#rust of da litter

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Soldier Of Death (1)- Mission Complete

Natasha Romanoff X Super Soldier Reader 18+

Summary: Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

This fic will contains dark themes. Please read these warnings before starting any of these chapters: graphic descriptions of murder, violence, gore and torture, heavy angst, mental issues.

Please consider these warnings before reading

Word Count: 2.8k

General Masterlist | The Soldier Of Death Masterlist

Mission Complete

Chapter Warnings: Graphic Depictions of murder and violence.

The sound of heavy footsteps reached your ears as you stared straight ahead of you at the stone wall, the boots that crunched against the dirt littering the concrete floors gradually increasing as the men walked down the hallways into the room you were in. They grew closer, and closer, and closer until one of their hands met your shoulder, your body fighting against the instinct to abruptly pull away from the man's touch. He moved around your body, his fingers gripping your chin and forcing your head up to look at him, a cruel smirk plastered on his face.

"Soldat (soldier)," his tone sinister as he addressed you, his teeth on show as he grinned at you maliciously. His gold tooth reflected the light from the dangling, rusting light, the rest of his teeth rotting to match his awful personality. "Are you ready to comply?"

"Da, sare (yes sir)," your tone almost robotic, his smile only widening as he stretched his arm out for another man to pass him a file, tossing the paper into your lap, motioning for you to read it.

"That is Ulysses Klaue," his tone containing a little annoyance while briefing you on the mission. "He was supposed to be helping us with obtaining vibranium but the bastard tried to cross us," you flip through the file, noting that he was going to sell of the vibranium intended for Hydra to some other organisation who weren't even willing to pay as much, offering something else the man must have deemed more valuable in turn. "It's your job to make sure he is made an example of, do you understand?"

"Da, sare," you repeat, knowing he didn't appreciate people who felt they could dare challenge Hydra. There would be consequences of trying to make a fool of your general. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to make him suffer," he grits out, anger written across his face as he towers over you. He places his hands on the side of your head, pressing in slightly, your face remaining stoic as he digs his finger into your skin, "I want you to do this," he emphasises by pressing harder against you, "Crush him until he's not even recognisable, break as many bones as you can, do anything you want as long as he suffers."

"Da, sare."

***

The darkness brought a sense of comfort to you as you wandered through the isolated building, your steps inaudible to a normal human as you crept through the abandoned hallways. The lights would occasionally flicker on, indicating the building still had some life in it, while you walked through the twisting and turning corridors, walking until the steady beating of hearts became louder, the chat that was a low murmur now distinct and audible.

"We can have them to you by midnight," spoke a man with a heavy accent, your eyes counting the two men by either side of him, the guns strapped around their large, toned bodies also being noticed.

"How many of them are there?" Klaue asks, sliding a blue-coloured sweet into his mouth, the man who he was currently dealing with clenching his jaw in frustration.

"Twelve girls, eight women," he answers, one of his body guard's heads snapping to the side when you slip into the room, sensing your presence.

"Perfect," Klaue responds, rubbing his hand on the tattoo that covered his neck, offering the others a crooked smile, "It's a deal then."

Before they can even shake hands, coughing and spluttering can be heard, a mortified look replacing the annoyed one on the man's face as he watches your knife lodge itself in his guard's neck. Red splatters against the faded white walls, his large, rough hands grasping desperately at his neck as crimson stains his skin, oozing out of the gaping wound. No one has time to get over the initial shock when another is thrown into the other man's skull, the force of your throw easily allowing the knife to glide through the bone as if it were nothing, killing the man instantly as he slumps to the floor.

"What have you done?" The heavy accent laced with fear as the man scrambles for a gun, words directed at the tattooed man near him. Revealing yourself from the darkness, you grab his head, making light work of him by snapping his neck, letting him drop inelegantly to the floor like a rag doll.

"Well, aren't you a scary thing?" Klaue says in a humorous tone, unaffected by the gory sight, your fingers deftly pulling the blades out of the lifeless bodies, wiping them clean with your gloves before twirling one of them in your hand, the other sliding back into your pocket. 

He admires your stealth suit, the black fabric helping you blend in well to the run down building you were currently in. Your eyes were covered by tinted goggles, the emotionless and empty stare not visible to him while the lower part of your face hidden by a metal mask, Hydra desperate to keep your identity a secret. 

"Do you know what's scarier?" He asks, your body unresponsive to his question, his hands popping another sweet into his mouth.

You watch as he folds the wrapper in a delicate manner, twisting and turning the crinkling paper before throwing it back into the bowl on the small desk nearby, smiling at you and showing off his now blue coloured tongue, tinted by the sweet.

His unseriousness doesn't bother you, knowing he was trying to act calm and cocky when in reality his heart rate was exceptionally high, the relentless pounding against his ribs audible to your sensitive hearing. Your ears picked up how the beating of his heart would spike unexpectedly when you moved, fear radiating off his nervous form.

"Puffer fish," he answers his own question, your eyes internally rolling as he continues his rambling, stuttering a little when you step closer. "They are deadly creatures," he looks to his side subconsciously in his state of terror when you step even closer, the incessant beating of his heart ringing annoyingly in your head while he gives away the position of the hidden Vibranium by accident.

You block out his further words, deciding to ignore whatever pointless things spilt from his lips and waited until his fight or flight finally kicked in to make things a little more interesting. Soon, his prosthetic arm swung out with force at you, your hand easily catching it and twisting the false limb, tearing it off his body causing him to gasp at your abrupt show of strength.

Lifting your leg, you kick forward once having lined it up with his knee, the precise angle of the movement allowing your boot to shatter the bone easily. He cries out in pain, tumbling to the ground, the concrete not cushioning his fall.

"You don't have to do this," he manages out between sharp breaths, his hand clutching his splintered knee, your body stepping on the dislocated bone to make him scream in pain. The bone crumbles under the pressure of your boot, your foot twisting and grinding it down further, the once solid bones turning into mush as the blood and flesh of his leg are disgustingly blended with it. "I'll do anything Hydra wants," he pleads with you to spare his life, the decision not up to you as you grab the metal pole to your side, easily snapping it off the wall, his eyes widening with fear.

"Is it the vibranium you want?" Using the strength in his arm, he tries to crawl away from your predatory stance, pathetically sliding against the cool stone. "I can get you even more than what you wanted," your head merely tilts at his words as they were meaningless to you.

You didn't care about the vibranium. You didn't care about the cost. You had a mission to do. That's all that mattered.

The sounds of his ragged breaths filled the small room of the warehouse until an ear splitting scream reverberated around the cramped space when you brought down the metal against his other leg. There was a satisfying snap when the pole was violently forced down on his leg again, another broken noise being torn out of the man.

"Please," he begged, spikes of agony flooding through his body as he was left helpless on the floor, his body too weak to try and escape his inevitable fate.

The sheer desperation in his tone, the anguish evidence in his voice evokes nothing from you. No sympathy, no guilt, no regret, nothing.

Instead, you bring the blood stained pole down onto his last limb, aiming for his shoulder to prevent him from moving his arm at all, a shrill noise painfully ripped out of him. With your enhanced hearing, you could hear when each little part of the bone splintered off from the humerus, stabbing into the tissue that surrounded it.

When his voice begins to slur, mind fogged by the throbbing aches riddled throughout his body, you crouch down next to his immovable figure, your hands reaching for his skull.

Crush him until he's not even recognisable, break as many bones as you can, do anything you want as long as he suffers.

The order echoes in your head, your fingers pressing into his temples, eyes searching his face as his eyes squeeze shut, his jaw clenching through the pain. He's heard the stories of you, knowing what was about to happen as your grip increased, digging painfully into his head.

Due to the tinted glass covering your eyes, he's unaware of the sinister darkness swirling in them, the sadistic look taking over as your thumbs press in harder, feeling the skin and bone straining under the pressure of your hands.

Agonising cries are brutally torn out of him, the bone reaches its breaking point when your fingertips dig in further, harder, deeper. The crack of his skull is deafening in your ear, the bone caving in on itself as the life is drained out of his body,  gradually shutting down.

The squelch of his brain being squished under the bone as you forced it down even further indicates to you that he's dead but you don't stop. You can't stop. You grab as much of his mutilated skull as you can, lifting the base of his head before slamming it back down against the concrete. Revolting crunches echo around the room and your mind until you physically can't break anymore of his skull, your body heaving over his disfigured corpse at the strenuous work.

Crimson seeped through your suit, the blood that splattered leaving a streak across your masked face as you moved to stand above your completed mission, ignoring the warm liquid that could be felt against your cold skin. Your eyes were glued to the dismembered body, the command of 'not even recognisable' ringing in your mind as you ensured you fulfilled your order, stepping over the mass of flesh like it was a mere inconvenience to you.

The thought of what you had done didn't have time to settle in your mind, moving on autopilot as you reached the stone wall Klaue looked at. Your fist knocked against the wall, confirming that it was in fact hollow before your fist went through the stone. Your knuckles shattered with the force of your hit, the stone crumbling away as it was nothing compared to your strength. The bones in your hand didn't have chance to heal as you punched the wall again, and again, until the boxes of the valuable metal were soon revealed. 

Mission complete.

***

Fury's arms were behind his back as he stood with authority at the end of the table, waiting for Natasha and Clint to enter the room. The redhead and archer soon strolled in together, power radiating off them both as they were let into the confidential meeting room, Clint flopping into a chair with little dignity while Natasha took the more graceful approach of sitting politely. They both looked over to the man who was staring out of the window, his voice taking control of the room.

"This morning, we received intel that Ulysses Klaue was found dead," his tone was blunt as turned around, the scar peeking over his eyepatch. Clint's posture straightened at the sound of the familiar name, the director passing two files to his most trusted agents.

Once the paper file was flipped open, the room's atmosphere grew tense, confusion and shock taking over as they witnessed what had happened to the man. Natasha's fingers deftly flickered through the pages, her mind trying to comprehend what must have been done to cause a human face to look like that. Her green eyes held a concerned glint in them when reading about the perpetrator, a gnawing feeling bubbling inside her when the page contained little information, Clint sharing an unnerved look with her.

"It seemed Hydra wanted to make a statement," Fury continued, everyone at the table now on edge. "All we know is that they must be enhanced, other than that- nothing."

Clint went back to look at the images of the deformed face, looking up to meet Fury's gaze.

"An attack like this surely must have some sort of personal reason behind it?" he questions, Natasha's eyes glued on the mysterious figure a CCTV camera caught on a nearby building, blood smeared across their suit.

"That's what I thought until I saw this," Fury displays an extremely blurry video on the Tv in the room, the cameras within the building somehow still working despite their age.

With an abnormal interest, they watch as the figure effortlessly murdered the three other people in the room before carrying out the inhumane act on Klaue, the violence causing Clint to look away, eyes flickering back down to the file in front of him.

"There was no emotion behind it," Natasha speaks up, puzzled by the degree of violence you chose to use. "If it was personal, there would have been more tension in the body language but they seemed almost... relaxed? It doesn't make sense," Fury nods in agreement with her, pausing the video on the best angle they had on your front.

The agents noted your outfit, the black suit fitted to your body with a Hydra logo patched onto the side, signalling that it was definitely Hydra putting this message across. Their attention then went to your face, or the lack of, as you were completely covered, any sort of tracking software struggling to get enough of your appearance to search for a match.

"Could it be mind control? Brain-washing?" Clint's voice breaking the silence, the tv being turned off as Fury placed his hands on the table, letting out a sigh.

"It appears so," his tone lacking the confidence he normally presents. "If it is, it means we have another Winter Soldier on our hands to deal with."

The mention of Bucky's past makes Natasha tense a little, her experience with his Hydra side not being a pleasant one. Clint's gaze wanders to his best friend, noticing the change in her demeanour but she brushes it off, wanting to focus on the task at hand.

"What do you want us to do?"

"Research," Natasha's brows furrow at Fury's words, Clint's face containing confusion as they look at their director, expecting him to send them on a mission to look for you.

"What?" Clint's tone in disbelief, "You have just warned us about a deadly enhanced individual and you want us to do research?"

"Exactly," he stands tall again, "We don't know enough about them yet to engage. We need more intel before we risk anything, especially considering they are enhanced." It makes sense to them when they think about it but the idea of getting them two to do it stirs curiosity in Natasha.

"Why do you want us two to do it? You have plenty of researchers that would probably do it quicker," she raises her brow a little at the man, him just smirking a little at her.

"Something isn't right about this whole thing, I want people I can trust on the matter," he dismisses and she accepts his answer with caution, taking the file and sliding it under her arm.

"I'll send you what I can find," she says, standing from her chair when Fury dismisses them both from the meeting, her mind unusually intrigued by the whole situation.

Who were you?

[forsworned]

Crush ft. BlueCollar!Logan Walker

Synopsis: Heavily inspired by the song, Crush by Ethel Cain. Logan is a blue-collar welder employed at his father's metalwork shop located in the downtown area. Reader, who is an artist, experiences frustration with her metal sculpture that is to be showcased later in the month and desperately seeks the help of a professional.

Warnings: AFAB!Reader, Not all the lyrics are depicted in the story, BlueCollar!Logan x Artist!Reader, Mentions of Violence, Guns, Drug Trafficking, and Sexual Content, Logan is a Retired Marine

Author's note: Getting way too invested in Logan lately no thanks to @keegansshark , da realesttttttt

His window's already passed, so he's shooting at the glass Keeping guns in his locker, and he denies it Like it's actually important, but he lied 'cause I sure did watch him Showing up wearing black, and he knows that

Sharp, acrid, chemical-like fumes dizzy your mind as you step out of your garage and lift up the cover of your welding helmet to wipe the sweat off your brow. Smoke and dust collect in the air from the galvanized stainless steel that you had been working with for the past two hours and you're realizing that maybe you bit off more than you could chew. Your DIY metal sculpture has not been going as well as you had thought and you're starting to reconsider that taking a trip downtown to recruit some help from your local metalwork shop might be your best bet. It's a straight shot, seven minutes away from your neighborhood, but you really do not want to admit defeat.

You sighed as you card your fingers through your hair and grab your keys, stuffing the fucked up metalwork into the passenger seat and hit the pedal to the metal.

The bell rings as you push open the door and the metallic, pungent smell of multiple fumes clogs your nose. To your right, a man is stuffing his light-wash denim Levi jacket into a blue-rusted locker. His hair is a sandy blonde color cropped down into a grown-out buzz, and his taut arms are littered with tattoos. His black tee is tucked into his jeans and he adjusts his holster to reveal the handgun that's stowed away under his leather belt.

He turns to you and his eyes widen, brows raised as he quickly shuts the door to his locker, but you have already caught a glimpse of the guns that littered the small space. And as alarming as it may have been, you were only fixated on how pretty his hazel eyes were.

"Can I help you?" He treads to the desk that sits right in the middle of the small lobby area, and you suck in a small inhale before approaching him.

The metal sculpture you have been working on clatters on the wooden counter.

"Need some tips and tricks for this piece that I'm doing for an art show later this month, would you be able to service me in that?"

He raises a brow at you. "I don't typically take freelance commissions."

You huff. "Please? I'm desperate."

His eyes flicker to you, giving you a once over and a small smile adorns his face.

"Alright."

His daddy's on death row, but he'll say it with his chest, though His friends move dope, he hasn't tried coke But he's always had a problem saying no His older brother bagged the valedictorian His mother, steady, screaming he should be more like him

A shiver runs up your spinal column when a chilly gust sweeps into the open garage. For May, it's certainly a bit too chilly. But you ignore it as you study how he perfects the fissure you attempted to weld over earlier. A small puff of air leaves your chest and Logan sets down the welder and glances over at you.

You cross your arms. "What?"

He stifles a laugh, scratching the stubble on his cheek with his soot-covered fingers. "You're huffin' and puffin' over there."

"No, I'm not." You mimp at him.

He snickers at your pursued lips. "You are."

In the short time that he has gotten the pleasure to know you, he realizes how short of a fuse you have when it comes to your own artwork. The meticulousness of your piece and how high-strung you become when you can't implement the same technique as him because, duh, he's a professional welder with years of experience under his belt. But regardless, you're throwing your little tantrums and don't think he doesn't notice it. The little finger taps on the metal table whenever your penetration isn't properly bonded, or the eye rolls when he fixes the undercuts you created. It's cute and admirable how passionate you are about your craft and honestly, it really turns him on. Especially when you spend hours perfecting your fusions, even staying after closing time.

But then it's after midnight, and Logan forgets that his friends transport their red tops through the facility in the later hours to pick them up in the morning. You always knew the shop was a little sketchy, so drug trafficking and money laundering had definitely crossed your mind at some point. And yet, you're silent and minding your own at the company that huddles in the large expanse of the garage. A wink is sent your way from the gentleman with pretty wintry hues and you give him a meek smile. You only recognize his older brother Hesh who gives you a good-natured grin while he carries a duffle bag with money sticking out the corners of the zipper.

"Dude, you said nobody would be here." Hesh chides in a low voice.

"My bad." Logan's tone is blase and the sound of Hesh's tongue clicking echoes.

Logan leans against the wall, pushing a cigarette between his lips before he lights it. "She maintains focus on her own assigned tasks."

You narrow your eyes at the statement, sensing that, strangely, it carries enough weight to influence the intimidating group of men. There's an awkward silence until his older brother clears his throat and the palpable tension in the room dissipates.

You continue to make yourself busy, manipulating metal sheets into flower petals. Hesh does a once over at you before he pushes past his younger brother and toward the back, but he can't stop himself from leaving him with a snide remark:

"Make sure it stays that way."

Can you read my mind? I've been watching you (You know it, you know it, you know it's true) Couldn't fight to save your life, but you look so cool Camo' jacket, robbing corner stores Hard odds to beat when you're on all fours Good men die too, oh, I'd rather be with you, you, you

Fortunately for you, you were good on your unspoken rule of minding your business. So much so that you were beginning to befriend their little clique. But they're lingering a little too long around your liking, distracting you when you really should be getting toward the final pieces of your sculpture.

It's hard when they're flexing your taut muscles while showing you their tatted arms and fresh ink under their Saniderm patches.

"What is it?" You cock an amused brow at Keegan.

He gives you a wolfish grin. "A pansy."

You chuckle. "Cause you're a fuckin' pansy?"

He joins in on your laughter. "Hell yeah."

You don't really like prying so you laugh it off knowing there is some deeper meaning behind it. The sound of Logan's throat clears and an icy glare is shot toward the retired Sergeant's way to which he only rolls his wintry hues and pokes your side on his way out. You jolt at his playful gesture and swipe at him, narrowly missing by a few millimeters, as he jogs towards the break room.

Logan leans against the welded steel workbench, sucking on a blue raspberry ice pop as he ogles you. "Should be workin' on your piece 'stead of flirting."

You snort, as you position the sheet metal on your sculpture but it slips out of your nimble fingers and clatters loudly on the ground. A vulgarity leaves your lips as you fumble around to get it, but Logan is quick to pick it up and perfectly welds it on the shoulder of the sculpture.

And for once you're kind of relieved that he's intervened. You quietly inhale, leaning against the workbench as you observe how he sets down the welding tool on the table. A primal sense of jealousy and possessiveness seeps into him as he glances over at you with darkened eyes.

"Your deadline's comin' up."

"I know." You mutter, eyelashes batting up at him with desire.

You notice how his camo compression shirt hugs his physique and you feel the sweat begin to form at the nape of your neck. His eyes glance over at your lips and they involuntarily quiver. The tension is unbearable--palpable even.

He moves closer to you, closing the gap between your forms as he reaches out his calloused hand to gently grasp at your neck. Your breaths mingle against one another while they inch closer, brushing the pillowy flesh of your lips before he devours you. His lips hotly slot against yours and it's dizzying the way he kisses you so feverishly. You waste no time kissing him back as he clears the workbench and lifts your form to sit atop it. The cold steel presses against your bare thighs, but the warmth of his soot-covered hands creates a pleasant contrast as they glide over the flesh of your spine. His other hand threads through your hair and tugs it just right, eliciting a moan as your tongues collide.

Your hand moves to his chest before gently pushing him away, your lips only connected by a string of saliva and your breaths draw ragged. A smirk adorns your dulcet features as you move back to the welding table, and Logan feels captivated by the person he's starting to see.

"Gotta get back to my work."

I owe you a black eye and two kisses Tell me when you wanna come and get 'em I only want him if he says it first to me I wanna, uh, him in the back of his mom's Mercury He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro Reds

Logan has been missing for some days since that night. Hesh on the other hand has been more than happy to fill in the void that his younger brother has left.

"He's been on a business trip." Hesh nudges you as he helps you remove the slag on your sculpture to reveal the clean beading underneath. You perk up at his voice.

"Who?" Although, the both of you know exactly 'who' he was referring to.

Hesh chuckles as he wipes his blackened hands and sets the microfiber towel down to sit on the wooden stool across from you. His emerald eyes are glimmering in the sunlight that reflects from the garage windows. One thing about the Walker brothers is that they shared that coquettish, boyish charm that you couldn't resist. It is brimming with mischief and playfulness with a roughness around the edges.

He glances at his watch. "In about an hour or so."

Your heart drops to your stomach and you feel a yearning pain for his enigmatic presence that is always luring you in for more. Your fingers absentmindedly brush at your lips and the retired Lieutenant narrows his eyes at you.

You're quick to notice that Hesh picks up on your subtle gesture and you swiftly excuse yourself. But he can only snicker to himself when he sees how you hurry off to the courtyard just outside the garage. Your brain inattentively searches for the scent of Marlboro red's. It's a distinct smell; strong and robust in comparison to the menthol's that the other smoke. And you don't know if it's your imagination, but it wafts into your senses. Unthinkingly, you follow it and your eyes ream at the unexpected arrival of the inscrutable man who cooly, draws smoke from his lips, and it unfurls into the air before it evaporates.

His intense hazel eyes never leave yours and you're caught up in them. They're dark, alluring, and spellbinding in the shade of the canopy of the courtyard. He sports medium-wash denim jeans adorned with distressed patches at the pockets and thighs, secured by a simple black belt, with his slate grey tee neatly tucked in. The fabric of the sleeves tightens around the muscle of his taut biceps and you have to thickly swallow to conjure up some strength. Strength to not throw yourself on him and jump his bones.

"Thought you'd be here in an hour or so." You murmur, slowly striding toward him. He takes another drag before offering it to you. You smooth over the lipgloss that lacquers your lips before you pluck the cigarette out of his fingers and slowly inhale. When it leaves your mouth, the creases of your lips brand the cigarette paper and he licks his cracked lips as you hand it back to him. He doesn't waste any time wrapping his mouth over your strawberry-flavored lipgloss, remembering how you tasted the last time your lips touched.

"Wrapped up early." He replies, with the cigarette fixed between his lips. He turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Why? Did you miss me?"

It makes me so, uh, and I can't get enough of it Something's been feeling weird lately There's just something about you, baby (there's just something about you, baby) Maybe I'll just be crazy (I'll be crazy) And piss him off 'til he hates me Low slung bad bitch, baby, come and get you some

And in the blink of an eye, it's the showcasing of your art exhibit and you tell yourself not to get your hopes up. That Logan isn't exactly the most predictable of humans, but Hesh assures you they'll all be there. In fact, they're thrilled to have an excuse to wear a suit and attend an event where they can showcase their metalworking skills and be recognized for their talent.

"He'll be here." Keegan pulls you out of your stupor. He's peering over the rim of his champagne glass at your trepidatious expression and how your eyes dart across the room looking for him; overgrown blonde buzzcut and the heavy aroma of iron oxide, tobacco, and his father's passed down Jean Paul Gaultier. You can't quite imagine him in a suit either, but you aren't disappointed at how well the retired Marines turned blue-collar workers clean up. Clean-shaven with a few dabs of aftershave, dressed in crisp navy suits, and wearing their finest tap dancing shoes, they were set for the night.

They don't even look out of place either, and yet you did. In a crowd full of people who adored your art, and every second of your night being spent talking to art collectors, admirers, and socialites--you were utterly alone. And you knew that you shouldn't rely on a man to fill that void, nevertheless, here you were, doing just that.

"I'm gonna go to the restroom." You mutter and down the rest of your champagne before heading off. The sound of Keegan's phone ringing is faint, but it manages to catch your attention. You lean against the wall for a moment in hopes of capturing who he was speaking to. In hopes of it being...

"Logan! Where the fuck are ya, kid?"

And your heart drops to your stomach. You felt like you already had your answer. Something about a shipment taking too long to process with their wholesale dealer and that was something you didn't want to stick around to hear. You had some hope that this time would be different. That maybe he would push aside whatever shady business he had going aside for you, but you were a fool to think that he would change for you.

The rest of the evening drags by. You're no longer glancing at your watch or rummaging through the room for him. The little words of encouragement and smiles from his friends and brother had become mere background noise to you by now. Time is like a hazy blur of conversations about your artwork, countless glasses of Armand de Brignac, and mindless gossiping about gallery politics and exhibit guests.

And soon enough it's past midnight and your social battery is running low. Your guests have long left the premises, but thankfully your welding companions stay behind to help you pack up your remaining props and pieces into their truck that could probably fit ten bodies in the trunk alone.

You let out a sharp exhale as you observe Merrick scolding Hesh and Kick for not preparing the cargo net. Sometimes it was talking to a small herd of teenage boys, nonetheless, you were grateful for their help.

The final pieces remaining in the exhibit were delicate and, moreover, the ones Logan had been most involved with. When you headed back inside to load them into your car, you immediately felt a pit in your stomach as soon as you entered the gallery.

There he stood, with a mussed-up, overgrown buzz, and unkempt facial hair, clad in soot-covered work trousers and a white tee stained with what appeared to be dried blood, admiring the work you both had collaborated on.

"Man, she's a real beauty—really outdone yourself, [name]."

He turns to you and you feel yourself crumble. You tremble with anger, and his face softens as he takes in your expression. He knows he fucked up big time. The worst part about it is that he looks unbelievably sexy, but your rage is bubbling within you as you take another stride toward him.

He's careful with how he approaches. Careful to not make any sudden movements as if you would pounce on him and tear him limb from limb.

"I'm sorry..." He breathes out, observing the way you slowly circle him.

"Oh, you're sorry?" You hissed.

He swallows thickly, feeling a shudder travel up his spinal column. "There was a hold up..."

He clenches and unclenches his fist reflecting on said "hold up" that caused him to be so tardy. It's not like he didn't know how important this was to you, but he also wasn't obligated to show up in the way you were expecting him to.

You stop in your tracks and pinch the bridge of your nose. It's hard to stay mad at someone whose tongue was shoved down your throat just a few days ago.

Logan is debating whether his presence is even worthy of being around you, but he reaches out to hold your wrist anyway.

"Get off of me." You tug your wrist away, but he has a firm grip on you.

"Let me make it up to you." His hazel half-lidded gaze holds yours and your anger begins to melt away.

"How?"

His hands suddenly find themselves around your waist and you yelp as he lifts you, setting you on the bar. Your little black dress rides up your thighs and pulls them apart only to find that not only are you not wearing underwear, but your pussy is glistening in the dim exhibit lighting. He gives you one final glance as if to ask for permission, but you're already tangling your fingers into his dirty blonde hair.

He doesn't even waste any time devouring your sopping, wet pussy. One long stripe and then he's losing himself in your saccharine taste that he cannot get enough of. He had no idea how he withheld himself from such a heavenly taste and those sweet, milky moans.

All those long nights they spent working together in the shop he had to hold himself back from slipping down your shorts, bending you over the workbench, and taking right then and there. It all amounted to this moment—his tongue deep in your cunt and you were lost in the euphoria he was bringing you. The notion of the others walking in on you is tossed away to the backlogs of your mind.

His fingers dig into the supple flesh of your thighs, holding your writhing body still as he sucks on your pillow clit. You tremble against him feeling yourself nearing the edge, but he's torturing you. Withdrawing his tongue from the sensitive nub, kissing around your inner thighs, but you're not having any of it.

Your fingers pull at his hair and lead his tongue back to where you want it, bucking your hips against his mouth. His hazel hues flicker up to you and he's smirking at your domineering energy. You're taking charge as you grind your pussy against his tongue and lolling your head to the side as you feel your orgasm coming on.

"Fuuuck, 'm gonna..." You moan out in pure ecstasy as your eyes drift to the back of your head and your back arches away from the counter.

And he's definitely not stopping his efforts in bringing you there. In fact, he's probing his fingers between your velvety folds and curling his fingers to that sweet spot that drives you to your climax.

"Logan...!" You whimper out as you ride your high and he drowns in your soddened pussy. "Oh fuck..." You breathe out as it dissipates slowly but surely. He licks one last stripe to your shimmering folds as he withdraws his fingers, observing the way your arousal clings to his fingers and lapping them up.

"I have no fuckin' clue how I held back for so long." He cups your cheek, lips lacquered with your cum, and you hotly slot your lips against his in a feverish kiss. Being pressed up against him in the building where you hosted your long-awaited art exhibit feels like one of your reoccuring wet dreams.

Your hands fly to his belt to unbuckle, but the sound of footsteps grasp your attention and your caught redhanded, but his cheeky older brother, Hesh.

"Oh—" He grins at your tangled bodies against the bar. "as much as I hate to break up you two lover birds, security is rounding us up to see us off.”

You feel the embarrassment creeping up on your flushed cheeks. “R-right.” You fix your dress and Logan casually buckles his belt and helps you down from the bar as if you two weren’t going to fuck each other dumb.

As Hesh grabs the last few items and exits the area, Logan comes up from behind you and squeezes your ass as he murmurs against the shell of your ear:

“I’ll follow you back to your place?”

Good men die too, so I'd rather be with you, you, you rather be with you, oh Oh, I'd rather be with you, oh 'Cause good men die too, so I'd rather be with you

[willtheweaver]

Alpha-write

Thanks @agirlandherquill this sure does look interesting

Rules: For every letter of the alphabet, comprise a sentence/short paragraph beginning with that letter

A- “All systems go. Let’s she what this new ship can do.”

B- Barely anything was standing on the planet’s surface. All around were huge craters and mountains of crumbled rock and dust. What water there was was as corrosive as hydrochloric acid. What kind of weapons could do this, and what kind of people would turn such tools of death on themselves?

C- Candles, beeswax, 50 count, the label said. So why was the box so heavy?

D- “Don’t move!” I stopped when I heard those words. Fearfully, I looked down at feet. One of them was right on top of a rune trap that was concealed in the leaf litter.

E- Everywhere was the sickly sweet smell of death.

F- Faith shall ne’re forsake me, when iron proves as feeble as flesh.

G- “Goblins can’t resist shiny stuff, you said!”

“Well if you weren’t a cheapskate and put some of your jewelry in the trap, we would have caught him!”

H- “Hake, extra crispy. Chips with salt and vinegar, extra curry sauce on the side. What does it all mean?”

“I believe that is his Friday takeaway order.”

I- Inside was totally different. Whereas the exterior was a grey and austere cube, the interior of the building was bright and decorated to the point of being gaudy and over the top.

J- Just lost contact with the rearguard. Radar has picked something up. It’s—[remainder of transmission incomprehensible] /end recording.

K- Kelp! If I could just make it…

L- “Ladies and gentlemen, remain cool, this is a robbery! Handover all of your valuables and no one—hey! You with the Nickleback shirt! That is not cool!”

M- “Must I remind you that it was your idea to drill holes in the bottom of the ship?”

N- “No man is more accursed than he who violates the sacred law of hospitality.”

O- “Open the door!”

“No.”

P- “Purple was never my color anyways.”

Q- Quiet. No wind, no sound of birds. Nothing.

R- Rust covered the steel beams and rebar sticking out of the cracking and failing concrete.

S- “Single malt, aged twelve years, heavy smoke with hints of seaweed. This was distilled in Islay.”

T- The order came up. Three shots espresso, ten ounces 2% steamed for exactly eighteen seconds, one pump vanilla, three caramel, one chocolate hazelnut, and the foam has to be cold and not mix with the coffee. WTF!?? I wanted to quit them and now.

U- Union pamphlets were everywhere. No doubt about it. Their meeting place had been found.

V- “Velocity is still over 5000 kph! We’ll burn up in the atmosphere unless we find some way of slowing down!”

W- “We’re with Witness Protection. You are in grave danger.”

“Me? I’m just an ordinary person!”

X- “X-rays can’t go through lead!”

Y- “You had to say something, didn’t you?!”

Z- Zzzzzzzzzzz.

“How can anyone sleep so soundly in a time like this??”

Whew! Made it through that one!

Tagging @diabolical-blue @darkandstormydolls @leahnardo-da-veggie @poethill @honeybewrites

@theeccentricraven @splashinkling @smudged-red-ink @mysticstarlightduck @eccaiia

@corinneglass @tildeathiwillwrite @fortunatetragedy and open tag

[kudosmyhero]

Transformers: Monstrosity #2: Wreckage

Read Date: May 06, 2023 Cover Date: March 2013 ● Story: Chris Metzen ◦ Flint Dille ● Art: Livio Ramondelli ● Letterer: Tom B. Long ● Editor: John Barber ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● an intimidating dude on the cover of this one, too ● ah, so the Dynobots change into their alt modes when they lose control, like the Hulk? ● Megatron’s eye damage is … effective. makes him look even more menacing. ● jeez, eyes flyin’ every which way ● heh, Sludge looks like he’s having fun

● da-da-chum? ● Megatron’s a survivor. I’ll give him that. ● oh, so that dude on the cover of issue one was Megatron with his found modifications ● 👏👏👏

Synopsis: At the Rust Bucket, three of the Dynobots are discussing their next high-risk heist when Slag starts accusing Grimlock of purposefully leading them on small-time jobs because he enjoys his exciting life on the run. Before the two can come to blows they are broken up by Swoop, who reminds them what would happen if they were to lose their tempers and transform, then gives them the details about their next job: robbing the Toraxxis mega-refinery. Using Sludge as a wrecking ball, they break into the refinery and are briefly overwhelmed by sentry drones until Grimlock kills the overconfident guard controlling them. With the resistance gone, they hunker down and wait for Snarl to arrive with their tanker so they can drain the refinery of energon.

Meanwhile, Megatron brutally fights off the hostile natives of Junkion with his bare hands and comes out victorious. He then falls, having lost an arm to the fighting, but refuses to stay down. He uses junk parts littering the planet to patch himself up, leaving him with a mismatched body and a new, monstrous arm. As he rises again in this patchwork form, he prepares to show the Junkions who's in charge.

At Kolkular, Scorponok announces to the amassed Decepticon army that he is their new leader, having banished Megatron for his failure to capture Iacon. His declaration is met with mixed reactions, but the only one willing to speak up is Hun-Gar, who believes he failed to destroy Megatron out of fear, making him an unsuitable leader. He lets Scorponok know that his Terrorcons will deal with him soon enough, but first they intend to travel to Junkion and achieve what he could not: finishing off Megatron.

(https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Wreckage_(issue))

Fan Art: Transformers Grimlock by KlausScherwinski

Accompanying Podcast: ● Swerve's Bar Podcast - episode 03

[no-ghost-to-bring-you-down]

(LONG POST) Setting the scene: The Fate of Metal Sonic...

Hey, hey, people, N.G here! I promised you fanfics and some loredumps for my MXYL AU, and here’s the first of them! My take on what Metal Sonic’s been doing in MXYL, or rather, what he hasn’t!

One of the game-changing moves that set the stage for Shadow's ascension as Mobius' power-hungry reluctant tyrant saviour was Eggman's untimely demise at the hands of Chaos Knuckles. Penders never expanded upon it, while Flynn just said Shadow stopped Knuckles instead of Sonic in the altered Light Mobius timeline and left it at that.

But what of Eggmans mechanical armies?

I figure that the final confrontation with Eggman would’ve taken place at Robotropolis, with Knuckles in his out-of-control Chaos form destroying the vast majority of Eggman’s robotic forces and their production facilities. Shadow left Robotropolis as-is, an abandoned husk of the once-great Eggman Empire.

Surviving badniks and other Eggman robots? Destroyed. Shard too. So much for that title, eh? Here’s where I pull a fast one on you.

Metal Sonic survives. Of course he does, he’s Eggman’s masterpiece, a robotic doppelganger capable of matching Sonic (and thus Shadow), copying others’ abilities in his Neo-form, and an all-around wind of destruction!

Initially a persistent disruption to Shadow’s attempt to conquer Mobius, Shadow would eventually get the jump on the mechanical marvel, ambushing Metal and taking him out as a threat. The sensible thing to do from there would be to permanently offline Shadow, remove the threat permanently, but that’s just not Shadow’s style.

Why get rid of a potential weapon, especially when it could prove useful in the future?

As far as the wider public was aware, Metal Sonic was destroyed, and brutally so, dismembered by Shadow piece by piece. A half-truth - Shard suffered such an unfortunate fate at Lien-Da’s hands, his remains powder-coated a deep blue to provide ‘proof’ for the propagandists.

In secret, however, Shadow had Lien-Da’s technicians work to restore Metal Sonic to some degree of working condition, before imprisoning Metal in the Castle Mobius catacombs inside a containment chamber designed just for him. Metal was still sentient and ultimately loyal to Eggman, after all, a weapon of last resort to be unleashed upon Shadow’s enemies when circumstances were dire.

(How I wish Tumblr allowed for resizing of images..)

Speaking of last resorts...

Tikal’s destruction of Castle Mobius, decades later, had the unfortunate by-product of freeing Metal from his chains, the plucky mechanical menace using the opportunity to slink away to freedom! But where would he go, now that the Eggman was no more and his empire absorbed by Shadow’s, and subsequently dismembered by Sally?

Battered and his combat systems disabled, to say Metal Sonic had been debilitated during his captivity would be an understatement. At least Shadow kept his joints lubricated and in working order once every few months, under Sally’s rule he’d been completely forgotten about! How was he to know that the world, including Sonic, believed him offline?

His turbine still functioned, albeit weakly, but it was enough to get him off Angel Island. His destination - home, Robotropolis. The flight time estimated to be several hours, that was no issue, it allowed ample time to patch into MobiusNet and absorb three decades worth of information he had been denied. It allowed ample time to start planning for his return, for the continuation of the Eggman’s legacy.

Touching down in Robotropolis a day later, Eggman’s prodigal son was met with the robotic equivalent of a massacre. Robotropolis itself was rent asunder, the aftermath of Knuckles’ fateful showdown with Eggman, and its once mirror-polished streets were littered with the rusting husks of destroyed badniks and eggrobos, left at the mercy of the elements for three decades.

Shuffling towards the site of Eggman’s former Robotropolis headquarters, Metal Sonic’s internally-calculated confidence intervals of locating any survivors was dropping. Logarithmically.

Regardless, he opened broadcasts on every Egg-Empire frequency, broadcasting a forced status-update command. Any units within the receiving range would have to respond, they were programmed to do so. Desperate times called for desperate measures, yet for the whole thirty-two minutes it had taken to traverse the abandoned warzone to the foot of the Robotropolis Egg-Quarters tower, not a single response.

Confidence interval nearing the threshold for rejecting the null hypothesis of there being survivors, Metal’s internal algorithms were close to ceasing the search, until...

“You’re late. Tardy. Long-overdue,” a voice message sent through the Grandmaster communications protocol, followed by a pause. “We have much to do.”

A voice message Metal immediately traced back to a ground-floor terminal within the Egg-Quarters. A low-level networking terminal, rather than from any known Grandmasters. A terminal that was now the last refuge of a certain AI.

Phage.

So that’s where Metal Sonic is at currently in my fan-continuation. He’s linked up with Phage, the sole survivor of the Egg-Empire’s destruction by virtue of surviving on the barely-intact intranet.

I haven’t had much planned out for these two, but I definitely have a good idea of how their interactions will be. Think of it like Masterchief and Cortana/The Weapon - not the relationship dynamic, but the physical nature of her being downloaded onto M.C’s armour. Likewise, Phage will be Metal’s on-board AI ‘companion’ for the early days as they both scrape by.

MXYL really did away with most of the villains by making Shadow the big-bad who conquered Mobius and achieved World Peace(tm), so I had to get creative in working out how I could throw some villainous factions into the mix. I don’t solely want to rely on Shadow for my AU’s villain, that wouldn’t be any fun at all!

I’m half-surprised nobody thought of pairing up Phage and Metal as a sort of twisted spin on Sally and Nicole (AND I WILL ADDRESS WHAT HAPPENS TO HER IN MXYL).

Anyways, hope this trashfic was anywhere near enjoyable, and that you stick around to read more of my MXYL sperging XD

If you’ve got any feedback, feel free to send it my way! Or if you have any questions, just ask ‘em. I’m happy to embrace any criticism (within reason) and answer any q’s.

[silverryu25]

Hey, Santa Baby~ ;)

This was written for a raffle organized by @catsitta on tumblr (here is a link to the post if anyone wants to join! ends on Dec 30th). Since they said anything goes for the raffle I decided to do a smol fic (kinda? is 1k words considered a fic or a drabble? >.>) for some of their art UwU

And since tis’ the season we gotta go with a nice festive skele, right? So I picked this masterpiece! >:D

Under the cut cause of suggestive themes! ... what can I say, it’s Lust :P

A friend helped me pick who to pair Lust with! Hope you enjoy :D

Pairing: Rust (bara UF!Sans / UL!Sans) Tw: suggestive dancing, swearing

And I apologize but I’m stealing the title cause it’s too perfect UwU

AO3 link

Before starting I apologize for any OOC from Lust, but I never wrote him and there isn’t a lot to read with him so I might get him wrong >.>

A Giftmas party. He was stuck in a fucking Giftmas party.

Red let out an annoyed sigh, downing another spiked mustard shot. If he was stuck here, he’d at least get properly hammered. It would make time pass faster and let him relax enough not to start a fight.

And boy did he wanna start a fight.

There were too many versions of him that were getting on his nerves. He wasn’t a patient monster, not since forever, and if he snapped it wouldn’t end well. Especially since he seemed to be the biggest Sans here, most of his counterparts barely chest height, with rare exceptions. He didn’t really get how that worked since they were basically the same person, but he didn’t care.

He wouldn’t even be here if he had a choice. Boss insisted so now he was stuck here. For a while. He couldn’t leave without taking Boss with him and who knows when he’d want to go back to their shity universe. He was planning something with alliances or some crap like that. Red didn’t really remember and didn’t care. He knew he should, but he just didn’t have it in him to care anymore.

It didn’t really matter.

Why would he care? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to fight for. Boss was stronger than him at this point, he could take care of himself. No one needed Red. He was more trouble than use, especially with his short temper and violent tendencies. And even if he wanted, he couldn’t find anyone who would care for him, not with those useless, scarred, ugly bones of his.

Being surrounded by undamaged, smaller and softer versions of himself wasn’t helping his mood. He could feel every scar that littered his bones itching. It wasn’t like he was ashamed of them, they proved he could survive a lot of crap. But seeing what he could have been-

Before his skull could spiral down that thole anymore, the lights suddenly turned off. Normally, he would have panicked, but he was way too sloshed to really care what happened. He did tense up, preparing for an attack in case it came, but otherwise didn’t move. Luckily for him, instead of an attack there was a flare of stage lights and loud music started playing. It sounded familiar, but his buzzed brain wasn’t processing things right so he wasn’t sure.

The stage was drowned in red and green lights, occasionally a purple and pink one playfully mixing in. It was hypnotizing, drawing his eyelights to the centre of the stage. After a few moments, the curtains lifted showing a row of monsters lined up on the stage.

Red didn’t even glance at them, his attention instantly landing in the centre. There, looking absolutely sinful, was a version of himself. But he was so unlike Red, he couldn’t believe they came from the same basic source.

The monster was gorgeous. His ecto body summoned, soft and supple. A soft purple, shining beautifully in the hypnotic lights. He was wearing a hot dumb Santa outfit that barely covered anything. Hell, it showed off his cures and made them look even more attractive. And boy did he have curves. His female ecto body was very well endowed, curves in all the right places. Red felt his fists squeeze thinking how soft that ecto would feel in his rough phalanges.

Red didn’t have a chance to explore that thought cause the monsters on the stage started dancing to the song. They were pretty good, earning cheers from the crowd, but Red had eyelights only for one monster. He didn’t even know his name, but he couldn’t look away. He was too buzzed to fight it so he just gave in. He leaned back on the bar behind him and looked at the show, tracking every move, dip, hip shake and turn.

The monster was a talented dancer, as if he was doing it for a long time. Red could tell he was having fun, every movement showing his joyful intent at the attention and cheers. The music changed every so often, seamlessly flowing, the dance going faster, then slower, then speeding up again to follow.

Somewhere in the middle Red could swear he caught the monster’s eyelights. It almost looked like they sparkled as they met his. He was ready to dismiss it but suddenly the way the purple skeleton danced became... more intense? Practically lustful?

Red wasn’t sure if he was seeing right, his brain didn’t work properly, so he might have been imagining things. But right at the end, as some obnoxious holiday song was playing, the dancers paused for a few moments, standing in a pose with one arm up on their heads and one leg lifted, the other arm straight down, shaking in rhythm with the song. All the dancers were smiling at the crowd, as far as Red could tell from the corner of his vision.

Only the purple skeleton monster turned his head pointedly in Red’s direction and, with a wide and inviting smile, mouthed the song line “hey, santa baby~” and... winked.

Red could feel his cheeks warm at that. He was blushing? Fucking hell no. No way. He wasn’t. Why would he blush at something as stupid as a wink? And it probably wasn’t even for him. It must have been for some monster standing between him and the stage. What the hell was wrong with him.

Thankfully, the song stopped and the dancers bowed than left the stage. With a sigh of relief, Red turned back to the bar, finally free from that hypnotizing monster light show. He ordered a few more shots, still feeling too sober do deal with... everything.

The drinks were taking forever, making his mood sour even more. Just before he was about to growl after the barkeep there was a soft touch on his elbow. With a scowl and a “wha’ da fuck do ya want?” ready on his teeth he turned towards the offender. And froze.

There was the purple skeleton monster, still wearing that adorable ridiculous outfit. Red stared, feeling his mouth turning dry. He couldn’t think straight enough to say anything, but he didn’t have to. The smaller skeleton, mercifully, took the lead.

“hey big bone, i’m lust.” He gave his name, followed by a smile and that same sinful wink. Red could feel that blush returning full fore.

Suddenly, he didn’t mind being stuck at this fucking Giftmas party.

[brett-und-spiel]

Die ersten Gelände Tiles sind bemalt. Rost- und Dreckflecken habe ich mit Pigmenten gemacht bzw mich daran versucht. 🤣 Die Fluss Teile sind ebenfalls mein erster Versuch mit Wassereffekt. Da fehlt mir noch das Wissen wie man sowas gut gestalten kann. Aber für den ersten Wurf bin ich zufrieden. Was denkt ihr? Habt ihr Tipps für die Wasser Thematik? 🇬🇧 The first terrain tiles are painted. I have done or tried to do rust and dirt stains with pigments. 🤣 The river parts are also my first attempt at water effects. I still don't know how to do something like this. But I'm satisfied for the first litter. What do you think? Do you have any tips for the water topic? Check Out the #myminiyourmini Crew for todays: @serenasarena @Boardgame_Viking @tim_spielt_spiele @ready_to_play_by_marco @brett_und_spiel @boardiacs @bbowers_miniatures @FBGkidzero @TheGreenMeeples @backenbart_boardgame @never_play_with_gray @joachimwolfahrt @Fajulepaints #mymini #miniatures #painting #terraintiles #herrderringe #lordoftherings #reisedurchmittelerde #journeysinmiddleearth #3dprint #thingiverse #printable #vallejo #color #pigment #bgg #boardgameaddicts #brettspielsüchtig #brettspiel #abenteuer #adventure #verbesserung #aufwertung #levelup #brettspieleundmehr #brettundspiel https://www.instagram.com/p/CizHlAMshyS/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[zsteube]

[ you can tell a lot about a person by the music they listen to. put your mp3 player, itunes, spotify, etc, on shuffle and list the first 10 songs and then tag 10 people. no skipping! ]

Tagged by @psshaw!

1. 8-Bit Piece of Shit - Circus of Dead Squirrels

2. Not While I’m Around - Sweeney Todd (Movie Soundtrack Version)

3.  THIS

4. ARR - Blownload

5. Imagine - A Perfect Circle

6. Faint - Linkin Park (Shush you...)

7. Prankster - Stolen Babies

8. The Greenless Wreath - Sleepytime Gorilla Museum

9. Just Once - Son of Rust

10. Gasolina - Daddy Yankee

(I’m not going to lie. I had to skip a few since my iTunes is littered with random free songs I’ve hoarded but never listen to and SFX/background music tracks. Oopsies.)

I TAG:

@donnysplace @vinianein @queensryche @sapphism-and-nihilism @srutis @u-gun-b-ded3 @das-mucke @mysarcasmislostonyou @gabethepoet @tospookkytookill

NOW GO FORTH

[exodusofthesun]

Horsemen at the Somme

(My apologies for any translation errors. Did the best I could, with some help from Google Translate)

A French and an Austrian soldier sat upon their mounts, looking over the grey land. Nothing but mud, rain, dead trees litter the landscape. In the distance, screams, gunshots and artillery fire can be heard, as planes fly overhead. Yet where the two stood, there was quiet, with the exception of some cries of the wounded. 

The Frenchman, wearing his surgeon’s mask, felt cold, despite being the dead of summer. Pale as snow, atop an almost matching color horse, he looked to the east, as if expecting something.

��Ils arrivent” he said to the Austrian, as the bloodied soldier atop a burgundy horse, also looked on. Two other horsemen trotted over to the small hill where the others waited. One, a Russian, sat upon a deep black horse. He was extremely gaunt, with sunken eyes. The other three looked upon him as skin and bones, for that was exactly the best way to describe him.

The other, the German, rode in on a greyish-blue horse. He gazed upon the other three, though his face was hidden behind the gas mask he wore under his helmet. The air around him smelled of chlorine and rotting flesh.

“Wir sind alle hier. Das ist gut.” the German said, deciding to dismount from his horse, who had rotten wounds along its neck and body. Looking at the distant fighting, he turned to the Austrian. “Wie lange haben sie gekämpft?”

The Austrian, bleeding from gunshots and bayonet stabs, looked over. “Ein paar Monate.” The German soldier, dressed all in black, walked over, and sternly asked. “Bist du fertig, Krieg?” Looking despondent, the Austrian answered “Sie haben noch ein paar mehr vor sich.”

The German sighed. “Was ist mit dir, Hungersnot?” looking over to the Russian. “Bist du fertig?” 

Even the Russian shook his head. “Yest' bol'she stradat'.”  He gazed eastward, saying " U menya yest' plany na Rossiyu, Germaniyu i Avstriyskuyu imperiyu." An air of sadness fell on the Russian, as he leaned over and patted his emaciated horse. The other horsemen lowered their heads. “On en a marre aussi, famine.” the French soldier said, as the Russian looked, melancholic, over the wartorn countryside.

Finally the Frenchman spoke again. “J'ai plus à infecter. Plus souffrent du pied de tranchée.” The German, also melancholic, looked over. He thought a bit, then said to the Frenchman, “Wann wird die Grippe fertig sein?”

“La grippe sera prête dans environ deux ans” the white horse man said, dusting off his blue uniform.

“Geh, Krankheit. Beende deine Arbeit.” The Frenchman bowed slightly, and trotted away. Then, turning to the mangy Russian, every piece of metal on his uniform and saddle rusted, the German stated. “Sie auch, Hungersnot. Begib dich nach Russland und beende ihren Krieg.”

The Russian trotted away. “Kak pozhelayesh', Smert'”. 

The German soldier gazed over the barbed wire and trench works. “Wie viele müssen noch sterben?” Suddenly, he looked over to a young English soldier in one of the trenches, sobbing weakly. 

He jumped in, gazing upon a grizzly sight. The young man’s stomach had opened up from machine gun fire, his insides spilling into the mud. His friends around him lay dead, heads gone, limbs blown asunder. 

The German kneeled down next to the soldier. “Wie heißt du?” The scared boy looked up at the German, and the Austrian soldier, atop the trench work.

“I don’t understand what you are saying, sir.” gasped the English boy, between labored breaths. The German sighed, placing a hand on the boy’s chest. “Wie alt bist du?” After a while the German lowered his head. The young man swore he heard crying. “Fünfzehn. Eine solche Verschwendung von Jugend.” The German stood up, looking down at the dying boy. He slowly took his saber, and swung, splitting the lad’s throat. A slight mist seeped through the wound as the soldier grew cold, and finally drew his last breath.

The German finally jumped out of the trench. He took one last look at the English boy, before turning to his horse, and gently placing his head against its. “Wie viele heute? Dreißigtausend?” He mounted his horse next to the Austrian, and looked directly into his eyes. “Krieg, wohin als nächstes?”

The Austrian looked southward. “Verdun. Auch die Franzosen kämpfen immer noch, Tod.”

As the two trotted southward, the German wondered, “Wie viele Jahre müssen wir noch arbeiten?”

“Es ist zwei Jahre her.” the Austrian muttered. “Wir haben noch einige Jahre vor uns.”

The German asked again, “Bist du fertig?”

The red horseman looked at his bloodstained dog tags, and back to the German. “Tod, wir waren alle im 1915 fertig.”

[totalfanfreak]

One of Three - Chapter 14

One of Three Chapter 14 – When Irish Eyes are Smiling

Sera was in the between of waking and letting herself drift back to sleep, but the sudden draft of cold against her side pushed her brain to open her eyes. Turning over she saw one of her bed warmers sitting up.

“Conn?”

Her voice sounded like a dying frog and she cringed at it. Connor smiled over his shoulder at her, throwing on his socks and shirt. 

“Go back ta sleep, aingeal.”

She went to grab his arm. “I will if you lay back down, it’s cold without you.”

He leant down and kissed her. “Ye got ole Murph fer that. Get some rest.”

She tried not to but she sulked. “Where are you going this early? The sun hasn’t come up yet.”

“Gotta head ta work, love, thought best fer one of us ta stay here withcha after what happened.”

She was sitting up with him now, careful to not jostle Murphy. “But then you’ll be alone. It’s not safe for you two either right now.”

“I’ll be fine, got a gun on me. It’ll be okay. Believe me, I’ll be perceptive, but we can’t be goin’ and throwing all our routines out da window. Can’t let them win on that.”

She bit her lip. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have to stop your lives. I feel bad you’ve had to do that, and I’m sorry about yesterday –“

He raised his hand to silence her. “There’s nothing ta be apologizing fer. Those assholes needed ta be taught a lesson. Would do it again in a second if need be. Besides it should be me apologizin’. All that shit last night. ‘m sorry fer what I did, I’ll do what I can ta find yer brother so ye can talk to him again.”

She took his hand. “Connor there’s nothing for you to say sorry for in that either. You stood up for me when I couldn’t for myself. I don’t know what’s crawled up my brother’s ass - to stay gone that long and the first thing to pop out of his mouth is why I’m staying here…it’s not his business. I don’t like that you’re a part of this, but you are now, and whether Sapph likes it or not we’re going to have each others’ backs.”

“If da time comes, yer damn right we will.”

She wanted to say that the time would happen. But she stopped, not wanting to wake Murphy by causing a scene this early in the morning. Connor was right. They couldn’t drop everything because they were afraid. That would be surrendering. And she believed he could take care of himself if the situation arose.

“The very least I should be thanking you.”

His brows rose and her smile grew. “Fer what?”

“For defending me, of course. Rocco told me you’re the one to make him get us out of there. But…it’s more than that too. It’s for everything, Connor, you – the both of you…I know I bring it up a lot but you two could’ve walked away. As soon as I told you about me you could’ve thrown your hands up and said ‘fuck it’ but you didn’t. For some reason you let me stay and you both stay with me. Thank you for all that, for so much I can’t even list right now.”

He had closed his eyes while she spoke, opening them when she finished and went to stroke his stubbly cheek.

“Ye ain’t gotta thank either of us fer that, ár aingeal grámhara. Yer ours, we love ye, it’s what we are meant ta do fer ye.”

He ushered her back to the mattress, her body abiding from its disrupted sleep.

“Feel like I should thank someone…Maybe we could go to church or temple. I should thank Him, at least, right?”

Connor grinned. “Be a good idea, love, we enjoy it when ye go with us ta Mass.”

She hummed. “I like it too. Do you want me to make you some breakfast?”

“No need fer that. Know how ta make some toast, grab me a coffee on da way.

Go back ta sleep, Sera, yer body needs ta rest. We want ye well.”

She mumbled out an ‘I’m fine,’ before her body gave in, feeling Connor’s lips on her forehead before she went to sleep. When she roused again, her whole body had chilled, opening her eyes she was alone, Murphy and Shep gone, his sheets rumpled and cold telling her he left a good time ago.

“Shep?”

Though the boys had ruined him, feeding him food off their plates and letting him all over the furniture, he remained wired that he sticks to her, knowing she needed him. Upon hearing his name Shep came darting from the stairway, and she felt bad having him used to that being his living area. He used to always be with her and with the intervals where she needed to be alone – well, she felt like he had been ignored. But if he had anything against her about it, it didn’t show, staying her sweet jovial dog.

“Where’s Murph, boy?”

His ears went like satellite dishes, going sideways and back at the name before giving a small bark as he went back out the door. Following he led her to the steps that went to the roof, making her hesitate. She hadn’t gone out there yet. To her it was their equivalent of a man cave since they had let her move in. With her things clamored everywhere, the roof was the only place she hadn’t went and touched. Shep kept nudging the door with his nose, whining.

“I know, good job boy. Don’t know if we should bother him.”

Maybe she could just peek out, make sure he was okay. Cracking the door she saw him near the edge, cigarette smoke mingling with the crisp air. He appeared alright, pensive, lost in his own world, but unharmed so she started to back up without him knowing Shep opposing that choice and winding past her legs to trot to him. She saw Murphy chuckle when the dog sat by his legs, reaching down to rub Shep’s head, turning he glanced to her from his spot his smile becoming larger, her smile back was sheepish.

“Morning there, lass.”

She gave a small wave. “Good morning, everyone was gone, thought I’d check on you.”

“All’s fine, love, be better if you’d come join me.”

“I don’t want to invade your space.”

Murphy grunted, piqued. “Don’t know what yer seein’ out here, but there ain’t nothin’ ta ‘invade.’”

She let herself look out the door, only seeing the chimney to the building as well as a few rusted lawn chairs, a few crates being used like makeshift table with beer cans littering the top, and several cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other soggy from the rain with circles drawn on it – like a bullseye.

She smiled, pointing to the stack. “Have you been practicing?”

Murph gave that smile that made him appear so young and impish. “Aye, not much different than a sling shot ta be honest. Much more kickback to it, but I been enjoying the bow. Quiet and helps me practice me aim.”

She grinned. “I’m glad it’s become useful for you…I’m going to go start breakfast for us and let you finish your cigarette.”

Sera gave a small squeak when he grabbed her to him. She glanced up shyly seeing him looking at her curious, head tilted while he chewed his lip.

“What’s got ye scramblin’ away today? Yer acting all anxious ‘round me. Is it cause of yesterday or something I did?”

The earnest way he said it had her nestling her face into his chest, smelling the tobacco and beer he must have spilt on himself the night before. It had nothing to do with him. She was the idiot here, and she knew it. She should’ve never gotten drunk last night. It was one of the numerous things she shouldn’t have done. But yesterday had to be the push to the dominoes, and soon they’d all be toppling down. Her drunken mind had made her weak, and as soon as trouble struck she had hid like a dog about to be scolded. Though she gave her inebriation some credit, if she had been sober the jolt of fear would’ve made the seizure worse.

Her dulled senses numbed the fear down making her brain turn the mess into a partial. Everyone with epilepsy had a trigger and her main one was fear. And that’s seems to be all she had going from here on. If the boys hadn’t been involved before they sure as hell were now. Those soldiers as they were known in their bratva would come back, especially when they got jeered at for getting whipped by two Irishmen. And if they had saw her…Connor and Murphy were in danger already, but if those men connected them together how would it be then?

Yeah, boss, I saw her with those two Irish fucks.

Yeah, I can tell you what they look like, and where they were hanging around.

That meant Doc could be in trouble now too. It got more unpleasant the deeper everything went. And, as always, this was going to be her fault.

“Aingeal?”

“I’m not mad at you, Murph, at either of you. It’s me. I keep doing everything wrong and…I don’t think I can put it back in the right place.”

He bent down to her, rubbing his face in her hair. “Such a pessimistic girl, things will be alright, ye’ll see.”

How could he be that sure? “I’m bad luck, Murph. God, I should’ve been there to help yesterday – I didn’t even ask if either of you were okay. Are you? Did they hurt you?”

Damn, how awful was she? Not even thinking about them getting beaten up because of her. Struggling from the embrace she looked him over. Murphy throwing her a crooked smile when she lifted his shirt to check for bruises.

“We ain’t no worse fer wear, love. Me and Conn have been in worse scrapes when we were kids.”

He didn’t seem too bad off, he had a bruise on his jaw and a small cut above his eye but it was enough for her to be guilty. And then Connor, how hurt was he when he went to work?

She forced her chin down when he tried to tilt it up, she heard him sigh. “Told ye before we’re tougher than we look.”

“Yeah, and it would’ve been fine if it was some random bar fight, but this is my fault. They were looking for me, and now they fucking know what you look like, Murphy! They might not know I’m here, but they’re not letting this go. You hurt their pride, and to them that’s enough to kill over.”

His chest puffed out. “Got some pride, too, tellin’ ye we’ll be fine.”

“I wish I had listened to you both sooner.”

“Bout what?”

“About being more aware of things, it’s just been so nice to have this. To be so normal…happy, I let myself down last night. I can’t let it happen again. If something was to happen – you two are family to me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if it did.”

He cradled her face. “Not goin’ ta tell ye we won’t get hurt, good chance we might, but ye got ta let this go, Sera. All da worry and shit you’re holding onta, it’s not goin’ ta help. We need ta stick together through this and not be focusin’ on what could be or what’s happened. Know it hurts ye a great deal, but it may be time fer ye ta let the hurtin’ from the past go.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, and she knew it made him nervous, that he may have crossed a line.

“Murphy, do you believe in forgiveness?”

His stare was curious. “Course, that’s why we repent, to obtain forgiveness.”

“But – I mean, do you think everything should be forgivable? When the person is not sorry, should they be forgiven?”

He nodded, understanding starting to come in his eyes. “I do, faith aside, it’s not about freein’ them from anything, it’s fer you, love. Ye think they’re hurtin’ and grievin’ themselves over what they’ve done? Cause they aren’t. It’s you, if yer able ta forgive, then you can let them go. I’m not sayin’ forget what they’ve done, but you need ta forgive ‘em so it’ll help ye move on.”

She looked from him at the landscape of buildings and cars before them. “And so I can forgive myself.”

“That too.”

She wondered if that was possible, carrying the guilt with her for so long had become like a crutch to her. But she knew Murphy was right, Klem, all the ones who had come after her family, who betrayed them, they weren’t feeling remorse for what they’ve done. If things could’ve been done differently she would’ve taken that path, but it was over and done with. She had already forgiven her father, the anger zapped from her with the thought of him. And she could be angry at the rest, she knew it would be a long process to get over all of it, but it was time to get over her grief. And compared to where she was barely a year ago, she was on a good track.

“I guess Leviticus was onto something about that after all.”

Murphy chuckled. “It was - let those fuckers be the ones ta bear with da guilt, not you.”

She froze, a thought crossing her. “‘Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself.’ Does that mean I shouldn’t kill them then?”

His hand came to squeeze her shoulder, pulling her back to him. “If da need arises I think da Lord will understand protecting yerself. It’s them that needs ta worry about this, not you. Come on, let’s get inside before ye freeze.”

She turned to look out once more. “It’s warmer today.”

“Aye, it’ll be spring before ye know it, most likely there’ll be another blizzard in da works before that.”

Spring, a time of new beginnings, and if it meant enduring another snowfall to get a good one then she’d deal with it. Seeing Murph holding the door open she followed after him inside. Throwing off his coat he flopped on the unmade bed, Shep bounding up to join him while she went to the fridge.

“You and Connor worked out shifts with me, huh?”

Turning onto his stomach his eyes went to hers. “Better than fighting over ye, isn’t it?”

She snorted. “I don’t see much sense in that. Besides neither of you seem to fight much unless it’s over something trivial.”

He sat up. “Trivial? And what exactly is trivial that we fight about?”

“Let’s see – who gets the good stool at McGinty’s, whose robe is whose, which one gets the last piece of food, who’s the oldest –“

“That’s not a trivial thing! Ye can’t look me in the eyes and tell me ye never fought about it with yer own set!”

She laughed. “No, I haven’t. But we didn’t have a mother who withheld that tidbit from us. But it wasn’t something we ever got mad about, unless Sapph got too bossy.”

“So he’s da oldest fer the three of ya?”

“Yep, which means he’ll go senile first.”

“Not unless one of us drives ye ta madness first, aye?”

She laughed, closing the fridge. “That’s true. Ugh, we’re going to have go to the store, Murph. There’s nothing here to cook.”

Sad, the fridge looked as it did when she first got there – only condiments, and now a lonely lemon sitting inside. They had been busy and too mixed up in things to notice.

“May as well, got nothing ta do.”

“It’ll be nice to spend the day together. Maybe while we’re out we can do something for Shep, like go to the park. I haven’t doted on him as much as I used to, it’d be good for him to play somewhere. Take Connor some lunch if you’re okay with it.”

Murphy’s smile was close to indulgent. “Whatever ye want ta do, love, I’m up fer it.”

“Oh, really? Cause you’re still in bed.”

“Just waitin’ ta see if you’d make yer move or not.”

“I’ll wait til you’re least expecting it.”

He grinned, allowing her to slip to the other room to change. When she had started to gather her things, Murphy had shot off the bed, roaming over on the table that had the bag before coming to her.

“Got this fer ye last night too.”

The gift was covered with a handkerchief, and she noticed Murphy chewing on his nail, a tic she had come well to know, when she began to unwrap it. Her eyes went to him in bewilderment.

“Oh, you got me a –“

“Switchblade, yeah, Connor told me I was full of shit fer wantin’ it. But I’d feel better if ye had it on ye. It’s more concealable than a gun and everything.”

She couldn’t help the smile that came, it was thoughtful. Him giving her that independence while keeping her safe at the same time.

“I’ll take it with me wherever I go. You know I used to have one.”

His thumb fell from his mouth then. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her mind going to two different moments in time. “It was actually Sapph’s, you know, from Boy Scouts. But when he dropped out he didn’t want it. I carried that thing for years, I lost it not too long ago. They do come in handy on occasion. But really, thank you for thinking of me like that.”

He looked borderline proud and embarrassed. “Always, aingeal. Come on, let’s take doggo out.”

Murphy insisted on driving, remaining tense from her seizure from yesterday. She didn’t mind letting him, it allowed her time to think. Her elation of knowing her brother was okay calming her, sure he was pissed off, but he was alive. Yet, like her, Rocco and his circle had been able to pin him down. Even if she was sure Roc would never harm her or her family, she was very skeptical if the rest of his associates would be the same. She wanted to know what Sapph was up to, if he was with someone that would help him, aid him, be there for him. She wanted to know where he was, how far away, if she’d ever see him. Not having the ability to be there, to know for sure how he was physically and mentally hurt her. It hurt close to the same as when he left her in the first place. Telling her the severance without the goodbye would hurt her less.

It hadn’t, if anything it hurt her more, worse than that bullet going through her, and worse than if he had died. None of the ones she loved had that choice of goodbye, their end coming too sudden. But Sapph did, and he chose to just walk away from everything.

Choking down the bitterness, she tried to look to the good. If her brother hadn’t left it wouldn’t have pushed her to leave Florida. In that she wouldn’t have moved as far away as she could, not finding her passion in art again, as well as a hope in humanity and some semblance of normalcy that she wanted to maintain in the future. Among physical reasons, one seating right next to her, these two men giving her the strength she had lost to fight back again. She was terrified of something happening to them, but was grateful they had been sent to her regardless.

Murphy, feeling the attention, turned to smile at her. “I look that good, ye got ta stare?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “That, and I’m just happy, you make me happy.”

Taking in a breath of cool air she exhaled. “I’m strangely calm today; it’s just a good feeling.”

He took her hand, grinning. “’S’a sign that’s it’s gonna be a good day today.”

“I think so too.”

After driving for a while they found a few dog parks mingled in with the regular ones, and it was wonderful to let Shep from his leash. As soon as he saw her signal that it was fine he took off, racing through the grass to the light gravel area. Being with her around the clock he got to do quite a bit of walking, but it didn’t add up the same as this. Near one of the gazebos she had found a bin of tennis balls, letting him come back to her after he finished greeting all the other dogs before she went to throw it. It had been awhile, and she worried he wouldn’t want to. But when she let the green orb go he flicked out to search for it. The sheltie raised his rear in the air to chew on his find for a moment before bringing it back for another go. After a few tosses she held out the slightly slobbered ball out to Murphy.

“Want to give it a try?”

He had been propped up on the bench, watching them while he smoked. He glanced at the ball for a bit, contemplating, before he snubbed out his cigarette.

He rolled the ball in his hand, oblivious to the wetness. “Don’t matter where it goes then?”

She laughed, pushing her hair back from the wind. “As long as it isn’t in the road, it’s fine.”

He tossed it lightly, underhand, Shep leaping up and catching it easily.

“I used ta want a dog like Shep when I was a kid.”

“Did you have any pets?”

Murphy shook his head, the messy tufts of hair sticking up and the look on his face giving her a glimpse of that little boy. She understood from a parental perspective why they couldn’t, usually the responsibility fell to them and with her being a single mom and wrangling them, throwing a dog in may have been rough. But growing up and always having a dog with her, she knew what a joy it was and wished things could’ve been different for her boys.

She rubbed his arm. “You have one now. You know Shep loves you, probably more than me.”

She saw that small smile itching to release. “Not true, he’ll be true to ye.”

She took his hand, lifting it up to kiss the back of it. “He is for you too. He doesn’t come to someone unless he trusts them. If someone was to lash at you I know he’d attack them. And that true stuff goes for me as well.”

The grin was on full display now, him ducking away to grab the ball. Seating herself on the bench she put her knees to her chest to lean her head on. They always gave her small peeks of themselves, and with the opening there she wanted to know more.

“What were you like as a kid? How it was growing up?”

He raised a brow at her question, but seeing her curiosity lowered it. “I guess not much different than anybody’s comin’ down to it. Our Ma had ta work a lot when our Da left us, meanin’ we didn’t have too much supervision. We’d get inta plenty of tussles with the other kids in da neighborhood, one talkin’ shit about us or somethin’. Conn and me kept at each other’s side. We gave hell in school, I mean we liked it and all, loved ta learn and shit made good grades and everything. But it’d get boring sometimes and we’d put some excitement in da day. Our uncle took care of us a lot when Ma was workin’ so we hung out at da bar. Not too much ta brag about lass.”

Her smile widened, letting her hand reach out to try and flatten the hair on his forehead with no avail. “I know that’s not true. But I did enjoy how I asked about you and I heard ‘we’ throughout.”

Murphy’s cheeks reddened, scratching his neck. “Sorry, used ta includin’ Connor in everythin’.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Murph. I love that you both include each other in all that you do. Hell, I’d probably end up doing the same thing. But I like getting to know you guys individually too. Mostly I just observe but I like it more when you tell me things.”

He tilted his head, eyes remaining on the ground. “Yeah, and what yer observations been telling ye?”

“I already know that you’re favorite color’s blue, you tend to look up when the skies are clear. You prefer to sleep on your stomach and usually without a pillow. You love macaroni and cheese but only the boxed kind because you hate the flour taste when it’s homemade. You have a huge sweet tooth. But where Connor loves any type of cake or pastry you’ll eat anything as long as it’s chocolate.”

Murphy had started smile, though his focus remained on the ground letting her continue. “That you like it in America but miss Ireland. That you’re an amazing son that makes sure his mom is cared for. That you’re a gentleman, but like to have a good time, if sometimes a rambunctious one. I know that when you were younger you loved photography, but chose not to pursue a career in so you wouldn’t end up hating it. And I know that you’re the sensitive one between the two of you, which isn’t a bad thing. Where Conn sees things firsthand, you feel them. Am I warm at all?”

He lunged for her then, making her shriek in surprise, the sound making many of the dogs bark as their owners watched the couple in amusement or disgruntled. She hated making such a girly sound, but with her heart racing and heat coming up her body she couldn’t give it that much of a care. Clutched to him, Murphy kissed her eagerly, and she reciprocated sucking in his bottom lip as he did her top one. The gesture causing her to laugh, which gave him the chance to sneak his tongue inside letting the vibrations of her groan bounce to him. He pulled away, and she leaned into his side watching as his Adams apple bob when he swallowed.

“Starting ta think we got a problem makin’ out in public, love.”

Her mouth quirked, licking her lips to see that gleeful look in those blue eyes.

“That might be so, but I’m not complaining about it.”

Murphy chuckled. “Neither am I. But if you’re ready ta go, I’m starved.”

“Yeah, I’m getting kind of hungry. I’m sure Connor is too, being a liar this morning that he was going to cook something when there isn’t a crumb in it.”

“Don’t be worryin’ about me brother, he scrounged somethin’ up I’m sure.”

She smiled when he held his arm out for her, letting her loop hers with his. “That might be true, but I’ve taken it as my role to keep you both fed.” Opening the car door for her, he kissed her cheek. “And we’re both glad that ye do. Probably be bad fer you though, few years from now you’ll have two sacks of blubber on yer hands.”

She snickered, while he loaded Shep in. “Off to da market then?”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

She always liked going to the market, it reminded her of the flea markets her mom and aunt took them to on the weekends, giving a wide array of vendors and tastes that took you across the world. After getting a cart they tried to make a path through the throng of people. Sera made sure to get plenty of canned foods and staples for the pantry so they wouldn’t have to worry about being cleaned out again. Situating those first they got to perishables, Murphy still showing contempt at the sight of the vegetables. It was fun having him juggle some lemons, causing several of the children to halt their parents to watch. He was up to seven when he lost pace, lemons falling onto the floor, but not losing stride he bowed picking up the fruit and tossing them in the cart as everyone clapped. It was turning out to be a good day. Nice, normal, it lulled her making her soul hum in contentment. Getting done, she paid the last vendor and was ready when Murphy grabbed her elbow, making her pause and see he was pointing to a wine vendor.

“Que dites-vous, ange? Peut-être que cela nous donnerait un goût authentique.” (What do you say, angel? Perhaps it'd give us an authentic taste.)

She hated that, and she suspected they knew it too. To be fair she didn’t completely hate it. But she did get angry at herself for not learning more than a few phrases of the languages the boys had acquired. But what got her, and what they probably used against her was the way the dialects affected her. As Murphy gave the slow annunciation of the words she felt herself gulp on reflex making a feline grin take over his face. She tried to smile, batting him away to push the cart, but he stopped her.

“Aww, allez, j'ai vu dans vos yeux que votre bouche s'écoule pour cela. Pourquoi ne pas lui donner un aller?” (Aww, come on, I saw it in your eyes that your mouth waters for it. Why not give it a go?)

Her knees were shaking now, her body supported by the cart. “As much as I enjoy hearing you talk French, you know I have no clue what you’re saying. Besides neither of you even like wine.”

Gripping the sides of the cart, he leaned over until he was close enough so she could smell him – that mix of smoke, sweat, and something heady and sweet she could never put a name to.

“Les deux d'entre nous n'ont jamais eu le vaisseau approprié pour l'un. Mais je crois que nous le faisons maintenant. Voulez-vous, amour? En ayant moi et mon frère dribbler du vin froid sur toi et le faire moucher? Je pense que vous le feriez.” (The two of us never had the proper vessel for one. But I believe we do now. Would you like that, love? Having me and my brother dribbling cold wine over you and lapping it up? I think you would.)

Her knuckles had turned white gripping the cart’s handle, she felt too much heat on her, in her, and it faltered her that something so simple was doing this. She closed her eyes trying to control her breathing, wanting the static that had leeched into her nerves to stop. Then she felt a feather light touch graze her neck, the warmth and wetness telling her it was a kiss.

“Je veux t'avoir une fille douce. Voulez-vous me laisser ici?” (I want to have you all to myself sweet girl. Will you let me have you here?)

The way the end tinted upwards told her it was a question, and without a thought she nodded. Whatever he wanted she’d give him. Murphy grinned, but instead of the smile of a cat he gave one that showed off his shyness. It was eager and almost unsure.

“Ye have any clue what ye said yes to?”

She tiptoed up to kiss his chin, liking the scratch from the hair there. “Doesn’t matter, I still say yes.”

He kept his eyes on her, gauging for a reaction, while his hands wandered to the hem of her shirt. The warm hand splayed out on her stomach making her shudder.

“Ye sure, love?”

She could feel the heat that was in her cheeks falling down to her neck. “Yeah, had an idea at what you were hinting at. I kind of already let it slip at what your French does to me.”

He grinned. “Aye, good ta have somethin’ at my advantage. Let’s see if there’s somethin’ more secluded in da back.”

She tucked her hair back, her heart racing. She’d never done anything like this before, hell, she hadn’t done nearly any of the things she had since meeting them but public sex. Her mother would tell her she wasn’t being respected if asked for that. Her brother would say she was being used. Her sister would shirk back at the whole idea. And her dad…her dad would never be allowed to find out. But she knew it wasn’t about any of that. Getting this far she knew otherwise, and she wasn’t that afraid – it wasn’t like they were going to rut with a crowd watching. But something else did bother her.

“Will Connor be mad at me if he finds out?”

Kisses and embraces were an anytime thing for all of them, but when it came to the full act of intimacy all three had been present. With many of this being new for her she had no idea what guidelines or boundaries could be crossed. Murphy stopped then.

“Why would he be mad?”

She was worried both their feelings would be hurt now. “I don’t know how this all works, Murphy. I don’t want anyone to feel left out or anything. I’m not sure if I’m saying this right –“

“Ye don’t want ta show favoritism?”

Her brows knitted. “Yes, but no. It’s not really about that. I can say I love you both equally, but there’s different things about you that I favor more in each of you…I don’t know, I don’t want either of you hurt.”

“No one’s gonna be hurtin’, aingeal. Only thing Conn will be mad about is that he didn’t get to ye first.”

She almost snickered at the truth in there, the two always competing.

She tugged his belt then. “We better be getting a move on then, I’ve been waiting to be filled up by something since this morning.”

Though she was comfortable in her skin, words weren’t her strong suit, better by doing than talking. Cupping Murphy through his jeans she hoped the growing bulge she felt conveyed what she wanted to be filled with. She was pleasantly stunned when Murphy pushed her with a tad more force, both stumbling in a small supply closet.

“What about Shep?”

There was no way she could grunt and groan with her dog watching. Without a pause Murphy looped the leash around the door’s knob, pushing their cart beside the door.

“Goin’ ta have ta be quicker than usual, love. But he’ll be fine out here, chase off any fucker stupid enough ta try and take our shit.”

She nodded, her face starting to burn again Sera stooped down to pet Shep, telling him to be good before she was pulled into the room. The light didn’t work inside, only shards of light coming in the cracks to help them. She was backed against something and when Murphy pressed against her and felt his way behind her back they realized it was a work table. He maneuvered her enough so he could wipe off the debris causing a small clanging when whatever occupied the area hit the ground.

She tittered, a laugh wanting to bubble. “I thought we were supposed to be quiet?” She didn’t need to see to know he was smirking. “I said quick, not quiet.” She nearly caught an elbow to the ribs when he took his coat off to put on the table for her. She tried to kiss him for that ending up with her pecking his nose instead. She heard Murphy’s throaty giggle and it made her laugh as well.

“Not as easy as I thought this would be. Books and movies make it look easy.”

Sera felt her jeans come undone. “Aye, but it’s mighty fun, ain’t it?”

She knew she didn’t have to but tilted her head to be coy. “Aye, but I may enjoy even more if you were to orchestrate this in French.”

“Oh, yeah? Juste attendre jusqu'à ce que je me coule les dents dans toi.” (Just wait until I sink my teeth into you.)

Her breath caught then, while her pants and underwear were pushed to her feet. Murphy tapped her thighs, taking her hand.

“Je dois sortir d'eux, mon amour.” (Got to step out of them, love.)

It took a few times with the motion but the third time he tapped her knee she realized she needed to kick off the garments.

“Thanks for letting me keep my shoes on…I know it’ll be impossible to get your pants off with those heavy boots on but if we get caught I want us to be somewhat even here.”

She pushed his shirt up, his arm grazing her ear when he tossed it off. Sera felt hands on her bare skin, guiding her up onto the table, Murphy’s hips coming in contact with her inner thighs. She inhaled deep when his skin touched hers.

“You are quick.”

His forehead fell on hers. “J'aimerais pouvoir prendre mon temps avec vous. Voulez-vous faire trembler votre corps et ressentir de la misère car le mienne est pour vous. Je ne peux tout simplement pas attendre.” (I wish I could take my time with you. Want to make your body squirm and tremble and feel needy as mine is for yours. I just can't wait though.)

She felt him then, the head slippery from want as it slid through her own dripping slit. She flexed her nails into his arm, sighing when she heard him his. She had no idea how many girls before her had been in this exact position with her boys, but she let herself believe she was the only one given such incredible consideration. She knew he needed this, felt that he needed this, and though Murphy was the one that jumped in headfirst without thought she knew that squeeze on her hip was his way of asking permission. It was her chance to back out, of him not wanting her to regret this or be upset with herself later on. Without sight she felt for his face with her hands bringing him down to kiss her before moving her hips to his so he could find his way in.

Letting them adjust she clasped him to her, stroking his hair the way he liked when they were going to slip. Her grip got tighter on it when he started to thrust. She wanted to say he was as bad as Connor when it came to teasing, letting himself pull slowly back out before ramming himself back in. But she knew why he was doing it. It was scary that they knew her body better than her – her nerve endings sparking to life from the hard thrusts only coming to a simmer when he withdrew. She knew she was done before she even peaked, Murphy’s incisors piercing her clavicle being her tipping point. The surprise of it had her gasping for air as if she had been smothered, Murphy’s hands lovingly caressing her but his pace picking up speed to finish with her.

Kissing her neck he put her arms around his neck as he gripped her thighs picking her up in a way that the backs of her knees were on the crooks of his arms. The angle made her quiver again, the winding inside her ready to spring. She raked her hands and nails at whatever skin she had, his and hers, the stance he had her unable to pull herself up enough to reach him. She could hear people walking around, talking, kids laughing, begging their parents for something sweet. This should make her feel guilty. She was on the verge of feeling something akin to dirty, but that wasn’t it. It was…wild. Freeing, like she had been purged from the sky only to hit ground. She had to grit her teeth to keep from howling, her legs gripping him as she finished before him again.

“God, Murphy.”

“Sssh, Lord’s name, les filles.” (Lass)

Catching his mouth she bit down on his tongue, making him jab hard into her feeling the hot stream of him thrash on her cervix. He panted, leaning on her and the table when his knees knocked together.

“Ever loving, Christ.”

“And you say that to me?”

Her voice was just as breathless, but she was able to laugh feeling his mouth twitch on her shoulder.

“It’s the only way ta express what ye do ta me, aingeal.”

There wouldn’t be much of a chance for afterglow, but she gave in to letting her hands wonder over him stroking down the unruly locks, and raking her nail softly down his neck while the other hand stroked his back then heading to the other side to go up his belly. She sighed when in return Murphy helped to bring her down too, tilting her head back to place soft kisses over her face and neck, letting his hands send tingles all down her back as they skimmed her thighs. Still buried inside her they could both feel the other’s climax. After a few minutes of indulgence she let her legs untangle dropping from him to dangle.

She scooted off the table falling towards his naked chest. “How are we going to find our clothes in here?”

She could hear the pangs of his zipper gliding up stepping away to open the door a crack.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s stolen our stuff, should give us enough light ta see what’s what.”

They had a few heads turn their way when they exited, but instead of embarrassment it caused Sera to laugh, especially when she got to see her new marking in full light. Murphy smiled at her, running a finger over his lips, anxious, like he was expecting her to be disappointed in them both instead. Sera only shook her head at him, pulling the cart behind her, making him laugh in turn when she grabbed a few bottles of wine on their way out.

“You won’t try one bite?”

Murphy shook his head at her, sipping on the soda he got with his lunch. “Sorry aingeal, but I have no fuckin’ clue how ye eat that shit.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, making a show to toss a piece of cured fish in her mouth causing him to blanch. She pointed to the hot dog he had in his lap.

“And I seriously don’t know how you eat that.”

He smirked, chancing a glance at her before moving his eyes back to the road.

“What yer people got against pigs? Bet if ye tried it you’d love it.”

“I didn’t say it doesn’t taste good, and most Jews have no problem with pork. Sapph can eat a whole pack of bacon when he gets the urge to.”

She could tell he was baffled. “If yer brother eats it, how come ye don’t?”

She shrugged. “I have before, but when my mom found out she tried to sensitize us –“

“The hell’s that mean?”

“Basically it means she dragged us out of school to go to a slaughterhouse to see a pig be turned into hotdogs.”

Murphy laughed. “And that’s why ye can’t eat ‘em? Conn and me watched the slaughter all the time, where ye think all the meat comes from, love?”

She closed her eyes tight. “I know. I know before it’s in the stores the meat all meets the same end in a similar fashion, but to see the poor thing strung up and killed, that horrible smell when they burned his skin off, and that God awful squelching noise the machines have when they make that stuff – I don’t want it.”

“And all this time we thought it was because ye were a good lil Jew.”

“I am!”

He chuckled at her again, making her smile and glare at the same time.

“Ye could at least have some bacon once in a while.”

She gagged. “Uh-uh.”

“We’ll sneak it in on ye, need it fer a healthy diet.”

She blew her lips together to keep from laughing. It stopped when they got to the plant, and after recalling that wonderful day she wasn’t sure she wanted beef to be ruined for her too. Reading her thoughts Murphy called out behind her.

“We only cut it up and pack it, love. It’s dead by the time it gets ta us.”

That was a relief, grabbing the bag of food they got for Connor she followed Murph inside. It smelled as she thought it would, the raw meat that usually permeated the boys’ clothes staggering inside. It made her stomach roll but she was able to hide it. Shep on the other hand was going crazy, barely in the lobby and his snout was up in the air detecting the delicacies he wanted not too far away. She patted his side to calm him.

“We have to stay in here, buddy.”

Murphy gazed at her, deplored, eyebrow cocked. “No, ye don’t.”

She gestured to Shep, dumbfounded. “I believe his excess hair makes him a health hazard, Murph.”

He waved her off. “No one will give a shit, love, come on.”

He took her hand then, tugging her before she gave in with a huff. The smell was worse in the back and she had to hold a hand to her nose to let it adjust to the bloody scent. Then there was the heat, being brought in from the chill it should’ve been welcome, yet this was plain muggy heat – sticking to you and not letting go until you sweated it out.

“I thought ya took the day off, Murph.”

The voice came from an older, stocky man coming up to the two as he flipped through his clipboard.

“I am, but the lass wanted ta bring Connor some food. Worried he’s gonna starve.”

She rolled her eyes at him, muttering. “Don’t act like you’d want him to.” He grinned at her, steering her to face their new companion. “This here’s McGerkin, love, we let him think he’s in charge here.”

She reached out and shook the man’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir, I’m Sera. I want to thank you for giving the boys these hours off.”

She didn’t mean to sound so formal, but years of being taught to respect her elders and people in authority had kicked in at that moment. The introduction making McGerkin throw his head back and laugh.

“Oh, forgive me, child, it’s a pleasure for me ta meet ye. Never would’ve figured either of these two could get a girl like you though, ‘specially one that’s got some manners, but there’s no need fer any of that polite shite here. Will be up front and say they were right about ye being a looker though.”

She blushed. “Thank you. I’ll work on it, afraid it was beaten in me so it’s second nature now.”

Murphy pulled her into his side. “She keeps us in line that’s fer sure. So’s Conn been fuckin’ up without me?”

There was no need to respond Connor’s laughing echoing past the people surrounding him. Murphy took her past the railings to the assembly line, various people greeting her and petting Shep – that had her recoiling. When they approached Connor was still chuckling, but she stopped when she saw the humongous woman next to him. He shook his head eyes connecting towards them, he grinned, patting the giant on the arm who wrenched away with a sneer. Whatever Conn was laughing about she obviously did not like it. Coming up he kissed her cheek, and she saw the gleam in there when he went to put an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

“Hey Murph!” She noticed the raised volume of his voice, several others turning to face them.

Murphy, unsure, chewed at his lip. “Aye?”

“How many lesbians does it take ta screw in a lightbulb?”

Oh. This is why she’s mad, and this is why she looks like she’s going to murder him.

But Murphy seemed oblivious to it, grinning, wanting to know the answer. “How many?”

“Conn –“

He grinned at her, taking her shoulders with the other arm. “It takes two doesn’t it? One ta screw in da lightbulb, and one wee little lesbian ta suck me fuckin’ cock!”

Everyone laughed, used to this humor from the two, but that woman was striding over with one of the cleavers. Sera could see steam bellowing from her nose like a bull’s.

“I knew you were going to give me trouble! Giving me shit cause I’m a woman, well I’m not gonna take your male dominance bullshit here!”

Sera knew him and Murph may have old fashioned views on some things and, yeah, they sometimes went overboard with the jokes but they both respected women.

“He didn’t mean –“

The woman started to look her way and she gulped.

“Come now, Rozie, I just wanted a rise outta ye.”

Murphy stood in for him as well. “Yeah, he’s tryin’ ta break the ice with ye.”

She towered over him. “Does it look like I’m laughing, fuck face?”

Connor motioned for them to quiet down. “All right, ‘m sorry there, okay? So just relax.”

He went to touch her arm, the woman rearing back as he did and threw a punch hard enough to make Connor stagger; him grabbing onto the line to get his balance. Shep had barked at the assault, and Sera reeled him in before he could bite her. Connor started to look livid while he grabbed his nose.

“How about ye be saving that aggression for yer marches and protests and whatnot instead of –“

Sera could feel the kick like it was between her own legs and she went to help him when he went down as did a few other of the female workers. She almost went to rub it for him like a lunatic but opted to rub his back instead. Her brother had gotten injuries like this in similar fashion but she didn’t know how to help it. Pain pills and ice was all she could come up with. Seeing his face splotch purple and he kept gritting his teeth she wanted to get him home.

“You fucking slaves, kowtowing to the needs of men! C’mon, get the fuck up!”

She stood up then, already knowing she’d be eaten but not giving a shit. “So you can spout off about equal rights and misogyny like it’s nothing but when it comes to having a fair fight you cop out? You act high and moral but you don’t have the balls to back it up do you!”

Shep was growling when the woman snarled at them coming closer to her. You need to act before she does. Without thinking she hunched herself over and charged, hoping she’d hit the solar plexus. Happening in seconds a whoosh of air resounding but she didn’t go down, rather it gave her more fuel to grip at Sera’s arm before she could pull away before yanking her to the ground. It felt like her arm went out of its socket but she rotated it for a second, turning over to defend herself. But Murphy was quick enough to get in the way and strike, this time making her go down.

“Christ sake…Come on, Rocky, let’s get you and shit fer brains home.”

She was able to exhale, head lying on the floor. Lord’s name, Murph.

Forgot to add Tagger...Sorry! :(

@derpypenguin

@some-daniela

@shinydixon

[alice-a-sonhadora-us-blog]

AFETIVIDADE - A DEVOÇÃO DOS TIGRES O tigre selvagem terá somente uma ninhada de filhotes a cada 3 a 4 anos (geralmente de dois a seis filhotes). Os pequenos tigres permanecerão com sua mãe por aproximadamente dois anos, nos quais ela irá orienta-los ensinando-os a caçar e a tornarem-se autosuficientes. Assistindo a um tigre fêmea protegendo e ensinando seus filhotes, torna-se óbvio para o observador que ela é uma mãe dedicada e amorosa. A gentileza que ela exibe em relação a seus filhotes pode se transformar rapidamente em ferocidade quando seus jovens filhotes estão sendo ameaçados, mas quando se trata de cuidar da sua prole, ela parece deleitar-se em seu papel de mãe. Para os “duas-pernas” com alma-tigre, há uma tendência intrínseca da devoção feroz que flui através de suas veias. Quando um indivíduo tigre ama outra pessoa, seja em um amigo ou amante, a lealdade, a intensidade e a devoção que ele derrama sobre seus entes queridos deixa uma marca indelével nos corações e mentes dos outros. Para alguns indivíduos menos apaixonados que se encontram em uma relação afetiva com uma alma-tigre, esta intensidade pode ser esmagadora e eles vão escapar por "águas mais suaves", enquanto que aqueles que possuem um incêndio e profundidade semelhante dentro de seus próprios corações encontrarão um parceiro especial no indivíduo tigre. ALMAS-TIGRE E OS DESAFIOS DO CORAÇÃO Os desafios para a alma-tigre podem ser vários quando se trata de assuntos do coração. Alguns tigres tendem a queimar com uma intensidade ardente. Mas tal paixão feroz não pode ser mantida indefinidamente e o calor escaldante de paixão vai diminuir rapidamente e, apesar do início emocionante (e mesmo que o parceiro/a ainda esteja encantado a intensidade do Tigre). Embora o romance possa ser inicialmente emocionante, a Alma-Tigre parte muito cedo em busca de um novo romance para reviver a fogueira exuberante de um novo relacionamento. O resultado é que o companheiro/a deixado/a para trás fica com o coração partido e aquelas “almas-tigre” menos sensíveis terão acumulado um saldo cármico negativo até que ele/ela possa identificar esse comportamento destrutivo e aprender a agir com mais compaixão e consciência. Mas inverso disso pode acontecer quando a “alma-tigre” está tão focada em amar os outros, derramando sobre eles seus cuidados, dominando seus próprios desejos, necessidades para agradar o parceiro nem sempre disposto a retribuir.. Neste caso, frequentemente, a devoção é completamente descabida, pois a alma-tigre está tão ocupada atendendo às necessidades do companheiro/a que nada sobra para alimentar a sua própria alma. Em ambos os casos, a lição para a alma-tigre é aprender o equilíbrio entre a paixão e a perseverança, amor ao próximo e um auto amor. Uma vez que este meio-termo é alcançado, o resultado é uma alma plena dando que ensinará a todos os que se deparam com ela, a beleza da verdadeira devoção e amor. PRINCÍPIO YIN / YANG – A ALMA-TIGRE E O EQUILÍBRIO ENTRE OS OPOSTOS Um olhar para a magnífica pele de um tigre revela como as listras pretas que estão cobertas contra o pano de fundo de uma coloração laranja/ferrugem sugere uma certa dualidade. Na natureza, quando há um contraste tão significativo, indica que há uma duplicidade de sentido e/ou finalidade. Este contraste de padrões e cores na pele do tigre sugere um equilíbrio entre os princípios Yin/Yang. O conceito chinês Yin/Yang é o conceito de que todas as coisas na vida são equilibrados através dos seus opostos e esses opostos são metades iguais do todo. feminino/masculino, branco/preto, claro/ escuro, são exemplos dessa polaridade que é o fundamento básico deste conceito. Portanto, quando se olha para o Tigre como um totem e seu belo pelo de padrões e cores misturadas, torna-se evidente que este é um ser criatura que possui o equilíbrio das energias. Como um animal-totem, o Tigre vai caminhar ao lado dos “duas pernas” ensinando o equilíbrio entre os extremos da natureza, dos sentimentos e do temperamento. As “almas-tigre” são indivíduos ao mesmo tempo, quentes ou frios, cheios de paixão ou completamente isoladas e fleumáticas. Alternam períodos quentes com períodos “mornos” sexualmente falando. O desafio para estas “almas-tigre” está em encontrar o equilíbrio entre os extremos e entendimento de que as duas metades não são contradições de um ou outro, mas partes de um todo que precisam ser entendidas e integradas. Ao experimentar uma faceta da vida, sentindo e sendo então o "oposto", o Tiger aprende a importância do equilíbrio. Muitas vezes, o “duas pernas” que tem o Tigre como seu totem animal terá que percorrer as chamas do inferno e voltar várias vezes durante a sua vida. Muitas lições dolorosas serão encontrados em que ele/ela vai chegar ao ponto de exaustão absoluta, para então surgir como o Fenix à partir de suas próprias cinzas e começar um novo ciclo de crescimento e aprendizagem. 🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐯 AFFECTIVENESS - TIGER DEVOTION The wild tiger will only have one litter of pups every 3 to 4 years (usually two to six pups). The little tigers will stay with their mother for about two years, in which she will guide them by teaching them how to hunt and become self-reliant. Watching a female tiger protect and teach her young, it becomes obvious to the observer that she is a devoted and loving mother. The kindness she displays toward her puppies can quickly turn to ferocity when her young puppies are being threatened, but when it comes to taking care of her offspring, she seems to delight in her role as mother. For the two-legged tiger-soul, there is an intrinsic tendency to fierce devotion that flows through their veins. When a tiger individual loves another person, whether in a friend or lover, the loyalty, intensity and devotion he pours on his loved ones leaves an indelible imprint on the hearts and minds of others. For some less passionate individuals who are in an affective relationship with a tiger soul, this intensity can be overwhelming and they will escape through "softer waters", while those who have a fire and similar depth within their own hearts will find a special partner in the individual tiger. TIGER SOULS AND HEART CHALLENGES The challenges for the tiger soul can be many when it comes to matters of the heart. Some tigers tend to burn with a burning intensity. But such fierce passion cannot be maintained indefinitely and the scorching heat of passion will subside quickly and despite the exciting start (and even if the partner is still enchanted by the intensity of the Tiger). While the romance may initially be thrilling, the Tiger-Soul departs very early in search of a new romance to revive the lush bonfire of a new relationship. The result is that the mate left behind is heartbroken and those less sensitive tiger souls will have accumulated a negative karmic balance until he / she can identify this destructive behavior and learn to act more compassionate. and conscience. But the opposite can happen when the “tiger soul” is so focused on loving others, pouring out their cares, mastering their own desires, needs to please the partner not always willing to give back. In this case, often, devotion It is completely out of place, for the tiger soul is so busy meeting the needs of its mate that nothing is left to feed its own soul. In either case, the lesson for the tiger soul is to learn the balance between passion and perseverance, love of neighbor, and self love. Once this middle ground is reached, the result is a full giving soul that will teach all who come across it the beauty of true devotion and love. YIN / YANG PRINCIPLE - ALMA-TIGER AND BALANCE BETWEEN OPPOSITES A glance at the magnificent skin of a tiger reveals how the black stripes that are covered against the orange / rust backdrop suggest a certain duality. In nature, when there is such a significant contrast, it indicates that there is a duplicity of meaning and / or purpose. This contrast of patterns and colors in the tiger's skin suggests a balance between the Yin / Yang principles. The Chinese Yin / Yang concept is the concept that all things in life are balanced through their opposites and these opposites are equal halves of the whole. female / male, white / black, light / dark, are examples of this polarity that is the basic foundation of this concept. Therefore, when looking at the Tiger as a totem and its beautiful fur of mixed patterns and colors, it becomes evident that it is a creature with the balance of energies. Like a totem animal, the Tiger will walk alongside the "two legs" teaching the balance between the extremes of nature, feelings, and temperament. “Tiger souls” are both hot and cold, passionate or completely isolated and phlegmatic individuals. They alternate warm periods with sexually speaking “warm” periods. The challenge for these “tiger souls” lies in finding the balance between extremes and understanding that the two halves are not contradictions of one or the other, but parts of the whole that need to be understood and integrated. By experiencing a facet of life, feeling and then being the "opposite," the Tiger learns the importance of balance. Often, the "two legs" who have the Tiger as their animal totem will have to travel through the flames of hell and back again and again during their lifetime. Many painful lessons will be found in which he / she will reach the point of absolute exhaustion, then emerge as the Phoenix from its own ashes and begin a new cycle of growth and learning.

[thebloodthirstyavatar]

Mad Max: Yowler and Trapper

@dontneedyourheroact and i made ocs. I got creative at 2am. #tw: gore guns death.

The sun beat down on the rocky wasteland. A lonely road twisted past razor sharp boulders that stuck out of the ground like sharpened knives. A puddle of water sat heating up in a pot hole, evaporating quickly under the dry heat. A dust cloud kicked up in the distance. Two door, eight cylinder, rust bucked. Barely a scrap of metal on her frame. They come to a screeching halt in front of the puddle and jump out of the car. Two men, both thin as a rail with sickly hair and animal eyes. They rush to the puddle and try to fill their hands with the liquid gold. Theres not enough for them to scoop up so they stick their heads down in the dirt and lap at the puddle. Neither of them see the glint in the distance or hear the pop of the gun before one of the men’s heads cave in like a blown tire. A cry rings out and bounces off the walls until it sounds like a thousand screaming banshees. The survivor is in the rust bucket in two heart beats. On the third heartbeat, those hunting him are closing the distance. He gets the car rolling and gets to speed. The blood drains from his face as he looks in the rearview mirror and sees them.

Shes a thing to behold. A lean killer. Six cylinders, sure but she rides like a snake on a river. Skulls litter her grill, catching bugs and dust on the wind. The rust has been scrapped off and painted blood red until the second door. Weapons fill the back seats until they flow out the window, sticking out like a porcupine, or wings of an angel of death. The war cry is louder than the engine by far. A thick yell like wolf mated with a tiger. It’s owner was the driver, a woman with broad shoulders and goggles made of two eye sockets pulled from a bleached skull. Black leather was checkered with white bone of decapitated enemies. She grinned before letting out another scream. Her name was Yowler, and she was on the hunt. 

In the back seat, nestled like a mother bird amid the weapons was her hunting partner. A man with too much limbs for his body, which was covered by a few pelts which hung over his shoulders and a few scalps that lined up against his back. He was quietly reloading his scopes, which jammed before he could make the second shot. Smooth and precise he removed the troubled bullet and replaced it with a shiny new friend. When he was finished he rose up out of his seat and set his scopes on the top of the ride. The road was bumpy and they were losing ground. “Yowler! Loser the ditches ya gaber drifa,” he spoke into the wind. As if she could hear him above the engine, wind, and her own shouts, she slowed down and tried to make the ride as smooth as the roads would allow. “TRAPPEEEEERRRRR!” she called out in encouragement.

The survivor would be crying if he could afford the water. Instead he gasped for breath and drove as hard as he could, trying to find a turn in this fucking road. But the hunters hand chosen their ambush carefully. It was a shooting gallery. He looked in the rearview again. He was losing them. A single tear rolled down his cheek. A pop went off. Blood rolled down his forhead. The hunters won. 

Yowler drove the beauty next to the rust bucket, that had crashed on a sharp rock after it lost control. She quit her yelling after Trapper laid in the final shot. “Do we leave it or should you drive it to the war gang?” she asked. “Rippin barker drifa da Vee Eight ofda bleach. Vee Eight wassa bounty. Pisser off,” he slumped back into his nest of guns. “Well they can use if for fucking parts. We’ll leave it and tell them were it is after they pay us,” Yowler got out and walked to the driver side of the rust bucket. She pulled the last surivor out and unsheathed her machete. Wit a few practiced hacks, the head came off. “Want the scalp?!” she yelled, her question bouncing off the rocks. “Na! Keepum” he replied. She grinned and examined her new prize, bullet hole and all.

[meenasmoon]

Renegades Ch 1:                           The Name’s Moon...Buster Moon

He was late. Of course. 

Buster Moon's rusty MoPed puttered pitifully as he pushed the ancient engine to its limit, speeding through the streets of the buzzing metropolis. The old machine was a faded red color and in some places the paint had chipped away completely to reveal patches of rust. It looked like Buster had pulled the poor thing out of its grave. Despite the condition of his ride, Buster weaved in and out of stopped cars like he was riding a Ducati. A chorus of honks and angry yells greeted his bold navigation as frustrated drivers expressed their displeasure. Buster ignored all of this as he left the downtown area of the city and headed into an older district filled with old buildings and crumbling testaments to the poverty of the area. He screeched to a stop in front of a condemned theatre and hopped off of his MoPed. Humming happily he hurried down an alley on one side of the building until he had reached the back of the building. He parked his bike in the dirt, careful to avoid the pieces of broken glass and trash that littered the area. Satisfied that his vehicle was relatively safe, he removed his old motorcycle goggles to reveal wide grey-blue eyes and ruffled gray locks that parted down the middle and fell in his face slightly. He brushed imaginary dust off of his favorite blue suit and straightened his red bow tie. Once he was satisfied that he looked impeccable he strolled over to the back door and reached for the grubby handle. 

He groaned when the handle held fast, the lock preventing him from budging the huge metal door. He groaned in frustration and rested his forehead on the door as he counted to ten slowly. Once he was calm his lips pulled into a slightly forced grin and he knocked three times on the door. A familiar voice called out from the other side. 

"What?! Who's there?!" Buster's grin strained slightly when he realized that his morning was starting to spiral just a little bit further. It was never a good thing for him to hear that squawking, raspy voice first thing in the morning. It always meant trouble. 

"Miss Crawly? It's me let me in." He jiggled the door handle once more but it still refused to give. 

There was a brief silence as the woman on the other side of the door tried to puzzle out who exactly was on the other side of the door, "What's the password?" She suddenly demanded and Buster had to physically stop himself from pulling out his hair. Instead he settled for clenching his teeth and trying to reason with the woman on the other side of the door. 

"Miss Crawly. We don't have a password." There was another long silence and when the voice returned this time it was more confused than firm. 

"Well that doesn't seem very safe... how I am supposed to know that you aren't an enemy?" Buster's fists clenched at his sides and he took ten more calming breaths before he replied. 

"Please?" He tried but he was immediately interrupted by Miss Crawly's triumphant voice. 

"Hah! Wrong!" She went silent and Buster paced over to his MoPed and then back to the door in an effort to work off even a smidge of the tension that was building in his shoulders. Miss Crawly would be the death of him, it was an absolute fact. But today was too important for him to fall prey to the heart attack that was his secretary. He gave it another minute and then knocked on the door once more, his false cheer in full force. 

"Miss Crawly it's your boss, Buster Moon? Will you please let me in?" He waited with bated breath for some kind of response and almost immediately the door was wrenched open to reveal an old women who was even shorter than him. She was wearing a garish orange jumpsuit that unfortunately clung to her body's every curve. Once upon a time it may have been a sight to see, but at this point her body was hunched slightly and her skin was covered in wrinkles. Buster had grown used to her wardrobe of obnoxious jumpsuits in the years that she had worked for him so he didn't even spare her a second glance. 

He bustled into the crumbling entrance, Miss Crawly hot on his heels. They picked their way through the debris until they arrived in an area that used to be back stage. Buster hopped down the short set of stairs that led to ‪the orchestra pit underneath the stage. He felt around on the concrete wall until he found the pressure trigger that revealed a set of gleaming silver doors. They automatically opened when he stepped in front of them and the small space was bathed in light. Blinking frantically Buster stepped into the elevator and once Miss Crawly had wandered in he pressed the button for B3. The doors slid shut and Buster was prompted by a computer t verify his identity with a palm scan and a voice recognition. 

 Buster cleared his throat and placed his hand on the scan pad as he spoke his chosen phrase into the microphone, "Rock bottom." 

They were bathed in green light as his identity was verified and the elevator smoothly sailed down into their hidden fortress. Buster whistled quietly in an effort to break the all-consuming silence that encompassed the elevator. Miss Crawly just adjusted her glass eye so that it was facing outward. Buster rolled his eyes and raised the volume of his whistling nervously. 

Just when the ride was starting to seem unbearably long the elevator doors slid open to reveal a long hallway ending in one solid grey door. Buster briskly walked down the hall, the clacking of his dress shoes echoing loudly around them. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out four folders from the bottom of his briefcase. His fingers danced over a fifth one, thick with paper and information, but he shook his head and left it in his bag. He then handed the bag to Miss Crawly who cradled it in her arms as she hurried to keep up with his pace. 

"Are they all here?" He asked absentmindedly as he double-checked the names on the folders. 

"Oh! Uh yes sir." Miss Crawly said as she fumbled with his briefcase before gaining control once more. 

"Good. Very good." He mumbled to himself and when they reached the door he grabbed the handle and stood there for a second. Miss Crawly watched as he rolled his shoulders and shook himself out so that his body wasn't tense. 

"Show time." With that he wrenched the door open and strutted in, Miss Crawly stumbling behind him. 

Upon their entrance the five people that had been milling about impatiently turned all attention to Buster. Buster was wearing a welcoming smile as he gestured for them to take their seats in the small metal chairs that were waiting for them in the center of the room. Once everyone had made their way over to the chairs Buster began his opening speech. He had been practicing this speech in the mirror for weeks like a true showman. 

"I would like to welcome all of you to Operation S.I.N.G. You have been hand picked for this operation because you are the best in your field, and because you have potential." He paused for effect and then carefully began pacing in front of the chairs. He had memorized the layout of the room days ago and as a result his carefully planned choreography went off without a hitch. Their eyes followed his every movement until he stopped in front of his first agent. 

He flipped open his file as he examined the sweet woman that sat daintily on the chair in front of him. She had short blonde hair that she kept nervously trying to tuck behind her ear. She was wearing a pink button up and a pair of mom jeans that hugged her curvy figure just enough to be appropriate. She was clutching a yellow handbag close to her chest and her cheeks colored when Buster looked up at her with his piercing grey-blue eyes. 

"Rosita Tenny." She nodded needlessly as if confirming to everyone that that was indeed her, "Excellent engineer, accomplished mechanic, with a history of brawling in the garage." He raised an eyebrow questioningly and Rosita's pale, freckled skin turned cherry-red. 

"I-it was a um...oh dear it was a little m-misunderstanding." She sputtered and Buster had to hide the small that desperately wanted to come out behind his mask of impassivity. He couldn't lose character so early in the game. He had to earn their respect first. 

"It says here that you bludgeoned a man with a wrench for, and I quote, 'touching your fucking tools'." Rosita turned impossibly redder and gasped slightly when Buster let the curse word loose. She glanced over at the other agents who were looking at her in awe and shock. She wrung her hands and shifted in her seat before offering up a feeble explanation. 

"They're very... sensitive?" It came out like a question and Buster stared up at her for a moment before closing her folder and turning towards his next victim. Behind him Rosita sighed in relief and relaxed her death grip on her bright yellow purse. 

A pudgy blonde man decked out in a gold sequined sweat suit was eagerly bouncing in his chair, his smile so large that it made Buster's cheek twinge with sympathy. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and his aqua colored eyes practically glittered with excitement. Buster was put off for a second before he cleared his throat and opened the next folder. 

"Gunter" Buster held the name, proud of himself for pronouncing it correctly after all of the practice he put in. "No last name?" 

"Ya! I am like zee famous Cher!" Buster smirked and looked down at his notes. 

"On loan from the German Intelligence Service... for an undetermined amount of time. Interesting." 

"I am on unt vacation." Gunter proclaimed proudly and Buster just stared at the man in amusement. 

"Ah...yes. Former race car driver, banned from every track in Europe and parts of Asia, and you have totaled 37 agency vehicles." Gunter just nodded proudly and gave his fellow agents an exuberant thumbs up. 

"And.... I'm sorry what is dance-fu?" Buster had been puzzling over this concept for months but the Internet had nothing to offer and no one else in the agency was familiar with it. 

"Oh! Da! Zat is ein deadly compinazion of martial arts und dance." He emphasized the word dance with a roll of his body and an impossibly larger grin that made Buster smile slightly. He shook his head and pointed his pen tip at the exuberant man. 

“That’s… nice. Well, welcome to the team.” With that he moved on to the next chair where a girl was sitting slumped in the metal chair, her arms crossed over he chest and her eyes narrowed in boredom. Before Buster could say anything she blew a pink bubble with her gum and popped it loudly. Buster didn’t even flinch as he opened her file and scanned the information, making a show of reading it so that they didn’t know that he had actually memorized every word. 

“Ashley Fitch.” He started with her name just like everyone else but the girl leaned forward, a dark look in her eyes, and interrupted him. 

“Ash. My name is Ash.” She spat out and Buster raised an eyebrow questioningly before returning to her file. 

“Ash Fitch.” The girl was the picture of rebellious teen in her twenties. She had a head full of dreadlocks that were bleached in places to give them a ringed lock. She was wearing a black and white sweater covered in holes, a red plaid skirt, and dark grey leggings. Her eyes were rimmed with dark makeup making her tan skin paler than it actually was.  

“Demolitions and weapons expert, top of your class at the academy, but a severe problem with authority.” Buster wasn’t fazed when she gave him a sneer and rolled her eyes as he read off her credentials, “In your time with the agency you have been transferred off of six different units and written up for insubordination 52 times.” 

Buster whistled and then gave the gloomy girl a cheerful smile, “We’re going to get along famously.” He winked and Ash snarled in response. He ignored her response and moved on to the last chair. 

It was occupied by a tall young man with deep tan skin. His unruly dark hair was spiked up on top of his head and stubble speckled his face. His handsome face was tight with nerves but his body was relaxed back against the chair, almost sprawled in it. 

“Johnathan Bannerton.” Johnny nodded and fiddled with his leather jacket as Buster examined him for a long time, “Expert martial artist and top field agent in your sector. Son of Marcus ‘Big Daddy’ Bannerton,  notorious mobster.” Johnny looked away in shame, his knee bouncing slightly as her nerves became more apparent. Johnny said nothing and buster didn’t push as he closed the folder and walked back to the door, opening it and gesturing for all of them to follow. 

The group got up out of their seats and hurried after him, whispering quietly behind his back as they walked. When they reached the elevator, Buster pressed the button to summon it. He turned around to look at the group, Ash spoke up , her hands shoved deep in her pockets. 

“And who the hell are you?” She smirked and Buster cheered inwardly. He had been saving this line for a special occasion and now he would finally have a chance to use it. 

“The name’s Buster…Buster Moon.” Right on time the elevator arrived and he dramatically stepped in. Ash shuffled in with everyone else but as the door closed she snorted out a laugh and whispered under her breath. 

“Ya big dork.”

[supportforindieauthors]

A Rose is a Rose is a Clue Unless its a Red Herring by Phillip T Stephens 

“When I saw the bouquet of 7 roses, I knew exactly who had murdered Mrs. O’Connell.” Bob kneeled next to the octogenarian’s body and jotted notes into his spiral bound pocket book with his Bic pen. One of the Bic pens he ordered 50 at a time from Amazon because (he swears), the other detectives steal them.

“Every detective but you takes notes on his smart phone. They don’t need your pens,” Captain Hardassty reminds him every time he denies Bob’s request to order another bulk lot of a thousand. “Nobody uses those pens but you, son.” His voice that sounds like a walrus’ mating call. “They’re cheap, they’re crap, and you’ll lose them all within a week anyway.”

Mrs. O’Connell’s corpse sprawled across the coral plush polyester rug in her mini-van sized living room. She’d never removed the Dollar Store price tag. Three more rugs were scattered about the room, identical except for the colors (canary by the couch, carrot inside the front door and cherry beneath the litter box).

Cobwebs stretched from the ceiling to the window sills to the bent bunny aerial on her TV.

Her neighbors agreed Mrs. O’Connell would never win Homemaker of the Year. If she ever planned to knock down the cobwebs, they would have to wait until she swept away the dust bunnies that menaced guests from the corners of the couch with mattress stuffing bursting through the seams, the Finger Hut entertainment center with analog twelve-inch TV, sun faded photos that predated disco and chipped veneer.

#

Bob’s partner, Sergeant Duffy, leaned against the doorframe. He checked his nails. Checking nails was item one in Duffy’s Standard Operating Procedure:

Check nails.

Check emails on iPhone.

Jingle keys in pocket.

Investigation was pointless while Duffy partnered with Bob, as useful as following a herd of guinea pigs with his vacuum. Half an hour later and their shit would cover the rug again. “Plan to share the killer’s name?” 

The patrol officers backed from the room to avoid the brewing storm. The two detectives accomplished more with verbal abuse and malediction than the rest of the department accomplished with their weapons and gadgets. Unfortunately, none of their accomplishments solved crimes.

#

Detective Bob had never solved a case during his twelve years as a detective. His row on the case board? All red. 

Called to the scene of a ten-car pile-up behind a sixteen-wheeler transporting illegals, Bob suspected the husband driving the last car to crash. Once, after he examined the charred corpse of a man who lit his butane grill with whiskey and a flip case lighter, he declared ‘It was the wife.’ Two weeks before Bob arrested the mailman for murdering a suburban housewife. The husband confessed and six witnesses saw him pull the trigger, but Bob knew, in his gut, the mailman killed her. The phrase “going postal” didn’t come from nowhere. 

#

Bob brushed the detritus of his career with the dandruff on his coat sleeve. “Her daughter killed her. The blonde in the picture.” He pointed to a photograph of the victim with five teenaged girls. All blonde. “She knew her mother would accept the roses and poisoned them. When she stuck her nose in the bouquet to savor the aroma, she inhaled the poison and…,” he sucked his breath through his teeth, “…here’s the body.”

He held his hand, palm upward, above the corpse which had bled out onto her nylon carpet from the six bullet wounds in her chest. Wounds from bullets that had shredded the bouquet of roses she’d been holding.

Duffy jingled his car keys in his jacket pocket. Duffy’s one goal, his overwhelming desire, was to make Captain before forty. When Hardassty made him Bob’s partner he was ten years from his goal. Three years later he would be lucky to make Captain by fifty. One more year with Bob and he would be lucky to retire with his pension, if not wind up with a life sentence for particepide (or murder of one’s partner). “What would be her motive?”

Bob raised to one knee and tapped his notebook with his pen. “Her mother’s fortune. Isn’t it obvious?”

Duffy raised his finger and circled it. “This is an eight hundred square foot house filled with moth-eaten furniture. She drove a 1990 Honda. What fortune?”

Bob rolled his eyes, a slow and sweeping roll so exaggerated his pupil brushed the hairs from his eyebrow. They might have brushed the hair on his liver-spotted dome if he had any. Instead, he settled for combing the three rust gray hairs sprouting from his left ear over to his right. “Insurance policy.” The word “dummy” implied by the prolonged stress on the “y” in policy.

Duffy propped his heel against the doorframe and leaned against the door. He raised his phone to eye level and scrolled through his notes. “Oh, look at this. Spade and Archer tracked down the daughter. Spoke to her by phone from her home in Ohio.” He tapped his nose with the screen. “Ohio. That’s how far from California?” 

“She flew. How long does that take? Four hours?”

The coroner raised his head. “She’s been dead for three.” He nodded to the paramedics who pushed Bob aside and lifted the body onto their gurney. The move revealed three slugs that penetrated her corpse and dug into the carpet.

Duffy collected the bullets and inspected them in his gloved hand. He whistled. “These are police issue. Revolver. Forty-fives.”

Bob shoved his nose into Duffy’s palm, as though proximity would turn his vision into a microscope. “There’s no way to tell if those bullets are police issue.”

Duffy stepped back, dropped them into a plastic envelope. “I can tell by the thumb twist barrel grooves. Which means they’re not only police issue but a revolver.” He dropped the envelope into his pocket. “Do you know any detectives on the force who use a revolver?”

Bob returned to the carpet and probed the bullet grooves with his finger. “Other than me, no.” 

“Are you wearing gloves, detective?” Ice edged Duffy’s voice—the frigid tone of an interrogation.

Bob glanced at his bare hands and said, “No, but…”

Just like that Duffy hovered behind him, his cuffs cupped in his right hand. “Interfering with the crime scene too.”

Bob tried to rise but two members of the patrol appeared at Duffy’s side to restrain him. Duffy snapped the cuffs to his wrists. “Congratulations, Detective, this is the first case we’ve solved since we became partners. Too bad you weren’t more careful when you shot her.”

#

Captain Hardassty mixed his usual cocktail—two fingers of Johnny Walker and two of Pepto-Bismol. He never named it, but the detectives called it the “Morning Bob.” They called his second favorite cocktail—four parts Johnny Walker and one Pepto Bismol—“Bob in the afternoon.”

Duffy laid the report on the table. “Bullets are a match to Bob’s revolver.”

“How do I know you didn’t plant them?” Hardassty stirred the cocktail with his pen.

Duffy sat on the edge of the Captain’s desk, pushed a pile of reports to the side. He lifted the cocktail and took a sip. “Like you never wanted to?”

Hardassty leaned as far back in his chair as the springs would allow and massaged his temple with all ten fingers. 

Duffy laid the cocktail on the desk and nudged it toward the Captain’s elbow. “You adopted him, right? There’s no way you shared your genes with him.”

“His mother was on birth control. It must have strained out the good genes when it let my sperm get through.”

Duffy balanced the report in the palm of his hand. “I can bury the ballistics test. Or have them test the bullets in the other bag.”

Hardassty sat straight and filled his glass with scotch. “No. Send it to the DA. What the hell, Bob’s too incompetent for a jury to believe he killed her.”

When Duffy reached the door, Hardassty asked, “Do we have any idea who did it?”

“For once, I agree with the moron. Odds on the daughter. She got tired of flying from Ohio to check the old bat in and out of rehab, poisoned her with the roses and shot her to make it look like a robbery.”

#

[amaterasu101-blog]

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Channel hot recommendation: fire? Safe Olympic Theme >> HC Exclusive: Zhejiang Fire Detection Tracking Function >> The surface is covered with red rust, three-dimensional rectangular, circular central hole, bear to release, rescue, old-fashioned fire hydrant or barrier now or misunderstood for garbage watch movies online free The old fire hydrant, a little old alley in Shanghai, is not a microscope. Today, she lost her practical role, where to follow? Old men of Shanghai's liberation hydrants, where to go (picture) Website: Contact the device in the bin Nanjing Road Walking Street is one of Shanghai's first commercial streets. Compared to the noisy Nanjing Road, built on the street, walking in a black rectangular copper, it looks a bit different. Children's look at the pedestrians, poured in a white litter box. "This is the release of the old fire hydrant, and now there are no fire-fighting tasks, there are no underground water pipe networks." Recently, members of the public p. Sun Evening News 114 represents the Old Town of Shanghai, there are many. In this way, an old fire hydrant, as a memory of a city fireman's hydrant, can become an obstacle or falsely fill garbage with garbage. Nanjing East Road and saw this old firefighter's hydrant. It is now common practice that the fire hydrant on the road is very different, the old fire hydrates are elongated in square three-dimensional shapes, the curved upper corner, the other corner is a circular arc-shaped hole. Fire hydrant copper, therefore, two cars with two interfaces, respectively, than the existing fire hydrant and a strong high over. "This is a Fire Pump Pu contact device before using the fire." One of Nanjing East Road's 10 years old said it was a completely unnecessary product. Addition to Nanjing Road, Zhejiang Road, Bund, Helen West and other places, but also see old firefighting equipment. Helene, on the road to a fire hydrant, became a full waste. The reporter saw that a fire hydrant, built only on a sidewalk of 1 meter wide, at the center of the aperture, filled with milk boxes and plastic trash cans. "He was clean many times, but a fire hydrant without a lid, and later Qing was thrown out by pedestrians." Helena is a cleaner way, told reporters. There is no control over the old fire hydrant "Black square copper rectangular fire hydrants remain before release." An old old told reporters that the fire was Da-Ming Xue, in 1881, located in Shanghai Yangshup's water factory, after the first fire in Shanghai candlelight. The old fire hydrant, with the passage of time or the reconstruction of the road, gradually introduces the stage of history. Today, Shanghai, Huangpu, Hongkou, etc. are streets of the Old Town, but they will also be able to see this old firefighter's hydrant. "Before the liberation in Shanghai of fire hydrants, the water supply company is established, there are social and public measures, firefighting is the maintenance and use of units." Said Da-Ming Xue. "Now all fire hydrants are being handed over to the fire brigade." A water company spokeswoman told reporters that they did not know how to deal with a fire hydrant before. 1 Look: Located at the Shanghai Fires Museum Suppose that before liberation, rescue, old-fashioned fire hydrants, now either become an obstacle or misunderstand the garbage that should eventually come from here? Some people think that the Shanghai Fire Museum is built, and that the museum should be the best place for old-fashioned fire hydrants. The Shanghai Fire Bureau told reporters that they would also like to build an old firefighting museums museum, but the fire is not the owner of the property, and fire gutters can not arbitrarily pick up the remaining items from the story. The second point: keep the scene as a city's landscape The road, an old fire hydrant, a huge feeling of historical perverts, it is covered with black rust, is a historical monument that records daily and hourly changes in Shanghai, perhaps in front of each of its rhythms, the steps it takes to take. Shanghai Xue Yong, historians said, the old municipal buildings on fire, if there is not much influence, do not need to be eliminated. If there is any foreign sculpture, which is another image of the city itself. If you stay out of the box, the relevant planning authorities should pay attention to the fact that it turned into a rubbish bin.

[sexuallyfrusterated-blog]

Channel hot recommendation:

Channel hot recommendation: fire? Safe Olympic Theme >> HC Exclusive: Zhejiang Fire Detection Tracking Function >> The surface is covered with red rust, three-dimensional rectangular, circular central hole, bear to release, rescue, old-fashioned fire hydrant or barrier now or misunderstood for garbage watch movies online free The old fire hydrant, a little old alley in Shanghai, is not a microscope. Today, she lost her practical role, where to follow? Old men of Shanghai's liberation hydrants, where to go (picture) Website: Contact the device in the bin Nanjing Road Walking Street is one of Shanghai's first commercial streets. Compared to the noisy Nanjing Road, built on the street, walking in a black rectangular copper, it looks a bit different. Children's look at the pedestrians, poured in a white litter box. "This is the release of the old fire hydrant, and now there are no fire-fighting tasks, there are no underground water pipe networks." Recently, members of the public p. Sun Evening News 114 represents the Old Town of Shanghai, there are many. In this way, an old fire hydrant, as a memory of a city fireman's hydrant, can become an obstacle or falsely fill garbage with garbage. Nanjing East Road and saw this old firefighter's hydrant. It is now common practice that the fire hydrant on the road is very different, the old fire hydrates are elongated in square three-dimensional shapes, the curved upper corner, the other corner is a circular arc-shaped hole. Fire hydrant copper, therefore, two cars with two interfaces, respectively, than the existing fire hydrant and a strong high over. "This is a Fire Pump Pu contact device before using the fire." One of Nanjing East Road's 10 years old said it was a completely unnecessary product. Addition to Nanjing Road, Zhejiang Road, Bund, Helen West and other places, but also see old firefighting equipment. Helene, on the road to a fire hydrant, became a full waste. The reporter saw that a fire hydrant, built only on a sidewalk of 1 meter wide, at the center of the aperture, filled with milk boxes and plastic trash cans. "He was clean many times, but a fire hydrant without a lid, and later Qing was thrown out by pedestrians." Helena is a cleaner way, told reporters. There is no control over the old fire hydrant "Black square copper rectangular fire hydrants remain before release." An old old told reporters that the fire was Da-Ming Xue, in 1881, located in Shanghai Yangshup's water factory, after the first fire in Shanghai candlelight. The old fire hydrant, with the passage of time or the reconstruction of the road, gradually introduces the stage of history. Today, Shanghai, Huangpu, Hongkou, etc. are streets of the Old Town, but they will also be able to see this old firefighter's hydrant. "Before the liberation in Shanghai of fire hydrants, the water supply company is established, there are social and public measures, firefighting is the maintenance and use of units." Said Da-Ming Xue. "Now all fire hydrants are being handed over to the fire brigade." A water company spokeswoman told reporters that they did not know how to deal with a fire hydrant before. 1 Look: Located at the Shanghai Fires Museum Suppose that before liberation, rescue, old-fashioned fire hydrants, now either become an obstacle or misunderstand the garbage that should eventually come from here? Some people think that the Shanghai Fire Museum is built, and that the museum should be the best place for old-fashioned fire hydrants. The Shanghai Fire Bureau told reporters that they would also like to build an old firefighting museums museum, but the fire is not the owner of the property, and fire gutters can not arbitrarily pick up the remaining items from the story. The second point: keep the scene as a city's landscape The road, an old fire hydrant, a huge feeling of historical perverts, it is covered with black rust, is a historical monument that records daily and hourly changes in Shanghai, perhaps in front of each of its rhythms, the steps it takes to take. Shanghai Xue Yong, historians said, the old municipal buildings on fire, if there is not much influence, do not need to be eliminated. If there is any foreign sculpture, which is another image of the city itself. If you stay out of the box, the relevant planning authorities should pay attention to the fact that it turned into a rubbish bin.