#farewell mullet

[stoneagedevil]

Cherry Red, Denim Blue, and White Hot Rage | Billy Hargrove x Reader

TW/CW: Speeding, sexualization of reader, billy being a horndog, etc.

- 🏁-

The growl of the cherry red ‘75 Corvette warmed your heart, and sent adrenaline coursing through your veins every time you pressed your foot onto the accelerator. Pressing the clutch and moving your right hand to shift gears was second nature to you, and you almost found it easier to do this motion than to breathe sometimes.

However, right now the purr of your beloved steed was more comforting than anything, as today, you’d be attending a new school in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Indiana. Hawkins High, to be more precise. Ever since your alarm had screamed at you to get up, you’d been chain smoking cigarettes like a maniac. A balanced breakfast.

Truly it didn’t matter what time you set the alarm for the day prior, as today, you were late. Your mind racing like your car on empty roads, you’d managed to forget multiple things at home multiple times. But this didn’t bother you.

The more time spent in your pristine baby was less time spent doing the “get to know you” routine at another new school.

Your father was a government agent: well off, absent, the usual. While he wasn’t able to tell you much about why he uprooted your lives to move to Indiana, one thing was for certain: this was a dangerous situation.

It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. He provided for you. Your dad and you had worked out a deal: get good grades, face no repercussions. You had free rein over your home and free time.

You were prepared to make this place your bitch too.

You pulled into the driveway of the school, looking for suitable parking places for your prized possession.

And that’s when you saw it. A fellow Chevy, a ‘79 Camaro, in as pristine condition as your Vette. Beside the admittedly stunning car was an open spot - on both sides, actually. You’d figured another passionate Chevy owner would do well to be mindful of their doors. If you had to deal with a door-ding in your fiberglass, you were prepared to break a couple of fingers.

Carefully and expertly, you sailed into one of the two open spots. The outside of the school was empty, signifying class was in session.

You grabbed your bag from your passenger side, slinging it over your shoulder and popping the trunk in order to bring the soft top over the car. Latching it into place, you bid your car farewell.

Time for second period. Your first period teacher would have to get over your absence. There was always tomorrow.

Walking into the room, you received many looks. Multiple eyes flitted up and down your form in order to get a read on you. Who are you? Where do you fit in? Do you even fit in at all? These were the questions you supposed were looping through their brains. The attention you received was annoying, but not unthought of; you couldn’t imagine anything super interesting happened here.

Your day consisted of weaving in and out of bodies in the hallways with whispers following behind you, entering and leaving classrooms, and finding a place to sit in the cafeteria, where you met a band of misfits, one of which was named Eddie who you had a very engaging conversation with on Black Sabbath’s discography. “The Writ” is unmatched in your eyes. He respected that.

Overall, the day was mundane, yet slightly enjoyable.

That was until you left the doors of the school, your eyes immediately catching an ass cladded in blue denim jeans resting on YOUR car, and a large crowd hovering over it. Attached to the ass was an ass himself. Denim head to toe, blonde curly mullet, cigarette trapped between his lips and an earring dangling on one side. The fucking nerve of this denim-ed dork sitting on your car like he owned it. He had another thing coming.

“Deep breaths.” You muttered. A hefty breath in and out followed your words. And then you started walking, shoving these strangers out of your way, not caring what they had to say in return. You had to defend your car’s honor.

When you were in his peripherals, he immediately took notice of you. Rather than trying to read you, he was checking you out. Sizing you up in a way that measured how much you’d play hard to get. He was in for a rude awakening.

“This pretty thing yours?” You asked him, nodding your head to your car behind him.

He laughed and ducked his head, pinching the cigarette between his fingers. “No, but my pretty thing is the Camaro. You could be too though.”

The crowd watched in anticipation: was the new girl set to be another Hargrove conquest? Not quite.

You pretended to laugh and twirled your hair between dark red manicured fingernails. “It’s beautiful. I like the color. But why sit on that car if yours is the Camaro?” You pouted.

He sat up at that, and you gleaned a sense of pride in your compliment by the way he puffed out his chest and smirked. “I’m gonna challenge this guy to a street race. I’d see you there, right? I think I’d remember your face if I’d seen you around here before.”

You laughed again. “I think you’ll have to.” You replied, stepping closer until your lips were inches away, reaching around him with your keys, you unlocked the door to your Vette.

His eyes widened in recognition, and his mouth fell open slightly.

Lifting one finger to his chin, you pressed upwards, closing his loud mouth. “I’ll race you, babe, but don’t get too sad when you lose, ‘kay? 2:00pm this Sunday on Elm sound good to you? Unless you’ve got church…a straight edged boy like you?” You smiled smugly.

He merely nodded, laughing slightly, though all confidence was lost.

You had that effect on men.

You opened your door on his ass, nudging him away, and unlatching the top of your convertible from the trunk, opening it, and unlatching and folding the entire thing back into the trunk again.

Getting in, you put on your sunglasses and blew him a kiss, squealing your tires as you floored it.

Billy Hargrove watched the new girl drive off, the sound of squealing tires quickly being replaced by the “ooh’s” and whistles of his peers at her challenging attitude to him. The feeling of surprise and awe was now overshadowed by the unmistakable feeling of his denim jeans being significantly tighter, and he made his way to his own vehicle.

This was going to be a long rest of the week.

-🏁-

I know I have other part 2s to make but part 2 to this fic will be out sooner than the others. I do what I want, where I want, when I want, how I want! It’s a curse, really.

Anyways, I hoped yall liked this. I totally dropped elements of me in this as I have a 75 Vette myself, and while it needs work done, I still love it with all of my heart.

[mignightpages]

The Fruit of The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil (And Other Forbidden Things) Spencer Reid x Reader

Prologue

masterlist

It wasn't how things were meant to go for Doctor Spencer Reid, but he could bounce back in his mind. He always did. 

The prison had left its mark. Despite Spencer's insistence that he was unchanged, the truth was evident to all. The once gentle, if socially awkward, Spencer Reid had transformed into a man of hardened demeanor. Recognizing this, David Rossi , the man he was , decided that Spencer was in dire need of respite, a sabbatical of sorts. Despite his resistance, he was compelled to pack his belongings and  step back for the summer. 

"It will do you good," Rossi had said at the farewell party he had thrown for Spencer at his house the night before he was set to leave. "I have a friend down south in Georgia; he'll take good care of you." Being the man he was and having the connections he had, he arranged for Spencer to take his little vacation in Georgia's hot, humid depths. 

He wouldn't make it easy on himself; why would he do that? The idea of doing nothing with his time for three months left him with a sense of dread. Something he could only compare to being surged in a cold body of nothingness. No. His brain worked too hard and fast to sit around and do nothing. He pondered it for a while,  meaning to complete his doctorate in philosophy… and suddenly found something to fill his time.

With his belongings and  philosophy textbooks in tow, Spencer set off for Georgia. The town, with its modest population and even more modest composition (save for the five Baptist churches on every corner), seemed unremarkable. Yet, after the chaotic traffic he encountered leaving the Atlanta airport , the town's smallness felt liberating. That is until he lost his signal and found himself stranded near a gas station. A nondescript building with two gas pumps, one diesel , one unleaded, and a small store engulfed in overgrowth. The attendant, who seemed to have never left the building, completed the picture of isolation. 

"You lost?" the man asked when Spencer had gone in to see if they had any printed maps. He looked at the man who seemed to have, maybe, three teeth and a greasy mullet. 

He nodded. At this point, he was willing to take all the help he could get." Yeah… I'm looking for the Abernathy Residence."

The attendant scoffed out a laugh, a sticky sound from smoking too many cigarettes, maybe something harder. "Keep going straight north," he waved him off as he rang up the map. "Trust me, you'll know it when ya see it."

Spencer paid with a nod, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He began to leave when things were said and done, but the man stopped him with the same grave drawl. 

"Word of advice, son," Spencer stopped and turned to look at him. "People say it's the sons you gotta worry 'bout." He shook his head with the click of his tongue, "It's the girl."

[across-every-universe]

saying farewell to the glorious mullet… 🫡 she’s served me well but i have to come to terms with the fact that long hair will straight up make me dysphoric until i’ve at least had *some* gender-affirming stuff done. hopefully i can start HRT in a year-ish when i’m settled and out of my parents’ house

[androidboy]

omw to let my gf give me a mullet and as a fond farewell to my longish hair i did crow makeup last night

[justanotherwastedyouth]

The woman who runs the cafe at the ferry terminal has begun calling me “Mr. Hair”. 

Two minutes after saying farewell to her a man with a mullet told me that I have “crazy hair man. Tall.” 

[multitec001]

The Unstoppable Hand Pruners: A Multitec Pruning Saw Review

Hand Pruning Saw Review - Calling all gardening gurus and tree-trimming titans! Guess what? The world has just gotten a breakthrough in the pruning tools sphere, and it's going to fundamentally change those bushy branches problem for you. Multitec, the saviors of pruning, now present their own kind of the Hand Pruning Saws– your best friends when cutting wood like it was a hot knife stabbing through butter.

Overview of Multitec's Hand Pruning Saws

Model

Size

Blade Material

Handle

HPS21

7"

High Carbon Steel

TPE/PVC

HPS23

16"

High Carbon Steel

TPE/PVC

Triple-Cut Blade Technology: State-of-the-art Efficiency

Now, we know what you're thinking: “Another pruning saw? So what!” However, this is not an ordinary saw, my friend. Multitec Hand Pruning Saws with a triple-cut blade, which cuts both on the push and pull strokes, is capable of giving every slice the same smooth feel as a freshly shampooed mullet.

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By means of TPE/PVC handles fitted perfectly in your palm, you will be convinced that it is a tender caress rather than a bone crushing vice grip. Bye-bye blisters and hello hours of 'blessed' branch-slicing!

Compact and Convenient: Mobile Pruning Machines

However, the key distinguishing features of these saws are their compact and portable design. This doesn't matter whether you go for the 7-inch HPS21 or the large 16-inch HPS23 since it will not be troublesome for them to have a place in your gardening toolbox.

Say goodbye to the clumsiness of heavy saws that require so much space, you could fit a small kid inside it. Multitec's hand pruning saws are the perfect combination of power and portability, making them the ideal companions for any gardening adventure.

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At Multitec Tools, we cater to a wide spectrum of customers, each with their unique requirements and aspirations.  Our products are built to support various industries, professions and lifestyles. Whether you are a seasoned professional, an avid amateur, or a homeowner on a budget, we have a selection that is right for you.

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Carpenters, electricians, plumbers and other craftsmen can rely on our high-grade tools which are specially designed to overcome the toughest of jobs.

Both construction workers and contractors will surely recognize the incredible value of our tools in their large-scale tasks, thus guaranteeing excellence and efficiency.

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Woodworkers, metalworkers and artists will find our precision tools invaluable when creating intricate projects and engaging in their artistic undertakings.

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About Hand Pruning Saw Safety

Now, we know what you're thinking: "But wait, aren't these things basically like tiny swords?" You're absolutely right, my watchful pal. These Hand Pruning Saws are not just sharp, they are sharper than what Edward Scissorhands would have as a kindergartner using safety scissors.

However, do not be afraid as Multitec has proven that it thinks ahead and thinks it through with supply. Each box comes with a warning to make sure the sharp blades are kept away from stray fingers and nosy children. First safety, pun intended (you know the drill).

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Secret weapon number one, when it comes to storage then just simply tuck that bad boy away in a safe and dry place, and you will be good to go whenever you decide to take that war to those unruly branches. It's like having a handy easy-to-access companion, who is super-relatable and ready to join you in any plant-pruning fitness retreat.

Conclusion

Whether you are just a confirmed horticultural ailment or an expert who is just conscious about the garden activity, you will definitely find your favourite tool for cutting in the range of Multitec. Engineered with precision blades, ergonomic handles, and foolproof safety features, you'll soon be pruning and clipping your way into the lush garden you have always dreamed of.

CTA

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Contact us: 8037402470

[atretimus]

Mk II LRS part 2

Part 1

              “Good morning, folks of the Fifty Fourth Company Assignment. I’m your lovely Captain speaking, Airman Nemari. As we fly the coop here, this bird will hit a bit of chop. We are just about at flight altitude and by noon local time we will hit low orbit.” Leslie was seated between Ducas and Ansel. These Cargo Lighter Class boats always felt odd to him. They seemed too big. Clearly their blueprint was based off a time where capacity was significant to their use, lifting tanks, cars, supplies, a full company, but the few pallets in the center seemed paltry. The dozen occupants didn’t take up any space even with their kits. He supposed the Shells may fill the cargo hold below them, but still didn’t fill the space. “Daughter of Dust will then leave the Thuces XVI system for Ingig in the Jabain.” Nemari’s voice cut back in to Leslie’s consciousness. It was a sweet voice, and the Airman had obviously put an air of arrogance on. It was charismatic nonetheless. “And if you look out the portside you can just about see the ponderous Oris sun rise one last time.”

Leslie looked to his peers, feeling rather itchy himself. Sgt Ducas had his nose in an old paper book, Squires and Sensors: Late House Battles by Bosco Stella. A firsthand account of the House Wars. Leslie hadn’t read it, but Bosco had been known as a genuine tactician. Detailing tactics and movements in depth. Meanwhile, Ansel had dozed off clutching a paper bag, they had a smudge of something on their nose. “Want one?” One of Ansel’s eyes had popped open. The Corporal looked about his age, late 20’s. Saturated green eyes that were very stark against their pale ever so pink skin and short black mullet that didn’t look dyed. Ino was of average height and was built like a gymnast or a dancer, lithe yet tough.

“S-sure.” Leslie grinned hoping it would cover the flush of embarrassment. Corporal Ino Ansel reached into the bag and produced a fist-sized golden-brown pastry with a cocoa frosting on one side as if it had been generously dipped. It looked like it had been in the bag for a day, but retained it desirable qualities. Leslie took the donut, nodded “Thank you.”

“Aye,” Ansel produced another and bit into it, “they help me sleep.” Leslie ate it while gazing out the window. Clouds broke and the new day did too. Bright sunlight scoured across the jagged dusty landscape of Oris. Wiping cocoa from the corner of his mouth, he sighed.

“And sunlight hits the face of Oris’ stony beauty. Farewell. For further queries or concerns during the flight, please address our own beauty, Lieutenant Bosiek.” Airman Nemari spoke once more. Bosiek looked like she was about to say something about matching corset and garters made from ribs and guts, but then decided to grin and return to reading a tablet.

“Specialist,… Specialist Southman. Grab your kit, we have arrived. Fall in, soldier.” Leslie blearily opened his eyes and stood. Spotting a Sergeant 1st Class signifier on the uniform in front of him, and he threw together a salute. The officer had already turned away. “You passed out quick after that donut. We are on the Daughter of Dust. I don’t normally make wake up calls, but I figured I would introduce myself. Squad leader Sergeant 1st Class Haskins. I’m your immediate command and your back up.” Leslie’s eyes finally cleared. Haskins stood perhaps half an inch taller than him and her skin was a dark rich brown. Haskins’ uniform was obviously tailored to fit as her frame was broad with muscle. “Come on, let’s catch up with Ducas and Ansel. We will get our kits stowed, get some lunch, then I set aside time for our squad to meet with Specialist Khan.” Sgt Haskins strode forward and down the boarding ramp. Leslie slung his bag over his shoulder and quickly followed. “Let’s be clear about one thing, Specialist. If I have to personally wake you up again it had better be after this contract and you are prepared to make breakfast for us.”

“Ma’am?” Leslie scratched his head.

“Hmm, yea don’t get your hopes up,” Haskins stopped and turned, “I’m kinda new to this role, got a good couple small team contracts under my belt. Listen, just don’t make my job any harder and we won’t have any issues. Let’s go.” She patted at her cornrows and turned to continue walking, “And Specialist? Don’t be shy. I’m only teasing.” She said over her shoulder. Leslie paused before following. Was she nervous? The shuttle bay was small, but normal for a frigate class. The cargo lighter they came in on, the Brickhouse, was backed in. As soon as Leslie and Sgt Haskins had disembarked, a full deck crew moved in to unload their gear.

Daughter of Dust was built by Far Sun ingenuity, but someone like Specialist Khan or Southman would recognize the signs of manufacturing. Bulkheads designed by Spiker, screens and electronics from Compass, defense and weapon system made by Voidbreak, and the infirmary was probably stocked by Stella. The reality was that it is far cheaper to buy than invent. Leslie smiled as they walked. Mercenary ships looked just like pirate ships just with newer parts and better paint. Lower decks were cargo bays, the workshops, and storage. Mid decks were personnel quarters, armory, and engineering. Upper decks were systems and bridge. Before they reached the Mid decks, they could feel the Daughter thrum to life beneath them as it kicked out of the orbit of Oris and began chugging along at a high sub-light speed. Daughter of Dust would probably take twenty hours to reach safe distance for a drill from Thuces XVI to Jabain, about a week of travel, then another sixteen-ish hours to Ingig. Great, one hundred and eighty hours left to spend.

Personnel Quarters were basic, company-issue, single occupant dorms. A communal latrine and bath facility off to the side was labelled ‘bath house’ and across from it was a training hall. Next to the lift to the Upper decks was a lounge and a mess hall across from that. Crew quarters were closer to the mess, lounge, and bath. Passengers or visitors were down further on the central corridor. Leslie and Sgt Haskins arrived at where the would be staying. It seems officers were given a modicum more comfort by having rooms closer to the amenities. Though the Lieutenant was in the guest quarters on the deck above them, which was with the captain and their officers, and was provided a suite with a restroom, but also had a private officers lounge and restaurant. However, the quality difference was minor from what Leslie had been told. Though, more usage meant more mess from his experience.

Leslie entered his quarters. A single occupancy company standard room. It was not luxurious, but it was private. Leslie had worked on Spiker Clan Milita frigates and various other vessel before and while with Far Sun Collections, and privacy was not always a guarantee. Single bed with fair quality bedding, a work desk with a comm station on it, and a hard case bolted to the floor. Sometimes a sink and mirror were also included, but not this time. Of course, the comm station would require his credentials to use, which would prevent him from using anything except the FSC Comm Net. As per his contract, no outside communication while on mission. He could only send missives to others on the same assignment, but he would receive messages from the company at large. Company messages were often ad-reads, company news, and heavily sanitized sector wide news. Rules about usage are a little more technical depending who you are or who is messaging, but once the mission ended ‘full’ capacity would be restored. Trust people, not systems.

“Hey Shy,” Cpl Ansel’s came from behind him, “lunchtime, c’mon.” Leslie tossed his bag in the hard case and shut it.

“Corporal, did you get the bigger room?” Leslie turned.

“Nah, you definitely did. You ever serve on a military ship? This is levels above that.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about that. Barracks-style bunks all in a line. Makes me shiver.”

The Mess Hall was just a set of three banquet style tables each with two benches stretching the length table, with the galley in the back. There were only a few of the crew grabbing a late lunch. “Ah, Ansel, Southman.” Haskins waved them over. On the table in front of her was a pot of what looked like chili, probably used fresh mushrooms from Oris. They were native and most recognizable for their meaty texture and flavor. Pothold mushroom grew with a teardrop shape, point up, but the bulb would hollow and appear like a tiny pot. When mature, these ‘pots’ would split and fan out. This chili featured them generously as well as other local fresh vegetation. Ah, right the crew is mostly locals or Far Sun employees, makes sense.

“Alright let’s talk info.” Haskins was scooping bowls of the chili and passing them out, “So anyone know about the planet?”

“Well, lotsa political turmoil in its past. Warlords to Oligarchs to Proletariat revolt. Except the uprising was manufactured by a Labor Party that placed itself in power. Hup, ya got Oligarchs all over again. Oh also, it is covered in forests and mountains. No oceans, though there are dozens of massive lakes. There are a few steppes and plateaus scattered around.” Haskins just gawked as Ducas spoke.

“Yeah, plus, House Wars era, Actolyt left forward bases when they pulled out after a good portion of their fleet was destroyed. Spread thin, they had no way of defending them. Just left caches of tanks, weapons, and shells in storage.” Leslie chimed in. Haskins nodded.

“So, you are saying this occurrence was probably bound to happen. Political strife mixed with free powerful armaments.” Haskins followed and took a bite of chili.

“Hm, yeah, but they must have some access to advanced weapon manufacturing if that thing is still hurling plasma.” Ansel responded. They all took a minute to eat the fresh chili made with local ingredients. They wouldn’t be eating like this for a while.

“Sgt Haskins, did you notice the crew manifest?” Ansel spoke after a bit.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Two squads of marines?”

“What? Is that out of the ordinary?” Leslie interrupted.

“Hm, they maybe expecting heavy losses.” They all looked at Haskins sternly, “Well yeah, I mean eight soldiers, two pilots, and a mechanic against what, a cohort? They can’t very well throw a whole mess of Far Sun down there. We get noticed; we would be doing the opposite of what we are getting paid for. So yeah, small teams with good weapons to dissuade a much larger enemy from taking our client’s toys. Replace a fallen employee here or there.” Haskins expounded.

              “Personally, I think the squads are meant as manpower to protect the Daughter, that and property retrieval.” Ducas argued, “See it comes back to the mission at hand. We have been commissioned by Silverlight to protect their facility, nothing more. Both the Lieutenant and the contract said so. Plus, I’m guessing they didn’t want to pay for more than two fire teams all dressed up in combat shells.”

              “Makes sense. It would be the play if Silverlight wants to avoid being involved in local politics, especially if it hasn’t told any of the local factions that the facility is there.” Ansel chimed in.

              “Honestly, I don’t think that it matters all that much. We are mercenaries. This is what we are getting paid for.” Leslie’s input was frowned at by Haskins.

              “Well sure, but when the odds are inordinately high of me dying, I will be upset about it.” Haskins responded.

              “Are you… are you concerned that we are playing part in a larger conspiracy?” Ducas seemed to pick up on a subtle vibe from Haskins.

              “Politics, what gets soldiers killed.” Ansel slouched into their chili. Leslie spaced out, gazing at a particularly uninteresting wall panel. Leslie’s assumptions of late seem to have had adverse effects on his relations. Thinking backwards, he probably snubbed a lot of folks over the years with aggravating input. Hell, he wondered if he might’ve been wrong more often than not. Honestly though, these unclear circumstances of the seemingly straight forward guard duty mission could pull them into a larger conflict.               It made sense for Silverlight Association to use mercenaries. They were a corporation, so in a post-House Wars Innhild Xi sector, they would be held accountable by the TAA. The Trade Accords, upheld mostly by corporations, would prevent a corporate entity from taking power away from a governing body. This included, but not limited to, industrial monopoly, claiming territory, or rising and maintaining a large security force. Obviously, they would have to be cautious with these guidelines, but how often were these things enforced? Usually after something horrific has already occurred do the details come out. So, they have already perpetrated these violations. The Accords never prevented the bad thing. Silverlight would hire mercenaries, but would Silverlight set up those mercenaries to accomplish something…. Probably.

[kurt-wagner-official]

Post #76: Longshot issues 1-3

Longshot is the only X-Man who’s ever dethroned Kurt and Kitty as my favorite characters. It was in like third grade, and he did not hold his spot for very long, but I still have a soft spot for him. His introduction mini is written by Ann Nocenti, Claremont’s editor since Simonson moved on to other books and to writing her own, with pencils by Art Adams, the man who brought us the Asgardian Wars. I said then that Art Adams was like a nineties artist with more soul, and Longshot kinda exemplifies that. He has an impossibly shiny black jacket and pants with a big star and a ton of straps and pouches, with a mullet and a glowing eye to top it off (and three fingers on each hand). But his design also feels sleek and organic, and never distracts you from what he’s doing or saying. Our story opens with a splash page of Longshot running through a red jungle being chased by weird guys with guns. Longshot has amnesia and has no idea who he is or why they’re chasing him, or that he himself has good luck powers. A portal opens up and with nothing to lose, he jumps through, followed by the gun guys. He finds himself in New York City, an alien planet to him, where he saves a woman from a car crash and draws a lot of attention to himself. A cop tries to question him and he runs. He has idea what the Sun is, or what mannequins are, or what money is, which gets the cops even more excited about him, but he’s fast and lucky so he gets away. He also meets a weird conspiracy theorist/survival nut named Eliot, who sees him running from the cops and decides he’s a kindred spirit and invites him to his house. On his way there, Longshot meets a weird fluffy alien thing that greets him and seems to know who he is but runs away at the first sign of other people. Longshot is greeted by Eliot and goes inside, where he reads a newspaper with a story about a kidnapped baby. He decides that kidnapping babies is wrong and sets off to solve the crime, with an exasperated Eliot agreeing to come along when the cops show up looking for Longshot. They go find the mother of the baby, a woman named Hester, who says that aliens killed her dog and took her baby, leaving behind a doll as a replacement. Longshot is able to "read the doll’s past and future” with some weird mysterious low level psychic powers. He finds and traces a psychic imprint, and off our heroes go with Hester now a part of the gang. They find the baby with a bunch of alien monsters who followed Longshot through his portal and are now trapped between dimensions. One of them, the sorceress Spiral, who we met in Uncanny 199 but is making her first chronological appearance here, is sacrificing the baby in a spell that’ll free them from their stasis. Longshot is distracted from his quest by their taunts about his missing identity, and suddenly his luck starts running out. He realizes that he has luck powers, but they only work if his intentions are pure. He refocuses on saving the baby, and with the help of that fluffy alien from earlier, who we also learn is the son of one of these evil aliens, saves the baby just in time. The monsters disappear just as the cops show up and assume Longshot is the baby-napper. He bids farewell to the baby, and Eliot and runs off. Before he does, he asks them what his name should be, and Eliot says Longshot. As he makes his escape, he’s joined again by the fluffy alien.

In issue 2, Longshot and Pup, the fluffy friend, are just vibing around being adrenaline junkies. Pup, who started off looking like a muppet, is growing spikes and ridges, but when Longshot mentions it he disappears. By this point, Longshot has jumped onto a train, which he doesn’t realize is part of a movie set. The director assumes this was a bold audition to be a stunt double, and he immediately hires Longshot, who’s excited to get some of this money he’s heard so much about. He has fun hanging out with the other lead stunt double, Ricochet Rita, but one day when they’re testing out their new jetpacks (which are just a thing they have in the Marvel film industry I guess) he has a flashback to fighting in a war against slavers obsessed with making movies. When he confides in Rita about his amnesia and haunting broken memories, she tells him she’s not alone and kisses him, but is shocked to learn his skin is like leather (I don’t know how she didn’t notice he’s missing a finger on each hand). At that moment, they’re attacked by a bunch of the demons from last issue, who we learn are stuck in this dimension. But the entire horde is murdered by the returned Pup, who reveals that he hates Longshot and has in every dimension. He’s playing a very mysterious long game and isn’t ready to finish it yet, so he runs off, leaving Longshot reeling from this revelation about his only friend. He still shows up at work the next day, but now doubting everything, he asks Rita if money is a pure motivation. She tells him it’s kinda selfish, which makes him realize his motives aren’t pure. In their next stunt he has another flashback to some guys in cloaks chanting about how good intentions will bring him luck, and in the present his powers fail and he’s shot by a bunch of lasers. The director says he’ll drive him to the hospital, but because the liability wavers were fake, he instead just dumps him in a river. If the first issue set up the character and mystery, this one sets up the themes that’ll be pursued for the rest of the book. But I’ll get into that at the end. 

Issue 3 begins with an introduction to a middle aged man overwhelmed with the pressures of a thankless job and a thankless family. He pulls out a gun, apparently to kill them, but he instead shoots the tv and leaves to jump off a bridge. When he does, he realizes the water is too shallow to drown in, but he also finds the unconscious Longshot, who he saves. Upon being taken from the water, his wounds heal and he wakes up and senses the man’s suicidal hopes. He says that life is great and he’ll prove it to him. When he introduces himself, the man jokingly refers to himself as Jinx, saying he has bad luck powers and he’s lost all his money to Con Ed, a vaguely Big and Evil corporation that recently stole a bunch of diamonds. Longshot says they’ll go take down to company together and have an adventure that’ll show him the meaning of life. As they sneak into the company, Longshot has another flashback to the Spineless Ones, huge spineless (duh) aliens who bred him to be a slave. Back in the present, they find the diamonds, but are attacked by the remaining demons. It’s not mentioned here, but at some point during this issue Spiral ran off to go help out Mystique. The timeline there is very weird and doesn’t really line up with this series, but I think Nocenti just asked Claremont to figure out a way to do a little promotional crossover. Pup appears and kidnaps Jinx while Spiral uses the diamonds to cast a spell to open a portal to let them go home. They leave and close the portal behind them, taunting Longshot about his missing identity and promising to kill all his friends back home. Pup returns with Jinx. He insists that he hates Longshot for being perfect and says he was planning to kill Jinx, but he runs off, leaving them both safe. Longshot has hope that the Pup he knew is in there somewhere. Longshot learns a sobering lesson about reality when Jinx says that legally the diamonds belong to Con Ed even though they screwed over a bunch of people, meaning there’s nothing they can do. He says that being around Longshot and his luck just makes him feel worse about himself and he leaves. But Longshot has had some kind of good influence on him, because through his thought bubbles we learn he’s planning to go home, apologize to his wife, and fix his life.

This series is very weird but very good. I’ll wrap it up and add my thoughts next time.

[themulletrun]

🎣🐟 Captain Jeff's Tarpon-Fishing Extravaganza: Mullets, Mayhem, and Mirth! 🌟🐢

Ahoy, fellow anglers and mischief-makers! Gather 'round, for Captain Jeff is about to unleash some tarpon fishing madness that'll leave you in stitches and itching to grab those fishing rods! 🎣🍌

Imagine this: Captain Jeff, with his wild beard and fishing wisdom, takes the stage, armed not just with big live mullet but with an infectious sense of humor! As he shares his tarpon-fishing highlights, he's also dishing out priceless tips on how to hook these silver giants. Brace yourselves for the laugh-riot that ensues! 🌊😂

📽️ The Show Begins: Picture this epic montage of tarpon action – like a Hollywood blockbuster, but with fish! Captain Jeff reels in a behemoth tarpon, and the battle of strength and wills begins! The tarpon puts up a show, leaping and flipping, as if auditioning for "Tarpon's Got Talent." Meanwhile, Captain Jeff's commentary is pure gold! "Hold on tight, folks, it's the aquatic circus!" 🎪

🍌 Mullet Mania: Now, let's talk about the magical bait of choice – big live mullet. Captain Jeff waves them like magic wands and goes, "Avada Kedavra! I summon thee, tarpon magnet!" But here's the twist – the mullet aren't just bait; they're potential sidekicks! "Meet Bob and Susie Mullet! They've got their acting skills down. See how they perfectly play 'Hide-and-Seek' with the tarpon?" 😜

🎭 The Drama Unfolds: As the tarpon-fishing saga continues, Captain Jeff reveals his secret weapon – Tarpon Shakespeare! He recites lines from "To Catch or Not to Catch," with the tarpon as the star of the show! "Thou shall not resist my bait, oh noble tarpon!" And lo and behold, the tarpon seems genuinely moved by his thespian skills! 😎🎭

🐢 Turtle Tangos: But wait, there's more! In the background, a wise old sea turtle pops up to watch the spectacle. Captain Jeff dramatically points, "Behold, the Sea Sage! The tarpon are in awe of its wisdom. They've come to seek its blessings!" And the turtles nod solemnly, playing along with the grand illusion. 🐢🤫

🏆 Tarpon Trophy Tips: Amidst the laughter and the antics, Captain Jeff imparts some serious tarpon wisdom. He shares tips and tricks that he's learned over the years – from choosing the perfect bait to mastering the art of the hook set. But here's the twist – he does it while impersonating a tarpon! "I am Tarpon Jeff. You must lure me with the tastiest mullet to win this game!" 🏆🐟

In the end, the tarpon-fishing extravaganza leaves everyone in high spirits, with laughter echoing across the waters. Captain Jeff, the master of mirth and mullet, bids farewell with a wink and a promise of more hilarity to come. So, fellow anglers, remember – fishing is not just about catching fish; it's about creating unforgettable memories and sharing a hearty laugh along the way! 🤣🌊

#TarponFishingMadness #CaptainJeffLaughs #MulletMagic #TarponTales #FishingFrenzy #LaughsAndLines

[lizzieraindrops]

For the guardian asks: 1-6, 9-11, & 19?

Omg i mostly reblogged that for reference and didn't expect any asks, but sure!!

Where was your guardian raised?

my main warlock Cyane was raised in the ocean! Probably somewhere in the western pacific. she was quite deep down since she died somewhere that kinda eventually sank during all the tectonic chaos of the Collapse. her ghost had to rez her underwater because he couldn't reach her from the surface. that did make for a rather chaotic first experience of being reborn only to half-drown, but she managed to follow her ghost's light to the surface like a guiding star. she eventually named him Phosphoros because of that. her ghost (not the canon young wolf's ghost, she is not the wolf) loves his name but he's terribly embarrassed about it, so he mostly goes by Sporos.

2. What race is your Guardian?

she's a human! mixed ethnicity because i'm projecting lol

3. What do they look like?

Dark brown hair and eyes (I gave her the character creator mullet and it's grown on me even if bungie wont give me dark enough hair options that aren't black lmao), tan skin, average height and build but Buff Leg lol (body diversity bungie plsss)

4. Guardian's name?

Cyane! this is actually a subtle reference to my og gaming roots in Myst from Cyan studios lol (and Riven was already taken by a raid boss lmao)

5. Defining features?

is this like. physical appearance? personality? oc lore? she's a pretty average looking human lol, no tattoos or augments. character-wise she is obsessed with the Black Garden and that's her Thing

6. What's their Ghost's name?

nicknamed Sporos or occasionally Phở, he will do the ghost equivalent of blushing and stammering if you fullname him Phosphoros. he doesn't wanna sound pretentious like some of those other warlocks' ghosts, but that story of cyane's first rez is very precious to him and to their relationship and he is very sentimental and embarrassed about it but will only tell you about it under duress lol

9. Guardian's preferred weapon/weapons?

Trinity Ghoul. my beloved. this is mostly just because of my play style, i fuckign love bows

10 & 11. Guardian's class/subclass?

Warlock, Stormcaller! Also a Strand user, but not Stasis. Occasionally uses Void, infrequently Solar (until she learns to use it more after season of the Haunted)

19. If your Guardian left behind audio logs like Cayde did after his death, what would they say? Who would they be addressed to?

Ooooh interesting. she would definitely leave one for her best friend and sometimes fireteam member, hunter Phi-9. since Cyane is realistic about the high probability of her own death in the Black Garden because she researches it so much, the main message is telling Phi not to go there looking for her or anything that remains of her. Phi has some extreme trauma relating to the Garden and Cyane does not want her caught up in it again, especially if she's not there to support her anymore

Other than that, there are some of the expected sentimental farewells and items/research willed to other friends, both other oc's and actual npc's whom she is close to, including Eris, Osiris, Saladin, and Drifter.

this was fun, thank you!

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

The Cipher Conspiracy (7)

Phase 1: Collection Phase 2: Construction (this one!)

There's a bit of a time jump in this one, so if you find yourself wondering, "Wait, what's Stan doing here?" then that's your answer. It's only, like, a day, so don't freak out. This will only make sense after you finish reading the chapter, but, when we get to Ford's perspective right at the end, it's like we're going back in time a day to see what happened to him when the bros parted ways. Before that, it’s focused on what happened with the others. Things are going to be slightly out of sync until Chapter 9. :)

Adeline Marks is @hntrgurl13‘s OC, and I love her. So much. Honestly.

The Addiford ship belongs to @scipunk63 (not much of that in this one, sorry!)

Madeline McGucket a fun character from @missinspi.

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14

Chapter 7: A Dream Come True

Chicago, Illinois (USA)    ∆

No matter what Ford did, he could not seem to move fast enough. It was the ice on the road, the people in the way, the very air in front of him that slowed him down. Something unspeakable was happening to his brother, he could practically feel it, and if Addi was with him . . .

He and Fiddleford burst into the bar, barrelling past the doorman like he was non-existent. They stopped.

Too slow, too slow!

Back room. Ford saw it instantly.

Move!

People blocked his path. Drawing his gun solved that problem.

Faster!

His ears were roaring and he did not think it was all to do with the blood rushing through his veins. The look on his face cleared the crowd quicker than his weapon. Ten steps to the door, five, zero, Fiddleford slammed it open before him, two men, backs exposed, blocking the view beyond, God help them if either of their captives were hurt, strike that, not taking any chances. Or prisoners.

He fired two silent gunshots and he saw the bodies fall to the floor. There was no need to worry about them anymore, so they dissipated. The only important thing was that Stan and Addi were safe now –

On the floor. Shape on the floor. Lying.

Blood on his shoes.

He was too late.

There was already a round little hole in Stan’s head, and his skin was cold, so cold, colder than the outside air. Red trickled down his face, pooled on the floor, lapped against Ford’s knees as he fell, fisting his hands into his brother’s shirt and yelling into his chest while that same muted sensation continued to crash down, muffling everything.

There was another bloodless hand lying next to Stan’s – smaller. Addi’s. The hair splayed underneath her elbow was matted with darkness. He could not bear to look any further and reached out to touch her.

Footsteps. He looked up. Bill stood above him, looking viciously delighted at the shining memory gun in his hand.

“ALRIGHT SIXER, LET’S GET TO WORK!”

Everything flashed yellow.

∆

It was an hour past midnight. Stan really shouldn’t be awake. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he was going to get to sleep anyway, so he might as well do something productive.

The apartment lights cast a soft glow on the scene. He had been rooting carefully through Ford’s bags, looking for some evidence of whatever all these machines and materials were going to be used for. It wasn’t like he could stop Ford: they were at the end of their collaboration, as he would put it. He was just trying to settle his own fears about his brother going back to whatever situation he was in.

“STAN!”

The door on the left side of the entrance hallway banged open, Ford hurtling out in his shirt and boxers, ruffle-haired and wild-eyed, half-asleep. He crashed into the door opposite, knocked frantically for a fraction of a second, then fell through into Stan’s room. There was a moment of silence, then –

“STAN!”

“Whoa, I’m right here bro,” Stan said from the living room, hurriedly shutting a bag full of machinery. He stood and went to see what was wrong.

Ford stumbled out again, letting out a shuddering breath when he saw him.

“Just a dream, just a dream,” he muttered. Stan winced in understanding, patting his brother’s shoulder soothingly. He didn’t think it would be too far out of field to think Russia was no longer part of either of their preferred holiday destinations.

Ford raised both hands to rub his face tiredly. One had a gun in it.

“Okay, whoa, no, let’s get you back to bed.” Stan said, snatching the firearm away as Ford looked at it in bleary confusion. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m not tired,” Ford protested, swaying.

“Load of crap,”

He steered Ford back into his room, the man falling asleep as soon as he flopped on top of the sheets. Good enough, Stan supposed.

His search was getting nowhere. He should head back to his own bed and try to sleep, unlikely as it was to happen. He was turning to go when a shine caught his eye.

That journal of Ford’s was lying on his bedside table, hallway light bouncing off the gold six-fingered hand on the cover. He hesitated before sitting down on the edge of the bed, picking it up, and flipping through. Starting with the most recent entry, he began to translate and read the code inside.

Russia was . . . not ideal. B changed the plans so that S and I would be split up, which was only the start of the problems we would eventually face. Quite apart from anything else, I do not have much time with my brother left before we part ways, and I am feeling now more urgently than ever how every second counts.

I cannot help but feel as though B was wrong to set up the meeting with the Mafia, regardless of how beneficial it was – we did retrieve the filament. Far be it from me to second-guess him, nevertheless, I am unable to say with any sort of confidence that I have complete faith in his wisdom now. On the other hand, I expect that the incident would not have rattled me so badly had I been alone. Alone, I do not stand to lose the people close to me, and nor can anyone be tempted to take them. Perhaps this is why B is so adamant about having solitary operatives.

One of the agents we have encountered on previous missions, F, proved to be a great help in refining the design for the device. Conversely, A and S found themselves in a situation no one should ever have to face. I swear I have never been more scared in my life. I cannot understand why either of them were able to look me in the eye afterwards. After all, I was responsible for what they had to endure. That being said, I am also immensely grateful that they seemed to place not even the slightest blame on me. They deserve a much better friend than myself. Hopefully I will be able to live up to that one day.

The writing continued, detailing the events of the night. Stan didn’t read any further.

“Sixer, you knucklehead . . .” he said softly, shaking his head at Ford’s lightly snoring form.

∆

Chicago DuPage County Airport was busy. An unbelievable amount of people crowded the waiting area.

“Must be winter holidays,” Stan said.

“What?” called Ford.

“I said it must be winter holidays!”

“What?!”

Stan waved a hand, dismissing the comment. They attempted to move further away from the crowds. At this rate, they wouldn’t hear the calls for their flights.

Not flight. Flights. Here was where they parted ways. Stan to California, Ford to Oregon. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen to them after this. Would it be another five years of silence? Longer? Would he never get another postcard in the mail? He could always drive up to Gravity Falls. He knew where Ford lived now. But would Ford want to stay in contact? Would he decide that his work was too important again, or – especially after Russia – would he decide it was too dangerous for anyone else?

A three-tone dial sounded loudly over the speakers. Ford’s flight was boarding.

“I guess this is it,” Ford said, distinctly dispirited.

“Yeah,” Stan said, trying to convince himself that no, his throat was not closing up.

“I’ll, um, have someone get the Stanmobile back to you,”

“Oh yeah! Right.” He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about his car.

A silence bloomed, where neither of them were sure what to say. Ford cleared his throat and frowned at the ground.

“Goodbye, Stan,”

Stan looked at the ceiling. “Seeya rou – I mean, bye, Ford.”

Ford nodded shortly, then spun on his heel and left. Stan sighed. Good one. He looked for somewhere to sit down –

- and Ford crashed into him, hugging him tightly. Stan responded gladly.

“Don’t get too caught up in your work, nerd,” he said thickly.

“I won’t. Would it – would it be okay if I came to see you after it’s finished?”

He did not sniff, he did not just sniff. “Yeah. Yeah that would be – be good,”

With a lot more throat-clearing and gruff pats on the back, they both pulled away and gave each other smiles that were definitely not watery. Then Ford went off to find his plane for real.

Another announcement was made over the speaker.

“-to Sacramento, California has been delayed. Approximate waiting time is thirty hours. The next available flight to Sacramento is in twenty hours. We are not that sorry for the inconvenience. It’s not our flight, after all,”

Unbelievable.

He might as well head back to the hotel, then. Glumly, he realised that this time he’d have to pay for a room himself, since Ford had taken all his money with him. Well, it had only been two flipping weeks without seeing Carla, what was one more day? A damn mess, that’s what.

A jewellery store caught his eye as he passed.

He supposed if he was going to do this, he might as well do it properly.

Manhattan, New York (USA)    ∆

“Agent Marks, come in,”

Addi entered Jheselbraum’s office, still stretching out her muscles after the flight from Atlanta and the drive from LaGuardia. It was very early in the morning, and she was still recovering from the jet lag hanging around after the Russia flight.

“How are you?”

“Happy to be back,” Addi said firmly, approaching the desk and sitting in the chair opposite the director.

Jheselbraum examined her closely. “You don’t look like you slept well,”

From past experience, Addi knew that deflecting the question or outright lying would not do her any favours. Once, Jheselbraum had gone so far as to drive her home herself when she had kept insisting she was fine after a particularly rough mission.

Russia had been a new kind of rough. Things had never gotten that close before. Addi didn’t want to admit it to anyone, even herself, but at the moment fieldwork . . . didn’t seem as fun as it used to. She bet that the most danger the building’s analysts had been in lately was of a stapler fight if someone forgot to unjam the printer.

“We had a couple close calls on this one,” she eventually said, avoiding Jheselbraum’s eyes.

The other woman stood up and walked around to her side, signalling that it wasn’t necessary for Addi to stand. She leaned against the desk and placed her hand lightly on Addi’s shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” she said plainly, “and you’ll have a rest from dangerous missions for a few weeks.”

Her tone brooked no argument, and frankly, Addi wouldn’t have protested anyway.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Jheselbraum added, “have a warm bath, do what you want for a change. Put high-stakes chance games out of your mind.”

Addi started. She hadn’t included Russia in her report or debrief, for the obvious reason that it hadn’t been a sanctioned operation, and the not-so-obvious reason that there were only a few people she was willing to talk about it with – four, to be exact, including the woman in front of her.

“How did you know about that?”

“About what?” Jheselbraum smiled. Then she sat back down behind her desk as Addi took her leave.

San Jose, California (USA)    ∆

“It’s about dang time,” Fiddleford sighed longingly, when he had retrieved his luggage from the baggage claim. He was finally getting to go home. It had been far too long since he’d seen Tate’s drawings stuck on the fridge, heard Madeline singing as she moved around the house, and held them both in his arms as they settled down to watch TV. Just a few more hours, and after that a few more months, and then he wouldn’t have to leave home at all.

His phone rang.

“I sure hope this isn’t Jheselbraum about to tell me Ah can’t go home yet.” He looked at the caller ID. “That ain’t a good sign. Yes ma’am?”

“Agent McGucket, I’m sorry to do this to you, but you can’t go home yet,”

It wasn’t a surprise, but it still chafed. However, it was not like he was going to ignore whatever assignment Jheselbraum had for him; the work they did was important, even if he was tiring of it.

“What is it? And is it at all nearby?”

“Indeed it is. If there was anyone else in the area, I would have asked them, but unfortunately you are the only agent in several organisations who is close,” Jheselbraum said, genuine regret in her voice.

“Aren’t I lucky,”

“Do you recall our FBI contact, Carla McCorkle? I’ve decided it’s time to unite our investigations. I need you to head over there immediately and give her a copy of our findings. She’s at the FBI field office in Sacramento,”

Fiddleford sighed again. Nothing like a few hours driving after a few hours flying.

“You got it,”

“I promise that you’re free to spend a few days off as soon as you’re done. Again, I am so sorry,”

“Thank ya kindly, ma’am,” Fiddleford said with only the barest trace of acerbity, which he simultaneously regretted and did not.

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

Carla tried not to feel like she was being watched. It was something she was fighting more and more lately.

There was a spy in the FBI, specifically assigned to her and her work. She couldn’t tell anyone about it, because that would draw their attention. She didn’t know who it was, and she couldn’t investigate, because the spy might find out. Everyone was a suspect. The janitor had surprised her the other day and she’d almost punched him in the face.

When she received a text from Jheselbraum, she breathed more easily than she had in days. With no word from her, no one to confide in, and no one to take her mind off the situation, she’d been feeling extremely cut-off and isolated, not to mention simultaneously anxious and bored. She’d swept her office for bugs four times.

Carla’s fingers were busy tapping a tattoo on the desk until the office phone rang. She scrambled to pick it up.

“Agent McCorkle, there’s someone here to see you. Says his director sent him here for a meeting with you?”

“Send him up!” She tried not to sound too eager.

A minute later, a weary-looking man with glasses and a green suit stepped into her office and closed the door behind him.

“Hi, I’m Senior Special Agent Carla McCorkle,” Carla said, holding out her hand.

“Agent Fiddleford McGucket. Jheselbraum sent me,” Fiddleford said, shaking it.

“Please,” Carla beseeched as they sat, “tell me you have something good. Our case has gone so stale that yesterday Agent Wexler tried to get the Special Agent-in-Charge to tell me to give it up.”

Fiddleford frowned slightly and handed over a thumb drive. “Ah can’t say whether this’ll do ya much good, but it’s worth a try. That there’s everything we’ve managed to collect on the Cipher Wheel,”

Anticipation stirred in her as she took the drive and inserted it into her computer. It contained a single file. Okay, so that’s a little unexpected, but this is the work of an entire agency here. It must be good.

She downloaded the document.

“Symbols?” she said blankly, scrolling through. The document contained pictures of maybe ten symbols, the locations said symbols had been found, and underneath each a detailed report of any unlawful, suspicious or just plain unusual activity in the area at the time it had been discovered.

Fiddleford grimaced. “Yep. Just symbols. Ah expect it doesn’t help much?”

“Oh no, no,” said Carla hurriedly.

“It’s alright if ya say so,”

“No, no, I’m sure it will be . . . of some use . . . maybe. I’ll have to go over what we have again, see if any crop up,”

“Good luck.” Fiddleford said. “We think those symbols are a kind of signature for Cipher Wheel operatives. If they contact someone, this is how they show they’re workin’ for Bill Cipher, or maybe it’s just to show who they are without giving away their names. We’ve only managed to get these from reconstructin’ burned documents. They’re thorough, whoever they are,”

“Tell me about it,” Carla muttered. She ejected the USB and put it safely in a pocket. “I suppose all that’s left now is to-”

The door banged open.

“Hey darl’, guess who’s back!”

Stan practically leapt into the room, motormouth running at full speed. “We are finally in the same place after two weeks and three days, so grab your coat because I’m taking you out-” He spotted Fiddleford and slammed on the figurative brakes, an astonished look on his face. Fiddleford’s mouth dropped open. Carla noticed everything.

Funnily enough, the first question she voiced was not “How do you two know each other?” because something more surprising had occurred to her.

“Did you cut your hair?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stan touched his shortened locks quite vulnerably, looking more like a deer in headlights with every passing moment.

Not only had Stan foregone the mullet, he looked like he was wearing some new clothes, too. He’d really neatened up while he was away.

Wait.

A thrill went through her.

He was back! He was finally back!

“You work for the FBI?” asked Fiddleford finally, looking baffled, but there was a faint grin appearing on his face which showed he was pleased to see Stan. Not enemies then.

“With the FBI,” Carla and Stan corrected at the same time.

“So what were ya doin’ overseas?”

“Actually, I’d quite like to know that as well. And why you two have met,” added Carla.

“Can’t say,” said Stan and Fiddleford quickly.

“Mission secrecy,” elaborated Fiddleford.

Stan addressed the Oracle agent. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s classified,” responded Carla and Fiddleford together. A strange mixture of emotions swirled around inside her. There was irritation and curiosity about what these two had gotten up to overseas, but they were quickly dissipating in an onslaught of sheer joy – she might just refrain from interrogating the men! For a maximum of two hours and thirty minutes!

Fiddleford suppressed a laugh at the way their inquiries were going. “Well, nice ta meet ya, Agent McCorkle, and it was good seein’ ya again, Stan.” He said, getting up to leave. “I doubt this’s the last time, either.”

“At the rate this is going, we’ll probably end up working together,” agreed Stan, shaking Fiddleford’s hand.

The agent went to the door, with a last amazed look in Stan’s direction.

“Oh! Wait!” Carla exclaimed before he could leave, her responsibility to her job shining through despite her excitement to spend some time with Stan. “Don’t you need the FBI’s informa-”

“Lalalala!” said Fiddleford loudly, sticking his fingers in his ears. “NolalalalalaI’mgoin’homelalalalahere’smanumberifyaneeditandonlyifyouneeditmindyoulalala!”

He tossed her a card that was blank except from a phone number in the centre, then hurried away, presumably before anyone could call him back and delay his departure.

“I like him,” Carla decided. Then she vaulted over her desk and flung herself at Stan, wrapping him in her arms and not wanting to let go.

“Whoa!” Stan laughed as he caught her and hugged her tightly. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Missed you too,”

Stan let go. “Do you have work to do?”

Carla’s answer was a frown.

“Well, not anymore! We’re going out!” He grabbed her hand and dragged her out the door, snagging her coat and bag on the way. Carla didn’t complain.

Manhattan, New York (USA)    ∆

Addi could feel tension that she hadn’t even been aware of draining out of her. She was curled up in a blanket, sitting in her pyjamas, watching her favourite movie, and eating snacks. She was free to do what she liked for the first time in a long, long while, and as a result her head was beginning to droop with the peace of it all. She felt completely safe.

The phone seemed to blare into the silence, shocking her out of drowsiness. She tripped over her blanket as she shot off the couch towards the kitchen, stumbling over it and using an athletic manoeuvre to roll when she hit the ground and come up right where the phone was.

“Yes? Hello?” she said through uneven breaths.

“Agent Marks,” said an unfamiliar voice, “these are your superiors,”

Addi was quiet. “You mean . . . as in Jheselbraum’s overseers?”

“Yes,”

“The in-charge people?”

"Yes,”

“The head honchos?”

“Yes,”

“The-”

“Yes. We are contacting you for a very important reason,”

“Why directly? Why not through Jheselbraum? That’s how missions are usually assigned,”

“This is a one-time scenario. Rest assured, it will not happen again. To you, or any of Oracle Division, for that matter. It is for the best that we . . . shake things up. For good,”

Addi decided not to press any of her questions yet. The person on the other end of the line seemed rather preoccupied.

“We are giving you a mission. It is essential that you start immediately,”

The last of Addi’s good mood evaporated. “Understood,” she said, containing her frustration.

“At the FBI field office in Sacramento, an investigation is being undertaken to an unacceptable end. Efforts to derail it have failed.”

“What’s being investigated?”

There was a pause, during which Addi became certain that she was asking questions the other person did not know the answers to. She wondered if the superiors had superiors.

“That is not of your concern,” was the eventual reply. “All you need to know is that drastic action is required. Something that will put all investigations on hold while the case in question is altered to reflect more suitable facts.”

Something was knotting in the pit of Addi’s stomach.

“An assassination,”

“Who?” she managed.

“Start with the Special Agent-in-Charge. The Senior Special Agent leading the investigation may also be necessary if she continues to pursue this. You are expected in Sacramento immediately,”

The only thing able to permeate Addi’s numb mind was the thought that this flight would be a muscle-cramping six hours long. It was only eight in the morning, so plenty of time to get there.

She would be thankful for that, but really it depended on whose perspective it was considered from.

Gravity Falls, Oregon (USA)    ∆

Ford sighed and dumped his bags in his living room. Over two weeks away, and the only thing different about the place was the fine layer of dust covering everything.

Although . . .

Perhaps it was just the strangeness of actually being at home. Yes, it must be. It was bordering on superstitious to think that abiotic surroundings could be imbibed with emotional qualities.

Nevertheless . . .

It did seem to be missing a certain vibrancy he had become accustomed to of late. He surely had not felt this alone when he had left Gravity Falls.

He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of the basement door opening.

“Welcome back, smart guy!” Bill grinned, spreading his arms grandly as he walked into the living room.

“Bill,” Ford greeted, shoving away thoughts about how alike the smile of the man in front of him was to the one he had seen in last night’s dream.

“Got everything we need, I see. Alright Sixer, let’s get to work!”

[leatherbookmarking]

ya Hoo i booked a haircut for today!!! the hairclip was cute but i am TOTALLY ok with letting it go

EDIT haircut obtained i look like a vague memory of lesbianism? which is good i think

[drboxleitner]

an AU where literally everything was exactly the same except Dr two brains was 100% furry

[hoetani]

| POOLING DESIRE |

Warnings: Suggestive undertones, profanity (v little), gambling

Relationship: Kinda Sanzu (More like Bonten) x fem!Reader

Notes: I’m sorry idk wtf this is :’)

It’s lively around the pool table, filled with annoyed mutterings, jesting remarks and teasing comments. Everyone gathers to see you play, curious about the newcomer on a winning-streak. You lean against the cue, head tilting as you watch your opponent make his move. A smirk touches your lips when the cue ball brushes against the last spotty ball. A hush of angry grumblings disperse from the crowd.

“Guess it’s my turn again huh?” You ask no one in particular as you finish chalking your cue. Positioning it on the table, you hunch over to get the best angle before letting it fly. The ball flies to the eighth ball and hurls it across the table with such precision that it’s potted within seconds.

The onlookers cheer as you take a dramatic bow and pocket the money, shoving the wads of cash into your little clutch.

“Do you want to go again or are you tired of losing?” You ask cheekily, nose scrunching in a playful manner. The man grumbles before setting his cue down in defeat and you let him – he’d suffered enough blows to his ego tonight.

Just as you’re about to invite another poor stranger to play against you, someone leans over to whisper quietly in your ear, “The bosses want to see you.”

Your heart races, everyone knows who owns this casino and you’re no exception. The notorious gang, Bonten, own many places like this as a cover for their obvious criminal activity, but you never expect to actually see them.

Before following security through the extravagant casino, you swallow your fear and bid farewell, “Thank you gentleman, it was a pleasure to play with you.”

You’re led up the elegant staircase and down many halls to a set of large double doors. Smoothing your dress, you fix your plunging neckline self-consciously  and pat your hair down before stepping into the room.

Immediately, you’re greeted with eight lounging figures, all dressed to perfection. Their beauty is unmatched, and there’s a certain aura to them – dark yet playful. You drink them in, one at a time, allowing yourself to revel in such a sight. What reason did these gorgeous men have to call you up here?

When you manage to pry your eyes from them, you take notice of the pool table at the side of the room.

“Down for a game sweetheart?” the purple mullet haired man asks from the couch. They all watch curiously for your answer.

Your brain hiccups at the sound of his gravelly voice, and it takes a moment to process his words, “You called me here to play pool?”

“Saw you down there, played like a pro.”

You almost jump when you hear a different voice from behind you, and two hands come to rest on your hips, “Think you can take us?”

Your breath hitches at the close proximity, breathing deeply to calm your raging heart. You’re hyper-aware of the physical contact and it doesn’t help that his scent is so alluring – a heavy mix of shoe-polish and gunpowder invades your nostrils, enticing you closer.

“Calm down Sanzu, you’re scaring her,” someone chides from the back of the room.

“I can beat you all.”

You can feel Sanzu grin against you, his grip tightening marginally, “Yeah? How ‘bout we turn this into a little bet? Want to make you my bitch for the night.”

“And what do I get if I win?” You inquire, suppressing the urge to melt in his hold right there and then.

“Whatever you want, it’s yours. Money, jewels, clothes, you name it.”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think, “I want the same thing. For you to be my bitch.”

It brings a bubble of satisfaction when his eyes widen but he doesn’t dispute your request.

The boys flip a coin to decide who’ll go against you first. Who you come to know as the older Haitani, chucks you a cue – which you catch effortlessly – your diamond rings glinting prettily under the lights. You throw him a smirk as he mouths a cheeky, ‘good luck’.

You and the pink-haired beauty stand at opposite ends of the table, his blue eyes glint with unspoken mischief, it drives your motivation up the charts. Biting your lip, you watch him take the first shot and with it, the game is in motion.

Lining up your shot, you bend over neatly, lifting a leg to expose more soft skin, you promise darkly, “I’m gonna make you bark pretty boy.”

[aetheternity]

Can I have your number?

Synopsis: Armin’s always being asked by shy pretty girls for Eren’s number at parties to the point where when you ask for his number he doesn’t know how to respond. (Italicized words are Armin’s thoughts.)

“Why me?” Armin shrugs his cotton blue hoodie off his shoulders. Fingers grazing over the zipper in earnest contemplation. “Why don’t they ever just go right to him?” 

“I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you, Armin.” Connie begins, finger tracing over the rim of his partially empty glass. “Well actually I’m not. You’re the approachable friend because Eren is so tall and sexy; and you’re puppy cute.” 

“Puppy cute.” Armin spits, eyes uncharacteristically narrowing. 

Sasha plucks the glass from Connie’s hand, “That’s enough outta you.” She huffs pulling the drink far from Connie’s reach. “Sorry Armin, it’s just cause he’s drunk.” 

“But he isn’t wrong.” He replies, Sasha sighs transitioning Connie’s glass to her free hand. She tilts her head apologetically. “He isn’t wrong.” Armin repeats, rolling his eyes. 

Just as he reaches for the glass he can’t stop nursing tonight; a tap on his shoulder stops him. “Hey um..” The girl in front of him is the same as the rest. Gorgeous. Small build fitted out in a white crop top and blue skirt like she was meant to perfectly match with Armin. Her hair was short barely making it to the nape of her neck. She shifted her weight back and forth as she looked up at Armin with pinked cheeks. 

“I really hate to bother you with this..” Then don’t. “Uh..” She steps back so Armin can look out at all the loud party goers and their raucous chatter. “You’re friends with him right?” 

Through the sea of people she manages to point right at Jean. His black vest over a brown tee shirt surprisingly easy to pinpoint as he chatted away with a couple of other guys. His black fingers nails lightly tapping the edges of his glass as he laughed away without a care in the world. Loose hairs of his mullet pulled back with two black hair pins while the rest of his hair was perfectly gelled. 

“Yeah.” Armin replied with a small roll of his eyes. 

“Do you think maybe.. I can have his number?” 

Armin suppresses the urge to snort. “Do you have a pen?” He asks

Sasha ends up being the one that hands one to him and he quickly scribbles Jean’s number onto a piece of paper. He hands it over and she responds with a quick, ‘thank you’ taking her leave as quickly as possible. 

“Woah.. Forgot how bitchy you can be when you’ve had a few.” Sasha giggles though unlike the girl from before Armin’s glare does nothing to sway her. 

“Did I forget to mention sometimes Jean’s girls come to me too?” He sighed

Connie had managed to grab a new glass while Sasha had fallen distracted. He lifted a bottle of vodka over the edge of the counter top, sloppily pouring a bit of it over his hand and onto the table before properly settling into an easy rhythm. 

“No more! I’m serious Connie, you’ve had enough and you’re starting to get vulgar.” She snatched the glass just before he could drink from it, pushing it far away from his grasp. 

“You bitch I have not!” He argues, it takes a second for him to register from the wide eyed expressions surrounding him just how loud and crass he’d been. “Alright I’m sorry.. please take me home.” 

Sasha nods, slapping Connie’s back as she inches him off the stool and to his feet, “Hey I know you’re tired of taking messages tonight but could you maybe..”

“Tell Jean you’re taking Connie home? Sure why the fuck not?” 

Armin sighs wrapping his hand around his own glass before it’s snatched from his palm, “You’ve had enough to.” Sasha points “Don’t you dare have another sip tonight.” And with that she’s stumbling through the crowd with Connie’s arm perched over her shoulder. 

When Armin stands he almost knocks the chair over. I didn’t think I had that much.. He thinks. He yanks his hoodie from where it’s drooping through the empty back of the chair, pushing the furniture back up when it falls on him. And when he’s properly standing he takes a deep breath, staggering toward the direction the girl from before had pointed in. 

Despite how dirty it is and his knowledge of such he rests his pounding skull down on the table upon arrival. The cool wood soothing his overly warm skin. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jean asks as Armin exhales gingerly 

“Shut up.” He mutters 

‘Too much bourbon I see.” Jean replies 

Armin hates it. Hates this party. Hates the noise. Hates how Jean’s nails feel so good running through his sweaty blond hair. 

“Come on, talk to me.” 

“Girls think I’m the approachable friend.” Armin replies, standing up straight using the table in front of him for support. 

“Well yeah.” Jean nods “I know but that’s just cause they don’t understand how cute, nice and charming you actually are. Those girls are missing out going to Eren when the real heartthrob is right in front of them.” 

Armin snorts, “You need to stop drinking.” 

“I figured right after I called you cute.” Jean slides his glass away turning his attention back to Armin. “ But I wasn’t lying.” 

Armin shoots up, finger out towards Jean. “At least eight girls in the three hours we’ve been here have asked about Eren. Two asked about you.” 

“Do you know the names of my two?” 

“I think it was, I don’t know and the second was I don’t care.” 

“Ouch.” Jean pressed a finger to his lip, the black nail polish accented in the strobe lighting. He pressed his chin into his palm leaning in closer to Armin. “Have you ever considered changing your hair? Maybe growing it out or cutting it more?” 

“No I-” 

The terrible clatter of glasses shook Armin and Jean from their conversation. Three girls all of whom were laughing at nothing now standing in front of them. “Hey!” One greeted 

“Hello ladies.” Jean replied back while Armin gritted his teeth. 

The girl farthest away snorted, gesturing with her hands to the girl who had spoken up to begin with. “So my friends-” She quickly slapped the third girl on the back who instantly began giggling again. “I’m sorry.” 

Jean just nodded glancing at an unamused Armin. 

“You know him right?” The first girl tried immediately covering her mouth as though she’d said something completely foul. She pointed across the room at Eren who seemed completely unresponsive to a one sided conversation with a random girl. 

“Starting to wish I didn’t..” 

“Huh?!” Yelled the third girl 

“No, no..” The second girl began “It’s just cause these two like him.” The entire gaggle burst into loud giggles. All three of them pushing their hair away from their eyes and bouncing around like small children. 

When the agitating screeching died down the second girl added “We wanna see who he likes best.” She finished 

“Is he seeing anyone?” The first girl chimed in

“Not that I know of.” Armin answered 

“Do you have his number?” The third girl asked 

“I have it.” Jean responded before Armin could even create the sentence in his head. 

Jean promptly jotted the number down giving it to the first girl who didn’t hesitate in snatching it from his hand and heading off. The second girl behind her soon followed by the only one from the group that didn’t leave their manners at home. The third girl smiling with an appreciative farewell. 

Jean made a small noise in his throat, turning back to Armin with the nail of his thumb pressed under his teeth. “Maybe you should go home?.. You know what I’ll leave with you.” 

“Jean, no offense but I don’t want pity.” 

“When do you think Eren is gonna wanna leave?” 

“I don’t know.” He huffed “I’m gonna go use the bathroom.” 

He didn’t wait for Jean’s reply just grabbed his once discarded hoodie and headed through the mess of drunk partygoers towards the bathroom. He didn’t even need to actually use it. Just wanted to be out of sight of all the stupid drunk girls vying for Eren’s affections. Not even realizing that tissue has touched Eren longer than any of them will. 

The bathroom door was closed and maybe that was a good thing because it wasn’t extremely likely that Armin wouldn’t stay in there for a couple hours after the night he’s endured. He lets out a long exhale hunting around for his phone. Blond hair sticking up as he slumps against the wall. 

“Um hey.” Armin doesn’t even bother to look up. “Is someone in there?” 

“Yup.” He grunts 

Armin notes the slight shift in the person in front of him. He looks up completely unsurprised by the fleeting glance, the hands crossed behind their back and head bowed. 

“Ok.” The girl begins but by this point Armin’s attention is redirected to his phone  “My name is Y/N, I wanted to ask you if maybe I could have your number?” 

Armin blinks expression completely unchanged as she hands over her phone. He lets his eyes roll around in his head taking the device and robotically typing in Eren’s number in contacts. When he gives it back to her she lets out a little squeak of excitement. 

“I’ll call you!” She calls before running off 

Wait..  Gears turn like clockwork in his brain. Slowly but surely the situation dawns on him. His number???? Did a girl? Particularly one as cute as her ask for his number?? 

Granted he’d only seen her for a couple seconds but she was most certainly the most put together girl that had approached him tonight. Clothes neat and tidy. No flopping around like a fish out of water at any point during the conversation. Hair done in a ponytail that wasn’t begging for release from its confines. 

And he’d given her Eren’s number.. 

Shit! 

Safe to say Armin bolted. Back down the hall, leaping up to search over the crowding heads all around. Successfully getting weird stares but that was beyond his problems at the moment. Once he’d decided that she wasn’t anywhere around he sprinted through out the door and towards the stairs. 

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” He called, hearing the sound of footsteps. 

His heart collided with his ribcage, loud stomps ensuing as he sprinted around the bend at the bottom of the staircase. She was in his sights, her head turning and eyes making contact with his and just as soon his foot slipped. Body colliding with the first stair, then the second and so on till he’d successfully finished rolling down the entire flight. Slamming into the wall with a hard thud. 

“Oh my god Armin!” She settled onto her knees, reaching out for his face. Delicate palms brushing over his sore cheeks. “Are you ok? Never mind, stupid question, let me call an ambulance.” 

Blond lashes slowly fluttered close then open as she moved to pull her phone from her pocket. “Before you do.” Armin panted still working to catch his breath. “Can I give you my number? For real this time?”  

Ok so this is unedited because I think writers block is trying to take me and I’m trying my hardest to keep it at bay. I have like 5 things in the works at the moment so I really don’t need that.       

[sodattore]

How Things Were Before. *Chiluc Angst*

Okay so before anyone says "THIS SUCKKKS!!!" I'm new to writing 😭. (Also not proof-read) (Genshin AU)

Ajax usually went to Mondstadt for family occasions. It's either Christmas, Halloween, or any other holiday that was important to his family.

He'd stay for Christmas for about 5 weeks total, he and his family traveled around the city to see all the white snow slowly meeting in the luke-warm sun. It was a memory to keep.

"Teucer! Stop throwing snowballs at me!" He playfully yelled at his 5 year old brother. Picking up a big clup of snow and softly chucking it at the older toddler.

"Ahaha! You should be used to this!! It snows allll year long where we live!" He called back to Ajax, who was 15 years old at the time.

They were outside the city gates at the time, closer to Windrise. Ajax and Teucer giggled and threw snow at each other while their parents and other family talked about future events.

Ajax jumped feeling a person bump into him, he looked back to see a boy around the same age as him, red hair with a short mullet. It looked like he was upset about something.

"Im sorry! I should have looked where I was going. I apologize." He frantically said with worry in his voice.

"Hey, it's fine. Mistakes happen! What's your name?" Ajax replied holding his hand out, "Im Ajax! Or Childe, whichever you prefer!"

The red headed boy chuckled, "Diluc, Diluc Ragnvindr." Diluc shook Ajax's hand still giggling about how silly he was being.

After that day, they talked more and more often. Played in the snow, went to watch the sunset together, everything. They were like two peas in a pod.

But the time has come and Ajax has to go home. Diluc isn't too sad about it, since he knows he'll return. But one day he never did.

Diluc was devastated that his best friend would never return to Mondstadt, never return to him.

Kaeya tried to cheer him up multiple times, along with the knights. Diluc never forgotten him for years on end. But kaeya kept distracting him untill he did.

Years went by and the crisis with Mondst was saved by the traveler. Diluc and Aether has grown close and have a father son relationship.

Aether considers Diluc as a true father and isn't embarrassed or ashamed to call Diluc his father. He even died parts of his hair red because of him.

Aether headed off to Liyue to continue his journey of finding his sister, and Diluc gave him farewell gifts, such ass a red eagle necklace to always remind Aether or him.

Once Aether returned from Liyue, Diluc was the first person he wanted to visit. He knocked on the front doors to the winery to find the head made opening it, as usual.

"Ah, Sir Aether! Diluc is right in his room, you can go right up." Adiline pointed up to Dilucs room.

Aether did the code knock on Dilucs door so he know who it was.

"Come in, Aether." Diluc said, in a stern tone. Clearly focusing on paperwork, or something.

"Dad, I fought one of the Fatui." Aethers voice shook, knowing that Diluc hated the Fatui from a *certain* accident that happened a couple years ago.

"You what." Diluc put his pen down roughly, trying not to break the damn table. Noticing Aethers newly wounded scars.

"Who? Which one? Why." Diluc was this unbelievably angry. He wouldn't imagine losing another person he cares about to The Fatui.

Aether was quietly explaining who it was so no one was spying on them, "Well, he has orange hair, short orange hair at that. Blue eyes and uh, what was his name? Oh yes, Childe was his name."

Diluc started at him in shock, memories of him flooding back in. Remembering the snowball fights, the sharing foods, the laughter, snow angels. Everything came flooding in.

Childe.

Ajax.

Tartaglia

Number 11 of the Fatui Harbingers.

"Aether, I'll take care of you. Just, go to your room." As Aether walked off to his room, (which isn't even his room, it's a spare room) Diluc was in shock, then anger. How could Ajax betray him like that? Dissappear without a trace.

Diluc loved Ajax, he never admitted it to him though. He wished he would've. But now he's glad he didn't.

His love turned to dust for him. He hated Ajax for hurting him and the person he loved.

He sighed and decided to bring Aether to Barbara to heal his wounds faster.

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

About a year after that incident, Aether traveled to Inazuma. Duluc had to get used of Aether being gone for another adventure.

That night as he was closing up the tavern he saw a tall, orange haired man walking tk the Goth Grand Hotel.

'No.. No way thats..' Diluc though, unconsciously he followed hum.

Once they reached the top of the steps to the Grand Hotel the oranged hair man stopped.

"Stop following me Diluc. You haven't changed one bit you know." Childe chucked and turned around woth a sadistic look on his face.

Diluc emerged from the dark alleyway to meet him. Ajax, a betrayer.

"You've gotten smarter Ajax." Diluc said, his Pryo vision fuming with rage. Him fighting back the urge to attack.

"Lets talk somewhere else, shall we?" Akax gestured, threat Diluc to follow him.

Diluc had no choice, although he knew he was strong, he wasn't strong enough to fight an OFFICIAL Harbinger.

Ajax led him to the outside of the city gates, where they always used to play around. "You know Diluc, I've missed you all these years! We should-"

"Dont act like I don't know that you're a Harbinger, Ajax." Diluc scoffed, pushing him back. Teary-eyed rembering how he betrayed him brutally.

"Aether told you hm. That little bitch." Ajax growled under his breath, of COURSE he had to tell Diluc about it.

"Call him that again I'll snap your neck while the whole fatui is watching." Diluc lunged at his next with a Pyro infused hand.

But Ajax was quick to block the attack with his Hydro Spear. "Do you hear yourself? You know that I'm a Harbinger. They'll murder you on the spot." He hissed right infront of Dilucs face.

Diluc backed up and blurted out something he never wanted to say to him.

"I loved you Ajax. I did. But you just HAD to ruin it. You had to dissappear? You HAD to leave ME heartbroken? I hate you. I hate you SO much." He said, angry tears rolling down his face while he stormed off

Oh how Ajax wished he have known,

He loved Diluc too. How he wished they'd go back to what things were before.