#ivan whiskey

[artistmitchy]

I spent way too much time on this.

[yamikurutto-official]

001 and 003

[enderon]

I've watched a bit of the 2001 anime now and here's what I think of the characters so far:

009/Joe - Despite the inclusion of a literal infant on the team, he is baby. He is just so sweet and wants to help so badly. The way he just keeps on trying to talk down the other cyborgs. Love the boy.

001/Ivan - Super baby, super baby. All joked aside, I'm always very amused by super powered little kids who are either stronger or smarter than the much older characters around them. I also loved that it's not like 'magically he doesn't need any of th4 regular baby things', no, he's still an infant. He stills has to be carried around, fed from a bottle, sleeps a lot especially after using his power, and one change from the bit of the manga I read that I wish they hadn't changed is the point that he can only speak telepathically since he's not physically developed enough to actually speak. He may be super smart, but he's still just a baby.

002/Jet - Angry bird man time. Every time I look at the alt designs for other properties, it's the absolute downgrade of Jet's design specifically that bugs me the most, like, why can't they just embrace his gravity defying hair and ridiculously long nose? They're so iconic.

003/Francois - That bit where she explained to Joe how she was a fight happy tomboy when she was young and actively loathed feminine things but then at some point clearly became comfortable with being much more traditionally feminine cause it's what she likes and it makes her happy? Yeah, that was too relatable.

004/Albert - Then we have my favorite. Why is he my favorite? I dunno. Number one thing I'm constantly wondering is 'sir, where are your pupils?'. Like, I could understand if his eyes were made to look like that as a cyborg, especially to go along with the fact that he's the most robotic of all of them, but no, his eyes were always like that. I also like that this man does not smile, only smirks like a smug asshole, even though he very much is not. Love him.

005/G Junior - I mean, you really can't go wrong with a quiet, gentle giant character. I really can't find too much to say about him, cause the an8me, where I'm at, hasn't given him too much focus, but he seems good.

006/Chang - He is just so good and caring. I absolutely adore that episode where, even though some of them aren't with the others, they all feel that connection due to cooking and food, all thanks to Chang. It's good stuff.

007/Great - He's okay. I like his design, and he's mostly good, but some of the earlier episodes he can grate slightly, but he definitely grows on you. That one episode when they went to London actually pleasantly surprised me. Other series would have him cause his own problems by glory seeking, but it's clear he already learned that lesson and he's much more genuine. It's a nice change from what I'd usually expect.

008/Pyunma - I mentioned reading a bit of the manga and, yeah, uh, the changes they made for him were really good and really necessary. Like, not just changing his design but his backstory as well. But I like him.

Dr. Gilmore - Good scientist dad. Love that he got involved in sketchy things and even though he will fully admit that got manipulated and tricked, still holds guilt cause he knows he's still the one to do it. He's still the one who changed so many of his now beloved friends into living weapons. But he tries to help them however he can to make amends. Also him and the other old scientist have really fruity vibes, and I love that for them.

[salty-puppy]

9/1

[the-wunderkind-cyborg]

[kasagia]

❄️️Warm my heart pt. 6❄️️

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/ The Darkling x fem! heartrender! reader Summary: Lots of things are happening. And you're going to learn something completely new about Aleksander… Warning(s): furious Aleksander and his shadows shed blood; Word Count: 3,6 k Taglist:@aoi-targaryen @budugu @flostvs1508 ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova’s Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 5 ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 7 ~•♤♤♤•~

Dressed in a nightgown, you were already going to bed when suddenly there was a knock on your chambers.

You frown, not knowing who it could be at this late in the night. Well... you couldn't say you didn't have some hopes about the identity of your late-night guest.

"Aleksander?" you ask, opening the door.

There is no one there. You frown and walk out of the safety of your chambers. You take a look around, searching for anyone in the quiet, dark corridor. You notice that the torches have been extinguished faster than usual, leaving only one in the middle of the passageway.

You listen to your surroundings and hear the two heartbeats, which probably came from the guards patrolling the corridors. It does not arouse any suspicions in you, so you shrug and decide to go back to your room and ignore this strange situation.

You suspect that these are some young Grishas playing instead of sleeping. The youngest summoners have already played various tricks and jokes on the inhabitants of the Little Palace several times.

You change your mind when suddenly a wet cloth is pressed to your nose and someone's arms wrap around you. You fight against your attacker, trying to scream, but all you manage to do is scratch him. You fall limply to the floor as the substance takes effect, and before you completely pass out, you're kicked in the stomach.

Aleksander rubbed his hand over his forehead as he read the latest reports from the fold. Another failed transport. More Grishas were killed. He shuddered, placing the paper on the desk. This wasn't supposed to be like this. The Volcra were supposed to attack the king's men, the Fjerdans... not his people.

With every day in the Little Palace, with every news of his men dying in the fold... every time you offered to move to West Ravka with the others to personally supervise the transfer, he felt the bile rising in his throat. He would correct his mistake. He will move the fold and widen it so that it serves him as it should. He just had to get that stag and the powers of the Sun Summoner.

"General." Ivan enters the war room with Fedyor and Inferni. "We have a problem."

"As always." He sighs and gets up from the desk. He goes to the bar to pour himself some whiskey. "What happened this time?"

"There was an attack on the eastern wing. Alina was the target." he freezes for a moment, pours himself a drink, and turns back to his men.

"Sun Summoner?"

"Alive and safe. But it is not everything. The rebels took hostages. They barricaded themselves in the training room. They have Fjerdans' technology, blocking our powers. And…"

"And?"

"We can't find Y/N." Fedyor takes Ivan's place by delivering the news. Aleksander's eyes are fixed blankly on the heartrender as he processes his words.

This one sentence makes him stop seeing or hearing anything. He feels his shadows slowly begin to take over the room as he allows his power to slip away for a slight moment when he creates a plan in his head.

"I want all of you on the east wing. Every single one of you who is usually coming to the mission with me, no inexperienced greenhorns."

Before they can answer him, he already leaves the room and storms to where the rebels are supposed to be.

Aleksander was not famous for his mercy, and he certainly would not show it to those who dared to enter HIS palace. They wanted to kill his Sun Summoner and deprive him of the source of power that was a key element of his plan. But what sealed their long, painful, slow death at his hands and shadows was that they dared to take HIS SECOND-IN-COMMAND from him.

HIS HEARTRENDER. HIS Y/N.

He practically ran to the east wing. He didn't notice anything around him. All Aleksander could think about was you. He has already figured out seven different plans for how to rescue you and get you back into his arms.

Involuntarily, he remembered the last time he tried to save someone from his enemies... someone who had not made it out alive.

No. He shook his head and passed the Grishas, who were beginning to gather outside the training room at his command. You weren't Luda. He promised himself that you wouldn't end up like her... even if he had to create a second fold to protect you.

He vaguely remembers nodding at Zoya. She summoned a wind that blew the door off its hinges, and he entered first with the cut already formed and his shadows filling the room. He controlled himself enough not to kill anyone in the room until he located exactly where you were.

But the problem was that you WEREN'T there.

His heart sinks as he imagines you with a deadly wound, blood pouring out of you, forming a pool beneath you somewhere on the grounds of the Little Palace, a place that he made—a place that was supposed to be free from the death of any Grishas. ESPECIALLY YOURS.

"Where is my heartrender?!"

His question receives no answer. In a fit of rage, he growls menacingly, his shadows wrapping around one of the attackers. He dies practically on the spot, only able to utter a few screams that satisfy Aleksander enough to regain full control over himself.

He takes a few intimidating steps towards the man who is trembling the most of all the rebels on the ground, held down by Ivan. The sound of his heavy boots bounces off the floor and spreads throughout the completely silent room.

"I'll ask one last time." one step further. "Where." next step. "Is." he stands directly above him and puts his foot on his chest, pinning him to the ground. A little harder, and he knows he'll break a few ribs. "MY SECOND-IN-COMMAND?"

"She… she escaped… with some of yours..." he hums at this answer, pride rising within him to hear that his little heartrender managed to get out. And judging by the few dead bodies, she did it in style.

He presses his boot with greater force against the man on the floor. Spurs begin to dig into his chest.

"Wait! WAIT! I can tell you more! Do not kill me!" the man struggles beneath him, trying to relieve the pressure of the spur on his chest.

"You broke into my palace and wanted to kill the Sun Summoner and my second-in-command. Do you really think I will fulfil your pathetic cries for life?" one lifts his hand, and a small turn of the fingers and shadows surround the terrified man at his command. "Besides, I've heard enough from you. Not your screams, though..."

And with that, desperate screams began to echo throughout the room as he and his men interrogated the attackers.

You were sitting in the healers' infirmary. You were eating a cupcake when Fedyor was screaming at you.

"You are completely irresponsible! They could have killed you!"

"But they didn't." you say, munching on a muffin. The healer managed to heal most of your wounds before Fedyor arrived, but the heartrender managed to see the effects of your escape.

"We were worried. You're lucky the general didn't see what they did to you. They're lucky. Although I doubt he'll show them any mercy, they're probably dying anyway for daring to attack the Little Palace and trying to kill you as well as others of ours."

"Please, we both know where the general is now and where his priorities are." you huff, reaching for another cupcake that some nice healer brought you. You don't recall his name, though.

"Where, supposedly?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

"With Alina." you say, shrugging. Disbelief crosses your friend's face before he groans loudly in torment. You frown at him in confusion. "What? Am I wrong? After all, she was the target. He's probably wiping her tears away with his handkerchief or something."

"I have no strength against you. How many times do I have to tell you that he doesn't want Alina? And not. Don't start with your stupid nonsense about equals, more equals, fate, or opposites attracting. It doesn't work like that here between them. The sooner you get off your ass and do something, the shorter I will have to endure your outbursts of jealousy, and Ivan will have to endure the general's outbursts."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Please, who do you think tracked down who you were corresponding with and intercepted Mal's letter for him? Ivan didn't even have time to finish his report. He ran out of the war room as if he had been scalded, almost crumpling Ortsev's letter in his hand. I remember because I was walking Genio to the Grand Palace, and we almost stepped under his feet. It's good that he controls himself and doesn't summon his shadows in a fit of emotion, because every week, even every day, we would have to organise funerals for our people because our general created a second fold because of you."

You blush slightly and clear your throat before taking another muffin.

"And yet he's not here."

"Because I believe that right now he is disembowelling those who knocked you out as an act of his undying love for you." you roll your eyes at him. You both shut up as the healer returns with some vials for you.

"Here. Just in case the dizziness persists." you smile sweetly at him and thank him while taking the vials from him. The healer blushes slightly. Fedyor rolls his eyes at you and clears his throat.

“Let's go, Y/N. Before there are any more wounded… or dead.”

"I'll join you soon." you say, nodding at him to leave.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." he sighs in defeat and leaves the infirmary.

You turn around, giving your full attention to the healer. He was sweet. And after everything that happened, he was a nice break from your daily dramas. Plus, he had something you really liked.

"Is that a moonstone?" you ask with a kind smile, pointing to the bracelet he was wearing.

"Oh yes." he says sheepishly, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "A durasts friend did this to me. Some people believe that it can help attract love into one's life."

"Aww. That's really beautiful." you see how he becomes ashamed under your gaze.

"Umm…thank you. If I can help you in any way, you know where to find me." you nod and thank him once again before he disappears into the glove compartment, probably to restock medical supplies.

You sigh and jump to the ground from your seat in the medical chair. You take another cupcake. You are unwrapping the paper around it when suddenly the door to the infirmary opens with a loud bang.

You turn around, coming face-to-face with Aleksander. The tension on his face strangely disappears the moment his eyes meet yours. You see (and hear through his heartbeat) how he relaxes at the sight of you.

"Y/N." he sighs and walks over to you as his steps in his heavy shoes echo in the silence of the still-empty sall.

Before you can do anything, his hands tangle in your hair, bringing you close to him as his lips catch yours in a sudden kiss.

You gasp in shock, still holding a cupcake in your hand. You moan as you realise what he is doing and start to respond to his kiss.

At first, he gently brushes his lips against yours, testing the waters to see how far he can go with you. When he realises that you are willingly moving your lips and tongue against his, he makes it deeper.

You are pulled closer to him. His other hand is grabbing your waist and pressing you against him, making sure to feel every little inch of your body.

You tremble at the feeling of his hands all over you. And you want more. Much more than this.

When your tongue meets his, you feel like you are in heaven. He moans as he tastes the chocolate in the muffins you've been eating and kisses you with even more zeal.

You're lost to everything else; it is only you and him. His body against yours; his lips, stealing your breath and hands, holding you still on the ground.

His hand cups your cheek gently, his thumb caressing your skin tenderly with all the delicacy he has, which you are probably the only one witnessing. You feel his wandering hand finally land on your neck, right where your pulse is, which is now beating much faster because of him.

He presses his hand there, wanting, at all costs, to feel your heart palpitations. And as you try to process any thought in your brain that doesn't involve his lips on yours, you realise that right now you would do anything for him... in fact, you always have, and you would do anything for him. And it scares you just as much as it fills you with that strange, warm feeling. You know how it's called, but you were still too afraid to admit it to yourself.

So you decide to enjoy the moment. Your hands land in his hair, pulling him closer to you. Only his soft, breathtaking moan makes you realise where you are and that no one should definitely find you making out with the General... at least not until you're sure what you're feeling towards him.

Despite his tight grip on you, you manage to pull away just enough so that his lips don't capture yours again and take your mind off you with his silver tongue.

"Aleksander..." you whisper, your voice shaky and hoarse. And if you look the same as him, then you have red, slightly swollen lips, dishevelled hair, and wrinkled kefta.

"I thought… I thought they got you for a while…" he admits, resting his forehead against yours. You see all the dark thoughts come back to him again as he frowns and closes his eyes. You cup his cheek and stroke it with concern, trying to snap him out of all the bad scenarios he's prepared in his head. "When Fedyor said you were here… I thought the worst."

"I'm tougher than you think. And you really should listen to the end of what they have to say." you try to joke, but the look he gives you shows that he's not finding it funny in this situation at all.

"I don't want to find out. Ever." he says, pressing you to his chest in a tight embrace. "I need you to be safe… All of us need it…"

"Don't." you say, tilting your head to look at him. His dark eyes stare into yours as if hypnotized. "Just don't do this shitty talk. I... not after this."

"Maybe you've right... I think it's too late for us, isn't it?" he asks. You both know the answer, but you're not ready to say it out loud yet. This is enough for you for now. Being in the safety of each other's arms. "Let's get out of here. I believe you want to get back to your chambers."

"Not exactly." you say, shuddering at the memory of what happened to you a few hours ago.

"I should've made them pay worse for what they did…" he begins threateningly, thinking about these men, but he softens at the sight of your anxious state—a very rare sight that already makes his heart ache. "C'mon, milaya. I will take care of you." he takes your hand in his so gently and tenderly that you're sure you'd follow him to hell if he wanted.

But all he wants is to hold you as close to him as possible.

And you let him. Without any hesitations.

You were lying on his bed. Your kefta was folded and laid on the chair. He took his own off a long time ago since it was all covered in blood.

You were just cuddling. His face was nuzzled into your neck as you ran your fingers through his hair. You both needed this moment of closeness between you. To feel at least a little peace in the other's arms, tender touch, and lazy kisses placed on various parts of the body. The fact that he was shirtless only helped.

"Fjerdans found out that Sun Summoner was getting stronger. They sent some of their people here to kill her. They managed to get into Little Palace, just like it was a damn park. Also… Alina told me you were the one who rescued her."

"I did." you confirm, too busy with drawing patterns on his bare back (he insisted on taking off his shirt, even though you could see there wasn't any blood on the black material) to show much interest in talking about Alina.

"Why?"

"What why? Aren't you happy?"

"I am. But… Ivan told me that… she isn't your favourite person."

"You should stop asking other people about me. You are not at war with me; you do not need to find out about my weaknesses, preferences, tell others to keep an eye on me, and other things before confrontation. You just need to ask me. Besides, I like Alina. She is an amazing friend and sweet soul."

"But?"

"But… she just makes me… question my position at your side." you admit, ashamed. He grabs your chin softly and makes you look into his eyes as he grabs your hands in his.

"If I know something, I know that you belong here." he says, placing a kiss on your joined hands. "So never doubt in anything… there is… there is no one else like you. And I don't mean your powers. I mean you. My Y/N. The one who didn't turn her back at me. The one who can see through my façade and see the real me and who trusts my judgement without any questions… well, usually." he makes you laugh, at which he is smiling, admiring the sound he loved more than any music he has heard in the long centuries he has lived.

"You are my general." you say, shrugging your arms. As if it were enough of an answer to his words.

"Only?" he asks, with an almost teasing smile on his face.

"No... not anymore." you admit, making him blush a little.

He cleans his throat and wraps his arms tighter around you. He places a kiss on your temple and sighs.

"I have been waiting a long time for... for something like this." he whispers in your hair.

You prop yourself up on your elbow and kiss him sweetly and lovingly. He deepens the kiss, cupping your cheek into his hand and pulling you closer to him so you're underneath him. His hand wanders under your blouse when suddenly there's a knock on his door.

You both moan softly in unison and in disbelief. You reluctantly pull your lips away from him and he rests his forehead against yours.

He licks his lips, shifting his gaze from your eyes to the door. You laugh at how undecided he is looking right now. You can't help but kiss him softly.

"Go. I will wait here for you." you assure him with a true smile of utter happiness.

You see a disgruntled frown form on his forehead as he knits his eyebrows. He sighs heavily and reluctantly gets out of bed and goes to the closet. You roll onto your stomach and swing your legs as you watch him choose clothes from his closet.

"You'd better do it." he says, putting on his shirt. He smirks at you teasingly when he sees you staring at his chest.

He leans towards you and tangles his hand in your hair, pulling you in for a passionate kiss. You moan into his mouth as he bruises yours in a searing kiss, as if he's trying to make sure you won't forget the feeling and taste of his lips on yours.

"You really should go." you whisper, pulling away from him and laying back on the pillows.

"Are you that willing to kick me out of my own bed?" he asks, stroking his hand over your ankle and moving his hand higher to your knee. You curse the pants you're wearing now.

"Contrary. That's why you have to go now." he doesn't take your words to heart. He leans over you and tucks your hair behind your ear.

"Don't move from here." he whispers before pressing his lips hungrily onto yours one last time. You moan as his hand gently cups your neck, positioning you at a better angle for him to freely play with your tongue.

The bastard takes your breath away again and leaves you blushing on his bed. Before he leaves, he gives you one last long look and gives you such a wonderful smile that you can't help but watch him until he disappears out the door.

You sigh, laying back on the pillows and placing your hand over your mouth as you allow yourself to giggle with happiness like a stupid, lovestruck teenager. You completely forgot everything that happened today. All that mattered was him and how he felt pressed against you.

You hear a knock on his door. Without much thought, you get out of bed and walk over to them, fully convinced it's Aleksander.

"Did you forget something?" you ask, opening the door only to see the only person you didn't expect to see ever in your life again. "Baghra?"

[bumblesimagines]

seeing you with them... it made me so mad. i can't explain the feeling.

Ivan

seeing you with them... it made me so mad. i can't explain the feeling.

Pronoun: they/them/theirs, gender neutral!reader

trying to clean my drafts so the next few starters are kinda old

"This isn't a good idea, Menci." You sighed into your glass of whiskey, watching the youngest Blanco scan the club for her... girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend? Fling? You hardly knew what the two girls considered each other now but the longing looks, teasing, and Mencia's clinginess spoke volumes as to how they felt about each other. Mencia kept a hand on your bicep, digging her nails into the fabric of your shirt in frustration from time to time. "I'm telling you, Menci, you need to-"

"There she is!" Mencia grinned widely, snatching the cup from your hand and swiftly drinking the contents. Her nose crinkled slightly and she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, her lipstick miraculously staying perfectly put. She set the cup down on the counter and slipped her hand down to your wrist, practically dragging you off the barstool and toward an area on the dancefloor where Rebeka could easily spot her in your embrace. 

"Doesn't Rebe box in her free time? I don't want a black eye-"

"You'll be fine," Mencia assured you, setting her hands on your neck and glancing back in Rebeka's direction. Her smile widening informed you the girl in question had likely noticed you and Mencia, and you sighed internally, wondering how you'd let Mencia wrangle you into helping her make Rebeka jealous. It was childish and impulsive, but things always were when Mencia was involved. You pursed your lips at the girl and she clicked her tongue, giggling softly as she planted a kiss on your cheek. "If anything happens-"

"Mencia."

"If anything happens, I'll tell her it was my idea. Nothing's going to happen to you, okay? I promise." Mencia bit the tip of her tongue, more giggles leaving her. An unamused huff escaped you, the buzz of everything you'd drank throughout the night finally beginning to take effect. You pressed your forehead against hers, taking in the glittery eye makeup she'd chosen for the night. It wouldn't be the first time you'd made out with Mencia, hell, it likely wouldn't be the last either. So, with one last sigh, you nodded.

"Fine. But if I end up in the hospital because of you, you'll owe me." You murmured, pressing your forehead against hers and feeling her body shake with airy laughter. Mencia made a hum of acknowledgment and placed her hand over your cheek, pressing her lips against yours. She tasted of cold whiskey and bad ideas. You slipped your arms snugly around her waist and felt her nails lightly scrape the back of your head.

"Babes!" The voice in your ear startled you into pulling away, your head turning to look at Isadora and Ivan. The platinum blonde stared at you with slightly widened, annoyed eyes, her shiny lips slightly curling. Ivan's gaze flickered between you and Mencia, his fingers curling and uncurling before he broke away from Isadora and made his way through the crowd toward the bathrooms. Isadora turned toward you with a scowl, snapping her fingers in your face. "What are you waiting for? Go after him!"

"Why-"

"Go!" 

"Alright, alright," You pulled away completely from an equally puzzled Mencia, weaving through the groups of dancing club-goers until you reached the bathroom, spotting Ivan slipping into a stall and closing it in Patrick's face. The sight would've amused you if it weren't for how distressed Ivan had appeared. Patrick craned his neck to look at you over his shoulder, a scowl appearing on his face at the sight of you. 

"What'd you do to him?" He asked accusingly, turning around to face you and pressing his back against the stall door. One might've viewed it as a protective stance, a friend wanting to keep another safe, but you knew Patrick's 'overprotectiveness' was only due to his painfully one-sided feelings toward the boy in the stall. You might've found it pitiful if you hadn't hated the guy's guts since he ruined your best friend's relationship by inserting himself into it shamelessly. Patrick had been indifferent toward your distaste until Ivan stepped foot on campus and seemed more keen on being your friend over his. Watching his face fall each time Ivan brushed him off was a hit better than any drug.

"Bite me." You snapped at him. 

"Hey," Ivan sniffled. "Don't fight. I... I want to talk to (Y/N), Patrick."

"But-" 

"You heard him." You smirked and Patrick's jaw clenched, his shoulder roughly colliding with yours as he stormed by you. You rolled your eyes at his retreating form, one hand rubbing your shoulder and the other reaching for the stall door. You tugged it open just enough for you to slip inside before closing it behind you and facing the sun-kissed boy. 

"Hey." Ivan greeted weakly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffling at him. He cleared his throat, uncharacteristically timidly fiddling with his fingers. If you'd learned anything about Ivan Carvalho in the few months you'd known him, it was that he was anything but timid. He was confident, cocky, yet overall a sweet guy. 

"What's wrong, Ivan? What happened?" You asked him softly, taking slow steps toward him until you stood in front of him and gently took his hands into yours. Ivan chuckled softly, his fingers curling around yours. He inhaled deeply and tilted his head up to look at you, his adams apple bobbing when he swallowed thickly. Your brows furrowed at his nervous demeanor. "Are you oka-"

"I think I love you." The words tumbled out of his mouth, forcing you into stunned silence as your ever-growing tipsy state rendered your brain into a confused mush. Ivan laughed forcibly, his gaze flickering away nervously. "I... I've liked you since I first saw you in class. I- I thought you knew. I thought you knew and- I... seeing you with Mencia... it made me so mad. I can't explain the feeling. It hurt. I guess this is how Patrick feels like, huh? Must be karma."

"Ivan-"

"Can I kiss you? I... I just want to know what it feels like."

[imogenkol]

— 15 LINES OR LESS

I was tagged by @voidika @corvosattano and @kyber-infinitygems thank you!!! 💕💕💕

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @adelaidedrubman @florbelles @marivenah @simonxriley @inafieldofdaisies @socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @gwynbleidd @shellibisshe @loriane-elmuerto @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @g0dspeeed

RULES: share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture their character/personality/vibe. Bonus points for just using dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well.

“Well, I’ve fucked myself,”

“You really want a werewolf fugitive in your home for longer than necessary? I take it back, you are an idiot,”

“Ivan gave me the authority to remove individuals who display violence on these grounds unprovoked. Which means I get to tell you to promptly fuck off.”

“Others will test me no matter what. They already have, actually. I think I make my point pretty damn clear, so I sure as shit ain’t gonna go and fill out a questionnaire with my personal information like I’m at a werewolf DMV.”

“Like I’d ever let you eat something out of a can.”

“You come anywhere near her again, I won’t have as much restraint as I did today.”

“If he thinks that just because you’re the only one I won’t immediately clock that I’ll actually listen to what you have to say, he’s got another thing coming.”

“You are not my alpha… You never were and you never will be. I don't have an alpha.”

“I was afraid to die because I didn’t want you to remember me as an almost. I didn’t want you to look back and think ‘she almost loved me’, because I do love you. I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone. And the thought of me dying without you knowing that was too much for me to take.”

She halted by the bar for a second, pointing at Toby and slurring “You owe me…” her brows suddenly furrowed. “Shit, I didn’t do this for any money, did I?”

Jayde cleared her throat. “Listen, Nick,” she started and downed her entire glass of whiskey like it was water. // “It’s Patrick,” he corrected with a scowl. // She shrugged. “Eh, I knew it ended in an ‘ick’.”

Jayde scooped the kitten up and he flopped around in her grip like a ragdoll, trying to gnaw on her fingers. She held him up and tilted him this way and that, her brow furrowed in deep thought. Then she plopped the kitten back down on the bed and looked at Nadya with resolution. “Greg.”

Bonus Nadya Lines!

“I can imagine you’re here because of something bad… But it’s not my job to judge you. It’s my job to help you. And I want to help you, but it’s kind of hard to do that if you won’t at least talk to me.”

“Can’t we just… I don’t know, act like we aren’t doing anything wrong? I mean, that’s how you get away with shoplifting.” Jayde stared questioningly at her. Nadya’s face flushed once again. “N-not that I shoplift, I was just watching a petty crime documentary one night –”

“Did I ever tell you the way you set up a campsite is sexy?”

[rebouks]

Previous | Next

Transcript:

Aisha: We can’t talk for long. Ivan: We only-… Jolene: Your hair is just the cutest.

Ivan: Uh.. thanks. Aisha: Jolene! Jolene: [sighs] What?

Aisha: He’s not a customer, he works for them. Jolene: Oh shit, sorry! Unless..? Ivan: Maybe I should wait outside…

Fran: You look like you’ve had a rough night. Oscar: [scoffs] You think? Fran: Relax, I’m not hitting on you.

Oscar: Did I say you were? Fran: [sighs] Do you want some ice, or..? Oscar: I’m fine, I’m just here to speak with Aisha.

Fran: Okay; drink? Oscar: [pauses] Whiskey. Fran: C’mon Jo, help me out…

Darien: I take it you spoke to Wyatt. Bruno: Mhm. Darien: He figured you’d be in on it.

Bruno: What’re you doing here so late? Darien: The usual; sort of. Bruno: [snorts]

…

Bruno: Too much temptation? Ivan: Hey, I didn’t touch nobody! Why’d y’walk off? Bruno: Not my scene.

Ivan: [shudders] I’m freezin’ my bollocks off out here. Bruno: It’s been a while… Ivan: Maybe we should go n’ see what he’s doin’.

Bruno: I’ll go, you can scrape the snow off the car. Ivan: That’s a raw deal. Bruno: It’ll warm you up.

[fizzyjacuzzi]

 for the ask game! (Mi's main here)

✏️ Do you prefer traditional art or digital to relax?   

🙃 Which is easier: faces facing left, right, or front view?

🐻 Your go-to things to draw when you need comfort?

hi mi!!! thanks for the ask~~

✏️ personally i prefer digital in general, because less of a mess and i can work wherever i want

🙃 for me, drawing faces facing left is easier than right and front, probably because im right handed? front view can be a little stiff sometimes, because facial harmony while keeping symmetry in mind...

🐻 i like drawing touch, physical affections, and smiles for comfort doodles, but for more serious comfort pieces, i absolutely love drawing eeriee, melancholic and/or metaphorical pieces, if that makes sense? (most recent examples would be my ivan heart fanart and shot of whiskey fanart)

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Shadow of a Doubt by @haikujitsu

Whiskey & November by @dothwrites and @friendofcarlotta

Murderer's Row by @ ViolentMedic (on Twitter)

Flames Beneath The Earth by @ilya-halfelven

A Soul's Shape by @ Wingsofabird3 (on Twitter)

Oh God Not Again! by @sarah1281-takethree

Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Hands of Creation by @parva-ranus

Fractured Reprise by @lovepmd

Hermitbrine by @sycon-senti

Audacity by @persisting

Project Deviant by @kaykat666

A Deal in Matrimony by @hellotherekenobi

Of Sound Mind by @ofsound-mind

darling boy by @deitybird

The Stowaway's Heart by @the-sympathetic-villain

Sightless by @pastelvirgil

Capra by @liathgray

Can You Keep a Secret? by @piratefishmama

Something Reckless by @millenni-em-tauk

the melody of syllabic dissonance by @lethbians

Deathly Beautiful by @ KyuukaKoinu (on Twitter)

the observer effect by @mistresseast

Help! I allied too close to the sun! by @nblizzieforbes

The Story of Us by @ sweetestnerd_ (on Twitter)

Pictures of the Sinking World by @ splendidparrot (on Twitter)

Blue Sky by @wafflebloggies

Ice Revolution by @lebunnylub

The Pilgrim's Progress by @antares-8

Reluctant Hero by @ monkey30322 (on Twitter)

Thousand Gold Come-And-Go Stew by @vampirefaun

Ivan and Amelia, Sitting in a Tree by @blommabelle

Among the Stars by @konata101-arts

The Companion by @ahmerst

Why Are We Here Again? by @cloud-nine-and-three-quarters

Throw a Chair Through a Window and Call It a Day by @jaded-ghoster

O expectations, stale and dismal airs, leave this body of mine! by @aptlydapper

~ 🐍

I slapped this together in like three minutes lol

[lassieposting]

Things Kirigan and Kaz have in common:

- Fashion Sense: Both like understated elegance, relying on flattering cuts and quality fabrics to project an air of status and wealth. Both favour black with metallic accent colours (gold, silver, copper, brass). Both appreciate a good brocade.

- A Beloved Pet Dumbass: Kaz has Jesper and his gambling addiction. Kirigan has Nikolai and his complete lack of self-preservation.

- Touch Aversion: specifically as a result of childhood trauma.

- Devotedly Loyal #2: Ivan for Kirigan, Jesper again for Kaz.

- Missing Sibling: Kaz is a little brother without a big brother, and Kirigan is a big brother with a little sister he only sees rarely.

- Heart Eyes For Wifey: Inej for Kaz, Alina for Kirigan.

- Tactical Minds: Strategy is Kirigan's literal job and Kaz has a talent for outmanoeuvring his enemies - he plans the Crows' heists.

- Snark Knight In Dented Armour Personality: They're both deeply traumatised, broken men with massive trust issues who are nonetheless charismatic, fiercely loyal and very protective of those they care for. Kaz uses his influence to protect his crows, and rescues Inej from the Menagerie. Kirigan is a living shield between Fjerda/Shu Han/the less tolerant Lantsov kings and Ravka's Grisha population, and he's willing to take on his own merzost monsters to protect Alina.

- Power & Influence: Kaz is the head of his gang of criminals, vaguely analogous to a mob boss. Kirigan runs an army. Both are lonely, isolating, high-pressure roles where they are surrounded by underlings, not equals.

- Childhood Circumstances: Kaz was left homeless and destitute in a dangerous, degenerate city after Jordie lost their money and subsequently died. Kirigan was raised as a hunted minority, impoverished and perpetually on the move. They'd likely share some essential childhood skills; sleight of hand, light fingers, a flexible interpretation of personal property, cheating at cards, etc. Skills they could've used to feed themselves when nothing else would.

With that in mind:

Friendship Thoughts

- They're (officially - no one here has forgotten The Bomb Incident) introduced by Nikolai post-war. Sturmhond has done contract work for Kaz in the past - mostly overseas couriering of dubiously legal merchandise - and likes to drink at the Crow Club when he's docked in Ketterdam.

- Kaz recounting the story of his triumph over Pekka Rollins, however many years in the making, over a civilised glass of whiskey with the same kind of savage satisfaction Kirigan recognises from finally winning a brutal, drawn-out campaign.

- (Kirigan advises him to take in the Rollins boy, and be a kind mentor to him. Leaving him with the Dime Lions who are loyal to his father allows them to make him your enemy. Taking him prisoner and mistreating him does the same thing yourself. Far better to control both the boy and the narrative he's told from a young age. Trust him, Mr. Brekker, he has made that mistake with so. Many. Princes. Harmless boys will come back as angry men to bite you in the arse.)

- Deep, involved debates and discussions on tactics and strategy. Kirigan is an incredibly powerful Grisha and, while he grew up in the dirt, has spent centuries as a supposed "nobleman" and politically influential advisor to the Ravkan crown. Kaz spent much of his life as a penniless, powerless Barrel rat clawing his way out of the gutter with nothing but his wits. They approach the same problem from very different perspectives with very different assumed-available resources and see things the other would miss.

- Nikolai inviting Kaz to fancy Ravkan balls like it's a fucking play date. Kirigan can introduce him to a whole new network of wealthy investors if he wants to grow his business interests, open up a new echelon of society. And when they're not doing that, they can hide out in the corner being antisocial and judging everyone else's fashion choices.

- Long, dry letters exchanged across an ocean. Kaz sends a page and a half of Trouble Jesper Has Gotten Into Lately to Os Alta, in miniscule, italicised handwriting. After a few weeks, he receives three swirly, copperplate pages of Stupid Shit Niko Has Done This Month in return. For both of them, this is mostly entertainment, a brief break from an endless stream of boring paperwork to snort at the antics of someone else's idiot.

- Swapping skillsets. Kaz has plenty of his own informants in Ketterdam, but will sometimes write to tap into the Darkling's extensive, notoriously on-the-ball spy network, if foreign intelligence will be useful for a job. In exchange, he'll use his criminal network now and then to get Kirigan things from the black market - explosives, firearms, supplies Ravka is running low on, escaped Grisha indentures - on the quiet.

- Corecloth suits for Kaz. Fancy court waistcoats with Kerch embroidery for Kirigan. Swapping tailor recommendations. It sounds snarky, like they're subtly dunking on each other, but they're enjoying themselves. Jesper and Nikolai can simultaneously bond over being flamboyant and debonair.

- Nikolai learns quickly not to play cards with either of them. He knows how to cheat well enough, but Kaz and Kirigan are playing 5D Cheating Chess with sleight of hand, crimped cards and gaslighting, and if he keeps at it he'll lose everything down to his trousers. It's always the quiet ones.

- Mutual grousing about how inconvenient Feelings are. These two sat at the bar in the Crow Club downing shots while Kaz laments that Inej left him to go adventuring and Kirigan tries to explain that Alina murdered him but he got better. Plenty of salty side-eye aimed at Wylan and Jesper, being cute and couply at the Makker's Wheel table.

- "...is that a De Kappel?" "It is. What of it?" "I met him, once. About thirty, thirty-five years ago. He came to paint Pyotr's wedding portrait." "My wraith procured that one for me." "Ugh, perhaps you could have her procure ours, as well. It's still hanging in the throne room. I'm tired of seeing his pug face every time I report to Nikolai."

[whumpcereal]

behavior modification, future snippet

master list here. a little peek into jack and joe's new life after jack's WRU contract is voided, somewhere after this piece. the sculpture referenced is canova's cupid and psyche. this is mostly fluff, which i offer to you in the hopes that you'll forgive me for all the bad things i will surely still do to these boys.

content warnings: references to past trauma and captivity, bbu/bbu-adjacent

future snippet, eros

Jack can’t list all the things he missed. 

Part of it is that he didn’t have enough control of his own mind to really miss anything at all. Everything comes back to him in fits and starts. He missed Carl. Legos. Cooking. Standing under a hot shower. The feeling of a cool pillowcase beneath his cheek. A glass of whiskey while he does the crossword. 

And Joe. Joe, calling him an old man for doing the crossword. Joe, reading to him at night. Joe’s complete ineptitude in the kitchen. The cold warmth of Joe’s kisses just after he’s taken a drink. Joe’s gentle hands on his skin. Joe, and everything they used to do together. 

Things like Sunday visits to the museum. 

In the in between, it was too hard. Jack wasn’t supposed to move freely outside the house. If Joe wanted to take him anywhere, there were specific WRU protocols. Like the collar. Joe wouldn’t collar him, wouldn’t do anything to signal to others what Jack was so long as he was under contract, so they didn’t do much. 

But the contract is voided now. Jack doesn’t belong to anyone but himself; Joe says he never did. And so they’re here, at the museum. 

Joe once said he fell in love with Jack at the Met. He fell in love with Jack while Jack fell in love with art. 

Jack had never been to a museum before Joe. It wasn’t something anyone would have thought to do with a kid like him. But immediately, he was grateful to Joe for bringing him. He’d always thought museums were cold, dead places, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. There was something about knowing he was surrounded by beautiful pieces of other people that had managed to survive decades and centuries beyond their creators that made him feel a little less alone. The white eyes of the sculptures and busts, the faces in the paintings, all of them had outlasted whatever horrors came before. Maybe Jack could too. 

Of course Jack fell in love with art. How could he not? 

Jack doesn’t know when he fell in love with Joe again, but being here, he can feel it. It sits, warm in his chest. Alive again, just like Jack is. He survived, like everything else in this museum. 

“You remember when we used to do this?” Joe asks. His fingers thread through Jack’s as they step into the Great Hall. 

Jack nods, kissing Joe’s cheek. “I missed it,” he says, and it’s true, even if he didn’t realize it at the time.

“I missed it too,” Joe says shyly. It doesn’t take a genius to sort out that he wasn’t spending his weekends on Museum Mile while Jack was with Ivan.

It’s something they haven’t talked much about, actually: what Joe’s life was like then. Jack’s suffering is well-documented—literally, thanks to Ivan—but Joe likes to ignore his own. Jack remembers when Joe worried himself into the hospital. Who knows how bad it was before he came home? 

Jack thinks Joe still looks a little tired, in his slouchy professorial way. Rumpled sweater, tousled hair, and dark smudges beneath his pretty green eyes. Only now, Joe is the right kind of tired. The kind that suggests that he’s earned it, that something big is over and done. 

And it is. Joe doesn’t have to worry anymore. Neither of them do, even though Jack knows they will. It will be a difficult habit to break. But they have to try. They deserve a little peace and quiet. 

Jack kisses Joe again, and Joe’s cheeks color. It feels good, Jack thinks, to have that effect on Joe again. It feels good to choose.

“Where should we start?“ Joe asks.

Jack pretends to consider. He looks to his right, even though he knows he won’t be able to visit the Egyptian wing for a long time; the death masks and sarcophagi hit different now. To his left, he knows he’ll find the brighter galleries of the Greco-Roman collection, but something about wandering through statues missing their various pieces and parts doesn’t exactly appeal to Jack  just now either. He lets his gaze stop on the grand staircase and then looks down at Joe with a tentative smile. 

“I should’ve guessed,” Joe says, squeezing Jack’s hand. “Let’s go.” 

There’s one piece they always have to visit. Well, really, it’s Jack who has to visit; Joe just humors him. Every time they come to the museum, Jack makes the pilgrimage upstairs and weaves through the galleries of smug portraits of rich people and pastel cherubs until he finds it. 

It’s a plaster model of Cupid and Psyche. Jack knows the story: the beautiful girl who finds herself in Aphrodite’s crosshairs when she dares to love Cupid. Mythology was one of the only things Jack liked when he bothered to show up to English class. The sculpture catches the two young lovers just as Cupid is waking Psyche from her sleeping death with a gentle kiss. He cradles her head in his carved hands, and her arms reach for him. Something about it makes Jack’s chest ache. It always has.

He knows the finished version is in the Louvre–at this point, he knows everything about it–but Jack likes something about the plaster’s rough finish, how he can see the pins marking the artist’s reference. It makes Jack feel like he could almost reach out and touch it. 

It takes a minute for Jack to find the right gallery. The European collections are always crowded, and on a weekend, it’s even worse. He clings to Joe’s hand as he tries to remember the way, feeling a little bit like a lost child. But he isn’t lost. He couldn’t be, not with Joe by his side. He knows that now. 

He hears Joe’s breath shift before he sees it. 

“There it is, Jackie. Look.” 

And it is there. They’re there. Cupid and Psyche, Joe and Jack. Just like they always have been. 

No one else in the gallery is even looking at the piece, too distracted by the stuffy paintings on the wall. Jack’s never understood why they put it all the way back here. 

They move close to the white pedestal, still hand in hand. 

“I love this one,” Jack says. Needlessly, of course, because Joe knows.

Joe lets go of his hand and then wraps his arm around Jack’s waist. He presses a kiss to Jack’s shoulder. “I know you do. I do too. I–” 

“What?”

“I came here a few times. Before. While you were–” 

Joe doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Jack understands. 

“Oh.”

“It made me feel closer to you.”

Joe wraps both arms around Jack, as if to remind himself that he can. 

There was no way for Jack to feel closer to Joe while he was away. Ivan did everything he could to sever that connection, and he’d been successful. Like Psyche in the myth, Jack was enslaved by his tormentor, sure that he’d been abandoned by the person he loved most. 

But Joe never abandoned him. Jack knows that now. He won’t abandon Joe either. 

He looks at the model, pressing Joe close to him. And even if the two lovers are impossibly beautiful, Jack sees them–him and Joe. Maybe Jack’s death was waking instead of sleeping, but he knows what it is to be punished in the name of someone else’s jealousy, and he knows what it is to be revived by love. It might have taken more than a single kiss to bring Jack back, but it was Joe’s love that did it. It doesn’t matter how cheesy it sounds; Jack knows it’s true. 

Joe chose him, and Jack will choose Joe forever. It’s something Jack hasn’t let himself think about in a very long time, but just now, he can’t ignore his certainty. He doesn’t take being certain for granted anymore. 

“Joey?” 

“Hmm?”

“Joey?” Jack says again.

“What is it, baby?” 

The words slip out without fanfare; Jack doesn’t even have the wherewithal to drop to one knee. He just knows he has to ask, and so he does. “Will you marry me?” 

Joe’s face turns toward Jack, his mouth hanging open. “Jackie–do you–” 

“I mean it,” Jack says. “You–you brought me back. You waited for me. I–please, Joey. Please say yes.” 

Joe’s cheeks are pink again, and he reaches up to brace his hands on either side of Jack’s face. “I don’t want you to feel obligated–”

“I don’t,” Jack interrupts. His hands are light on Joe’s shoulders, and he can feel eyes shifting toward them, but he doesn’t care; Jack is used to being watched, and at least this is worth watching. “I want you. I know it,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Joe’s lips. “I choose this. I choose you.”

“I choose you too,” Joe says breathlessly. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they are bright with tears. “Yes, Jackie. Yes.”  

They kiss again, just like the stone lovers behind them, and Jack knows that he has finally made his way back. 

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy-s, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @termsnconditions-apply, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keep-beach-city-werid, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things, @hold-him-down, @peachy-panic, @whumpyblogthing, @sowhumpful, @considerablecolors, @ramadiiiisme, @sunnywhump

[teprivando]

❛ Com esse baile, já se somam oito dias de atraso para a assinatura dos contratos. Levando em conta a idade, eu esperava mais preparo dos Thorn.❜ O comentário, apesar de ácido, dizia muito sobre a forma como Ivan enxergava sua estadia em Wisteria: um contrato. Não esperava encontrar o amor da sua vida, e potencialmente sequer acreditava nisso. Do lado de fora do salão, tendo escapado de toda a pompa por um instante, ele desfrutava de um copo de whiskey e um cigarro, soprando a fumaça de tabaco para a brisa noturna, quando notou a presença de alguém atrás de si. ❛ Posso ajudá-l@ ? ❜

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

EPICA Plays First Show As Support Act For METALLICA

EPICA played the first show as the support act for METALLICA earlier today (Wednesday, May 17) at Stade De France in Paris, France. Fan-filmed video of the concert can be seen below.

EPICA was added to the METALLICA bill earlier this week as the replacement for FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH, They will also open for METALLICA on Sunday, May 28 at Volksparkstadion in Hamburg, Germany.

When the shows were first announced, EPICA vocalist Simone Simons commented: "We are beyond excited to share the stage with the legendary METALLICA that has had a great influence on the whole music scene, including EPICA."

On Monday, May 15, METALLICA wrote on social media: "Fresh off their successful Epic Apocalypse tour, @Epica will be stepping in for @FFDP on the #M72 World Tour on Wednesday in Paris and Sunday, May 28, in Hamburg. We're excited that they can join the ride."

FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH canceled three of its shows with METALLICA in order to allow singer Ivan Moody to fully recover from his recent hernia surgery.

METALLICA's "M72" world tour is featuring two-night stops in nearly two dozen cities. Presented worldwide by Liquid Death and Blackened American Whiskey (in North America only) and promoted by Live Nation, the 46-show trek launched in Amsterdam on April 27 and includes shows all over Europe and North America through 2024. Each "No Repeat Weekend" on "M72" will feature two completely different setlists and support lineups. The "M72" tour will feature a bold new in-the-round stage design that relocates the famed METALLICA Snake Pit to center stage, as well as the "I Disappear" full-tour pass and the debut of discounted tickets for fans under 16 years of age. Other opening acts for the tour include PANTERA, MAMMOTH WVH, ICE NINE KILLS, ARCHITECTS, VOLBEAT, GRETA VAN FLEET and Floor Jansen.

[hwsforeignrelations]

The Seaswept Cowboy

For @usukweek Day 3: Pirates and Cowboys

AO3 Link // Words: 2,320

Summary: Cowboy Alfred Jones, in a bid to escape the death of his horse Butters, flees to San Francisco in the mid-1800's looking for something new. To his luck, he runs into ex-Commander of the Royal Navy, Captain Arthur Kirkland.

Please like, comment, reblog, ect.!

When Alfred found himself, for the first time, face-to-face with the industrial machinery of a port town he couldn’t believe his eyes. In fact, it was only Alfred’s second time in a metropolitan city.  The first being that dirty scramble with a penny-pincher New York employer back in ‘42. San Francisco was a living, breathing town, from its steep streets to its seal-splaying wharf. 

Alfred looked down at his cleanest pair of cotton trousers and the newly polished boots peaking out, brushing a self-conscious hand down the linen shirt already soaked through with the Summer heat. That morning a grey fog swathed the streets in a cold haze - now the sun had burned through and it was too late to change into something lighter. The cowboy thought about Matthew's letter sitting on his hotel room’s desk. ‘Be sure to layer, San Francisco weather is unpredictable’. 

Mopping blond hair sticking to his forehead back Alfred laughed to himself. Hindsight; a damn useless human symptom. Not only was he still warmer than a bed of coal, but he also felt the biggest fool for not heeding the words of his omnipotent Canadian brother. Matthew was rarely wrong, which impacted Alfred’s inclination to listen less than most would imagine. Alfred firmly believed in following the gut. If good odds (and factual reality) supported that decision then all the better! Regardless, Alfred wouldn't have made a career out of hunting outlaws for bounty and dangling agitated cattle if he relied on odds. Ivan, his friend and a purser, said he ought to have been shot, trampled, and hanged a decade ago. Numbers lie.

Now Alfred felt the odds turning against him. The recent death of his old mare Butters brought on something of an existential crisis, if Alfred were capable of such an obstacle. Thirty odd years of hard living in the west made his pockets jangle with moderate wealth- a soul motivated by infinite curiosity and love of endless land was well suited to his line of work, and the tirelessness with which he approached bounty hunting and ranch work earned him an excellent reputation among county sheriffs and employers. 

Desperate to escape and able to afford it, Alfred packed up and left within the week, set for new sights.

Thus Alfred found himself riding a cable car to nowhere. Blue eyes, sharp but warm, followed sights beyond glass panes. When his legs went stiff Alfred took to his feet and leaned outside the car, grasping a poll. Wind bit his face like it had atop Butter’s saddle. A tear caught him by surprise so that he barely managed to wipe the ones that followed.

At the next stop he jumped off, mourning the absence of his wide-brimmed hat. Instead of shielding the shame of emotion behind sturdy leather, Alfred found a secluded ally between two building and turned his face into the sunshine, hoping its familiar heat would dry his cheeks before anyone recognized weakness. Ten minutes later his face felt burnt and he ran a hand down his cheeks, trying desperately to avoid the thought that, after just a month of living and fresh clothes, his hands held no scent trace of Butters. He’d even scraped the decades-old dust built beneath his fingernails during a train ride. He felt old. The youth who rode Butters to her dying day had died alongside her chilled body, and Alfred wanted nothing more than to escape the weakness of his mind.

Alfred pinched his arm hard to prevent another wave of emotion and made up his mind. The next second he sat at a bar by the wharf with his ninth glass of whiskey. A shorter, thin man with a funny accent cradled his shoulders while he hiccuped around a thick throat and nauseous stomach.

“Now, there’s a lad,” comforted the stranger. The tone was so gentle and Alfred felt he might fall apart right onto this kind foreigner who dared show a sloppy drunk compassion. 

“She was my gal, ya know? My reliable, hic, sturdy gal. I can’t face one more cattle drive without my gal; by the stars I wish I were anybody but myself, pal.” He gagged a bit at the end, but the man appeared as unperturbed by the threat of sickness as he had the past half hour. 

“Looking for a new start, are we?”

Alfred couldn’t focus on the man's face but he heard his tone shift to something less casual. The hand on his shoulder, keeping him from toppling off the barstool, squeezed experimentally. As if Alfred were an animal being appraised for proprietors.

Alfred banished the thought. No need to overthink a kind gesture.

He nodded solemnly. “I had to get outta there. I ain’t sure I’m goin’ back, neither.” He picked up the empty tumbler by his elbow and peaked through it towards the ceiling like a telescope. “It’ll sort itself out, I’m, hic, thinkin’. Kill my liver for a few months and find my feet wherever they land, I s’ppose.”

The man smiled at him, suddenly. In Alfred’s addled brain it appeared almost predatory and the hold on his shoulder moved to his side, peeling him off the seat towards the exit. Alfred followed like a puppy- a tottering, drunk puppy. His travels hitherto had been absent of anyone like this man and he was both curious and confused enough to remain silent as the man led him nearer the docks. 

They came alongside an impressive brig, its two square-rigged masts catching the sun brilliantly. This was obvious even to Alfred, brain foggy and slow with depression and drink.

The man considered the boat with admiration typically reserved for sentient beings. He glanced at Alfred, “This is my gal. We’re leaving port in two days time, and I’d be delighted to  have a strong fellow like you on board.”

Alfred felt this proposition unfair in his current state, slouched over a waste bin and on the cusp of airing his paunch. Luckily, his metabolism was fast and he felt significantly soberer than ten minutes prior. He looked up at the ship (he had never even stood on one, never seen one in person) and back to the man’s raised (huge) eyebrow. The way the man's gaze kissed the sight of his ship reminded Alfred of Butters. He knew the answer before this outrageous stranger answered the question, “What’s the pay?”

“About $2000, if you can make it through the year.”

Alfred found his lips kissing the deck before he could respond. At least two bottles of whiskey spilled into San Francician waters. He stood, red from embarrassment, and wiped his mouth with the stranger’s proffered handkerchief, Alfred's clean hand was already out. The stranger took it.

“You’ve got a deal. The name’s Alfred Jones, happy to be of service.”

“Pleasure, Mr Jones. Captain Arthur Kirkland, ex-Commandor of the Royal Navy. Welcome aboard.”

-

The next morning Alfred and his few belongings were hoisted onto a deck bursting with activity. Barrels of salted meats and (Alfred assumed) gunpowder were hauled by seamen of great variety to their proper locations. Arthur (or Captain Kirkland, as he insisted to be referred to as and what Alfred would not be calling him) appeared behind him and made introductions to the crew of 250 or so. 

Alfred was not the internationally-traveled sort and was caught off guard by the unfamiliar accents which greeted him. Nevertheless, he shook hands with as many as he could reach and eyed those giving appraising looks with false, toothy smiles. He was by no means the largest nor tallest man aboard, but he fairly soared over many and that was good enough to avoid feeling unnecessary uncertainty than this drastic change of scenery demanded.

Alfred thought back to the package addressed to Matthew Williams in Quebec. Hopefully the Ghirardelli chocolates wouldn’t melt into his letter. Mattie was too caring for his own good and Alfred avoided worrying him unnecessarily. Words edging on downright untruth, he’d thanked the Canadian for his heartfelt advice of the previous letter and briefly touched on his embankment. The news would not be received well, Alfred knew. Alfred had never seen a ship in person before yesterday - the seamen yelled was gibberish, even after he made out words through thick, unfamiliar accents.

Matthew might very well demand he abandon ship (what a funny thing for a cowboy to mean literally, Alfred chuckled to himself) and stay in Quebec while he found work more in-line with his expertise. But Alfred was not a man to break his word and a handshake was as good as any lawful contract. Looking around, he felt a familiar curiosity bubbling in his chest and was eager to learn this new way of life. 

“We’ll start your training tomorrow, Jones. Berwald will show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n!” Alfred nodded, ambiguously sarcastic enough that Arthur only gave an unsure scowl before pardoning the large men.

“Here ye’re,” said Berdwald, sweeping his hand towards a hammock hanging from the timbers. It looked comfy enough and Alfred placed his possessions under it. 

Berdwald spoke neurally so Alfred could place nothing about him. “Captain says you’re welcome to rest until dinner. 

Then he was left alone. 

His stomach felt tender from yesterday’s excessive drinking and the ship’s swaying motions as he settled down in his hammock. He must have been more exhausted than he thought, because when he awoke and climbed the stairs to the deck the sunset glowed over the water’s horizon. It was almost as beautiful as the western sunsets he was accustomed to. Perhaps even more so. The calm waves reflected the orange and pink sky tones. 

Seamen chattered and jibbed in clusters around the deck, full from the supper he’d slept through. That was fine, he’d packed some cheese newly bought from the Ferry Building to help with his above-average appetite. 

Arthur Kirkland appeared beside him, seeming in his element and admiring the sunset with an air of contented satisfaction. “How do you fancy ship life thus far, Mr Jones?” He spoke with that lilting accent. It was starting to grow on Alfred and he wanted to hear it more. 

“Hammock’s real comfortable. Slept like a baby,” he yawned for emphasis, stretching his arms above his head. Arthur followed the motion with a strange expression. Were his ears always so red? 

“Very good. I’m glad to hear it. Please let Berwald know any questions. And, I might pressure you to abide by shipman decorum and address the Captain as ‘sir’, if you’d be inclined.”

That surprised Alfred, unaccustomed to bureaucracy of any sort. “Um. Sure… sir.” It felt awkward and wrong on his tongue. He’d avoid using it as much as he could, Alfred decided. 

-

The next few weeks proceeded with routine and much learning for Alfred, who had only just learned to climb the ratlines without fear of being whisked into the wind and plonked into  the Atlantic. He pumped water out, learned to swab the deck, follow commands and tie knots strong enough to withstand the tension wind placed on the brig’s complicated rigging. 

The ship’s name was The Untireable, a refurbished sloop-of-the-line. Privateering was their business, and two hours each day was dedicated to battle drills. 

Captain Arthur Kirkland seemed to have taken a liking to Alfred early on, as he’d been asked to dine with him more than once. Arthur was somewhat lonely as captain, it was clear. He maintained a distance from the crew to keep morale strong, but that made for many isolated evenings. Alfred’s many adventures in the West were exciting to Arthur, who ate up his narratives with hungry ears. In exchange for his story-telling, Alfred was treated to some of the Captain's stores while the rest of the crew ate only what the galley served.

One night, as Alfred finished retelling the time he’d chased a bank-robbing pair of brothers through three state lines in winter, Arthur’s exhaustion impaired eyes left his face to glide (almost longingly, it appeared) down Alfred’s neck and to his open collarbones.  The westerly gales had been unruly and many had endured sleepless nights keeping the ship on an even keel.

“Delightful story, Jo- Alfred.” Alfred had requested Arthur refer to him by his first name, at least during these private dinners. 

“It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Butters was a real trooper,” Alfred conceded. 

“Wh-hu?!”

He jumped when Arthur’s foot brushed his leg.

Even then, Arthur didn’t move his leg. When Alfred met the captain’s eyes he was looking right back, face pink from either tiredness or embarrassment, Alfred couldn't say. 

“What drink do you fancy, Alfred,” Arthur asked softly, turning around to his personal collection of bottles.

“I’m not the type of drink much of anythin’, Arthur.” The Englishman didn’t admonish him for using his first name, which gave Alfred the confidence to approach a topic he’d never given himself the freedom to consider until that moment. “But. I can appreciate a bit of everything. Some of the moonshine I’ve liked hasn’t even got a name, fact o’ matter.”

Arthur considered the words, back facing the taller man. He turned back around without taking a bottle down and bent so his face was close enough that Alfred could feel warm breath fanning across his cheeks. Holding Alfred’s eyes, his hand fell onto the American’s knee and slowly, waiting for Alfred to reject him perhaps, smoothed it up his leg until it rested just under his hip.

Alfred leaned in and smiled a bit. He missed the physical human contact his old work required and the hand resting near his belly was warm and comfortable. The room was hot despite the outside chill. Daringly, encouraged by Arthur’s gleaming eyes, he slid an arm around Arthur’s back and drew him in to nuzzle his neck.

“I think I’m going to keep you around for a bit, Mr Jones.”