear her gaze away from his face. He’s still so afraid, but she can see his mind weighing all of the options, struggling to make a final decision.

The pinprick of cold on her forearm makes her jerk. It’s followed by another on her lek, and then another on her forehead.

It’s raining.

Bly sucks in a sharp breath.

It rains once in a blue moon on Coruscant. It isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t common either. Aayla remembers a memory from a forest planet months ago, etched into both of their minds with striking clarity and sentiment. Slowly, Bly tilts his head back until he’s looking up into the sky.

She had shown him that. It sends a thrill down her spine to watch him remember, to feel his Force presence go from raging indecision to solidifying into careful determination.

The raindrops are growing bigger. She can hear them clattering against the balcony around her. A droplet splatters against her nose. She reaches out to brush the water away and goes still when Bly reaches for her hand, threading their fingers together as if he’s afraid that she’s going to change her mind.

“It’s worth the risk,” he whispers, like a prayer. She smiles at him. After a heartbeat, he returns it. “I want... I want you too.”

His words make Aayla feel giddy, like she’s soaring, light as a feather and free as the wind. The rain comes down around them. It would only take a few steps to enter the room and dry off but neither of them move.

She wants to kiss him again. The relief and elation she feels as she realizes that she actually can now is heady. His lips are still parted ever so slightly. When she leans in again, he meets her halfway.

It doesn’t matter that they’re going to get drenched. It doesn’t matter that there’s a chain of command or a Jedi code. It doesn’t matter that there’s a war going on and sometimes it’s safer to not get attached.

She focuses on Bly and finds peace in the rhythm of the rain. It’s worth the risk.

#fanfic #blyla #clone wars #Aayla Secura #commander bly #oh i'm so weak for them #wow jaymes congrats i'm addicted and it's your fault XD #writing

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thenamesblurrito · 4 years ago

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How did you draft SNAP? I've just gotten to the drafting stage of my comic with my brother but idk if theres some certain way to do it.

it’s taken a bit for me to organize my thoughts on this but I have an answer now, and you might not like it: there IS no some certain way to do it! I’ve been working with comics (and poking into the professional field, too O.O) for a few years now, so I do have some general advice for you-

read comics. really. can’t make a comic if you don’t know what a comic is, and since comics are a very specific medium of sequential visual storytelling, all the elements that make it a comic aren’t easily learned through other mediums. page layout, art style communicating tone, character design, story beats, etc. Scott McCloud has some wonderful books on comics, the Hellboy series is genuinely masterful, and honestly you could reread IDW and call it research. i go back and study my favorite webcomics to try and absorb their excellence: TPOH by @modmad is stunning, @avasdemon is gorgeous, and there’s endless more to browse over at @webcomiclibrary

know your story. this is covered by a Whole Heckin Lot of different places, resources, and writers, so I’ll encourage you to go look at comprehensive help if you need plot assistance. keep in mind that everyone drafts differently! you might need everything plotted out, or you could fly by the seat of your pants. physical writing, digital notetaking, verbal processing, all of it is fine as long as it works for you

THUMBNAIL for goodness sake thumbnail before you dedicate to a page. in fact, make practice versions of everything important. mess with character designs until you’re Absolutely Sure you will be alright with drawing them a bajillion times over and over. but specifically, thumbnails are tiny, rough page layouts. tiny so that you don’t get into any details and you can see how easily the page reads even when small, and rough so you aren’t committing and can keep fiddling. even with pages you’ve had in your head forever, a quick simple thumbnail can help smooth the transition from head to page

there’s other, post-drafting things to consider, like formatting and file size and update schedule and getting it out there, but that’s a whole seminar and I’d like to keep this relatively simple

for me, drafting SNAP was an adventure in taking the puzzle pieces my brain seemed to automatically generate (thank you, MADD) and fitting them together in something resembling order. almost all of the plot and twists presented themselves to me with very little work! arranging them however was a hassle. my episode-by-episode breakdown is uh. a mess. because my drafting process is a stream of consciousness solid block of text. here:

01- Welcome to the Academy! An Upgrade to Primes Orion oh no im late trope, monologue about situation, bumps into megs at front gate as creators are saying goodbye, drags orion inside as excuse to ditch them, cut to trine being weirdos at landing pad, screamers making plans to be awesome but whomp whos that chick its windblade and she can fly in root mode, grr immediate one sided rivalry [... this goes on for awhile]

no punctuation, no capitalization, just wordvomit. not every episode has such specific notes, some just say a general plot hook and some character reactions! this first episode however was daydreamed out until I had a pretty solid series of events

I’m early in thumbnailing right now. wish I was further along, actually I wish I simply had SNAP finished so I could read it myself *sob* BUT. it’s chugging along. my thumbnailing setup is a simple grid I scribble over with new layers for every six pages:

last one is blank because I’m in the habit of arranging pages by side-by-side pairs for printing, since that’s been the usual consideration for the comics I worked on before. you can see how messy these are! and they’re by no means final, either, I think I’m going to have to cut down on some pages once I finish thumbnailing this episode. one thing I have kept in mind for SNAP specifically is anime tropes that I can rip off, hence that fifth page being mostly taken up by Orion running to school with toast in his mouth lol

anyway this got long and I am hardly an expert, still workin on my own comic, but I hope this helps! anyone with more resources, tips and tricks, or advice feel free to chime in too, I’m hardly the entirety of comic knowledge

#comic things....#art advice #i have not a clue how to tag this #but i hope it helps!#i should reread TPOH now #episodes #yes yes you all get a sneak peek

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cattles-bians · 4 years ago

Text

exes au part 15

post directory

em: viola teas i am like. incapable of sleeping in

em: i woke up 10:30 on the dot and i thought. what the fuck

em: 10:30 is especially offensive bc it means the mcdonald’s breakfast is done

obsetress: brain immediately said viola up and about doing all the chores vacuuming with no sympathy for her constantly sleeping in snoring girlfriend dani clayton

obsetress: but nah i'm sorry for you that sucks

em: inspiring deranged viola behaviour is

em: the greatest gift of all

obsetress: god so true when u think about it

obsetress: not that viola vacuums, she def has cleaners but

obsetress: actually no

obsetress: she has cleaners but she's prob not satisfied and gets out her expensive vacuum she has no idea how to use and is clattering n making such a fuss

obsetress: and poor dani

em: she’s up and about rearranging things, she’s causing a ruckus,

obsetress: dani's like "you have just as bad insomnia as me and you're just... getting up? that early?"

obsetress: viola shrugs "i don't need that much sleep"

obsetress: "you do, though"

obsetress: she shrugs and disappears into the kitchen

obsetress: insomniac gf and insomniac gf

em: insomnia gfs

em: viola runs on like

em: supernatural element carrying over: viola is a little too good at running on no sleep and no one knows if she ages

obsetress: YEAH

em: i love a sorta, grounded real life show w like one or two unexplained ambiguously supernatural things that no one blinks at

obsetress: i was gonna be like

obsetress: i wonder what dani and viola do when theyre up not sleeping at night and then i was like

obsetress: Well,

obsetress: no they do that but they also do the most random borderline unhinged shit like

obsetress: dani tries new baking recipes and they sit on the countertop in their pjs or underwear or nothing and eat scones at three am

em: go for night drives

em: night drives aren’t even unhinged but they’re nice

em: but they don’t listen to music they listen to fucken podcasts

obsetress: that fuckin lorde song

[em note: it's supercut]

obsetress: they go to the roof and dani lays her head in viola's lap and stares at the stars while viola reads to her in french

obsetress: ugh i put it on oh god why did i put it on

[em note: it's still supercut]

obsetress: in my head.........

obsetress: i do everything right............

obsetress: when you call............

obsetress: i'll forgive and not fight.............

obsetress: ours are the moments.........i play in the dark OH MY GOD VI'S INSOMNIA AFTER DANI LEAVES AND SHES ALONE

em: ur a MONSTER

obsetress: i need to lay on the floor and put this song on repeat

obsetress: anyway um

obsetress: another thought from when i was thinking about the vacuum like

obsetress: viola has a degree of learned helplessness that all rich people have but she's not an idiot like the rest of them yknow and i think like

obsetress: she had to do a lot when she and perdita were kids!

obsetress: after her mom died

em: hannah......

obsetress: and then after her dad died before she married arthur and like

obsetress: then being a single mom (viola lloyd single mom i'm drooling) even w all the help she can afford

obsetress: she has a chip on her shoulder and Does Things For Herself but also just

obsetress: sometimes it happens! there's never enough time and never enough help!

obsetress: and she loves isabel so much like

obsetress: viola making isabel her lunches

obsetress: oh god

em: making her little lunches at like 2am bc it’s been a busy day and she’s tired and she’s sore and she’s sad but the one thing viola will never skip is like

em: making sure isabel gets her lunches

em: hey what is wrong with us

obsetress: GOD YEAH

obsetress: EXACTLY

obsetress: HOW DID YOU KNOW I WAS THINKING ABOUT HER MAKING THEM AT TWO AM UGH

obsetress: anyway um yeah viola making isabel her lunches at two am

obsetress: i know that i wrote jamie leaving flora notes on her napkins but like

[em note: read 'and she taught me a lesson alright']

obsetress: i just think it's something a mom who really loves her kid and wants them to feel safe and okay would do so i want to say vi does it for isabel too!!! and what of it they're different universes it's fine

em: ur just building the hannah obsetress cinematic universe

em: building up some Themes and Motifs

obsetress: themes motifs and symbols

obsetress: anyway viola packing isabels lunches she writes little notes and puts on lipstick n kisses them

obsetress: so isabel can get a kiss from her mom

em: im going to kill u w my bare hands

obsetress: cut to vi in the bathroom wiping it off later à la jennifer check

em: im GONNA

obsetress: sometimes when vi has to go out of town for business or w/e she leaves a stack of napkins with arthur to put in isabel's lunch so she can still get a kiss from her mom even when she's gone

em: thats so extra??

em: its so viola

obsetress: exactly

obsetress: she definitely has a fear of isabel favoring arthur over her (abandonment issues etc etc)

obsetress: gestures at canon

—-

em: dani 'its casual' taylor

obsetress: leave the typo

obsetress: dont you dare change it

em: i need u to know that i DO fuck but

em: hgfngjkyhGJBJKFHD FUCK

em: ruined my own joke

obsetress: in the most spectacular way

em: dani 'i need you to know i DO fuck but im accepting offers' clayton

obsetress: she takes care to drop that like

obsetress: it's just casual SHE'S not anything serious. i'm not dating HER or anything

obsetress: jamie's like dani i know you're gay you literally stare at my lips every time i talk

em: dani getting off the phone and dramatically rolling her eyes like 'ex girlfriends, am i right? whats up with these women i-' and jamies like love i get it

obsetress: jamie raising her eyebrows "how many ex girlfriends do you have"

obsetress: dani's like "well, just the one, but"

em: but i COULD have more. if i wanted to. bc i am looking to date more women

em: jamies like ok cool

obsetress: jamie, a little too casually: oh? any, uh. prospects?

em: danis like (patented nervous dani lip bite) maybe but

em: jamies like drat

em: jamies like darn

em: and then she gets home and shes like

em: wait

obsetress: jamie calling dani back "when you said maybe"

obsetress: and dani immediately is like yEAH?

em: jamies like do you think you could ever be interested in me and danis like umm. yeah.

em: jamie hangs up like ok cool

em: long beat

obsetress: oh my GOD

em: REDIALS

---

obsetress: ok last thing i was gonna say

obsetress: i meant to say this earlier and got distracted a hundred times over

obsetress: but um imagine dani helping isabel with her english homework

obsetress: vi helping isabel with her math homework

em: ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

em: SOFT

obsetress: well,

em: oh no

obsetress: isabel needing help w her english homework post dani and vi's trying to help and vi's smart n all but

em: get HELP

---

em: dani 'hooking up w my ex is actually a v girlboss of me' is SO funny to me

em: when they get together danis like, oh but havent we all- and jamies like nooo i have very good boundaries

em: except for the perdi vi psychosexual power play ig

obsetress: moment of weakness

obsetress: who wouldn't want to hook up w their hot boss

—

obsetress: when dani goes up to london whatever weekend like friday night to get her closure dinner with vi

obsetress: boom haircut and therapy reveal

em: 3 day bender u say

obsetress: all of a sudden it's sunday night and

obsetress: YEAH

obsetress: they spend

obsetress: all fucking weekend

obsetress: in vi's bed

em: sighs dreamily

obsetress: dani playing with her hair

obsetress: "this is nice"

obsetress: "i'm gonna miss your bun though"

obsetress: vi's brain is short circuiting at "i'm gonna miss"

em: later danis like look. jamie. what would you have done? and jamie chokes on her beer and splutters 'not fuck my ex for 3 days straight?!'

obsetress: dani "well you've never fucked v–– oh wait"

obsetress: "you really can't blame me, jamie, you KNOW" jamie: (grumbles)its different... dani: well i mean i guess, technically, you didnt,

obsetress: unrelated in some bad fight at the end vi is like "you can't go isabel needs a–– you're like her–––" and dani's like "a what? say it" and viola's too stubborn and proud and hurt to say it

em: just perpetually bouncing back to the worlds angstiest break up

obsetress: i don't know WHY

obsetress: as someone who HATES ANGST

obsetress: i am so DRAWN to these two

em: its ummmm weirdly cathartic??

em: the whole exes au is based on a joke about them being friends and exes. we are v firm in like. viola and dani reconcile!

em: idk i love a catharsis moment! i love it when a character claws their way to happiness. or even begrudgingly goes to therapy

em: viola can go through a little hell as a treat

obsetress: turns out the only one who could fix her in the end

obsetress: was the one who said it's not my job to fix you

em: dani transformative power of (platonic) love

obsetress: "Platonic"

#the dani jamie viola rebecca exes au

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mego42 · 4 years ago

Text

author meme redux

HELLO I’M BACK tagged by @septiembur to talk about how swaying evergreens came about!

okay so the backstory goes like this:

A friend of mine and I love playing this game we call to the pain where we send each other songs with instructions to listen to them and think about this ship/scene/story/etc and sit back and watch the other one go completely unhinged and incoherent bc the right song and the right dynamic will Do That To You. she also introduced me to tow’rs and we share a fairly rabid obsession with that band.

fast forward to this past december, she kicks down the door of my messages (or texts me, i suppose, if you want to be boring about it) like hey so tow’rs dropped a christmas album and even though i don’t really go here, special edition of to the pain, listen to swaying evergreens and think of brio. so i did and, even though the song was not a vibe i would generally gravitate towards for them, it hooked me and all i could think about was soft, quiet, snowed in morning sex bc like, idk, have y’all listened to it???? literally what else am i supposed to think about.

ANYWAY so that song lowkey ruined my life and i started crying to @foxmagpie about it as i do. she went a touch feral over the concept and even though i kept saying stuff like but megan! how did they get snowed in? why are they soft with each other? how did they get there from s3? she kept saying stuff like WHO CARES MEG OH MY GOD JUST WRITE IT. it slowly took root in my head and one night i literally sat straight up in the middle of the night (being married to me is SO FUN) like OH WAIT WHAT ABOUT LISTENING VERSE and I decided to write it for megan as a present.

As far as the backstory stuff goes, I’ve alluded to it a bit on here but I’ve lost a bunch of people this year and without getting too into it, one of those losses was very fresh when I got serious about writing swaying evergreens. I’ve been thinking a lot about grief and memory and how it shapes you in ways that never unshape and how we carry pieces of the people we love with us inside ourselves. All of that was compounded by a lot of angst over not being able to be with my family this holiday season and thinking about our traditions throughout the year (shamelessly stole the its a wonderful life stuff from my dad). Additionally I’ve always been mmmm I guess extremely conscious of how little the show gives us with so many of the characters’ backstories (I know we like to point to Rio a lot and true!! extremely valid! but also like, what holidays do Beth and Annie celebrate, you know? they’re all pretty blank slate) and that’s something I haven’t really engaged with much in my fic but something I want to try and get into more.

idek where I’m going with any of this but all of that was on my mind and ended up mixing together with the quiet little romantic pwp I initially wanted to write and the result was swaying evergreens which, fun fact! i have not been able to go back and reread since I posted it because I’m still a touch raw over the whole thing tbh, hahaha.

tl;dr go listen to tow’rs christmas album the holly & the ivy bc even if you’re not into christmas music (which i am VEHEMENTLY AGAINST TBH) it’s beautiful and i love it a lot.

tagging @pynkhues to tell me in detail how fake dating is going to feature in the pirate au which is not at all the point of this meme but she dropped that grenade as i was getting ready to post this and now i can’t think about anything else

okay but also @riosnecktattoo to tell me about how she came to foist clown porn upon us all or heart and soul bc i’m obsessed (or both both is good)

and @bathroombreaks to tell me about the origin of the howl’s au that lives rent free in my head

meme questions

recently I have become really fascinated with fanfic authors and what exactly was rumbling around in their brain that inspired a fic?

Was it a line of dialogue you couldn’t get out of your head?

A scene you wrote WAY in advance and then crafted the whole story around?

An image in your mind?

Inspiration from another form of media?

Maybe someone suggested something to you and it just TOOK off from there?

What is the root of your fic? The cornerstone -what is it all built around? The idea that started it all?

Tag an author & their fic. Let’s hear about what sparked your story. What exactly got your booty movin’ shakin’ motivated and writin’

#i will probably not delete this later hahahahahaha #tag games #shut up meg #swaying evergreens #listening through the air shaft #my fic

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wayward-mikaelson · 5 years ago

Text

Ain’t My Fault

Request By: @rileynicole1967

Request: hi!! i was wondering if you could do a one shot for deanxreader based off the song “aint my fault” by Zara Larsson. maybe she could be singing it to him idk i’ll keep the specifics to you ;) do whatever your heart desires. maybe end it with implied smut or actual smut 😏 (it’s okay if you can’t or aren’t taking requests right now. but if you ever have time i’m sure you’ll have fun with it cause it’s such a fun/sexual song :)

Word Count: 2089

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Characters: Dean and Reader

Summary: The Reader puts on a sexy show for Dean. But Dean is blindfolded.

Disclaimer: Language, Drinking, Mention of death, Angst, Blindfold, Sexual Choking, Hair pulling, A whole lot of touching and feeling, Implied Smut,

A/N: This was AWESOME to write guys!! I listened to that song many time just to get the motel part perfect!

A/N 2: Sorry this was supposed to be done yesterday but life kind of happened and took my 4 yr old on a much needed mommy/son outing for ice cream.

*18+ Content. Anyone that is younger than 18 will need to scroll right on. I don’t want to risk my account being thanosed

**Please DO NOT copy and paste my work WITHOUT my permission and WITHOUT giving me the proper credit. I work way too hard on my work to have to stolen. You may share the link to this post.

***This work is also posted on Instagram, Wattpad, and AO3. Please go show it some love over there.

****Follow my other accounts Instagram, Twitter, Wattpad, and AO3

*****DMs are OPEN for REQUESTS

Song Inspired by Zara Larsson’s Ain’t My Fault (Click HERE to listen)

Forever Tags: @donnaintx @myinconnelly1 @magssteenkamp @elansaidaris @hobby27 @440mxs-wife

Dean/Jensen Tags: @akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @sandlee44

My Masterlist

Shy’s Favorite Fic List

I sit in the bar and throw back another shot. My hunt didn't go as planned. Lost a friend and good hunter. Well, he wasn't that great of a hunter, but still. He didn't deserve to go out that way. May he rest in peace. Now to go back to Cheyenne, and tell his wife. I throw back another shot.

The door to bar opens and I feel the cool evening breeze. Out of habit, I look towards the door to see who is walking in. That's when I see him walk in. The red shirt he wears stands out more than anything in this bar. The way he runs his hands through his short hair makes me catch my breath. The way his body moves around, I instantly know he's a hunter. But not just any hunter, this is a Winchester.

He looks around the bar as if he's looking for someone. Even from across the bar, I can see his green eyes flutter this way and that. I have never seen green eyes like that. So bright and that they look almost fake. When he doesn't find or see what he's looking for he makes his way to the bar. He takes a seat a few seats away from me and orders a beer. He takes a couple glances around and those green eyes land on me. With a small smirk, he winks at me.

Quickly looking away, I order a few more rounds of shots. When the small drinks are placed in front of me, I shoot back the golden brown drink. I can still feel his eyes on me. A quick sideways glance, I see that he has turns part of his body towards me. I look away and shoot back that last three shots. I start to slip out of my chair and when I look up I see him standing right there. Beer bottle in hand.

How did he get here so fast? I wonder. I mean, I've heard stories about the Winchesters, so I'm not going to doubt anything at this point. "Sorry," I try to move pass him but his green eyes hold me there.

"Have we met?" His deep rough voice suddenly has my brain sending signal all the way down to my core. Fuck, the sound of his voice was almost better than the whiskey I just shot. I mean, this could be the alcohol talking too.

"I wouldn't forget you if we had." Did I really say that out loud? Yep, I'm an ass who will most likely regret this in the morning.

He chuckles which makes me wish I had my legs crossed. Fuck. I'm starting to feel the ache and pulling in between my legs. I knew I had to get out of here. Silent rule between us female hunters: Never sleep with a Winchester. If you do, don't get attached because those Winchester men are a love them in the moment kind of man. Then they are gone without a word the next morning.

"Good one," His smile lingers on his too perfect face. "I'm Dean Winchester." He stretches his free hand out.

"Figures. I've of heard of you," my hand, having a mind of its own, takes it and shakes it. "I'm YN YLN."

Dean Winchesters smile gets a bit bigger. He sits in the empty chair by him and without thinking, I do the same. I make sure I cross my legs too. "I've heard of you, too." Damn it, his voice really needs to stop doing that. I squeeze my legs tighter together. "Word on the street is that you're a badass hunter with a tongue who takes and gives no fucks."

"Is that what they're saying about me?" I chuckle and look down. "I get the job done. That's all."

For the next two hours we talk. We exchange some of our hunting stories. He has saved the world a several times and lives up to the stories I've heard from other hunters. As we talk, He drinks and I chug water and snack on some crappy bar fries. Before the clock hits ten, I get up out of my seat and tell him I gotta get back to my motel and get some sleep.

"Do you need a lift?" Deans voice, sexy as it is, is a bit slurry.

"No, It's just around the block," I say.

"Don't like it," He gets up and throws cash onto the bar counter. He takes keys out of his pocket and shakes them. "I'll take you back."

I smile and can't help but feel the tightness in my core. It's practically screaming right now. "I'm a big girl," I say remember that silent rule.

"I'm afraid I have to insist, sweetheart," He gently takes my arm and hooks it around his and walks me out. "You never know what sick bastard wants to get his hands on a beautiful thing like you. Hunter or not, you could get hurt."

So I let Dean Winchester take me back to my motel room.

Sitting in the parking lot in front of my room, we talk a little bit more. I haven't talked that much to just one person before. I have always kept talks with others short. I start to get out and Dean gets out with me.

"Don't say anything," He says walking around to my side. "Let me just make sure you make it inside alright."

I throw my hands up and let him walk me to the door. I repeat the silent rule in my head. Never sleep with a Winchester. Never sleep with a Winchester. Never sleep with a Winchester. I open my door and step inside, Dean watches my every move.

"Do you want to come in?" I catch myself asking.

"Sure," Dean follows me inside.

I don't know what the fuck I just did, but I am not backing out. My body seems to know what I what more than my brain. "I'm going to use the bathroom real quick." Before I close the door to the bathroom, I see Dean take a seat in the motel table chair and pull out his phone. I turn to the bathroom sink and splash my face and see the look in my own eyes. The lust. The hunger. The need. I pull the hair band from my hair and shake it out.

"Here we go," I smile to myself. I instantly become a whole new person.

I make my way out of the bathroom. Dean is leaning back in the chair. "I hope you don't mind, but I raided your mini fridge." He points to a few empty mini bottles of alcohol.

"Oh that's fine," I walk over to my phone that's on the table and find the perfect song. Setting it down, I open up my bag and pull out the tie that I carry with me. "I hope you don't music."

"I love music," Dean says shifting in his seat. I can see a noticeable bulge forming tightly in his pants.

"Good," I turn towards Dean. "Just feel the music once the music starts." He eyes the tie in my hand. He smirks and raises an eyebrow. I bite my lip as I feel the wetness in my pants start to form. I take the tie and gently wrap it around his eyes and tie a knot so it's secure.

I press play on the phone and lean behind him. "Like I said, feel the music."

As the song starts, I slowly run my hands over his shoulders. Feeling the firm muscle under neath the layer of red. I suck in a soft breath. I lean behind him and press my lips to his neck and trail them to his ear. I feel the muscles tense and relax. I move to the other side and put my lips to his ear and whisper the lyrics to him.

"It ain't my fault you keep turning me on. It ain't my fault you got, got me so gone. It ain't my fault I'm not leavin' alone. It ain't my fault you keep turning me on." I slowly push away and notice a small little smile on his face. I walk around straddle his lap and start on the buttons of that red shirt. Figures, there's another layer under it.

I push this first layer down and when I do, Deans hands grab my hips. With one hand and take both of them and pin them down between our bodies. One of his fingers slips out and starts to firmly stroke the crotch of my jeans. I bite my lip and suck in a breath. Just the touch alone sends sparks throughout my body.

Taking my free hand, I grab the back of his head and grip the small hair. I feel his hands ball into fists. I press my forehead to his and he tries to bring his lips to mine. He can't due to my firm grip. "So if I put your hands where my eyes can't see. Then you're the one who's got a hold on me. No I, can't be responsible, responsible." I softly sing along to the song. I softly and quickly press my lips to his.

Dean's lips part and I feel the tip of his tongue on my lips. I push away and slid off his lap, making sure my hand brushed against his already hard erection. I make my way around the chair again and slowly slide my hands back down his chest. Sighing as I feel the muscles again. As the lyrics of the song start again It ain't my fault you came in looking like that. You just made me trip, fall, and land on your lap. Certain bad boy smooth, body hotter than a sauna. I don't mean to be rude, but I look so damn good on ya. I grip the bottom of his black t-shirt and pull it up over his head. Without the blindfold moving either.

Nothing prepared me for Deans hand to grip my neck gently but firmly from behind. Dean pulls my neck down and presses his lips to mine. He slips his tongue into my mouth and explores it. His tongue runs along my teeth and pushes my tongue aside. Trying to claim dominance.

I push away from him. His hand reluctantly pulls away from my neck and falls back to his lap. I walk around him and un do my pants and shimmy out of them. Dean tilts his to the side as he hears my pants hit the ground. I got back and sit on Deans lap but this time, my back is a hundred percent to him. I grab his hand and use them to run over my body. From my shirt covered breast to my naked thighs. My head rolls back and to the side as he take control of his hands back.

"Too much shirt," he whispers into my ear. He grabs the hem of my shirt and flawlessly takes it off. I hear the fabric fall floor and I bring a hand back to his face. As swiftly as he took my shirt off, he takes my bra off. Both his firm and calloused hands squeeze both my breast and pinches the sensitive nipple making them hard under his hands.

My head falls back onto Deans shoulder. He takes hold of my neck again and kisses my neck and his free hand trails my body and slowly disappears under my lace panties. His finger slowly circle around my clit and that's all he does. I suck in a breath and bite my lip as my own arousal slowly turns into a climax.

Dean kisses my neck again as the lyrics of the song say So if I put your hands where my eyes can't see. Then you're the one who's got a hold on me. No I, can't be responsible, responsible. Then without warning, Dean pushes me off his lap. I turn to see him rip the tie of his face. Those gorgeous green eye were filled lust, hunger, desire, the whole bit.

He closes the gap between us and backs us to the bed where he pushes me down onto it. I lay on the bed and watch as he takes his pants off and slowly takes my panties off. He smiles at how wet they are. He sets them aside and settles himself between my legs. He takes my hands and pins them above my head.

"You're turn," he nips my ear and he slips inside me.

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vanityloves · 5 years ago

Text

anyways im gonna listen to/read the fuckin...rise of the ogre shit bc ive been putting it off 🪓🥴 im gonna put stuff under the cut bc im gonna be TALKING n dont wanna make a new post everytime

piss

ok he performed for 2 pounds 50. which is basically $3 today i- well it was absolutely a power play on his father behalf that also had the promise of money so.

also lol he said Rejection fueled my ambitions which, yknow,, i already knew but it still hurts and i will continue to talk ab it xoxo

AH HELP. "...if ebay had been invented at the time he would've sold me online there and then,"

"man hands on misery to man, yknow"

THEN PROCEEDS TO CONNECT IT TO MUSIC/HIS CAREER. this man said :) the one thing i truly have a passion for. the one thing i fucking like.

oh yeah. bullied by students AND teachers.

oh god hes 42ish during this interview? ok.

the fuckin school bully saying he wouldve acted differently if he knew what hed become

getting called "faceache", then proceeds to call 2d that. jfc he really does just repeat what everyone says. really "treating others how i was treated/how they treat me"

maybe thats why? hes kinder to fans? bc :] you support me and like me so, ok ill return that energy

MURDOC GETTING HIS ASS BEAT N PARADING HOME LIKE WELL I WON BC 'I PISSED YOU OFF' SJDJD

a real rowdy boy. absolute nasty boy. fraud and arson... shooting ppls windows with his air pistols

black sabbath being a huge inspiration? fucking absolutely.

became a satanist n shit at age 16? "it fitted me like a glove" "heavy metal and devil worshipping became my favorite past times" ajsj funny that ppl in trying times often seek religion or following of some sort

heavy metal being his favorite, n loving the clash, while hannibals was more punk based

hannibal breaking murdocs nose for the 2nd and 3rd time for playing his music on hannibals turntable

he doesnt sound that bitter? ab hannibal? he doesnt sound incredibly fond but he talks ab how he got him into a lot of music. so, i imagine they we're a bit closer than i thought?

international baccalaureate in antisocial? anthropology?

MURDOC IS ACTUALLY SMART HE WAS JUST. NOT INTERESTED IN THE SUBJECTS? I GUESS? (also,,, he literally Built cyborg noodle and i think he had a PhD too lol. but its always nice to hear hes actually...yknow, interested or good at other things)

alright but murdoc having a fascination w/ other cultures - or at least some interests, that lead him to actually study the damn subject and "pass with flying colors"

'fuck college though. im gonna be a rockstar'

he sold his soul at 18ish? whenever the fuck he got kicked out but college was mentioned so my brain goes to 18ish idk

he lived with his father still and paid rent via low paying jobs one including 'part time dressing as santa'

help he was ab to take a Personal Job for quick cash and uhh well, "still made me call him sir though" he really said 20 dollars is 20 dollars, huh "that story was totally true"

alright, 1997,,,

2d stuff

loves zombie stuff? thats really cute, and is freaked out by the way they move. god he rambles

both he and murdoc are horses in the chinese zodiac

[[jfc ok if the official shit compares them a lot i understand why ppl ship them but Dont. its a narrative foil and that doesnt always mean Romance jfc.]]

SUMTHINK.

truly... a lil stinker. super cute bouncing baby and a "bit thick" which is stull so endearing to me. hes just a happy man!

excitable 10 year old and would dance around his room

jfc the fact he has normal/caring parents. i kinda forget how opposite hes supposed to be from murdoc but i think thats another thing jsjsysg (murdoc said why isnt my tragic story making me famous why does he get to be the Star. no wonder he acts like a loon)

i still dont get how gettin bonked by a tree branch made him go bald and also turn his hair blue

big tiddy nurse mommy,,,

went to the same school as The Cure and got decent grades despite hittin the noggin quite hard. WANTED TO BE A STORM CHASER... OMG??

oh thats really cute, hed bond with his dad by building keyboards toegther 🥺💕

messed around with paints and graffiti? artistic king

MURDOC AGAIN: QHDJ 'VILLANOUS' GANG HELP

oh yeah d day...new instruments, new band, new singer - and 'had to be the best or no dice' and absolutely CONFIDENT that his songs were bangers ajsjd

but on that same note, had absolute faith (or desperate) in 2d which i love

ransacked the fucking music shop jdjdj and 2d said he was Just Standing There behind the counter the whole shift hdhdh

"thats when your eye came out, yeah" "yeah!-" HELP WHY DOES HE SOUND SO HAPPY AB IT ?? yes he said ut hurt but he sounds...ok

jfc murdoc ragdolling this poor mf around. dunking him and slapping him around. actually? so incredibly terrible and abusive and i hate him for that 🔫 im sorry 2d stans. we dont condone that behavior here ong.

how and why the FUCK did 2d's parents allow that fucker near their child after that i??? help. wtf. his moms a nurse why didnt she just have murdoc sit in plain view of other people. god damn.

2d flying out the window n hitting the curb "whoops"

"just two black holes...[ah] it looked great...a blue hair, blacked eyed GOD- the girls would go wild-" "pretty boy looks" ???? HELP. HE DOESNT GO LIGHT ON THE COMPLIMENTS, HUH

RUSS TIME

oh yeah, he straight up kiddnapped this man help. idk how he managed that, russ is a Big Man??

AND MURDOCS MUSIC WAS SO FUCKING SEXY GOOD that russel said hm alright ill stay, :] out ifbhis owm free will im screaming.

"oh this is one of them febreeze commercials" "uh . yeah sure. *murdoc turning on his Sick Tunes*" but that either means? it was just his guitar playing the convinced russ? unless he and 2d recorded sumn?

"2d was the looks, murdoc the brains, then russel truly was the heart"

'while 2d and murdoc liked music, this man was a MUSICIAN' god fucking bless this book holy shit ny man russ getting some respect. he said back hurts from carrying this band.

murdoc basically heard this guy had big trauma that gave him So Many Skills n said "thats what i want" ok idk thats actually really? inch rest ting to me. seems that murdocs fine handing out compliments but i guess that where his charisma really helps out yeah?

"he was going to be in my band whether he liked it or not" ...murdoc-

HELP. 2D IS LIKE BRO GO ON IM LISTENING 🥺 despite hearing the story 50-60 times and murdoc said fuck off you lil shit.

ok irrelevant but i love his voice! its super comforting n nice to listen to 🥺

HELP MURDOCS SO BITTER. "NOTHING THAT HAPPENS TO US IS NORMAL" WELL YEAH. THIS IS TRAUMA CENTRAL.

idk how/why he sucked up all his friends souls though ... how are they all possessing the same person. they said "its my turn on The Russ"

DELL IS HIS ACTUAL, LITERAL SOULMATE...KING...😭

went to a private school,,, and was already possessed? and the thing where he gets bigger and smaller is a reoccurring thing?

was in a coma for 4 years?

hiphop machine...time and history...the ultimate set i guess.

his knowledge was infinite and hes a "Renaissance man" hes so fucking smart our king. jack of all trades but a master of drums. he said i know im good and what of it

PAULA.

HELP. HE RMBRS THE STALL: CUBICAL NUMBER 3 🥴 IF I DO RECALL 🤤

yes russel our king. fuck up his nose 5 more times. probably stunted his growth too. he shrunk after russ gave him a wallop im sure

why dies paula sound like tracer overwatch

also only dated 2d for 2 months before joining the band?

HELP SHE REALLY WAS THE FIRST MURDOC FUCKER: "but when i saw murdoc with his thick greasy hair, green teeth and yellow skin i thought 'oh this is the ine for me!'" "OH HES SUCH A DANDY-" HELP ME IM HQJDHD

sick in the head...like i want to hurt people help girl. shes fucking Crazy. but she rly said damn i didnt hear back from him again 😭 and my purse is gone JSHHD

MURDOC: SHE WAS DEPRESSINGLY UGLY *still fucked her*

NOODLE TIME

"small japanese person!"

2d: we werent gorillaz until noodle arrived!

im dying the reason he chose gorillaz. 'swinging through the jungle baring my ass'

noodle really said "im just happy to be here" and she balanced everyone out 😭 "she gave off pure love and the fact that she could laugh at murdoc REALLY helped too" RUSS... IS BABY

JFC MURDOCS SO FUCKING CONFIDENT IN THIS BAND IM LIVING FOR THAT. HE SAID YOU WANT US SO BAD IT MAKES YOU LOOK STUPID. THE CHARISMA

2d rambling ab some girl he met and "ssSs" "whats the s stand for hawhaw" "i dont know!".

THE RECORD LABEL GUY.

one song is all it took i ❤ good for them

just murdoc talking ab the party that they threw for thier deal and saying "you dont know how much of a dick i felt like [when carrying one of those huge checks]" like oh thats whatll make you a dick? alright.

A FOOD FIGHT THAT WENT SO HARD THAT IT KNOCKED 2DS TONSILS OUT? WHAT THE FUCK

ahshdj damon and murdoc not getting along bc of Rival Band One Uppery + damon calling murdocs cuban heels crap since ge wore steel ones with gold spurs.

MURDOC FEELIN EMBARRASSED BC HES 'QUITE PROUD OF HIS SHOES'

but the band and damon getting over music and their ambitions and became a "paternal figure"

HELP MURDOC SAID AWIOGA @ RACHEL WHICH MADE HER THROW HER DRINK IN HIS FACE AND SPLIT FROM 2D. kinda sad actually, she said i still like 2d but murdoc kinda ruined it by trying to get it in with me, it put a strain in our relationship :/ oh god murdocs That Dude

nov 31 1998: started recording :]

40 tracks that got cut down to 15 holy shit

KONG STUDIOS 🤲

hooking up cameras in every room ejdjsu

webby artist of the year in 2006? holy shit

noodle learning ab kong studios omfg

JFC. YES I KNEW KONG WAS BUILT ON/IN A CEMETERY BUT I DIDNT KNOW PPL FOR THE FUCKING PLAGUE WHERE THROWN THERE HDJD

built in 1739?

the ghost of the first owners ghost still roams around in the kitchen in the early hours and moans 'aaa glass of water'

theres some rotting bullshit near the studios and in the summer its fucking TERRIBLE

the former owners were a biker gang, and they all died in a fire

murdoc said this place has bad vibes. i want it.

grim weather

the building feels impossible to escape from huHgg

#rip lol i feel annoying but my blog my rights ig #brainworm ivy #gorillaz rambles

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britishboystm · 5 years ago

Text

American Girl- Matthew (Here Are The Young Men)

A/N: Might make this into a series? Also yes for those wondering I have been working on Boy in the Basement, I should have it posted tomorrow or Friday. Also if there are any Irish readers, I am so sorry😂 I tried my best for the characters to sound authentic but idk it might sound weird.

Warnings: swearing, heavy drug use and drinking, sexual content but not complete smut

Part 2

—

I woke up feeling like shite. After last night's carnage of drink and drugs I felt like my head was swimming. Almost like a fish tank.

But I knew if I stayed in bed all day my da was going to lay into me.

“Matthew, get your sorry ass down here!” The last thing I needed with this fucking headache. The sun slightly burned my eyes as I hesitantly opened them, making me squint and groan in pain.

Did the speed Rez score always do this? My head hurts too bad to think about it. I slowly get myself out of bed and threw on a shirt before walking downstairs.

“Morning Matthew.” My ma tried to be pleasant. I groan in return.

“See this is the problem. You think he’s going anywhere, doing god know what every night? The fact that the school let him graduate is beyond me.”

I chose to ignore him as he flails his arms and yells at no one in particular. I just sit there and eat my cereal.

“Do you hear me Matthew?” My da says, sounding defeated. All I hear is whooshing and ringing in my inner ears. Oh yeah, that speed definitely had something in it.

“I’m meeting up with Kearney and Rez.” I show no emotions with my words. With that I get up, bring my dishes to the kitchen and head back upstairs to change. He starts yelling at me again but it all just sounds like white noise.

—

“Fuck this place.” Kearney says as he hands me the spliff and exhales two big clouds of smoke from his nostrils, similar to an angered dragon.

“Yeah, fuck it.” I wanted to give a smart or witty response but I couldn’t find anything in my hazy brain, let alone sober.

“Suck my cock Dublin!” He yells out to the ocean, suddenly standing up and throwing his arms in the air. I laugh slightly and take another swig of my canned Guinness.

“You lads want to go roam the upper streets?” Rez tries to get the group on a walk. He hasn’t said much, his eyes hiding behind his darkened sunglasses even though it was a bit overcast. I didn’t ask.

“And fuck with the richies? Hell yes!” Kearney jumps up slightly in excitement. He didn’t have much going on in his life. Hell, none of us did.

We got on the DART and made our way uptown to where the nicer neighbourhoods were, along the coast. I think Kearney has something against some girl from school who rejected him once. She happened to live in the area so he led the way. He was on a mission.

Once we made it, we start roaming the streets. Dublin didn’t have much to offer so this was class act entertainment for us right here.

“Cara, Cara? Where are you, you bitch?” Kearney was acting like a raging lunatic. I couldn’t help but cringe at his drunken state. I was messed up too so I didn’t pay it much mind.

As we passed rows and rows of big houses, I ended up drowning out Keanreys babbling to admire how nice they were. I sometimes dreamed about living in one of them. Fat chance though, with the way I finished school. A joke of an education I got.

The three of us stayed silent most of the way and were almost about to turn around when Kearney started yelling again.

“Ey, you! Didn’t you go to our school?” Rez and I turn our heads to see a girl, receiving the mail out front. She looks over and leans against her door frame.

“Who’s asking?” She yells back. She wasn’t Irish. She was American.

“Your next fuck, love!” He grabs his crotch and sticks his tongue out. She raises her eyebrows before letting out a laugh.

She had a nice laugh.

She continues to laugh and bends over slightly, overly showing just how funny she found his comment, clearly trying to hurt Kearney’s pride before closing the door behind her.

She was something else.

Kearney turns around, a proud smirk on his face.

“I’m in, boyos.” We both roll our eyes and grab Kearney, walking away before we got in any trouble.

—

Once we had gotten back from fucking around in uptown, we settled in Jen’s living room with some spliffs and MTV music videos playing on the telly.

Since Jen and I’s awkward hook up, it felt weird hanging out with her. I notice her flirting with Cocker who had showed up from fuck knows where. It’s obvious she is trying to get under my skin. I attempt to ignore it by focusing on the hash in front of me but it’s actually making it worse. Thinking about the hash mixed with the vodka we were passing around made my stomach hurt.

“Remember that girl in uptown earlier. God the arse on that one.” Kearney groaned suddenly as he threw his head back on the back of the couch. A feeling of anger bubbled inside of me.

“And an American none the less. I would love to just-“ He pretended as though he was eating her out.

I didn’t say anything, hoping Christina Aguliera in assless chaps would settle my nerves. It didn’t. All it did was make me think about the girl’s arse that Keanrey wouldn’t shut up about.

“Problem Connelly?” Keanrey smirks and raises his eyebrow at me. He knew he was taunting me. All the heads in the room turned towards the small confrontation, waiting for an answer since there wasn’t anything else interesting happening.

I shrug, not wanting to start anything. Especially when I was high off my rocker.

“Actually I’m going to head out.” I don’t even bother looking back at them as I attempt to lift myself off of the couch and towards the front door. A wave of faintness hits me from getting up too fast. The hash settling in nicely.

“Aww, Connelly I was only joking! I still got some poppers that we can split. Stick around!” I open and close the door behind me, starting the travel home.

—

I laid awake, thinking about that American girl in uptown. She seemed familiar from school but was never in any of my classes. Probably in all advanced ones. I knew there was an American since people always talked about her like it was super interesting, but I never saw her in person. Now I have.

She did have a gorgeous arse. A gorgeous face as well. These images came into my thoughts, thanks to Kearneys observations from earlier.

It was as though my hand had a mind of its own as it travelled into my boxers and started to stroke my dick.

Nothing but her bending over in laughter showing off her tits filled my mind. Then the smile she gave before she swiftly shut her front door had me speeding up my movements.

I imagined her laying in my bed, while I went down on her, that smile making an appearance. Then once more where she took my load in her mouth, looking up at me with an innocent look in her eyes.

Beads of sweat dripped down my face and the sound of my groans and heavy breathing filled the room. I wanted to know her name so bad so I could say it while I finished.

Once I finally hit my peak, my cum ended up all over my stomach and hands, my head collapsing on my pillow in exhaustion.

I felt too lazy to grab the usual hand towel I used for these occasions so I wiped myself off with a pair of boxers I had laying around on my floor.

I tried to steady my breathing as I thought about the American girl. I hadn’t even talked to her before and this was what she was doing to me…

Fuck.

#dean charles chapman #dean charles chapman x reader #here are the young men #1917

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foxtophat · 5 years ago

Link

another long one, coming in at 9k words because i am goddamn trash

HEY GUYS SORRY ABOUT THAT UGH today just didn’t go the way i wanted it to. you ever feel like that? well anyway here is the 11th chapter!!! fun fact: hurk and sharky show up! second fun fact: i am 90% sure that it is not moonshine they’re peddling. 3rd fun fact: i don’t know if they know what an apple looks like any more

i don’t have much to say about this chapter, although i will say it involves casual drinking if you’re not into that. i think i’m gonna go have a newcastle myself once i’m done writing this up... which i guess means now!

as usual my dudes, i want to thank you all for being so tolerant of my bullshit and so open to my dumbassery! it’s so nice to feel MOTIVATED to post for once, which might not come through when i get delayed like i have the last 2 chapters, but it’s true! i have so much trouble working on things without feedback, so you guys really have been awesome.

if you wanna contact me, my askbox is always open! as always, i appreciate any and all comments, kudos, likes, reblogs, casual links, private discord messages, idk whatever i don’t even use discord

below the cut is the full chapter for those of you who don’t wanna go off-site! thank you again for reading guys, and i will talk incessantly about this fic soon!!!

The next three days are marked by a surprising peace. Nick had suspected that once the cat got out about John, they would be fielding a flurry of calls, or maybe even some in-person confrontations, but so far they've been left completely alone. Maybe telling people on their way out of the county has something to do with that. Maybe they'll need to wait for Hurk and Sharky to come back and spread the news if Jerome's decided not to do it himself. Nick's not sure if that's even what he wants , but it feels like the inevitable next step. Eventually, if the community is going to come together, the cat's gonna have to get out of the bag.

John is just as nervous than before, although it only shows whenever they hear distant engines or a far-off gunshot. The night after the caravan, he and Jerome spend a full thirty minutes on the radio, but it only makes him more pensive and reserved. Nick wouldn't mind so much if Carmina weren't also acting bummed out — sure, she's just upset that she lost a friend before she could make one, but it still sucks to see his daughter acting as morose as John.

At least Kim's optimism hasn't been phased. She's been determined to look at the situation from every positive angle available, and none of Nick's uncertainty has put a hamper on it. She rallies them all for a second day-trip down to the river, hell-bent on cheering each and every one of them. It's a day of sunlight and clear water, and the fish are jumping like mad. It must be spawning season, or something, because the suckers are easy pickings.

The nice weather and the easy fishing both do wonders for Carmina's mood, which is becoming more and more fickle every day. Nick dozes in and out with a rod in hand, and although John spends most of the time staring at the water, he touches base with reality once in a while. Mostly just when Kim includes him in conversation, but it's still enough.

It's... nice. Nick doesn't know the last time he felt so relaxed. He doesn't think that memory exists anymore, lost to time like so many other positive thoughts, but he's enjoying the reminder to relax his shoulders and turn off his anxious brain for a few minutes. With the sunshine just as warm as ever and the water a bright, nearly unnatural blue, Nick figures all they need is an umbrella and some beach towels to drive the point home. Hell, at this point, they might as well claim this as their private waterfront.

Grace shows up after breakfast the next day, ready to take Carmina for some target practice at her range. She isn't strictly speaking to Nick yet, but she keeps it cordial, even friendly with Kim. Maybe Jerome talked with her, or maybe she came to accept the situation on her own, who knows. Either way, Grace ignores the sight of John out on the back porch and treats Carmina to a genuine smile when she comes downstairs, rifle in hand. Finally, three-quarters of the year later, the situation with Grace has finally returned to normal, taking one more weight off of Nick's shoulders.

She promises to have Carmina back before sundown. She also promises to leave her radio on, just in case. Nick knows what she means by just in case , but he can't say no to the added security.

Nick retreats out back, letting Kim have some time with Grace without the awkward tension of his presence. John pointedly refuses to look at him, sorting through a box of components as though he hasn't already picked it apart.

It isn't until after Grace and Carmina leave that Nick remembers he has an out — well, now it's just a regular chore. He's got to deal with the so-called freezer in the hangar, which is full of fish and sucking up all the fuel for the generator. Either he has to make it viable to use long term, or they're going to be shit out of luck for food preservation beyond salting and pickling.

From the look on his face, John wishes Nick would ask for his help, but Kim has already called on him to help harvest the last of the spring planter, so he's shit out of luck there. Nick doesn't have any damn sympathy for John — gardening is boring, and Nick will do anything to avoid it, especially something as easy as throwing John under a bus.

So, the good news is that the freezer still turns on. Nick hadn't expected much after finding it under part of the collapsed roof, but it hasn't shorted out once since they hooked it up to the generator about a week ago.

The bad news is that it's not a good use of power at all. The rubber seal is nearly worn off, so it keeps losing coolness, and there's definitely a coil burnt out or something in there because it barely manages to keep its temperature lower than the air around it. Sure, maybe it'll come in handy around winter , but that's not going to help them with summer around the corner.

As it is, Nick's only sure that the fish from yesterday are still good. There's a covered pot of stew underneath that they put in after the caravan left, which is probably fine, too... but Nick wouldn't put money on the rabbit they put in at the start. After all, it hadn't been all that fresh to begin with, and it's been wrapped in cloth for a little too long.

Well, maybe once they get some chickens and find a post-apocalyptic appliance repair center, it'll be worth being the energy sink that it is. For now, Nick has to figure out what to do with these goddamn fish and the leftover stew from the other night. It's their own damn fault, thinking they'd still have company after revealing John, but that doesn't change the amount of food they have on hand.

At least when Grace comes back, they'll have something to repay her with, although Nick isn't sure she's willing to eat any of their food yet. She'd been okay about seeing John in the backyard, relatively speaking, but there's no way she actually believes any of the progress being made. And as much as Nick would like to tell her that her distrust is unwarranted, he can't exactly tell her how to feel. It's just gonna have to take time, and she's going to need a different kind of proof than Nick.

They aren't expecting any visitors, so the sound of engines on approach shakes Nick out of his thoughts and puts him on immediate high alert. He can't make out the number of vehicles, but it sounds like a goddamn posse, which can't be good. When he goes out into the yard to check on Kim, he finds her missing; John is the only one standing there, waiting nervously by the planters and looking for any sign to bolt.

"Stay here," Nick tells him as he approaches, heading straight for the front.

"Yes, I know ," John snaps, but Nick isn't going to stop to argue with him. He slows his anxious jog as he comes around the side of the house, catching sight of Hurk's motorcycle through the trees coming down the drive. Kim is standing in the front yard, arms loosely folded over her chest; she looks cautiously excited for the company, although neither of them are sure if this is strictly a social call. Nick sure hopes it is — he's not sure they could hold their own against a group with an RPG and a whole lot of crazy.

Hurk kills his engine once he sees they've got an audience, leaving his bike with the others in the drive. The big, blissed-out guy and the smaller, wild-card one stay on their bikes, while Sharky talks to somebody sitting on his ATV briefly before following his cousin's tracks.

Kim greets them with a warm smile as they come up. "Hey, you guys. We weren't expecting you to stop by again."

"We radioed ahead," Sharky grouses. "But nobody answered."

"Sorry, I wasn't near the receiver. We've been out back all day."

Hurk pulls off his sunglasses with a dramatic flair. "Yeah, I figured it was something like that," he says, with a tone that implies Sharky had a different theory, one Nick imagines involves John staging some sort of coup. "Well, whatever, we're here now!" Looking around coolly for a second, Hurk realizes he still needs to explain himself and bashfully elaborates, " Somebody oughtta know we got back alright, so we can get hired out again and whatnot..."

"Everything cool?" Sharky asks. He makes no effort to hide how he's looking for a fire that he can blame on John. Well, at least he's trying to find a good reason to beat John up this time.

"I should be asking you that," Kim counters, wearing a smile that's enough to disarm Sharky's gruff posturing. "How far did you get?"

"We hit Great Falls before we figured any further was a one-way trip. They're probably past Missoula if they kept up the clip."

"And how'd everything look?" Nick asks. "I mean, relatively speaking."

Sharky shrugs. "A whole lot of the same," he replies. Hurk rolls his eyes in his cousin's direction, fixing him with an annoyed stare that eventually wears Sharky out. Shoulders slumping in defeat, he opens up semi-reluctantly. "It wasn't the, uh... wild wasteland I was expecting. Lots of empty land and road stops. Some friendly, some... uh, not so much. But that group can handle it."

Nick is happy to agree, and not just to placate Sharky. "Yeah," he says. "Hope County breeds tough people."

"Did you guys pick up somebody along the way?" Kim asks, having just done a headcount of the remaining posse. Nick remembers the two on their bikes; the new guy, he remembers from the third car, quiet and quick to leave but otherwise unmemorable.

"Oh, that's Mud," Sharky says, pointing at the three who probably can't hear much over the rumbling engines. "He was with the caravan, but he changed his mind." Sharky's chest puffs up as he confidently tells them, "He's ridin' with us now."

"That's great!" Kim exclaims. She's genuinely excited by the news and the chance to socialize, and the effect of her positivity is hard to fight. Sharky can't help but smile back, even if he's trying to act tough, rubbing his hands together as he casts another approving glance back at his gang.

"Are you going to do anything to celebrate?" she asks.

"Not much to celebrate, he's kind of a nerd."

"Come on," Kim laughs. "You left home and came back with more people than you started with. I think most people these days would count that as a win." She rubs her hands together, looking briefly at Nick and suggesting, "We could have a fish fry?"

"Hey, that's an idea," Nick replies. "We caught some bass yesterday and they're just gonna get composted if we don't do something with them."

"I dunno about that," Sharky says, cutting off Hurk just before he can excitedly agree.

Kim presses her hands together. "Come on, stay," she pleads with a smile. "At least let us feed you. When's the last time you had something more than jerky and booze?"

"Well..." Sharky trails off uncertainly.

"Kim's right," Nick cajoles. "We got plenty to spare."

"Grace is going to be back with Carmina in a few hours," Kim adds. "I'm sure she'd be glad to see you guys."

Sharky rubs his beard, looking back at their waiting posse. "Grace, huh?" he repeats. He trades a few unsubtle glances with Hurk before finally turning back to Kim and Nick. "Yeah, that should be okay. Except — ah, shit. We promised Wallace and Tiny we'd start doing things democratically now that we won't keep tying over everything. Hold on, gotta go confer with the boys."

They only spend a minute talking it over before the two motorcycles kill their engines, which is all the confirmation Nick needs to know they're hosting company. "I'll go tell John," he tells Kim under his breath. "Somebody should give him a heads up before Sharky punches him again."

Kim sends him off with a pat on his shoulder as he heads for the backyard. John is still waiting by the planters, although he's staring longingly for the safety of the hangar. Nick can't blame him — he's still sporting a dark and noticeable bruise from the last time Sharky socked him. Hopefully, seeing his lingering handiwork will satisfy Sharky, otherwise, John might wind up with a matching set.

"Sharky and Hurk are back," Nick says. John doesn't exactly relax, but knowing he doesn't have to prepare for another ugly reintroduction keeps him from bolting. "They're, uh, gonna stick around until Grace gets back."

"Then I probably shouldn't be around," John replies.

"What, you wanna go hide all night?" Nick rolls his eyes. "No, don't be a baby. Worst that'll happen is you'll get knocked down again." John doesn't look convinced, so Nick tries another route. "Come on, we went through all that just so you wouldn't have to hide out every time we have company. And people are gonna have to get used to you eventually — at least Sharky and Hurk already know you're alive." Finally, when none of that seems to work, he sighs and promises, "I'll make sure nobody decks you for no good reason, c'mon."

John finally relents, sighing and gesturing vaguely. "Fine," he says, "Whatever you say."

And, even though Kim isn't around to force him to it, John sits back down at the planter and resumes pulling carrots. It's probably entirely out of spite, but at least it keeps him busy while the posse of would-be raiders filters into the backyard. Nick stands awkwardly at first as Wallace and Tiny stare aggressively at John's back, but when Kim rounds out the group and nobody takes a shot at either of them, he forces himself to ease up on the suspicion. From here on out, Nick is going to try his damnedest to act like everything is absolutely normal. Well, as normal as it can be.

Kim has Sharky talking from the outset, which makes it easy for him to avoid acknowledging John at all. It helps that she's genuinely interested in what he's been up to since they last saw each other — other than open-channel conversations on the radio, the Ryes haven't seen them since the world ended. With only one car and not a lot of fuel, they haven't had a chance to go exploring the east side of the county since climbing topside.

As it turns out, Sharky and Hurk have shacked right back up at the old trailer park. They'd met up with Wallace and Tiny sometime after coming topside, and right now the four of them are in the middle of making the park more hospitable. Sharky keeps mentioning a reception area, and Hurk says something about expanding the lot, so Nick suspects they're looking to cash in on the heretofore abandoned hospitality industry.

For now, though, it's just home to four wildcards and one multi-use distillery made from old airplane parts. "It's pretty much fucked," Sharky says, although truthfully, Nick thinks it sounds kind of badass. "But with enough elbow grease, we'll probably be able to make it livable." He looks around, craning his neck to eyeball the mostly-intact hangar and their secure house, and offers a genuine compliment. "You guys got lucky. No hate, just glad you had somewhere to hole up in. It would suck to really have to rough it with a kid around."

"Tell me about it," Kim agrees emphatically. "Although, it took a lot of work to make it this nice, and there's still a lot more to do."

Sharky and Hurk settling in around the fire-pit is all the invitation their crew needs to make themselves more at home. It's no surprise that they pretend like John isn't there — nor is it a surprise that John returns the favor. It's a little tense and a lot awkward for Nick, but for now it's at least a peaceful holding pattern.

"It sorta sucked, seeing everything as trashed as it is here," Tiny says somewhat morosely. "I mean, at least we ain't alone, but..."

"Hope Valley got the best of it in general," Wallace says. "Right in the sweet-spot. Ideal Collapse."

"He means most everything else got blasted," Tiny clarifies, a sort of post-Bliss interpreter. "You can tell when you leave the county. Eases up after a couple of miles, but there's, like, a big old ring around us."

"No doubt, no doubt," Wallace agrees. "Protecting the good stuff."

"It's pretty fuckin' weird," Hurk says. "But I don't know nothin' about nu-clear thermodynamics and whatnot. Could be normal as the albino deer and shit."

"Uh, you think that the caravan's gonna be okay out there, if everything's just as wrecked?" Nick asks.

"Oh, sure," Hurk drawls. "There were all sortsa people makin' due out there, one way or another. They'll be fine ."

Sharky sighs, opens his mouth, then thinks better of whatever he was going to say and changes course. "They made it pretty clear they would be happier without help," he says. "Hope that works out for them. Me? I'm ride-or-die Hope County. At least 'til Hurk here goes international again. Then, uh, I guess I'm gonna be ride-or-die Miami."

"Hell yeah!" Hurk shouts. "Gonna get the business back in business, y'know what I mean? First stop: check in on mama and Xander. Second stop: top of the world, baby!"

The posse rallies around Hurk's promise with excited whoops. Nick doesn't know what Hurk's job was before the apocalypse, but considering the contraband he used to get his hands on, it's probably something that will only flourish here in the apocalypse.

"'Course, she's probably dead," Hurk adds somewhat morosely at the end, sort of ruining the whole vibe.

Sharky slaps his shoulder a few times out of sympathy. "Don't know 'til we go lookin'," he says, which manages to prop Hurk's mood back up for the time-being. "Anyway, we got a whole slew of islands and mountains and shit to explore once we get established. Spending the rest of my life riding around Montana sounds like a waste of a good apocalypse, if you ask me."

The new guy, Mud, looks more confused than Nick about these future plans. "So, what'd they offer you for joining up?" Nick asks him. "Ten-percent of Boshaw-Drubman LLC?"

Startled, Mud shakes his head frantically. "No way. Uh-uh." Bashfully, he says, "I just, uh... got cold feet. But I don't got much out here, not since the, uh..." He glances past Nick, definitely eyeballing John, then swallows and edges around the truth. "Well, um, Sharky let me ride back, on account of the — well, uh, I didn't wanna get left behind either direction. And since I don't got anything, I offered to join up." He frowns, "Except I don't have a bike, or gas for a bike, or a gun, or bullets for a gun..."

"I told you," Sharky scolds like a mother hen, "We'll figure that shit out later."

"It's smart to stay together," Kim says when Mud fails to pick back up again. "It's what we should all be doing. Does that mean you're staying with them at the trailer park?"

Mud nods, while Tiny goodnaturedly jokes, "Not that there's much left to stay at..."

Sharky is quick to defend their home, even if he doesn't sound super convinced by his own argument. "Hey, we just haven't had time to, y'know, clean and all! We've been busy, man, you know that! Gathering ammo, building the still, brewing ..."

"Would be nice to have a roof over our heads, that's all," Tiny laughs.

"Where do you want me to go, the roof store ?"

The argument is mostly playful, but Nick knows it's only a matter of time before that playful resentment becomes real. Hurk already looks bored by the ribbing, which tells Nick a lot about how long this joke has been running. Even John is paying attention, although Nick only catches an uncomfortable backward glance.

It's a contentious problem for the gang, for sure. But Nick doesn't have to reach far to come up with an easy solution, one that he figures will benefit everybody involved. After all, even considering their own needs, they've got more than enough spare scrap to spare, and Hurk and Sharky's goodwill comes with guns and alcohol, so...

"You know," he says, "John and I found a lot of scrap cleaning this place up. Maybe you can use what we can't."

Sharky opens his mouth to say something, probably pretty rude, but he catches himself before he gets that far. "Wouldn't want to put you out like that," he mutters.

"Hey, we're all in it together, right?" Gesturing towards John, who looks like he'd rather fade back into the dirt around him, Nick offers a sort-of compromise. "We've been trying to figure out what to do with the surplus. This seems like a better use than anything we came up with."

"Well, I guess it couldn't hurt," Sharky admits reluctantly.

Kim recognizes the need for some decisive action, and so she claps her hands together and takes the reins from her grateful husband. "Nick, you and John should take Hurk to look at what we've got. Then, all three of you can bring some wood back so we can get the fire started."

Sharky opens his mouth to object, but Hurk speaks up before he can. "Sounds good!" he exclaims, throwing himself to his feet with ease. Nick can't help but envy him — the guy's got twenty years on him, but Nick doesn't hear his knees popping randomly when he stands up.

"Y'all don't go startin' trouble," he warns his gang, waving Nick on. "Let's do it!"

John turns and heads immediately for the hangar door, disappearing inside without a backwards glance. Hurk lingers once they reach the door, casting a wide look around the empty wash of dirt leading out to the old landing strip before following John inside. He doesn't seem concerned in the slightest that John might be waiting to ambush him.

"Sorry about Sharky, by the way," Hurk says once the three of them are standing in the shade of the tarp overhead. "He's been real stressed is all, tryin' to act all fuckin' responsible and shit. John here making it after the deputy beefed it just hit hard, I guess."

Well, if that's the way Hurk's been referring to it, then no wonder Sharky's sensitive about it. "It's, uh. It's fine. We figured there'd be some... y'know. Reasonable resentment."

John does that thing where he pretends he can't hear he's being talked about, going straight to the log pile stacked against the back wall. Hurk doesn't seem to notice the silent treatment, turning to the organized junk spread out over the cracked concrete. From broken two-by-fours, bent fence-poles, chainlink scraps, and stacks of not-quite-moldy plywood, there's gotta be something here that can help fix up the trailer park. Nick makes sure to highlight the best scrap for Hurk's consideration, although he avoids mentioning their surplus of nails and stripped screws for now. No use showing his whole hand, right?

"Damn," Hurk says at last, looking around in mild astonishment. "Can we hire y'all to do this to our scrap?"

Nick laughs. "Yeah, like I wanna do all this again ."

"What about you?" Hurk asks John's back, ignoring the way he tenses at being directly addressed. "How do we rent you out?"

"You don't," John says, his tone briefly icing over as he turns, regarding them coolly over his armful of logs. He's more petulant than angry when he explains, "I don't owe you my life, so I don't owe you my labor."

"Fine, I'll just save you from a burning building or some shit," Hurk replies, as if he couldn't care less that it's John Seed he's bantering with. "I guess we gotta talk trading, now," he sighs reluctantly. "Man, I fuckin' hate this barter-system bullshit. You know, actually, I got a box full of bottle caps if you wanna..."

Nick waves away the extremely bad offer to invest in an unbacked currency. "Hey, don't worry about it," he says. Hurk frowns heavily at that, so Nick suggests a compromise. "Look, if you and Sharky wind up with your own microbrew, you owe me a case — and yes, I will take payment in installments. That sound fair?"

"If ?" Hurk replies. He lets out a big laugh. "Buddy, I got news for you."

Hurk, John and Nick each take an armful of wood back to the fire pit, where Kim seems to have everything under control. Sharky is less openly hostile when John reappears, anyway, which is a good sign. Mud and Tiny have apparently been given fire-starting duty, jumping to the task as soon as they drop off the wood. Sharky, a true pyromaniac, manages them from his seat by shouting directions at them as they stack the wood in the pit.

Before they can sit back down, Kim turns Nick and John back around for the fish. It's a one-person job, but John doesn't complain about being sent away.

"You okay?" Nick asks John when they reach the freezer.

"Yes," John replies automatically. Nick stares at him for a solid five seconds before he cracks with a frustrated sigh. "I'm just a little overwhelmed. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

"Sure," Nick agrees. He picks up the old bin they've been using to cart fish back from the river. "You can stick around here for a bit if you want. Take a breather."

John scoffs at the idea of taking a break, as per usual. "I thought the point was not to hide," he replies tersely. He reaches out to yank the cracked plastic container from Nick, a frustrated and instinctive reaction that he curbs at the last moment, fingers curling briefly into a fist as he forces himself not to just take things from Nick.

Taking pity on the dumb bastard, Nick pushes the bin into John's arms, flipping open the freezer door and staring down at the slimy, not-yet-smelly fish. "Well, if you need a break, just say you're gonna get more firewood." Nick shrugs. "Someone's gotta check on you eventually, but Kim knows the drill."

John doesn't respond as Nick loads up the bin, but Nick hopes he takes the out to heart. There's not a social obligation out there that Nick hasn't gotten out of by dedicating himself to some dumbass chore nobody else wants to do.

They return to find a roaring fire that is... hopefully under control. The mismatched seating has been pulled back to accommodate the fire's larger-than-average size, accompanied by a couple of chairs from inside to make up the difference. Sharky and Mud have disappeared, although they return just after Nick, each carrying a variety of bottles and jars of different sizes.

"Shit, I didn't think you brought the entire brewery with you!" Nick exclaims, not in the least bit upset by the development.

"Not until you clean all those up," Kim says before Nick can get ahead of himself. "You don't want to be handling a knife right after a shot of... whatever that is."

Nick groans, but she's right. As much as Nick would like to get drunk off his ass on torpedo juice, he has to get his priorities straight. Still — there's a lot more fish than Nick's willing to handle by himself, so he enlists a willing Wallace and Tiny to help out. He picks them mostly because they're openly carrying hunting knives, and because John is just plain bad at deboning fish. John stares at him resentfully, but since he hates handling food as much as he hates gardening, Nick's sure he'll get over it before dinner.

Nick doesn't have much control over the food once it's been cleaned, as Sharky and Hurk have some kind of bet going about who's the better cook and they don't need anybody else throwing their hat in. As far as Nick's concerned, their cooking tastes delicious but indistinguishable. Of course, Nick's waiting for his own dinner, so other than a few bites to try and judge the difference, he doesn't get to eat much of it.

Tiny and Wallace split and down an entire mason jar of mysterious dark liquor while they wait to eat. Nick wants to join them, but Kim's waiting until Carmina is home to start drinking and really, Nick should be doing the same. From the way John's watching distrustfully from the side, he's not likely to get into any moonshine himself.

Nick manages to hold out until after he's finished eating, but then Hurk offers him some moonshine directly and he can't say no. It would be in bad taste, right?

Oof. Turns out the moonshine is in bad taste, but that's what he should expect from something that's easily 120 proof. Nick takes one swig and immediately regrets it as it turns his chapped lips to fire and carries the heat all the way down the back of his throat. There's no taste or anything, just an intense, full-mouth burn and this lizard-brain instinct that everything is going to go horribly wrong if he drinks more of whatever that is.

"Jesus Christ !" he gasps. It's only Hurk's quick reflexes that keep the jar from crashing to the dirt, but Nick doubles down before Hurk can pry it out of his hands. Even as he struggles to form a sentence more complex than, " Poison ," he's got to go back for a second sip. As if somehow a second one would make things better — but of course it doesn't. At least, not to begin with; first, it's gotta turn his shredded lips inside out and throw his tear-ducts into overdrive better than an overripe onion.

"Well don't drink more of it," Kim huffs, way too late.

"Now be honest," Hurk asks, "Can you taste any apple?"

Nick pushes the jar back into Hurk's attentive hands, choking disbelievingly on the word, "Apple ," although now that he thinks about it... No, nope, no after-taste whatsoever. It does , however, warm him from the inside out, leaving him feeling a decent buzz for two conservative swigs.

"Whatever it is," Nick sighs at last, after a big swig of water, "It's great."

"You know," Kim says, "The sooner we put the stew on the fire, the sooner you can eat. Maybe then you could handle more than a couple of baby sips."

Nick clicks his tongue, taking some childish offense at his wife teasing him about his tolerance. At the same time, she's right — and Nick is getting hungry. There's still enough uncooked fish left for when Grace and Carmina get home, but if he wants them to have as much as everyone else, he'll have to settle for the three-day-old stew. At least Kim and John are stuck in the same boat as him.

Before he can get started on that, though, Grace surprises him by returning early with Carmina. Admittedly, it's still pretty late in the afternoon, but he hadn't expected her back so soon. She isn't surprised to find company, which is also a surprise, although she eyes the whole group somewhat distrustfully as she and Carmina round the side of the house. When she sees Hurk and Sharky drinking from their unsanitized brewing bottles, she finally relaxes, letting go of Carmina's shoulder so that she can join the not-necessarily child-safe group.

"Grace!" Sharky exclaims, leaping from his seat and almost grabbing her for a hug before remembering personal boundaries are a thing. "Holy shit, the world literally ended last I saw you!"

Grace returns Sharky's enthusiasm with her more subdued version of it, smiling fondly and following through the rest of the hug for him, the same way she'd grabbed onto Nick and Kim when they'd first come back topside. "Sharky, it's good to see you," she says, her voice deep with emotion.

"I radioed her while you were getting firewood," Kim mentions to Nick as Hurk takes his chance to get a hug from the usually reclusive sniper. "I thought she would appreciate a head's up. And, you know, it cheered Sharky up."

"Hey, good thinking."

Carmina approaches gleefully, carrying the rifle over her shoulder triumphantly. For a nine-year-old, she's pretty natural with the thing, which is a mixed blessing as far as Nick's concerned.

"Aunt Grace made moving targets!" she exclaims, excitement overriding her confusion momentarily until she looks at the group. "I didn't know we were having people over today..."

"It was a happy surprise," Kim tells her. "These are the guys who were helping that caravan heading west, remember?"

"Yeah," Carmina says. She looks immediately to John, who is way too busy staring tensely at Grace and Sharky's reunion to notice her.

"Don't worry," Nick says. "Everything's fine."

"Uh-huh," Carmina says, unconvinced. Thankfully, she doesn't seem too worried about another fight breaking out. That probably has something to do with her attention being focused in an entirely different direction. "Do we have pulleys? I wanna make a shooting range here! It's really easy!"

Nick's gut reaction is to say no, but Kim interrupts him. "Maybe while your dad is getting the stew, he can check," she offers, looking from Carmina to Nick significantly. "Then we can have some dinner and talk about it."

Although it looked like John hadn't been paying any attention before, he stands as soon as Kim mentions going to the hangar. "I remember seeing one," he says.

"You can help me look, then," Nick offers. "Maybe get some more firewood?"

"Yeah," John says absently. Nick barely steps into his line of sight, but that's all he needs, turning and making his way to the hanger down the same invisible path he was glued to before. Nick sighs, rolls his eyes at Kim entirely for show, and follows. Maybe once they get some food in him, John will stop being such a cagey bastard about the whole thing, and they'll be able to actually put things to rest with Grace and Sharky at last.

When the world ended, Nick had figured that meant the end of life as he knew it. In some ways, he'd been right — things will never be as easy, as safe, as peaceful as they used to be — but when his expectations had been wrong, they'd been completely off-base. He'd expected a nuclear wasteland, only to find a lush and thriving field. He'd expected roving gangs of murderers, and instead, he's only encountered desperate, decent people who would rather not waste the bullets. Hell, he'd expected to spend every day struggling to survive, and here he is, sitting in the backyard with a full belly and a shot of liquor to wind down. Sure, the gathering is a primitive knock-off of a barbeque, but Nick knows now that all they need is time and practice. Maybe someday, they'll even have a grill — burgers, corn on the cob, the whole works.

But hey. That's for the future, and right now, Nick isn't going to complain about some bad liquor, mediocre food and Hurk's stripped-down Slayer's cassette blaring from his beat-up stereo.

Carmina finally gets a chance to show off her skills to people other than her family, and so Hurk's boys take turns calling out targets for her to cap in an attempt to take her down a peg. Nick isn't sober enough to trust his daughter with a gun, but Kim hasn't gone back for another taste of "apple" moonshine yet, and Grace is sober as a rock, so they're more than capable of handling things. Mostly, they nix any particularly dangerous targets, keeping Carmina's shots focused out in the yard. Well, for the most part — neither of them can resist watching Carmina shoot the wind-vane still clinging to the roof, even if it means going right over everyone's heads.

It's all in good fun, of course. And, to their credit, not one of the guys even jokingly suggests taking aim at John as he sits apart from the group. It's a good thing, too — John looks uncomfortable at how good a shot Carmina is. Maybe Nick would be uncomfortable with it too, if he hadn't drunk a bottle-neck's worth of moonshine beforehand.

Nick doesn't have to drink a lot to feel downright tipsy, which is great. Back in the day, he used to like getting buzzed every so often, but he'd given up ever feeling safe enough to get inebriated as another lost memory from yesteryear. This... this is nice. And once the guns get put away, it'll be even nicer.

"I think you might be a better shot than Tipsy over here," Wallace tells Carmina, gesturing towards Tiny, who is indeed too tipsy to be a decent shot at all.

"Only one way to find out!" Tiny shouts, failing to move after his declaration.

"Maybe another time," Kim replies uncertainly. "When alcohol isn't involved?"

"Hey, Carmina," Hurk coos, pulling his battered gun into his lap, "This is a Kalashnikov, you ever shoot off one of these?"

"Ooh, no!"

Grace is much less diplomatic than Kim, cutting him off before he can feed Carmina's excitement any more. "Hurk!"

"What? Oh, uh... she's probably too young for an automatic, huh? What is she, nine? I got a Magnum in my saddlebag..."

It's not long after that they run out of targets, forcing an end to Carmina's demonstration of skill. Kim thankfully takes the gun so that nobody gets hurt, and Carmina spends the next twenty minutes peppering the crew with questions about their guns, their tattoos, their trip out with the caravan, and whether or not they have a moving target range like Grace does. Nick relaxes when he realizes that none of the guys are keen on giving a little girl another weapon, more interested in spinning drunken tall-tales that, truthfully, might be a little too PG for Carmina. At least Grace is listening in to fact-check any of their more problematic bullshit.

John isn't any less tense now that Carmina is disarmed, but Nick's not surprised. Sitting on the opposite side of the fire from everybody else, he might as well be hiding in plain sight. That goes against the entire point, but it's also his modus operandi these days. Normally, Nick would just ignore it, maybe even avoid John on purpose to show him how bad it feels, but tonight calls for a more direct approach.

"Need to get some firewood?" Nick asks him, coming to stand in his line of sight.

John squints up at him around the firelight. "No," he mutters, lying through his teeth before changing the subject. "Carmina has good aim."

"That's all Kim's genes. I'm more of a spray-and-pray kinda guy."

John doesn't quite hide his sarcasm, replying, "You don't say."

Nobody's offered John any liquor yet, he's pretty sure, so Nick holds the bottle out in an easily declined gesture. "Wanna try?" he asks, just in case he's being more subtle than he thinks. "Supposed to take like apples."

John gives the bottle an unimpressed once-over. "I don't think so," he decides, not sounding entirely sure about it. He adds defensively, "My tolerance is shot."

"If you say so," Nick replies, pulling the bottle back. "It's not like I'm gonna peer pressure you. This isn't high school. But, uh, try to relax. If anyone was gonna take a shot at you, they would've done it by now."

"Easy for you to say," John sighs.

It is easy for Nick to say, but he hopes John actually listens to him for once. He's not expecting miracles or anything, but if John's going to stick around, he's going to have to learn how to relax. Well — at least that's one learning curve that everybody is struggling with. Baby steps, right?

Nick leaves John alone for now; maybe he'll warm up into the idea of mending some metaphorical fences before everyone leaves, which would be ideal. For now, Nick goes back to the rest of the group, taking a few more sips as he listens to Carmina start to spin her own tall tales. Now that she's recognized the pattern in all of the stories the adults have been telling — larger-than-life enemies, intimidating names, lots of Foley work — she's attempting to match their vivid stories with a highly interpretive retelling about the turkey she saved her mom from a few months ago. The way she tells it, Nick would've expected the turkey she'd brought back to be at least the size of a car, but if Kim is playing into her part as a damsel in distress, Nick isn't going to ruin things by being the cynic realist.

They trade a few more stories. As they do, Kim takes a few extremely sour drinks of whatever the dark stuff is. She's been on hosting duty all day already, and Nick hasn't done much to help, getting tipsy right away with the rest of the guys like he had. But, with things starting to get late for a family of three, Nick decides it's his time to step up to the task of parenting.

Carmina hasn't had enough life experience to have many stories to share with the encouraging group of drunken manchildren, so once the attention turns to Tiny's story of his first swim after the world ended, Nick uses the out as a chance to usher her away.

"I think we oughta get you ready for bed," he tells Carmina, who boos under her breath but doesn't put up a fight, mostly because the story involves lots of nudity that she isn't at all interested in hearing about. Nick can't blame her — he doesn't wanna hear about Tiny almost getting his nuts bit off by a demon fish, either.

"Okay, but I want a good bed-time story," she demands, reasonably enough. Nick doesn't have anything as funny as Hurk's story, or anything as action-packed as Sharky's retelling of the first roadblock they encountered out on the road, but he has to at least try.

The good thing about Carmina not knowing anything about life before is that Nick can stretch some truths without repercussion. So when he tucks Carmina in, he decides to tell her the story of when she was born — this time, though, he doesn't leave out the roadblocks, or the deputy's shitty driving, or the narrowly-missed explosions. Couched in a long line of tall tales and exaggerated stories, Carmina doesn't believe most of the true stuff and only playfully believes in the bullshit.

Between Nick's bedtime-story voice and him gently stroking her hair, it's a wonder Carmina stays awake for as long as she does. Eventually, though, well before he finishes the story, she closes her eyes and finally stops resisting the chance for a good night's sleep. Nick stays put, lying next to her for a few minutes as he listens to the faint sound of conversation outside. He tries to make out the voices, to decipher who might be talking to who, but he only hears a dull hum.

He'll get up in a few minutes, go down and have a real drink with his wife for the first time in nine years, but the alcohol he's already had entices him to lie still just a little longer.

He doesn't know how long he dozes for, but when Nick is next aware of his surroundings, the light has changed in the room from the rising moon and the conversation outside has shifted in tone and pitch, the way any party might as it enters the late-night phase. Sitting up, Nick immediately knows he needs two things — more water, and one or two more swigs of that awful moonshine, just to keep the hangover from starting before he actually goes to bed.

The back porch is still wide open. The fire has died down, although it's still enough light to see by as Nick reappears. Kim sees him immediately, lifting a half-empty jar of dark liquid in his direction and waving him down with her free hand.

"This one is much better," she tells him as he approaches, holding out the jar. Well, Nick isn't about to reject his wife's kind offer, although he immediately regrets it when he takes a swig.

" Ugh ," he chokes around the harsh burn, feeling it drain all the way back into his throat. "That tastes like paint thinner!"

"Trade secret!" Hurk exclaims, adding immediately after, "Not that there's any paint or thinner in there, or anythin'. Nope. It's 100% organic malt liquor!"

Nick has no idea how Hurk would manage to find barley, but sure, he'll buy it. Another sip doesn't do any better, and to his surprise, he realizes that he actually prefers the moonshine.

As he hands the jar back, Nick does a quick head-count, coming up two short. "Uh, where's John?" he asks.

"Oh," Kim says. She points towards the hangar. "We needed firewood," she says. "Except, eventually, we really needed firewood. I sent Sharky to get some." It seems like only when she says it does she realize what a bad idea it is. "Well, we were in the middle of something, and I was distracted," she explains reluctantly.

"I wasn't," Grace utters next to her.

Kim rolls her eyes. "You should go check on them. I mean, it's fine. But maybe you should, anyway."

Nick looks over at the hangar. There aren't any lights to speak of out here, but Nick can see the glow of the lantern through the open doorway, shadows moving around behind the worn-out wall. "Yeah," he agrees, turning and heading across the wash. He only thinks of grabbing a drink for the journey after he starts walking, but he's already halfway there and he doesn't have time to turn around and come back.

Sharky appears in the doorway, forcing Nick to pull up short to avoid running into him. He looks — fine? There's too much beard and too little light to see his expression clearly, but Sharky doesn't seem phased in the least to find Nick in his way. He passes by Nick with a few logs under one arm, patting Nick heavily on his shoulder with his free hand.

"It's cool, bro," he says, "We're all good."

"Uh... okay," Nick replies, deeply unsure as Sharky casually heads back for the fire. Briefly worrying that he might find John knocked out on the ground, Nick tries not to stress out as he heads inside.

John is sitting on a discarded chopping block by the woodpile, the lantern settled by his feet. Nick doesn't see any blood or a new black eye; just John, rolling a nearly-empty glass bottle between his palms as he drifts in thought.

Nick almost feels bad interrupting, but John catches sight of him before he can retreat undetected. He looks surprised — genuinely, openly surprised to see Nick standing there, sincerely confused when he says, "I thought you went to bed."

"And miss out on all the action?" Nick chuckles. He gestures at the bottle. "So much for your tolerance being shot, huh?" he teases.

"Oh, hmm?" John looks down at the bottle like he'd forgotten about it. "Only enough to get them off my back." He sighs, following it up with a swig that he barely winces through. "After all, saying no ain't my thing ." Nick isn't sure if that drawl is for sarcastic quotation purposes, or if John's had enough moonshine to play at being white trash. "Then again, I only quit drinking because of Joseph. No point resisting now."

"I guess," Nick agrees reluctantly. "Is that, uh, what you and Sharky were talking about?"

John rolls his eyes. "No," he says. He holds out the bottle, waiting until Nick takes it to elaborate. "Kim suggested they sleep out here tonight. He was making sure there's room."

"Oh." Nick takes a drink; maybe it's just the malt liquor talking, but now Nick can sort of taste the apple around the burn. He takes one more swig, just to make sure, then hands the bottle back. "Well, as long as he wasn't hassling you."

"No more than I deserve," John says. Nick must make some kind of face, because he sighs and placating adds, "It's fine, Nick. I'm more than capable of handling a few sarcastic comments from some hillbilly outlaw." He looks down, tipping the bottle a bit to swirl the moonshine inside.

"He... means well," he says eventually. "Everyone means well."

"You don't have to sound so bummed out about it."

John chuckles. It's the first time Nick's heard his laugh and not mistaken it for a cough or wheeze. "I don't mean to be," he says. He takes a drink and looks up at Nick with a... weird look on his face. Open. Genuine? Nick's not sure. But despite the topic, John's expression radiates a deep, contemplative peace. "It's more generosity than I can bear from people I genuinely thought of as the enemy."

He is definitely drunk. "Oh, boy," Nick sighs, reaching out for the bottle before John drops it or finishes it off himself. "To be fair, uh, it's easier to be nice to you since we won, and all."

"Oh, I do not doubt it." John relinquishes the drink, seemingly aware enough to admit, "I've had more than enough."

"I think everybody's had enough," Nick says, proving his own point by immediately regretting his next swig. "God damn . Okay, well — we should probably get some wood. I gotta feeling those guys are gonna be up for a while, and we wanna keep them happy."

John nods, but he doesn't rise from his spot. "Wait," he says when Nick goes to pass him, so Nick obligingly stops, raising an eyebrow at John's half-lifted hand.

"You have to understand," he says. "I'm not — I don't know how I'm supposed to express my gratitude towards you. With Joseph, with — well, everyone , I've always known how to express my loyalty. I knew what they expected from me, what would make them happy, what... wouldn't. But with you, with Kim... I don't know anything. I feel like a child. I don't know how that makes me feel, other than like an idiot."

He heaves a frustrated, heavy sigh, ducking his head towards his nervously entwined hands. "Just — thank you," he finishes miserably.

"Wow," Nick utters in response. He doesn't know what else to say, really, except the obvious, but he genuinely means it when he replies, "Well, you're welcome. Man, and here I always figured you were playing me for a sap."

John laughs, shaking his head. "Manipulation has never been my strong suit," he admits. "I'm too heavy-handed for that crap. Intimidation and brute force, on the other hand..." He lets out a relieved sigh. "Thank God I was too sick to revel in my self-destruction."

"Yeah, I'm glad I didn't have to shoot you," Nick chuckles. "Sorta would've gone against everything I'm trying to build, you know?"

"I do now," John says. "I only wish I'd realized it before the end of the world."

"Hey, the world hasn't really ended," Nick points out. "There's still a whole left to do." He gestures towards the woodpile. "We can start by making sure Kim doesn't leave me for the raiders giving her free alcohol."

John stands, shaking his head as if he could clear the smile from his face. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, not until they figure out how to brew a decent beer. Kim was going without for the baby. She probably would've murdered me if it meant she could've had a case of Newcastle in the bunker for a few months there."

Then again, she had also been freaking out about the nuclear apocalypse occurring above-ground, so Nick really should cut her more slack.

"You definitely have nothing to worry about," John reiterates. "But fine. No more back-talk."

"Yeah, fat chance of that. C'mon, give me a hand."

Nick leaves the bottle on the chopping block and utilizes John's uncanny strength, loading him up with an armful of wood before taking a few logs for himself, to give the appearance of helping. John doesn't complain, which isn't unusual by itself, but tonight it feels like genuine complacency, not just something he's doing to survive. And when they return to the fire, dropping off the wood for Mud and Tiny to utilize, John doesn't retreat to the safety of the other side of the fire. He instead lingers by Nick, going so far as to play along whenever Kim asks him questions, just to make him feel included. He, unlike Nick, is smart enough to refuse any more of the malt liquor Kim's taken a liking to, but he holds the jar for show from time to time, just to keep Hurk happy. In a weird way, Nick feels like he can actually see John taking those wobbly steps Kim is always hoping to see, and even weirder than that, the anxiety that maybe he's making a mistake fails to manifest, leaving Nick with a warm, fuzzy feeling that could very well be pride.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

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idreamofhazel · 6 years ago

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Supernatural’s End: Embracing the Sadness and Its Impact

Sappy post ahead. Like wow. I didn’t know I had that in me. (1.6k words below the cut)

I know everyone has been saying their own words about Supernatural ending (honestly it’s hard to even type that. Still doesn’t seem real). I’m not usually one for jumping on the bandwagon and I don’t post a lot of “extra” here, but like, I’ve been really emotional. More emotional than I anticipated. I can blame it on my period and the intense amount of stress I’m feeling lately, or I can just admit that I’m a big sap and that this show actually, really means a lot to me. More than I thought it would. And I should stop making judgments about the way I feel and my need/want to write this post.

When I first started watching, I was finishing my first year of college. It was spring/summer of 2013. I had a friend who was obsessed with it, she had been watching since it first aired. I honestly don’t know what made me ask to borrow her dvd collection (she has them all), but I took the plunge.

Maybe it was because I had started watching Doctor Who, and I was finally getting over my aversion to being a “geek” and DW gave me a taste of what it was like to really love something like that as an adult. (Avid HP fan since the books first came out, here 👋🏻) But idk. I just remember thinking, “It looks good. Why not?”

Dean annoyed the heck out of me at first. I’m not going to lie. He smirked too much, he was arrogant, and always trying to hit on chicks? No thanks. (hey, just being honest here) Sam, however, was it for me. I remember exactly where I was when I first admitted that I was a Sam girl. I was in Wal-mart with my dvd friend and her sister, aka my best friend since childhood. We were grabbing snacks because I was staying over, I think, and they asked me who I liked best with that knowing grin. It was that classic Sam vs. Dean argument that has morphed into quite a lot of other things now--but that’s beside the point. The point is that I was hooked, and it was an avalanche from there on out.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, I have come to like and appreciate Dean. He reminds me of myself as an oldest sibling who had too much responsibility placed on them, and he also frustrates me in many ways because he’s so damn charming and stubborn. But that’s a discussion for another day.

I stormed through the dvds, staying up late despite being spooked until the end-of-episode dvd music became as nostalgic as my favorite backstreet boys songs. There’s just something about staying up late on summer nights to watch your favorite movies or shows. Let me know if you find a word for that feeling. Soon, my brother started watching with me, I had to explain the initial plots to get him caught up because I was on a roll. I wasn’t back-tracking. I needed to get through all eight seasons before the season 9 premiere that fall.

I almost made it. I think I only missed the first few episodes. But I remember that first season finale I watched, that first time I got to experience the edge-of-your-seat cliffhanger with the rest of supernatural family, and my friends, on live tv. Watching Dean open his eyes, only for them to be black, made my jaw drop.

It was so fun to watch this show with other people. I think it was about season 11 when my dvd friend, my bff, and I began watching it regularly together. We’d go over to somebody’s apartment, have some snacks, and discuss the plot points and our predictions. A couple years later, I roped my other best friend, @queenmestyles, into watching it. I’ve got two of my brothers hooked, too. Well, one of them is a slacker on keeping up, but he’s busy🤷🏻‍♀️ The point is, Supernatural became this event, this regular time slot in my weekly life, save summers, in which I was able to socialize and bond over this tv show. I had a group where we were all crazy about this one thing and we actually talked about it. I’d never had that before. Not on this level.

And then you add in everything that’s happened through the online community...

I started this blog back in like 2013, but it was a multi-fandom mess. Which is fine, if that’s your thing. But I tend be anal in spurts, so suddenly I had had enough and I had to organize my blog. By this point I was only posting Supernatural, so it only made sense to eventually purge all traces of any other fandom and bring some focus to my blog. Then 2016 came.

That was a weird time for me. I was about to graduate college. I was busy as heck. And I honestly can’t tell you what compelled me write my first fic. I just know that it swelled up inside of me, and I couldn’t ignore it. Even if the quality was meh.

It opened the flood-gates. And Idreamofhazel was born. Little did I know I would be needing this writing outlet a lot in the near future. See, I’m the kind of person who sets a goal, sets a path to the goal, and then suddenly has on blinders to where I can’t see anything other than the path I’ve set for myself. And if I veer off that path... well, I freak out. And that’s kind of what happened. I was supposed to go to grad school the fall after graduation. Like, I had to. At least that’s what I told myself. But it fell through due to money and some poor research on my part (I had no idea my local university had a master’s program).

So here I was, doing nothing “but working” for a year, being hard on myself and continuing to freak out about my life, but I was also writing. I churned out a lot during that time. Like damn. I was writing like my life depended on it. And I guess, in a way, it did. See, I had written as a child (poems, HP fanfic, twilight fanfic), but I repressed that hobby like you do many childish things, and I hadn’t touched creative writing in like 10 years. But Supernatural.

There was so much to write about, so many things in the show I could pull from to create stories. And so much to read. I read fanfic while cooking, while waiting in offices, while falling asleep. I wrote in the mornings, the afternoons, and late at night. I wrote on my phone even though it’s a pain. And when I got writer’s block, I kicked myself as I still do, but I kept going. And I discovered that this writing thing actually means a heck of a lot to me. Like enough that I want to write original fiction.

I don’t know where that will take me, but wherever I end up with writing, I’ll have Supernatural to thank.

I have Supernatural to thank for a lot of things, but mostly I think it gave me a chance to be myself while discovering part of who that really was.

Supernatural is there when I’m sick, it’s there when I’m sad or lonely. It’s been there when a person I thought would always be in my life left me, and it’s been there with new friends. It brought me closer to a lot of people. It gave me relationships with people across the country and across the oceans. I know it’s just a tv show, and maybe we can say it isn’t, or maybe we can say it is, but even if it’s “just a show,” the people who love it, who make up the fandom, they aren’t “just” anything. They make this show something more.

Right now, the feeling about it ending is weird. Part of me can’t accept it. And then it hits me and I get all emotional, until my brain is like “Wait--no, it can’t be!” And then the cycle starts all over again. So for now, I’m just going to accept that I’m going to cry about this for awhile and realize that the shock and the pain and the very real feeling of loss is showing me how much this thing meant to me, and then I’m going to hold onto that feeling and use it as energy for never letting go of this thing I love, this thing that made me realize parts of myself I had forgotten, this thing that pushed me to create and showed me just how much I need to create. Even though anticipating the end makes me sad, I know the sadness will eventually turn into something positive, like fond memories and gratitude. But it won’t unless I face the sadness.

So I guess that’s part of what I’m doing with this post. Facing my sadness. Using this post as a sort of therapeutic outlet. If you’ve made it to this point, thank you. I don’t know why you’ve chosen to read so much about me. Maybe you just really like me, or maybe you’re looking for that outlet, too. So I’ll just end the post with this: Embrace whatever you’re feeling. Identify it. Examine it. See what it’s trying to tell you about yourself. And do something with it. Maybe that’s writing your own post, maybe that’s creating something for the show, the cast, or the fandom. Maybe it’s just quietly accepting that the loss you feel is ok.

Whatever it is you’re feeling, and whatever it is you need to do, just know that you’re not alone. I, and the rest of the Supernatural family, are staying put, and we will ride the wave of changes to come, together.

#supernatural finale #text post #not mine

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homosociallyyours · 6 years ago

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a friend just posted a pic on fb of the coffee shop we used to hang out at, taken way back in the day. it’s just a shot of the place taken from inside, looking out the big glass windows and onto the street of downtown chattanooga. but one friend pointed out that she could see another friend’s van parked across the street, and one of the baristas came on and said he’d taken the photo and then proceeded to post a bunch more.

anyway i’m feeling nostalgic so i’m posting about it. memories behind the cut.

i started going there when i was maybe 15 years old. i don’t remember why, but it’s likely that the artsy nerd club i was a part of (we stayed after school to watch amadeus and monty python and we’d sometimes go to the local art museum) went there after a meeting one day. or maybe someone told me about it. anyway, it was my favorite place to go. i would drink pots of tea, always trying new things.

on my 16th birthday my parents got me a teapot from there and a gift certificate to buy tea with. i had that teapot til it broke a year ago. 20+ years! it moved with me to and from college, to nyc, california, texas, and back to california. damn.

anyway after i’d been going for a while i started talking with the owner. his name was ian, and he was pretty young. he loved tea and coffee and he had a roaster where they’d make their own coffee. it was loud and lovely, and for a long time it lived up front, right by a little elevated area with couches. when it was running you couldn’t hear anything and had no choice but to either shout or be quiet.

ian encouraged my love of tea, and offered to keep track of everything i’d tried in a little notebook that was kept behind the counter. i got to make notes on every pot i drank, and i remember writing “terrible! grass!” after my first pot of green tea (it was oversteeped--my fault--and probably made with water that was too hot--their fault). i had my first pu-er there, and fell in love with its damp leaf flavor and that turned earth scent that it has. i drank multiple pots of jasmine pearls and wrote a caffeine fueled poem about it with a friend. i loved that little coffee shop.

i don’t remember when i went from hanging out inside to hanging out outside, but i feel like i was 18 or so. the older people (they were probably barely 21-25, fucking babies) sat out there smoking and drinking coffee. i developed a crush one summer on a guy who made me think of arthur dent for some reason (don’t ask because i don’t know) and we went on one awkward date and didn’t kiss, and now i wonder what’s happened to him and if he, too, wasn’t straight. who knows? someone, i’m sure, but i can’t remember his last name anymore so is it even relevant?

i’d never felt cool til i went off to college. it was like leveling up without trying, like when you’re playing a game and do one action and suddenly all your stats are refilled and you’re like...this is unexpected? but i’ll take it? i think that’s why i decided i could really sit with the outside tables. that and my bff, who was dating someone who was friends with a lot of those people, would show up sometimes and sit out there.

(if you’ve actually been reading along so far, here’s where i’m gonna introduce you to a bunch of people i’ve never talked about before and will likely never mention again. just so you have fair warning.)

the cast of characters shifted a lot, but there were always the constants. scott, the barista, who was much older than most of the people hanging out but looked young and seemed young. i look back with adult eyes and question the relationship we had, but at the time i just thought it was cool that someone so much older thought i was worth hanging out with. but he was 30 when i was 19, and man that’s a lotta years. he had a summer where he hit on my friend and i constantly, after his wife left him and he was kinda floundering a bit. but it never went past flirting and it never bothered me, though like i said it kinda does now. we were still hanging out when i was 21 and we’d go get beers after the coffee shop closed at ten or midnight. he’d turn up obnoxious music really loud and i’d sometimes help close.

there was gabe and george, brother and sister in a family of people with names starting with the letter g. george was tiny and cute and either very drunk or very hyper from coffee at all times. gabe was a nerd who was usually quiet but loved to play scrabble, and we’d take the board inside sometimes and battle one another. he was much better than me, i won’t lie. liz and ever were both writers who would play with us sometimes. ever had changed her name at some point (to ever; any name she had before is irrelevant) and when we met she explained the meaning of her new name, which i won’t give because damn it’s very google-able.

she was a so fascinating to me, always talking about some feminist theory or philosopher, and i always felt so smart when we’d hang out. like a Serious Thoughtful Adult and not a kid. and liz was less serious but no less smart. she played scrabble a lot more and for a while we got pretty close. she took me out after coffee sometimes to a shitty bar with pool tables and tried to teach me how to play pool. she had her own cue and even though she was like 5′2″ she could break like nobody’s business. i never figured out how to do that part.

alex would come with us sometimes. he was tall and handsome and rode a motorcycle, and was the first openly bi guy i ever met. one time he invited me over to his house and we laid around listening to the smiths and talking. he burned me a copy of their greatest hits that i still have, all scratched up so it probably doesn’t play anymore. he crashed his bike more than once driving drunk. dumb fuckin kid. now he repairs coffee machines and sails, i think. life is funny.

a few other people ran in groups. meg and waide and the aforementioned jason and ardyce. some people called meg “big megan” and another megan (her family was really wealthy, rich southern politicians who knew the clintons and have a mention in sweet home alabama--the song, not the movie) was “little megan” because she was still in high school. i joked that i was medium megan, but the whole thing was awkward because big megan was fat and i was small fat and little megan was skinny. i’m gonna blame it on thoughtless dudes, but who the fuck knows? we all pretended not to mind it anyway.

waide ended up being a connection with other people who i met later. my hometown is weird in that it’s actually a pretty big part of the southern punk scene, so a lot of punks i meet have spent time there, and anyone over a certain age probably spent time at the bar waide worked at (the stone lion, and then maybe also the pickle barrel) so he’s one of those people who i’ll end up mentioning even though we haven’t spoken in years.

at some point a kid named ory showed up. i think he was 16 when he started coming around, and i used to call him puppy because he was excitable and silly, full of energy one minute and then mopey crashing the next. like a lot of people there he drank a lot and would be fucked up sometimes and make dumb choices. i always wanted to protect him. when i was 22 (and he was 19, i think) we ended up sitting together at the second lotr movie and having some kind of weird chemistry. that summer i drove him home one night and we had a super heavy make out with lots of clothed grinding. honestly the furthest i’ve ever gone with a cis straight(ish, he hooked up with a couple dudes but idk if he’d say he’s bi) dude and it was awkward in that we never talked about it? and then he came to visit me a couple years later in new york because he was in the navy, and he got super drunk and passed out on my couch and was a mess because he literally never stopped being a puppy.

he’s fucked up now, fully cancelled bc he said shit about girls rock camp (really dude?) and also probably cheated on his wife on their honeymoon? idk, it was fb rumors and then he deleted. but i’d believe it, honestly.

and then there were all these absolutely random downtown characters: dirty mark (a crusty punk who was drunk or high most of the time) and shirtless dave (yeah he really didn’t wear a shirt that much) usually came as a pair. sometimes dave hung out with a guy my friends and i called blue hair. he once hit on my friend and she panicked and gave him my number instead of hers because her brain didn’t make up a fake number fast enough.

there was sandy the flower man, who just passed away a couple weeks ago. he’d get flowers from local florists and go around on his bike, stopping into the coffee shop or to bars with roses and carnations and daisies. people gave him money usually, but sometimes he’d just hand you a flower because he wanted to. i saw a picture from a memorial and there was a portrait of him that was sat on top of his bicycle, all of it surrounded with flowers on flowers. so pretty. it’s what he deserved.

things changed around 2005 or so, i think. by that time, all the old baristas had left and the kids who came in were all weirdly religious and went to the christian college on the mountain. they made shitty coffee and sometimes played xtian rock and most of the old regulars couldn’t take it anymore. ian got sick around that time, too, and ended up selling the place. they stopped carrying much tea, if any.

but they finally sold the space and moved in like 2015. i remember the first time i drove by and didn’t see the lights on inside. it felt like seeing a friend from grade school all grown up, maybe the kid you had a crush on but they have a family now and you don’t think they’d recognize you at all so you just have to walk away. gone.

fuck this post is long as shit, i’m sorry for anyone on mobile. but damn it was good to get my memories out.

#long post #text post #personal #coffee shop memories #i thought i was so grown up

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trashrightsactivist · 8 years ago

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recent private chat highlights, megasilverfist and ‘Ruby’ (trashrightsactivist)

(Note: This is for peoples' OOC reading pleasure, and cannot actually be seen by your character unless you are hacking tumblr to view peoples' private messages.)

Convo 1

megasilverfist

Hey, you might be making a post on this anyway, but any ideas on how I can keep people from lynching the local reds?

Preferably without making them even more angry with Voa, or totally trashing my career. Though given the life or death nature I'm willing to stick my neck out a little, and we're probably going to war anyway.

trashrightsactivist

I don't even know. I'm still like idek about this whole thing. I hope you have enough food you are psychologically able to eat.

gotta wonder if this wasn't somehow a scheme to get us all killed

megasilverfist

I'm good, Nadles is probably regretting the unlimited noodles clause in my contract.

I don't see how that adds but then again

its not paranoia when the world really is out to get you.

trashrightsactivist

yeah i know it wasn't really it just feels that way

gotta go out of the district and to work soon, dreading it

honstly the best thing i can think of might be to remind people it's a voa blue not their reds at fault, he's a country away and has bodyguards so they're less likely to be able to hurt him

and the war is probably inevitable already

megasilverfist

sigh yeah

trashrightsactivist

anyway I'm going to work.

megasilverfist

cool, try not to die

trashrightsactivist

that's the plan ;)

megasilverfist

and remember if multiple people are coming at you don't let them surround you.

I'd meant to hook you up with some videos on basic street defense but its a bit late now.

trashrightsactivist

thanks. I guess if anything goes down at work... idk, I will try to get behind a corpse and hope they're too squeamish to touch it, idk

we've swapped shifts around so as much as we can people who are pregnant or have kids are staying home

anyway can't risk being late. hopefully ttyl

Convo 2

megasilverfist

You probably already figured this out, but maybe don't trust the food people are throwing out.

https://purpleparenting.tumblr.com/post/163275109612/people-are-reluctant-to-leave-out-their-food-for

trashrightsactivist

[no response]

megasilverfist

[after signficant waiting]

I'm just going to assume you're busy. Right?

Yeah, thats it. I should probably go train anyway.

megasilverfist

Glad you aren't dead. Let me know if I can help.

Also, like this probably is to much to ask, and might seem a bit creepy, but can you walk me through what happened? I have a really strong interest in how street fights with untrained combatants play out.

trashrightsactivist

gonna go through what happened on blog but that won't have like. physical details of fight bit. i will go through those with you after post if you want but like. my memory of what occurred might not be 100%. concussion.

megasilverfist

Yeah, that happens, I'd give you some tips but you've (hopefully?) got some actual medical attention.

trashrightsactivist

yes. that I really don't remember, getting from fight to hospital.

nurse knows who brought me here but not how so I'mma try to track him down and ask

megasilverfist

right

Red hospital or normal one?

trashrightsactivist

red. we can't be patients in the other kind

but honestly being surrounded by only other reds rn is reassuring

megasilverfist

Thought so, but was hoping otherwise because there are some very new drugs for brain injury that I don't think yours have access to.

Try to get some Alkysine if you can.

trashrightsactivist

I'll ask. I know like, blunt force trauma is something this particular doc deals with a lot, so probly knows what he's doing

megasilverfist

Not doubting his skill just access to supplies that are a bit limited among cleans.

trashrightsactivist

fair. he said my brains not beat up too bad. no bleeding, minimal swelling.

megasilverfist

That is very good.

trashrightsactivist

few cracked ribs. coulda been a lot worse

megasilverfist

Yeah, will you be able to get someone to cover you work for you?

trashrightsactivist

yeah if they have to they'll share with the pathology techs at the hospital

(clean hospital. the guys who normally do 'why did you die of sick' exams will do 'why did you die of murder' exams)

but idek if they'll want me back at work, thats where the argument started

megasilverfist

Oh shit. Can you get another job?

trashrightsactivist

yeah there is always just pick up to fall back on and can probably learn how to do the medical rather than crime version of the thing i do

megasilverfist

Well thats good.

trashrightsactivist

but yeah like.. i will report what i see not what my boss wants to be there

megasilverfist

Is that (physically) safe?

trashrightsactivist

well no, as we found out.

megasilverfist

Oh sorry I thought you meant in your exit interview or whatever it is that you do when you leave an employer.

I'm not clear how that works.

I do stuff for money so I've got a job, but the way competitions work means I'm not technically an employee of anyone.

trashrightsactivist

so I'm employed by a company, not the police, they just have a contract with the company. so shouldn't have to do exit interview? but. if they have a grudge they can find me.

maybe when it's less crisis-y there won't be a grudge

they would never usually ask that sort of thing, they're good cops usually

megasilverfist

I think I see.

trashrightsactivist

but you want me to put on the report those injuries are not from a police-issue beating stick when they are... I reckon whichever cop it was must have just panicked, the guy did look a bit red in the right light

megasilverfist

Oh yeah, cleansticks are nasty. I really respect you for doing that.

trashrightsactivist

but it was stupid of me. I don't file the actual report, I just tell the guy who does what I see, he can cheerfully shred anything I say that he doesn't like

it was a futile gesture

megasilverfist

Oh maybe a little less respect, but you tried.

trashrightsactivist

i mean normally he wouldn't, you know

idk

everybody is not themselves now

megasilverfist

Right. Its relatively sane in my little bubble, because my gym is getting free nadles and I had enough money to help out my cousins (helps the grama buys instant stuff in bulk anyway). So we've just been heads down focusing on the fights. But everytime I get on this site its fucked.

trashrightsactivist

yeah I don't feel like I have the energy for any of it any more

its all just words

megasilverfist

I keep trying to help, but there just isn't much I can do. I'm not a big celebrity yet, and I'm now broke again even though I was planning on streching out my prize money so I can't donate. I'm tempted to go and try to punch anyone causing problems, but still have some common sense.

trashrightsactivist

yeah I don't have any suggestions any more

shitty as it was all i want is for things to go back to normal

megasilverfist

Wow, things really are bad if you think normal would be ok.

trashrightsactivist

yeah well

talk to me when it doesn't hurt to breathe, maybe I'll get my sass back

megasilverfist

Right. I'll let you heal then. Here's some of my fanfic if you need something to read http://archiveofourown.org/works/2809283/chapters/6304610 ((not by me ooc))

trashrightsactivist

thanks dude

megasilverfist

trashrightsactivist

[ruby will send you as good an account of how the fight went down as she can. It was her and a dude who works for the same company, but mostly at the hospital (who also helped her with this account of the fight), and they were jumped returning to their body transport vehicle. Two cops with extendable sticks. The other red was mostly able to keep out of it since they weren't really going for him, he was trying to get into his work bag for the closest thing he had to a weapon (a scalpel) but by the time he got it out it was over. The cops clearly didn't intend to kill her, just send a message - but at the same time, they can't have been overly concerned with *not* killing her, because they easily could have just by a blow landing a bit differently in a way they couldn't precisely control.

Ruby's only notable action was to try to crawl under the hearse in the hopes that they wouldn't be able to get to her, but since they were willing to lay hands on her they just dragged her out.]

megasilverfist

Thanks, that was helpful for me, hopefully you won't be attacked again especially by the police but he are some possibly helpful thoughts. The hearse move was a good idea, even if it didn't work. Playing dead might have been a good idea. Also using your hands to protect your head while exposing tempting but less fatal targets as sacrifices. Getting caned in the butt or similar hurts but you know enough anatomy to know you'd prefer it to your current state. Lastly, its probably best for your coworker that he was forced to stay out of it, but if he had gotten involved using the bag as a shield and /or to entangle the cleansticks (thats the actual name I didn't come up with it) would probably have been a good strategy. I'm not a cleanstick specialist, but knives are a bad match against them even when pre drawn, but they are *relatively* easy to screw up with tangle weapons and makeshift shields since they don't have a cutting edge or the weight of traditional staffs.

Almost forgot, I was assuming that the bag was heavy enough to hurt when swung but light enough that you can swing it pretty fast like 5-15 pounds.

trashrightsactivist

Thanks for the advice

I'd be concerned that any sort of fighting back might only make them angrier? Like they were risking a kill but probably not going for one, if we'd fought back..

megasilverfist

Yeah, thats what I meant by it being best that your coworker stayed out of it. I included my advice based on the best way to deal with actually fighting but really, like ok if I had been swapped with your coworker by magic AND been able to draw the scapble to dual wield AND you're not in Biyan then I probably could have won the fight. But thats some rather big ifs and doesn't get into what would happen afterwards.

trashrightsactivist

yeah I mean ultimately him staying out of it probably saved my life cause it meant he could drive me to the hospital

but I don't doubt it woulda gone differently with a martial arts expert instead of a nerdy autopsy tech

why would being in Biyan make a difference, do cops have different weapons there or something?

megasilverfist

Yeah, still effectively 2 v 1 with inferior weapons is not a great place.

trashrightsactivist

yeah I'm in no hurry to leave the district again in the current climate

megasilverfist

Biyan is just behind us here in Tapa when it comes to overall cleanstick fighting, and thats going by the performance of athletes and police department champions (as in representatives) in tournaments. I didn't realize this until recently, but my research suggests that they spend a lot more time training their normal non-specialist cops in it than almost anyone else.

trashrightsactivist

huh. Wonder if they anticipate more fights, or if they're trying to reduce the amount they resort to guns?

megasilverfist

Well I don't know much about them, but going off what I do know and the scenarios in this manual I found http://wiktenauer.com/wiki/Paradoxes_of_Defence_(George_Silver) I think they just really hate reds.

trashrightsactivist

oh, the depressing reason

your fanfic was good btw

megasilverfist

Yup:( Like obviously part of why cleansticks are used instead of other staffs is that they can be used on you guys, but their supposed to be general purpose weapons. And thats not what I'm seeing here as a highly trained martial artist with color vision.

Thanks.

So I mean obviously you can tell how many of those figures have red hair, but as a highly trained martial artist TM I can tell you the convention is normally to depict every combatant as a grey.

trashrightsactivist

well that would make sense given cultural norms and all

wonder what you lot would make of the bareknuckle one-on-ones that go down here sometimes

megasilverfist

I would be super super curious, and would love it if there was a way to get video without the obvious problems with that.

But like what rules (if any) are there.

And (how) do people train?

And what techniques do they use?

trashrightsactivist

they serve a vaguely similar purpose to duels in being part of the internal dispute resolution system? Similar to what I read about Erithani duels there's a lot of like, chances to back down and apologise worked into the system and their function seems to be more preventative

megasilverfist

That seems sensible, greys kinda do that, but less that we probably should.

trashrightsactivist

rules are simple, fists and a bit of grappling though grandads love to debate whether that was allowed int heir day, no kicking or gouging or whatever, and it's over when someone falls down or gives up

kids *practice* in the sense of, they scrap for fun, idk to what extent it constitutes training

it's not very formal and really the point is to be willing to fight to prove your point rather than neccessarily being good?

so it probably looks exceedingly sloppy to someone like you

megasilverfist

Probably, but there really is something to be said for raw courage.

No gouging and no kicks is a really good idea from a safety perspective, but having more grappling and less punching would probably be a smart move from that perspective.

Not that I expect ya'll to change your culture based on my advice.

trashrightsactivist

yeah I mean it's mostly a way to contain disputes among like 3.5-6 year olds so there's a socially accepted endpoint and no risk of harming the community fabric or attracting attention from outside the district

megasilverfist

And they are you from a showing your serious veiwpoint.

trashrightsactivist

yeah I don't think they'd accept alterations based on safety, cause it's about having the balls, as you said

but given that I have that Red Island separatist fantasy it does make me wonder how the justice system would turn out

'you may either fight the defendant, or have the judge explain this entire mess to your grandmother, how do you plead?'

megasilverfist

Lololol

My grama would say the mess is fine but why wouldn't you fight em?

trashrightsactivist

maybe you like your face :P

megasilverfist

Well I am dashingly handsome.

trashrightsactivist

I saw your promo pics online, can't disagree there

megasilverfist

Thanks, though the photographer did a lot.

Legally we can't photoshop them too much, but lighting, picking the best one ect can do a ton, and we can shop a little.

trashrightsactivist

if I were the type to do selfies, I would not be doing selfies for a good few weeks

megasilverfist

Yeah, I get that, though we're encouraged to to the occasional beat up shot as long as its framed properly.

trashrightsactivist

oh of course. but gotta be like, sexy injured not 'mishandled reject tomato' injured

megasilverfist

Yup, a mix of that and sometimes having to look bad to make the other guy look good for the good of the sport.

trashrightsactivist

you aren't suggesting any of it is staged are you?

megasilverfist

Just the photo shoots yes. The matches very no. In my main promotion that is. I keep meaning to right a post about this, but there are promotions that are explicitly registered as stunt based entertainment which are fixed to varying degrees.

One of them even has a "red" as one of the "heels".

trashrightsactivist

what.

liiink

actual *actors* tryna play reds is always tragihilarious, I can't imagine what that would be like

is his special move whacking you over the head with a garbage can

IS HIS CATCHPHRASE 'TIME TO TAKE OUT THE TRASH'

megasilverfist

Actually he's an undertaker, and makes horrible horrible death puns.

And fights with a piece of "sewage pipe" granted to him by his district elder.

But the overall thing is as corny as you're picturing it.

And frankly I like your idea better.

Not that I really approve, of making him the heel, but I guess you have to take what you can get.

trashrightsactivist

oh sure, well he was never gonna be anything else

megasilverfist

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6CD7TUIS7c

trashrightsactivist

that shit is hilarious

megasilverfist

Ok, I should go soon, but three things first.

trashrightsactivist

megasilverfist

first if you need to get a hold of me outside tumblr in a fairly secure way use ((contact info)) unless you have a better suggestion you seem to know security.

The next two are two good thing to come from this mess. Well good from your prospective I guess.

trashrightsactivist

thanks. I don't think I have anything better rn but I'll check and let you know, otherwise that looks good.

megasilverfist

First, I am sick of this shit. I still believe in pollution, and I can't do much now, but stars like actual national champs get one controversial position. I was going to go after the fitness scams that basically everyone but blues fall for but...

yeah.

And lastly oh wait you already rebloged it so much for my climax, but still

[link to 3cool5u’s Allocator Savo fanfic]

trashrightsactivist

the second one though. What are you planning?

megasilverfist

I'll need to think of some details after I win, but ways to improve red lives without denying pollution exists.

trashrightsactivist

I'm grateful that you want to do something. I'll look round see if I got some suggestions for specific points. Most importantly, though - if it made sense to keep a lid on things for now before it probably still does

for now

#amenta rp #private chat logs

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