#that alien gave him the power to use hair gel

[gt-mcyt]

monsters vs aliens au

(ao3)

Chapter 1: The Wedding

Far, far away, an asteroid hurtles toward Earth.

-

Dream was woken by screaming and the flash of a camera.

Almost having a heart attack, he screamed in tandem with the strangers in his room, up until he realised it was just his friends. Punz, Sam, and Sylvee; Sylvee wielding a large camera, which she took another photo with, flashing a bright light at Dream once again. He squinted and covered his eyes, groaning. By the time the lights and splotches had cleared from his vision, he was able to see his friends’ outfits in the darkness of the room. They were all dressed up in their bridesmaid attire – Sylvee, wearing a pastel green dress that flowed down to her knees, her hair pinned up in a spiral braided bun; Punz and Sam were both wearing pastel green suits with pink and white accents, their hair styled with gel. Sam, bless his heart, was still wearing his iconic baseball hat, backwards, despite his dressed-up outfit.

“What are you guys doing here?” Dream demanded, no longer tired from the heart-attack his friends gave him. He glared down at his digital clock, not really angry so much as grumpy that his sleep was interrupted. “It’s literally five in the morning.”

Sylvee ignored his complaint. “Hurry, turn on the TV! Turn it on!” She insisted.

Punz grabbed for the TV remote, which he passed to Sylvee, who threw it at Sam. Sam yelped as he caught it, quickly punching a few buttons before Dream’s TV turned on with all the power of a raging sun in the pitch-dark room. Dream groaned at the flash of light, but once the pain subsided from his temples, he was able to see that Sam had set it to the local news station. On screen was Dream’s fiancé, Quackity. Like always, he was wearing an impeccable suit, this time navy with pink accents. His black hair was shining and swiftly pushed to the side. And what most viewers didn’t know – but Dream did – was that Quackity was also standing on a box to be taller on screen and fit in with the greenscreen in the back. Dream’s expression melted into something soft, smiling up at the TV screen.

“… and some early morning fog, giving way to sunny skies. Seventy-five degrees. A perfect day to stop by the old folk art and craft show down at the fairgrounds, or a perfect day to marry the love of your life.” Quackity turned to the camera and smiled softly. “Clay Greene, happy wedding day. I love you, baby.”

Dream smiled down at the TV lovingly. “I love you, too.”

Around him, his friends “awwed” jokingly, and Dream scoffed and pushed away Punz, who was leaning on him just a bit too much. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “But you guys would understand if you were engaged.”

Sylvee gagged. “I don’t think anyone understands what you have with Quackity.”

For good measure, she took another blinding photo of Dream in front of the TV.

-

Getting ready for a wedding when you were one of the grooms was awfully time consuming and exhausting. Dream had hired professionals, like Quackity had wanted, to make sure everything was perfect. His was critiqued on his hair, his nails, his lashes, lips, and things he didn’t even know needed makeup or fixing. By the end of it, Dream didn’t want to see another makeup brush or hair stylist ever again. The only fun part of it was his friends, who were there with him every step of the way. Sylvee gave actual useful advice about makeup and styling, meanwhile Punz and Sam talked shit about the stylists by whispering their comments in his ears, forcing him to stifle his laughs.

They were just finished when Dream’s mother, Helen, walked into the room.

She took one look at Dream and gasped.

“Your hair!” She said, “what did you do to your precious curls?”

Dream looked up, surprised to see his mother at his house. She had been a big help with planning the wedding, but wasn’t a part of the bridesmaid party, and had opted out of waking up early to help Dream get ready. Dream had wanted her to have the least stressful day possible, seeing her son get married.

Dream reached up to touch his hair self-consciously. It was straightened, and because of that, was long enough to be put in a low bun, with loose pieces framing his face.

“Quackity wanted it straightened for the wedding,” he said, face red. He thought it looked nice. Besides, his curls were a hassle to deal with in the humidity and heat.

“And what about the dress you were going to wear?” She asked, looking concerned.

“Oh, Quackity thought we’d look better both in suits,” Dream said, shrugging.

“Quackity wants a lot of things,” his mother muttered.

Deram frowned. “Mom –”

“Oh, I know,” she said. She huffed. The mother and son duo, usually so close, had had a lot of arguments about Dream’s fiancé. Dream figured his wedding day would be no different, but then his mother surprised him: “You know I don’t like it, but … for today, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. This is your wedding day, after all. And you look gorgeous!”

Dream smiled, bringing his mother in for a hug. “Thanks, mom.”

-

Dream thought the limo was a bit of an overkill, but Quackity only wanted the best for their wedding day, and Dream could at least admit that it made him feel special to be driven around by a chauffer. When they got to the church, his father – John – was the one to open the limo door for him. Dream stepped out, feeling like a million dollars in his pastel suit and with the limo – everything was perfect.

“Clay!” His father greeted, embracing Dream.

“Dad!” Dream said.

Dream’s father pulled a handkerchief out of his suit pocket to dab at his eyes. “Now, I want you to know that, even though I’m about to give you away … I will always be here to take care of you.”

Dream’s eyes suddenly felt wet. He and his father weren’t as close and he and his mother, but he knew he could always count on his father when he needed him. Dream had to resist the urge to wipe at his eyes, lest he ruin the mascara. “Don’t cry!” He scolded, “because then you’ll make me cry, and that’s just going to be a mess!”

“I just can’t help it!” John said.

Behind him, Dream’s mother appeared. She was beautiful in her dark navy jumpsuit, accented by silver jewelry. Her hair was let down in a small bob, naturally straight and blonde. She broke the embrace between the father and son, smiling. “Now, now, you two. Don’t go starting a cry fest on me. We’ve still got the whole wedding to get through before we can break down crying! Now, let’s go!”

The trio were quick to walk into the church, where over a hundred guests were already milling about.

“Hello, everyone!” Helen called out. “Attention, attention! Wedding starts in thirty minutes! Take a seat!”

Dream let his mother steam on ahead, hanging back. He wasn’t quite ready to face so many people and congratulations yet. Nonetheless, his plan of staying in the shadows until the wedding started were foiled when he heard his future mother-in-law behind him. “Ah! My beautiful son-in-law!”

Dream sighed, then put on a smile, turning around. “Hi, Mamá García.”

Mamá García, who insisted on being called “Mamá” by Dream, was a very welcoming and generous, but stubborn, woman. She was the reason Dream and Quackity were having their wedding in a church, despite it being a homosexual union. She was also the reason the whole wedding was paid for, and all Dream and Quackity had to worry about was the honeymoon. Today, she was wearing a light pink dress paired with a matching hat and heels.

“It’s like a fairytale,” Mamá García said, sniffling and dabbing at her eyes. “The weatherman and the weatherman’s wife. So romantic!”

“Weatherman’s husband,” Dream corrected her, gently. “But I know – isn’t it so romantic? Just think – this time tomorrow, I’m going to be in Paris! And someday, we won’t just be honeymooning there – Quackity will become an anchor or a foreign correspondent, and then we’ll travel all over the world.”

Mamá García smiled. “Clay, hijo, I have my fingers crossed for you and Alexis.”

-

Dream was finally able to get away from the wedding party and guests, choosing to hide out in a little gazebo in the gardens of the church. He was enjoying the sunlight and fresh air when he heard a sighing behind him.

“Wow,” a voice said, “you look beautiful.”

Dream spun around, catching sight of his fiancé. Quackity was wearing an impeccable black suit, not wanting to adhere to the pastel theme Dream chose for the wedding. But it was fine because Quackity looked absolutely amazing in the dark colour, accented by white and navy. He wore shoes with a two inch heel, making him five feet and eight inches, just a little bit taller. His hair was tousled by the wind, but no less shiny than it usually was. His dark eyes were bright as he looked upon Dream.

Dream smiled. “You do, too.” He saw Quackity’s smile falter and realised his mistake. “I mean, handsome. I mean … sorry, I’m just a little frazzled. There are so many people, and it just … it’s getting to me, you know? I’m not used to it.”

“Don’t worry, okay?” Quackity said, “We’ll be alone soon, just us.”

Quackity took a step forward, stepping into Dream’s space. Dream looked down at Quackity, smiling softly, and gave him a quick chaste kiss on the lips. He had to bend down to do so, despite Quackity’s heels. Dream was six feet and two inches tall, after all. But Dream thought the shortness only made Quackity even cuter. Dream grinned. “Ah, yes. Eating cheese and baguettes by the Siene, feeding each other chocolate crepes. We’ll have a great time in Paris …”

It was only then that he noticed Quackity grimacing. “What’s wrong?”

Quackity looked up at Dream with those big brown eyes – like boba, Dream thought – and Dream already knew he was going to forgive Quackity for whatever happened. “It’s just … well, there’s been a slight change of plans. We’re not going to Paris anymore.”

“What?” Dream asked. “Why not?”

“Because we’re going somewhere better!” Quackity said, grinning nervously.

“Better than Paris?” Dream asked, skeptically.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Where? Tahiti?” Dream asked, excited.

“Nope!” Quackity said. He paused for dramatic effect. “Fresno, California, baby!”

“Fresno!” Dream exclaimed. Then his brows furrowed. “… Fresno. In what universe is Fresno better than Paris, Quackity?”

Quackity grinned. “In the ‘I’ve got an audition to become channel twenty-three’s new evening anchor’ universe. I got the call from the general manager – he wants me to come in immediately! I cancelled our flights and hotels so that I could make the audition tomorrow. Isn’t that great?”

No, it was not great. Dream had been telling everyone how excited he was to go to Paris for months now – and he really was. He wanted to travel and eat exotic foods. He wanted to wake up next to Quackity for a week, sightseeing and making new foreign friends. But he couldn’t tell Quackity that – not when he was so obviously excited about his new job opportunity. Instead, Dream sighed and reigned in his disappointment. They were a team now. Sometimes you had to make sacrifices in marriage. This was just the first sacrifice he’d need to make, to make them work out. “Quackity, that’s … amazing! It’s … amazing. Fresno’s like a top fifty market, isn’t it?”

Quackity laughed. “Actually, it’s fifty-fifth, but we’re on our way, babe!” Then Quackity got a guilty look on his face. “Now look, about Paris …”

Dream was quick to stop Quackity, not wanting him to feel bad. “It’s okay. It’s fine! As long as we’re together, Fresno is the most romantic city in the whole world. I’m so proud of you.”

“Of us!” Quackity corrected. “Not just me – I mean, of course, me – but we’re a team now. You’re so proud of us.”

Dream smiled. Quackity always knew what to say to make him feel better. “Okay, hot shot. Now, get out of here – it’s bad luck to see each other before the ceremony.”

“Oh, come on,” Quackity said. “You know I don’t believe in that stuff!” He started to laugh as Dream jokingly shooed him away from the gazebo. “Okay, okay – I’ll be waiting for you at the altar … the handsome news anchor in the tux, alright? Love you!” His voice became distant as he laughed again. “There, I said it, world! I love Clay Greene!”

“I love you, too,” Dream whispered.

It wasn’t long after Quackity disappeared into the church that Dream heard something … strange. It was a deep rumbling and hissing sounds, like water poured onto a hot stove. He peered out of the gazebo, wondering if a wild animal had wandered to the church, but was shocked by what he saw in the sky – a huge meteor was hurtling right toward him! Dream gasped and was quick to leave the gazebo, running toward the church in hopes of some shelter.

Unfortunately, Dream’s running days were over when high school ended. And the meteor was only getting closer, and closer – until Dream’s entire world went dark.

-

Helen started looking for her son ten minutes to the wedding ceremony. She knew Alexis, her son’s fiancé, had gone to see Clay before the ceremony, as well. And as much as she didn’t like the man, she figured she could at least give them a little bit of time together before barging in and stealing Clay. But for some reason, even after she spotted Alexis back at the church, she couldn’t find her son anywhere.

“Clay!” She called out. No response. “Where could he be?” She muttered to herself. “Clay! Where are you?”  She spotted a little gazebo and walked toward it, thinking Clay might have chosen the gazebo as a respite from all the guests. That was when she finally spotted her son, sprawled out in a patch of spotty grass and dirt, looking like he was taking a nap. Helen gasped. “Clay – oh, Clay, where have you been?! It’s almost time for the ceremony. You’re going to be late!”

Helen pulled Clay up by the arms, having to steady him as he swayed on his feet. She made a disgusted face when she saw the dirt on his suit and the state his hair was in.

“I think I just got hit by a meteor …” Clay mumbled.

“Oh, Clay. Every bride feels that way on their wedding day,” Helen dismissed, too busy brushing the dirt off his suit to notice anything else.

“But I’m –”

“Yes, I know, I know – you’re not a bride, you’re a groom. But my goodness, look at you! You’re filthy! Thank God I have wipes in the car.” And with that, Helen pulled her son toward the parking lot. The entire time, Clay looked behind himself, wondering just where that meteor went.

-

Dream was feeling much better by the time his mother pulled him to the church, and he was only minimally late. His suit was back to being immaculate, thanks to his mother, and his hair had been fixed. Dream had no idea where the meteor went, or what happened back at the gazebo, but he was ready to put it all behind himself like it was some kind of horror daydream. After all, after double checking, there was no meteor to be found; and really, what were the chances something like that would happen on his wedding day, let alone any day? Dream would be dead if he actually got his by a meteor. So, he was happy to forget about the incident entirely to go forth with his wedding and happiest day of his life.

‘Here Comes the Bride’ played, ironically, as Dream walked down the aisle, arm in arm with his father. There were whispers from the guests as his father dabbed at his eyes, handing him off to Quackity. Dream dutifully stood two steps down from Quackity, knowing how much the height difference mattered to him. At least, this way, the two were closer in height.

Quackity turned to Dream, and his smile fell.

“Whoa – you’re glowing.”

“Thank you,” Dream said, smiling lovingly.

“No – no, Clay, you’re, like, really glowing. You’re green!” Quackity exclaimed.

Dream frowned, looking down at his hands. His skin had taken on a green tint, and even under his pastel green nail polish, his nails glowed fiercely. Dream turned his hands every which way, looking in shock and not quite believing it, as if somehow the green tint would go away. Quackity took a few steps away, up the stairs, and Dream, for once, had to look up into his brown eyes. He reached out for Quackity, scared.

That’s when everything went wrong.

Suddenly, Dream was at the same height as Quackity, despite the man being several steps above him. Quackity’s eyes widen in shock. Then the rest of the church starts to get smaller, like the roof was shrinking and getting closer, and closer. Dream gasped as he felt aches shoot through his body. Everyone looked smaller, suddenly, liked Dream blinked and his entire worldview shifted. He groaned, his head hurting, and reading up to grasp at his temples. “Oh, god ...”

In the distance, Dream thinks he hears his mother scream.

Quackity is looking shorter and smaller by the second, until Dream could literally pick him up in one hand if he wanted to. Quackity looked queasy. “What’s going on? What’s happening here?”

“You’re – you’re all shrinking,” Dream says, still startled. The world continues to grow smaller.

Quackity shakes his head. “No way! You’re growing!”

Dream watched the priest pull out his phone and furiously start punching in numbers. “Get me the government!” He screeches into the phone – like Dream is some sort of monster, some kind of danger that needs a SWAT team.

Dream feels tears prick at his eyes. “This – this can’t be happening,” he says, hyperventilating. He spots his fiancé starting to back away from him again, just as his back hits the ceiling. Dream is forced to his knees, the steps digging into his suit pants. He puts out his hands to steady himself, but as soon as he touches the stained-glass window, his hand goes through as if it’s paper, shattering it and sending shards everywhere. The guests are getting smaller again, the room is getting smaller, and Dream reaches out for Quackity, scared. “Quackity, wait – please, help me –”

“Santa mierda!” Quackity swears, just as Dream breaks through the ceiling.

There’s more screaming from the guests, and Dream watches as they all run out of the church, now having a view from fifty feet up in the air. Fifty feet – it hits Dream, suddenly, that he’s just decimated the church with his size alone, and he’s still growing. Not to mention that he’s lost sight of Quackity, who was still in the church when Dream broke through the roof.

“Quackity? Quackity?!” He called, getting even more scared by the second. If he hurt his fiancé, however accidentally, he doesn’t think he’ll forgive himself. Dream, still kneeling, the rubble getting smaller and smaller around him, starts to shuffle through the broken wood and stones, looking for Quackity. It was just then, as the world stills around him, that he lifts a beam – something that used to be four times his size and was now the size of a glass to him – that he finally finds Quackity underneath. Dream gasped and reached for him, grabbing him around the middle. Quackity was always smaller than him, but now he was the size of a small doll. He could fit in his hands.

What is happening? Dream thought, his first clear thought since this all began. This is insane!

Dream stood up, stepping out of the debris and rubble that used to be the church. He noticed, all around him, helicopters flying – and in the distance, lots of black vehicles and personnel in black. There was a crackling in his ears, like a radio, and muffled voices.

Quackity, in his hands, groaned. “Jesus, that hurt …” Then he seemed to realise where he was, because his eyes became as wide as saucers. “Clay?!”

“Thank god you’re okay!” Dream said. “But I don’t know what’s happening to me!”

“Don’t panic! Don’t worry!” Quackity reassured him. Then he looked down and gulped. “And whatever you do, don’t drop –”

“Quackity!”

Dream gasped as giant cables suddenly grabbed at his arm, out of nowhere, yanking Quackity away from him. Quackity screamed as he dropped, and Dream tried to grab for him, only to miss because more cables shot out of the vehicles, restricting his movement. Dream grunted as he fought against the cables, successfully pulling his arms out of them. While he missed Quackity, his fiancé was thankfully bounced off a small trampoline before hitting the ground. Dream was able to see and hear everything, almost like it was in slow motion – the screaming, the movement from the strange people in black, Quackity yelling at them “don’t you know who I am?!” – and suddenly it became too much.

More cables, more people in black, more helicopters – he hated it. “What are you guys?” He grunted as he fought more. He took a few steps away and heard more screams, and his eyes shot downward, only to see more people in black surrounding him by his feet. “What are you doing?” He demanded. “Stop it! Leave me be! Be careful with that – FUCK!”

Dream looked down and saw a giant – even to him – needle and syringe sticking out of his thigh. The syringe was empty, pushed all the way in. And it hurt like a son of a bitch.

Dream pulled the syringe out carelessly, throwing it somewhere behind him, not caring where.

There was a thud, and then another high-pitched scream.

Good.

Dream started to feel groggy as he fought against the cables, and he heard the people in black shouting. Around him, the world began to grow dizzy. His strength felt sapped.

“Watch those cables! He’s coming down!”

“Watch out!”

“Move it, move it, move it!”

“Pull, pull!”

Dream fell, the cables caught around his ankles and feet, and he hit the ground, hard. The entire area shook with his fall, and the pain in Dream’s head only increased when he knocked his chin against the ground. Tiny people swarmed him, but Dream only had eyes for his fiancé, who was in the middle of all them, staring at Dream as if he were a monster. More tears poured from his eyes.

“Quackity?” Dream groaned.

And then everything went dark.

[fallen-gabrielle]

Presidential/White House AU Headcanons compilation

Hello KND fandom! With friends from the discord server, we expanded the fake future from Operation: W.H.I.T.E.H.O.U.S.E. and made it an actual alternate universe/future.

I also decided to write a fanfic about it based on the headcanons we came up with 👀: Wrath of The White House, title suggested by @scarlett-v-the-fox. She also came up with a lot of headcanons about Lizzie's alien specie.

Many things come from the fact that President Uno gives major "I cheat on my wife with my secretary" vibes and we all just rolled with the idea. So yes, in this AU and fic, Adults!Nigel/Kuki is a thing and things get cra-zy between them, so I'm warning you, there will be a lot of adult stuff under the cut, such as freaky physical intimacy. If you don't like it for any reason, don't go further.

There's also a few things I left out from the list, because it would be kind of spoilery for the fic, but with this list you already know where you're getting yourself into, so no big surprises.

I will probably reblog this post when we explore the other characters not so mentioned here, but this is a good base to start.

Ok, are you ready for it? Remember, the following might make you uncomfortable so if you don't want to read it, just keep scrolling.

HEY I WARNED YOU, THERE WILL BE REALLY ADULT THEMED TOPICS, THIS IS MY FINAL WARNING, DON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT THINGS YOU DIDN'T WANT TO SEE CUZ I GAVE TWO BIG WARNINGS ABOUT IT! FINAL CHANCE TO TURN BACK!!!

The main things that can be hard to read are: kinks, torture, domestic and child abuse. All of this will be explored in some degrees in the fic.

We good? Okay, here it is then!

President Nigel Uno/Wrath -Won the elections through shady means: bribes, blackmail and other illegal stuff. -He made it possible for him to be President for life -He's in charge of the English mob, who he sent people to do the dirty work -He also has his personal army of demons as henchmen who helped him with the shady means to become president -He has powers, but he hides them very well in the face of the public. -The whole demon lineage is a family secret that he didn't even tell Lizzie. -He is known in the undergrounds as Wrath and you really don't want to piss him off. -His silhouette form is the classic pitch black suit, he has claws and a dragon tail, as well as straight horns on his forehead. His hair is messy in this form as well. -He's an asshole. He cares more about his hair than his heir (plz laugh at this) -He had many love affairs but only a few were consistant (a lot of one night stand). He only had one kid out of it with Rachel. -He uses a lot of hair gel. When he doesn't, his hair are messy just like his son's (they basically have the same haircut if not combed)

Nigel and Kuki (that's where the freaky bed stuff is, guys) -They fuck in secret but some people know what's going on. -They get crazy in the sack, with a shit tons of kinks. -Seriously, they try stuff in the bedroom, they're really creative. Tickling that Nigel actually enjoyed, Kuki liking having her hair pulled a little bit. They both bite and love it. -Their kinks involve leather, chains and extreme role plays (she has a collar with his name on it) -Technically they're switches, they take turns on who's the dominant one, but Nigel secretely likes being the sub in their relationship bc he gets a break from being in charge, and he gets praised. He can't hear "good boy" without blushing. -They can't go to specialized clubs because they can be regognized so they do it in private places -They have a code in little gestures to warn the other when they want each other. When she fixes his ties for exemple. -Their relationship is purely physical intimacy, there is no romantic emotion between them. -Outside of the bedroom, and off duty, they're just friends. -After the act, Nigel and Kuki share some fluff moment, where they simply like the presence of each other and like to snuggle. -She is serious, strict and stern as the secretary but in private with Nigel she loosens up and is a real tigress in bed. -"I will work late tonight honey" => is actually with Kuki -In the morning, Kuki likes to exchange her glasses with his just for fun, but one time they actually had to rush to get out and still had the wrong glasses on their faces. For those who didn't already know about them, that's how they learned what's going on -Kuki always travels with him on his trips

Nigel and Rachel (plus her family) -He had an affair with her during the early years of his marriage with Lizzie. -They're still in love even to this day -They had a daughter together named Lucy, 14 years old -Nigel loves his daughter very much, she's his little princess -He clearly has a favorite, and it's his daughter -They've been keeping their love affair a secret from everyone, mostly -Rachel is also hiding her daughter from most people's knolwedge -Rachel ended her relationship with Nigel and put an end to his secret visits to his daughter because things got sus and Nigel was also starting to change as he became greedier and lusted for more powers. He wasn't the man she fell in love with anymore. -Nigel sends her money to support their daughter but Rachel never accepted the money as it comes from corrupted/dirty money. -Rachel is the head of national security -She knows all the hacking tricks in the book. She can bypass a n y t h i n g -Harvey knows about the secret child and absolutely despises Nigel (and so does he)

Nigel and Lizzie -Lizzie is the same overbearing and annoying person as ever -Lizzie suspects that Nigel has an affair with Kuki Sanban. -She has no clue about Rachel and the illegitimate daughter. But when she learns that fact, all hell will break loose -She will especially be super mad that Nigel got a daughter with another woman and she didn't. -When she does get a confirmation about Kuki, she has to keep it down because the scandal would be too much to handle. Also, Nigel would be worse to her if she throws fits. -She doesn't know the extent of what Nigel is doing with Kuki, just that he's cheating on her with the secretary -When they do get intimate, it's the most boring stuff ever. -Nigel absolutely doesn't know she's an alien. When he finds out, he sends her to Area 51 -He will torture her to know why she was sent to earth

Nigel and his parents/relatives -Actually the only people he's not a complete douchbag to. -He really loves his parents and they love him too. He just never has the time to visit them as much as he would want to. -But they still never approved of Lizzie. They hate her. -Mrs Uno occasionally mentions divorce to her son so that Nigel would someday click and dump Lizzie -Nigel is also close to his uncle Benedict. He taught his nephew how to use his powers when he got them in his 20s.

Nigel and Shirley -They have a very cold relationship -Nigel doesn't care much for his son's existence except when it comes to his own image -Nigel is more neglectful towards his son than he is verbally or physically abusive towards him -Nigel insists on his son being proper all the time. -He combs his son's hair whenever he thinks it's not perfect -When Shirley gets his alien genes activated and apparent, Nigel absolutely hates it and cuts them off violently. -He always scolds Shirley for being ‘too noisy/agitated’ when they visit his parents because they’re old people so therefore they mustn’t be rushed. But Monty and Margaret really don’t mind their grandson for doing what a kid is supposed to do. -Shirley doesn't know his dad has affairs and just thinks he's always busy on business trip and extended meetings. -Viggo finding dogs’ collars in his dad’s stuff: "wait, he secretly has a dog? And he always refused that I get one myself !!!" Poor boy doesn't know what this really means

Shirley/Viggo -He's part human/demon and uvinea (alien part) -He doesn't know his true lineage on either side (yet) -At some point, he will start having flowers growing on his head -His vines can be torn apart and it hurts, but they will grow back -He doesn't know anything about his father's infidelity drama, including his older half sister -He really despises his dad in general -He admires Numbuh 1, whom he doesn't actually know that's his dad -I let you imagine the shock when he'll find out the truth xD -Leopold Lincoln/Numbuh 5'000 is his best friend -Shirley spends some times at the Lincolns', because Leo's dad is so much nicer than his own and wishes to have a dad like Leo's -Despite how dysfunctional his family is, Shirley still hopes that one day they could be a "normal family". -He loves his grandparents a lot (who doesn't tbh) -Nigel and Lizzie fight a lot for small things as well as the bigger ones (Nigel’s cheating for exemple) and it’s too much for Shirley so he goes to his grandparents’ place to have some calm and wholesomeness or sometimes to the Lincolns' -He hates the cold

Fanny & Patton plus friends -They're married and have a daughter -Her name is Sheila and her codename is Numbuh 860, soopreme leader -Patton is in the army but doesn't have a high position -He has to put up with Wally's bs all the time -He's away from home a lot -Fanny, as head of Nigel's security guards, records the shenanigans between the President and his Secretary and keeps the tapes as off-brand for herself. -She's actually supposed to delete anything scandalous about the President but eh, she sometimes blackmails Nigel with it. -She sometimes watches it with her colleague Chad and her husband when he gets back home -They all treat it like it's a fictional tv drama show -Therefore, they know all the dirty little secrets the President Uno has in the sack -She gossips about everything going on in the White House with her colleagues but makes sure nothing get out really (her boss is Nigel, remember) -Fanny actually does know about the Nigel/Rachel affair, because she is friend with Rachel -Fanny talks Rachel into watching the tapes. Rachel reluctantly agrees, and she's speechless until she mutters over halfway in, "Why couldn't we do any of that stuff? Damn."

Abigail Lincoln -Married to Maurice, he took her last name. -She was arrested under false accusations/She tried to organize a coup against his administration and failed -Nigel tortures her to get info from her (mostly about the knd) -She lost her right eye during one torture session -She was never decomissioned as she was tasked as a teenager and later as an adult to look after Nigel. Obviously she failed. -She is constantly tormenting herself about the fact she wasn't able to save Nigel -She was also part of Nigel's administration and she refused to help him in his corruption

Leopold/Numbuh 5'000 -His dad is Maurice -He's Shirley's best friend and always calls him by his nickname Viggo -He doesn't freak out nor is scared of his friend when he gets his powers -He kinda fanboys about it, actually, which makes Viggo cringe a few times -He writes and collect letters from the family for his mom. -He sneaks into the prison to bring her the letters and pastries his dad baked for his wife -He has to make his visits more sparce to avoid getting caught -“Dad misses you” “Dad brought you this” “Dad is working on your case” -He failed to protect his mom from being jailed and feels really guilty about it -He's a brave kid, but he still cries late at night for his mother. -His aunt Cree also helped raising him while Abby is imprisoned

[bmpmp3]

one of my favourite genres in the world is like, edgy horror superhero-y seinen and shonen manga about normal dudes getting supernatural powers from like an alien or a demon or whatever and those powers include: super strength, heightened intuition, having a fashion sense

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Stay

A/N: This is my entry for CJ’s Twisted Valentine’s Day Challenge. @hufflebucky​ I hope I did the character justice! ;))

Trope: ‘There’s only one bed’ & “I’ll have a drink but only if you’re buying.”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content, Smut, fluff, cheating?

Word count: 1945

Main Masterlist

Everything Taglist – @godofplumsandthunder​  @ladyacrasia​ @agustdowney​ @swaggysposts​ @littlegasps​ @little-baby-vixen​  @another-stark-sub​ @supraveng​ @kahlanmars​ @marvelgirl7​ @disappointmentofthefam​  @pandaxnienke​ @tom-hlover​ @just-the-hiddles​ @fyreball66 @asmigurub​  @avantgardium-leviosa​ @imerdwarf​ @gladiosamicitias​

 …

Rain.

Just perfect. 

Torrential rains seeming to appear out of nowhere from formerly clear skies had you and Steve sprint to find shelter in a nearby alley with a lone canopy lending refuge from the downpour. Then again this weather wasn’t unexpected since you were in London, a city famous for unpredictable showers. 

Most of the damage was done since you had a minor injury to your ankle and Steve didn’t want to leave you behind. 

Panting heavily as you leaned against the brick wall, Steve threw a concerned glance at your leg before mirroring your stance. 

“Is your wound bleeding?” 

“It wasn’t back at the building.” 

Your damp trousers made it a bit hard to peel them back to inspect the injury and so did the limited source of light, when you did, there was in fact a sizable cut and blood spewing from it, making it quite clear that you’d be needing first-aid. 

“We need to get that wrapped up. Our hotel isn’t far from here, you think you can walk?” Steve frowned, looking around to find no cabs, it was way past midnight and not a soul on the street. 

“Y-yes. I think I can manage.” 

You leaned on him for support and limped ungracefully, stopping every now and then before the Captain lifted you up bridal style and proceeded to hurry up the lobby to your hotel - a rather quaint bed and breakfast chosen for your stay for this particular mission. 

Chilly air made you shiver and huddle closer to his warm chest, though the two of you were soaked, he seemed warmer somehow. 

Maybe it was a super soldier thing, you wondered. 

After placing you on the wooden chair in your room and shutting the door, Steve asked permission to lift up your pants to reveal the wound which looked nastier than before, it had turned dark and had swollen quite a bit. 

“I’ll call for a first-aid kit from downstairs.” 

“Don’t. I have one lying in my bag.” You nodded towards the closet where you’d kept your kit just in case. 

He cleaned the injury carefully before wrapping it up in medical gauze and a roller bandage before smiling. 

“Were you prepared for this to happen?” 

“Hey not all of us have super healing powers. Besides, you know how clumsy I can be.” 

He chuckled before letting his fingers graze over the exposed skin of your leg, his blue eyes fixed on yours, making you forget that you were shivering and dripping wet. 

“Ah! I’m a fucking idiot.” You exclaimed suddenly.

“Whoa language (Y/N). What’s wrong?” 

“Should’ve taken a shower before this.” 

You muttered, pointing to your freshly bandaged foot. The weariness from your mission had begun to creep up on you and all you wanted was to bathe, eat and sleep, precisely in that order. 

It must’ve slipped Cap’s mind too as he seemed to have an ‘oh shit’ face, before helping you stand up. 

“Call me if you need help in there.” He called out, making your eyebrows travel up at the boldness. 

“Look at you all flirty Mr Rogers. Thank you but I think I can manage.” 

‘Mr Rogers’ stirring something inside of him that secretly made him wish you would ask for his aid in the bathroom as he stared at your back before you closed the door behind you. 

You managed to take a shower somewhat awkwardly, careful not to disturb the dressing before another string of profanities slipped from your mouth. 

“Umm..Steve?” 

“Do you need a towel?” 

He answered before you could ask, his shuffling feet approached the door faster than you thought, giving you no time to cover your naked form. 

Like a gentleman, he covered his eyes before handing you the towel and turning around, not leaving the room. 

“You can leave, I’ll waddle out.” You said quietly, wrapping the fluffy towel around yourself. 

“Not a chance. You’ll end up tripping over something, let me help you change. I swear I won’t look.” 

He said with finality, eyes still closed, a little curt nod as if to warn himself not to peak. 

After helping you dress in comfortable sleepwear, Steve sat you on your bed and checked his beeping phone with his brows knitted together. 

“Something wrong?” 

“My plane got delayed.” 

“Oh.” 

Your face gave nothing away, but on the inside you were relieved that you wouldn’t be spending the night alone. You knew Steve was supposed to meet up with Sharon Carter, you also weren’t alien to him being old-school in so many ways, so much so that he hadn’t the courage to ask her out properly yet. 

“Are you getting a room here then?” You regretted asking the question instead of offering to share as realization hit Steve and he walked out of your room after muttering a quick ‘right, I probably should.’

Thirty minutes passed with you surfing mindlessly through channels on the television after having ordered room service, waiting to hear from Steve, when you received a text. 

Hey doll, turns out they don’t have any rooms left and it’s too late to go look for another hotel. I’m at the bar. You should get some sleep. - Steve 

Rolling your eyes at the message, you threw on a jacket over the pjs you had and made your way to the bar where Steve sat nursing a glass of scotch whiskey. 

“Alright what are we drinking?” You took a seat next to him, much to his surprise.

“I thought you were asleep.” 

“I couldn’t leave you here all alone and mopey about not having a place to stay. Besides, I could use a drink.” 

“So a pity stay?” He teased, downing the rest of the amber liquid. 

“Believe what you have to Cap. I’ll have a drink but only if you’re buying.” 

“Yes ma’am.”

You smirked, while the bartender brought you a glass of your favourite whiskey on the rocks, the fact that Steve knew your drink of choice was surprising. 

.

The clock showed 3:00AM when you and Steve returned to your room. Two glasses of liquid courage working wonders in keeping your body in a warm buzz while pushing Steve’s worries about sharing a bed far far away. 

Steve began peeling his clothes off while you made no attempts of giving him privacy to do so, getting under the covers and leaning against the headboard.

“Enjoying the view?” 

“I’d be lying if I said no.” 

A quick run to the bathroom later Steve got under the sheets next to you, wearing his white tank and dark colored bottoms. 

“Good night (Y/N). Thanks again for letting me stay here.” 

“You’re welcome Steve.” 

The bed suddenly seemed small now that a tall muscular super soldier was occupying it along with you. He turned to face you as you did the same, not quite done with the conversation yet but not knowing what to say either. 

Silence hung heavy as the berry scent of your shower gel filled Steve’s senses, the way your body heat radiated towards him, the way you were angled facing him almost close enough to touch, he was grateful for the sheets covering his tenting bottoms. 

“So how are things with your boyfriend? John was it?” He asked bitterly, staring down at his crossed arms. 

“Not great. Pretty sure I’m dumping him after we get back.” 

Your answer made Steve’s heart soar, a light blush appeared on his cheeks evident in the little light your room was bathed in. 

“Well I’m sorry.” 

“Are you?” 

“What?” 

He looked up to find your face closer to his, eyes flitting towards his lips, hot breath reaching his skin. 

“Then I shouldn’t feel guilty for doing this.” 

Steve’s hands found the side of your neck while his lips brushed against yours testing at first but when you captured his bottom lip with your teeth and shifted closer, his other arm found your waist and pulled you against his chest. 

He pushed you gently, laying you on the bed carefully and hovering over you, settling between your legs. Breaking the kiss abruptly, you stared into his lust-filled eyes, hardly in any blue left in those, breaths mingling as you both smiled panting, your fingers weaving through his short blonde hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.” Steve admitted, the blush on his cheeks returning. 

“Well I’m glad you did now.” 

You whispered, brushing your thumb against his cheek before he dipped down to kiss you again. Wasting no time in running his tongue along your closed lips, he deepened the kiss as your arms went around his shoulders, spurring him on. You sighed when Steve moved his lips over to your neck, placing feather-light pecks all over the skin before finding your junction and sucking there, driving you insane. 

He sat up on his knees to rid you of your clothing, before undressing himself down to his boxers and resuming his actions. 

“So beautiful..” 

His large hands palmed your breasts, kneading and pinching your hardened nipples before replacing his hands with his mouth. 

“S-steve. I want you.” 

You whined, pulling on his hair as you felt his clothed erection poking against your inner thigh. His hands slid down between the valley of your breasts, down to your stomach and reached your mound, stopping where you wanted him the most. 

Silently asking permission before your hips lifted off the bed granting it, Steve groaned when his fingers found your slick opening, wanting, aching for him. He brushed your folds, thumb grazing over your bundle of nerves before plunging a finger inside, eliciting a gasp from your lips. You clenched your walls around his digit to show just how much you needed him, while he chuckled against the skin of your neck. 

Desperately, you pushed his boxers down and wrapped your fingers around his cock, pumping a few times as he groaned against your ear before lining it over your entrance. 

Steve pushed in, slowly, intimately, inch by inch stretching you out as your warmth enveloped him, soon fully sheathed inside you. He gave you time to adjust for a moment before pulling almost all the way out and thrust back in, making you grab his shoulder as you cried out. 

Soon he set a steady rhythm, driving in and out of you at a pace that had you rush closer and closer to the edge as your pants and mewls echoed into the night. Steve snaked a hand between your bodies and rubbed your clit in circles, whispering words that sent your senses into overdrive as your orgasm washed over you, body trembling underneath his, back arching off the bed while he held you close, never stopping his thrusts. 

He chased his own end while you still rode out yours, hips slamming into yours at a rapid pace as your walls still fluttered around his cock. Hiding his face in the crook of your neck, he grunted loudly as you felt his cum paint your walls, cock twitching inside you. 

Steve cleaned you up before pulling the sheets over the two of you, kissing your forehead tenderly as you snuggled to his side. 

“Thank God your plane got delayed.” You mumbled sleepily. 

“Thank God you made me stay.” 

Outside, the sun began peaking through the horizon, the sky turning lighter by the minute as the two of you closed your eyes, sleep welcoming instantly. 

[nightglider124]

RobStar Week 2018: Day 7

This may be my favourite one of this years robstar week...may be.

I was gonna go angsty but then I was like... nah man, not feeling it. Also, I am slightly cheating with using Nightwing but... I have reasons.

Anyway, hope you like it. I hope ya’ll have had a good robstar week. I know I have and I’m so happy I went ahead and contributed this year. T’was fun. 

I will be posting all of my submissions over on my ff.net under like one title so you don’t gotta search all over for em’ if you missed one or simply wanna reread any. I’ll possibly do that Sunday though so yeeeah. 

Thanks again, my lovely readers and followers. <3

Heartbeat

She leaned against the counter of the infirmary, her dark eyes intently focused on her best friend as she sat before her. Raven pursed her lips, unable to sense anything amiss with her powers.

Odd, she could usually pick up on anything out of the ordinary with her empathic abilities.

Starfire sat on the infirmary bed, looking incredibly bored as she sighed and tilted her head at Raven.

“May I go yet?” Starfire asked, politely,

She gave her a sympathetic expression but shook her head nonetheless, “How long have you been feeling unwell, Star?”

“Only a few days-” Starfire was suddenly cut off by a stern yet caring voice from beside the bed.

Raven flicked her eyes up to stare at Nightwing, “It’s been a week and a half, Starfire.”

The alien Princess groaned and rolled her eyes, twisting in her seat to glare at her husband, “So a few more days. You must stop acting like I am-”

“You never get sick, Star. I’m entitled to be worried.” He replied, folding his arms across his chest.

Starfire ran a hand over her face, exasperated with him, “It truly is nothing. I am fine.”

Nightwing moved to stand in her line of sight, “Can you at least let Raven check you?”

“Richard-”

“Please, Starfire. For my own peace of mind.” He asked, his tone pleading,

She stared at him for a long moment before she exhaled loudly, turning her head to Raven who was still over at the counter where a range of drugs and medicinal kits were stored. She had remained wisely silent, letting the couple discuss it between themselves.

“Raven...” Starfire sighed, “Please, can you conduct the medical exam?”

The empath wanted to smirk. Years together had made the two of them very comfortable with one another. Both of them were worriers but Dick definitely won out of the two. And lately, he had been very concerned with Starfire feeling a little under the weather.

“Of course, Starfire.” Raven said, turning to pull on a pair of latex gloves.

Starfire looked pointedly at Nightwing, “You are happy now?”

He leaned down to kiss her nose, “Very. Thank you.” He paused, “I just want to make sure there are no problems.”

She took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow at him, “I know.” She drawled,

Raven levitated over with a number of small medical devices on her person. She set them down on the metal tray beside the infirmary bed and pulled up the office chair at the end of the bed.

She gently moved Starfire’s bangs out of the way and then pressed her palm to her forehead, feeling for any sign of a fever. Her friend’s temperature usually ran higher than most humans on account of her extraterrestrial physiology but even by her standards, there didn’t seem to be any abnormality.

“Hm...” Raven considered, “Normal.”

Reaching for the thermometer, she motioned for Starfire to open her mouth which she obediently did so. She accepted the device and held it under her tongue, kicking her feet back and forth like a child waiting for something.

Whilst they waited, Nightwing looked from Raven to Starfire and back again. The sorceress rolled her eyes, “Dick, stop. I’m checking.”

He rolled his shoulders back and sighed, “I know. Sorry. I can’t help it.”

Starfire absently shifted her eyes to him and patted his hand. He caught her slender fingers and kissed the back of them, keeping a hold of her hand for the time being.

Finally the thermometer beeped several times, signalling it was done scanning her temperature. Raven pulled it from Starfire’s mouth and shrugged, seeing it was 45 degrees Celsius; quite a normal reading for a Tamaranian.

“Normal.” Raven repeated, setting the thermometer aside on the metal tray.

Next, she picked up the small flashlight and shined it in Starfire’s eyes, checking her pupil dilation in correlation to the light hitting them. She did it a second time, just to be sure only to get the exact same result.

Raven opened her mouth to speak but Nightwing beat her to it, “Let me guess; normal.”

Starfire tilted her head and furrowed her eyebrows, “Is that not a good thing? We wish for my readings to all be normal, no?”

“Well yeah but we don’t know why you’re unwell if everything is coming back normal.”

“We do know why.”

“It could be something else.” Nightwing interjected,

Starfire shook her head and looked back at Raven who was unwinding a stethoscope. She placed the eartips in her ears and in a low voice, instructed Starfire to, “Take several deep breaths.”

The Princess did as she was told; taking a few deep and slow breaths. Raven pressed the cold chest piece against the left side of Starfire’s chest, just over her heart. She stilled for a brief moment at how cold it was before relaxing under the device.

Silence filled the room for next few minutes, with only the sound of Starfire’s controlled breathing bouncing off the walls.

After checking the sound of her lungs, to make sure air was passing as it should, Raven moved the chest piece directly over her heart. She listened carefully, glad to hear the rhythmic thumping of Starfire’s heartbeat. It was soothing and just as it should be; not too fast and not too slow either.

Raven pulled away and removed the stethoscope, setting it on the metal tray.

She eyed Starfire and shrugged, “Everything seems fine. I can’t find nor can I sense any issues.”

Starfire nodded, smiling gratefully for the time Raven had given to prove something she already knew.

Raven glanced up at Nightwing who was silent but had his knuckles brushing his chin in thought as he stared back at her. She didn’t even need to use her powers to gauge how anxious the man was. Dick bit his lip and his eyes wouldn’t focus on her face.

Giving him a knowing smile, she playfully rolled her eyes and addressed Starfire, “C’mon Star, lie down so we can stop your husband from having a cardiac arrest.”

Starfire laughed and shuffled backwards on the infirmary bed, carefully lying back on the bed. Her hair spilled over the edge of the bed as she looked up at the lights on the ceiling.

As Raven prepared the equipment needed, Starfire eyed Nightwing with amusement, “You worry too much, my love.”

He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, “I know... I just... can’t help it. I don’t really know what’s normal and what’s not with something like this.”

Starfire closed her eyes and smiled, absently taking his hand in hers and stroking the back of his with her thumb. Nightwing sighed and looked over as Raven wheeled their newest medical device towards the bed. He dragged the metal chair folded against the wall and opened it out for him to sit on beside Starfire. She moved their joint hands up by her shoulder and waited.

She turned her attention back to Raven who was busy lifting her loose t-shirt up and over her swollen stomach and applying the clear gel against her abdomen. Starfire idly drummed her fingers against her bulging belly and Raven shook her head in disbelief, “You’re getting so big, Star.”

The alien beamed, “I am.”

Raven proceeded to use the ultrasound machine, moving the device around on her lower tummy before the grey screen became something else. Starfire had this serene smile on her face as soon as the image properly formed on screen. She heard Dick breathe a small sigh of relief but his hand was still gripping hers tightly.

“See?” Raven said, directing her comments at Dick, “Physically, baby is absolutely fine.”

Dick stared at the screen, something that always sent him into a surreal awestruck state. It was hard to believe that was his unborn child just waiting to make his or her entrance into the world in approximately 3 months time.

He felt better but not great and he guessed the girls could sense that because Raven turned away, clicking some buttons and altering some settings on the machine before...

Ba-bump... ba-bump... ba-bump...

All the tension melted away from Nightwing as that precious heartbeat sounded aloud, eliciting a smile from each one of them. Starfire still had that proud aura about her whilst Raven shared a tiny, joyful smile.

Dick exhaled in relief, his shoulders slumping as he calmed down and looked at his wife who had her eyes closed, smiling still and listening to the melodic sound of their baby’s heartbeat.

They simply sat there and listened to the heartbeat for a while longer before Raven removed the device from Starfire’s abdomen.

“Feel better, daddy?” She teased, in a lighter version of her monotone,

He pulled a face at her but smiled sheepishly, “I just... worry.” He paused, “Then, if nothing is wrong with Star or the baby... why has she been sick?”

Raven gave him a bland look, “She’s pregnant. Of course she isn’t going to feel 100% all the time.” She continued, “it’s more than likely just morning sickness. Remember, pregnancies are all different, especially Tamaranian pregnancies. Morning sickness varies from woman to woman.”

Nightwing’s cheeks tinged a bright pink and he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh... right... forgot about that.” He mumbled, lamely,

Starfire smiled sympathetically and giggled as she slowly pushed herself back up into a sitting position. Dick jumped to her aid, holding her arm and hand as she struggled. She pressed a hand to her pregnant belly and swivelled so that her legs dangled off the edge of the bed.

She eyed her husband and playfully beckoned him closer with the curling of her index finger.

He dutifully came to her, standing between her thighs and stared into her heart shaped face. She reached up and cupped his cheeks, bringing him down into a quick, gentle kiss.

When they pulled away from each other, Starfire rested her forehead against his, her fierce green eyes locking onto his blue ones.

“As long as our baby has a heartbeat that strong, they will be a little warrior and you need not worry.” She smiled, “I will keep them safe until they are born and after that, you may protect them all you like, hm?” She whispered, her fingers stroking his cheek.

“Okay.” He murmured back, his nose brushing hers.

He placed one hand on her neck and the other on her protruding belly before leaning in and giving her a soft, lingering kiss.

Raven smiled quietly to herself, reveling in the love she could feel radiating from her two best friends. Deciding to give them some alone time, she silently excused herself to let them revel just a little bit longer in that happy place of theirs.

[colleydogstar]

A Ranger’s Tale - 3 - The Three Sisters

Story and all other character by @rollem-bones. As mentioned before, the log has a mix of 1st/3rd person tenses due to play styles.

Our story continues...

The standing stones. 'The Three Sisters' as Salicia explains to you when you arrive to the clearing. The three stones with their runic carvings aren't the only ones, merely the three centerpieces of a megalithic site. "Pritchard's going to do his thing," Donnel explains to you while the caster makes his way to inspect the stones and speak in strange whispers. "In the meantime, tell me what there is to you?" he questions, arms across his broad chest. It would seem, you think that the canine demihumans at least are no shorter than the humans.

 Rhodie watches with curiosity to see what Pritchard is about to do. She then looks at Donnel, slightly intimidated by a combination of now being shorter, and him just seeming a bit intimidating since they first met! "What there is to me?" She rubs the back of her head, "Not sure I follow exactly. Like... what's special about me?" She shrugs, "I'm just some guy who tries to entertain people back home. I've never really been the big adventure-y type outside of the tabletop games my friends and I would play. Was just a guy with a show and a pencil to draw when I wanted to."

 "Games?" Donnel asks. "You roll bones, then?" he gets a chuckle out of that. "A right gel she is. Maybe you'd fit in with us more'n I thought." He takes a few steps away, looking over the slightly sloped clearing around the Three Sisters. "Gel, Salicia gave you that knife. Come on over here and show me how you handle it."

 "Is it weird being called a 'gel' feels less weird than being called a girl? That's probably weird." Rhodie shakes her head, more things to get used to. She slumps a bit at Donnel's request. "Aaaaand here goes all the good things you were starting to think about me, right out the window." She takes the blade out, giving it a good moment, to judge the weight in each hand before gripping the handle. Rhodie's other hand hovers over her gripping one, almost like a guard, as she steadies her breath. This guy is way, way more knowledgeable on this stuff and is probably about to kick her ass. Still, that's probably gonna happen at some point, so better to do it now, right?

 Donnel draws his blade. A simple looking longsword. It doesn't look like the ones from the faires. It isn't ornate. It isn't costumed, it's worn and stained from oil and use. The handle is wrapped in leather and the pommel is scratched, the crossguard has clearly been used. It doesn't look cool or shiny, but it does look very used to being used. And the stocky schnauzer turns and wields it like it were made of air. "Now then. Let's not draw much blood. No use in wounding. But don't you hold back none," he says, eyes focused on you as he holds his sword cross and his bushy mustache twitches.

 Rhodie lets out a nervous laugh, "And here's where I embarrass the hell out of myself."  She takes a breath, and then goes to strike. She tries not to swing to widely, more 1/4 circle angle, than half.

 Donnel is waiting for the attack. The flat of his blade catches your arm and he steps aside, letting you slash the air with a slight push. "Fast," he remarks, keeping his guard up and waiting for your next move.

 Rhodie immediately turns and moves to get in closer. "Lighter body, feels FASTER!" She says the last part as she goes for another short swing.

 Again Donnel is waiting. You're lighter, probably stronger pound for pound, but you're untrained and the older Sergeant makes that clear when he steps into your swing and bops you on the joint of your neck and shoulder with the worn pommel of his blade, then gives you a shove back away from him. "You're green, gel. I won't be holding back next time."

 The older demihuman presses his attack. With you bopped and pushed back, he makes for a relentless assault against you, stepping in and thrusting his blade, pushing toward you to keep you on the back of your heels, or paws as the case may be.

 The setter girl lets out a yip as she's bopped, stumbling forward. She recovers in time to turn, and sees the follow-up coming at her. She goes to try and dodge to the left of the blade, twisting her body.

 Fast as you are, Donnel is a step ahead of you. His thrust, which you deftly avoid, turns into a swift elbow at your ribs. Just a bit winded, you're not licked yet. However, the older man hasn't broken a sweat yet.

 "Came in too fast, gel, can't feint like that," Donnel says, reading your motions. Your swing meets the flat of his blade, catching on the crossguard, and then you find that his open hand finds it slapping hard across your face. He steps back again and makes one more quick rush. "Let me show you how it's done," he says before he quickly reroutes his motions in mid step. Faster on his feet than he looks.

 Rhodie stumbles back with another canine yelp as she's slapped in the face. She tries to bring the blade down to defend against the sword, using her free hand to try and reinforce her grip. "Crapcrapcrap"

 The former human is starting to look panicked. She knew she was going to be outclassed in every way in this, but it doesn't really do much for her anxiety knowing that! She goes for one more attack, at the last moment, transferring the knife to her free hand as she tries to jump up and punch Donnel right in the dog nose.

 Your jumping catches him off guard. He turns, moves from you. But you're on the ground running. Running and darting. Smaller, with a smaller weapon, but you're faster than him. Still, you're expecting an attack from one direction, ducking under the blade swiftly, when right before your eyes his closed fist appears as though from nowhere.

 Rhodie grins a bit, she's starting to adapt a bit to the body. Then the fist catches her right in the dog face.

 And you go tumbling tail over tea kettle on the grass. The world spins as you've been knocked for a loop, but it focuses on Donnel looking down at you a moment later. "You got quick feet, gel," he says, reaching down to take your hand and clasp your shoulder so he can hoist you up to your paws and pat down your cloak. "But you fight like a street urchin. All slash and know control."

Rhodie grunts, holding her muzzle, and wincing as she's helped up. "Hnngh, like I said.. was all training for shows, not actual combat." She hangs her head. "Well, I'm as good as dead in this world if I ever get into trouble."

 Donnel barks a laugh, clapping you on your back. "Nonsense," he cries. "We'll learn you good, gel. You ain't too old to teach. We'll start with that little thing you got there. You ain't got the arms for Salicia's axe, but I can show you how to use a blade and a bow proper. How'd you like that?" he offers, holding his hand out to you.

 Rhodie looks at the hand, still holding her muzzle. That hurt, she hasn't been punched like that since high school. She takes Donnel's hand with her free one. "I'm all for learning if it means I don't die as an Irish Setter... or a girl..." Donnel's laughing, he's not glaring angrily at her. This is good right?

 "Good," Donnel says. He walks back over to Salicia to speak with her. He leaves you to stand on the grass while the two of them talk, and Pritchard walks about the stones, still focused on whatever it is he is doing with them.

 Rhodie replaces the blade in her belt, pausing to look over her hands and arms. Her tail sags behind her as she sits down on the ground. She pulls her legs in to rest her head on her knees as she looks out at Pritchard. She's sorta watching, but also sitting in thought.

Pritchard works, stopping at some of the runes carved into the old stone. He runs his fingertips over them and a faint silver wisp rises from them as his lips speak silent words. He's a fairly tall man, young, it's not hard to notice his hair being a grey that doesn't quite look natural, especially for his age. He stops at the second stone and the wisp rolls against the runes there, glowing faintly in his passing. He stops and looks to the side, at something, but seemingly only he can see it at the moment.

 The dog-girl watches, but not even the impressive real magic happening in front of her seems to be snapping Rhodie out of the funk she let herself slip into. At first at least. She lifts her head when Pritchard doesn't move toward the third stone. Should she ask if he's OK, or would that interrupt... ah screw it, "Everything OK, Pritchard, sir?" She calls down

 Pritchard stops. He hums and looks over his shoulder toward you. "Were you watching?" he asks. "Are you curious? If you'd like, come closer. I know this must be more alien to you, far from the dullness I'm inflicting on Salicia and Donnel."

 Rhodie gets up and cautiously makes her way over, straightening her borrowed cloak. "Completely and utterly alien. I've only seen stuff like this in stories back home. But yeah, definitely color me curious."

 Pritchard holds his hand over the runes. "These glyphs speak to old power. In reading them, in passing some of my own talent through them, I can speak in a way to that power." He looks at you and offers his hand to you. "I do this to consult with the entities of these forests to understand their concerns. This land may be owned by the Meister, but even he must pay fealty to the forces at work here."

 Rhodie looks the glyphs over, and then over at Pritchard as he talks. She reaches out to take his hand. "So the lands here are in a way, somewhat sentient?"

 Pritchard nods. "Spirits, gods, geists, what you may call them." He interlaces his fingers with yours to lift your hand up to the runes. They glow under your fingertips, or probably under Pritchard's. "Listen with your mind, not with your ears," he says, though his words sound like they come from the far end of a tunnel despite him being next to you. The world seems to pale about you, covered in a rolling fog that seems to hide shadows and shapes moving in the swirls and eddies. They watch and whisper in languages you don't understand.

 "Sooo... surrounds us, penetrates us, binds the galaxy toge-" She stops when she sees the glow, staring at their hands. "My mind... right." She takes a breath and tries to focus. "Oh.... oh wow." Comes an awed whisper.

 Pritchard pulls your hand from the runes. "Less binding and more a terribly dangerous group of forces that can demand your attention should their whims dictate, but can also help you if your needs align," he explains to you, releasing your hand.

 Rhodie nods, taking it in. She ponders, "Could their powers be along what you mentioned my first night here then? Like.. what brings the..the.. Oh, what you called me. But brings people like me here for whatever purpose they might have?"

 "It is possible," Pritchard admits with a nod. "The Three Sisters is a holy site. One of several. Older than the Meister's grounds. I may work for Silberschmidt through the Order, but I understand what really controls this forest and that's the powers that be here." He looks at the third stone. "Not much left to speak with here. There are dangers, weeds that need culling. Something is making restless dead." He sighs, looking back at you. "You will assist us, won't you?"

 "Holy site... Wow, OK, them gathered here like that makes a lot of sense then." She then thinks, and gives a small bow in direction of the pillars, hoping to show a sign of respect. "Thank you..ah.. forces.. for allowing me to listen, even if I don't understand what was said yet." She looks back to Pritchard. "I'm still not sure I won't be more of a hinderance, but I'll gladly do what I can. You three are helping me, it would be rude not to return the favor."

 Pritchard smiles at you. "Thank you, Rhodie, I appreciate that," he says, putting a hand at your shoulder before he walks off. "But with the information gained here, I think we can move on with a slight detour to put some dead back into the ground." He pauses. "Also, I'm not really a holy man, or a druid, take much of what I say with a grain of salt. My philosophy is at odds with many of theirs."

 Rhodie laughs a little, "That ok, most of the holy men on my world are at odds with each other as well. No one person is ever going to get it right by themselves. ...Wait, dead back in the ground. Like... zombies? Undead?" Her tail sags again.

 "Of course," Pritchard says in a matter-of-fact sort of tone. Indeed the undead, in such a casual manner.

[s3venpounds]

1-64. 65 What is the worst thing you have ever done to a friend?

65 questionsssssssssss yeeeeeeeeee boiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii letsss fucking goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo thanks for the ask btw! also sorry for late reply

1. Do you ever doubt the existence of others than you?

honestly sometimes, the whole “ life is a simulation” got me kinda scared ya never know

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you?

1. because im not afraid of the dark im afraid of what can be in it that im not aware of

3. The person you would never want to meet?

idk. cuz if i say someone i hate then i can’t physically meet them to punch them

4. What is your favorite word?

love

5. If you were a type of tree, what would you be?

idk whichever lives for millions of years i wanna be like those giant ass trees that you see in animes that are like whole cities wide

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought?

should i finally cut my hair? or do i perservere

7. What shirt are you wearing?

my ed sheeran concert shirt

8. What do you label yourself as?

someone with the capacity of good but chooses to be an asshole

9. Bright room or dark room?

bright room

10. What were you doing at midnight last night?

seeing if my new friends were playing games so i can join

11. Favorite age you’ve been so far?

21

12. Who told you they loved you last?

off the top of my head? my mom pretty sure. 

13. Your worst enemy?

myself, my fears, hesitation and past mistakes?

14. What is your current desktop picture?

its a picture of hinata shoyo from Haikyuu!! doing a spike with wings on his back!

15. Do you like someone?

yes.

16. The last song you listened to?

Jacob Lee Slip

17. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?

trump

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?

trump. and i want like brass knuckles when i punch. 

19. If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do?

probably a volleyball coach/ trainer or a professional volleyball player to just drill basics into me and make me a better player. (that or just gal gadot to like help me clean up my life and give me life advice)

20. What is your best physical attribute? (showing said attribute is optional)

i guess my energy? its a fucking mess though cuz sometimes i get tired after like 4 minutes of activity but then sometimes i get like a second wind and i just go for hours 

21. If you were the opposite sex for one day, what would you look like and what would you do?

i mean there was that snapchat trend of every guy making a female version of themselves so i guess theres that. i would definitely try anything i could. periods, cramps, catcalls, masturbating anything i could so i truly understand what women have to go through every day of their lives

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it?

im a very open person so most of my obscure talents are known but i am kinda proud of how i can name pokemon by just hearing their cries limited to like the first 3 generations tho lmao

23. What is one unique thing you’re afraid of?

what happens after we die

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal.

i wanna make the most bougie sandwich in the world. I want abelone, puffin, black truffle, caviar, just all that super high end shit

25. You just found $100! How are you going to spend it?

save it. im going on a trip somewhere out of the city and i could use the extra pocket money

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go?

venice italy. no question.

27. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. Man! What are you gonna say about that? Even if you don’t drink booze there’s something you can figure out… so what’s it gonna be?

oh shit booze! i love me some booze! i guess it would have to be like smirnoff kissed caramel vodka, or this one whiskey i saw a video of irish people drinking american whiskeys

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place? 

dont be a fucking dickhead idk. i can’t make concrete rules cuz theres loopholes

29. What is your favorite expletive?

definitely fuck just because i say it more than actual normal words

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno?

haha “loved ones” lmao. oh uhhh my letters from D.O when we were kids. that or my journal

31. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

my dads abuse. oh wait no then thats free forgiveness for him lmao no uhhh one of my past relationships. it was a mess and i still struggle a little with it

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world!

Venice italy. that or greece or rome idk. i really like their aesthetic with small white houses, small walkways and all that

33. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?

Steve irwin or Robin williams. or just to make a couple people near me happy, Kyle Fundytus

34. What was your last dream about?

uhhh I kissed the person I’m currently interested in. not just a normal dream too I felt everything. it was crazy. Felt, their hands, warmth, lips, body against mine and even their skin it was just magical.

35. Are you a good….[insert anything you’d like here]?

boyfriend? honestly? idk. i’d like to think that i am but from what I know apparently im not

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital?

yes and no? i guess? i had one of those shots you give to enfants when their family is moving to a new country and i still have the scar so possibly? i mean technically any baby born in a hospital has been admitted to one lmao

37. Have you ever built a snowman?

YES AND SOME OLDER KIDS BROKE IT DOWN AND USED IT AS A BENCH . I fought them and got sent tot he principals office

38. What is the color of your socks?

im not wearing any.... but i do have a favourite pair of green ones that have a print of pringles sour cream n onion on it!

39. What type of music do you like?

Jazz, big band, kpop, RNB, rap, rock, swing music, electro...? sort of?

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets?

i can’t choose, I love both and have fond memories of both

41. What is your favorite milkshake flavor?

Vanilaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa maybe some caramel in it

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer)

uhh i dont know much about football but i can say i would support my local team edmonton eskimos

43. Do you have any scars?

a ton! i love em! its like the sentimental stuff i keep in my closet but on my body and i always trace my finger over them whenever im just in the mood to reminisce

44. What do you want to be when you graduate?

im not currently taking the courses i need to get my dream job but i’d love to be a power ranger either the stunt double or the cheesy actor. that or a school councilor

45. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

how dependant i am on others. i hate it. if i was alone i dont think i’d survive. i need other people

46. Are you reliable?

I like to think that i am though again, you’d have to ask my friends

47. If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be?

Did you find her?

48. Do you hold grudges?

hell.yes. if you couldnt tell i reallllllllllly hate my dad. like really.

49. If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create?

whatever animals it takes to make dragons a thing again

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had?

I would have to say when this random stranger came up to me to complain about the transit system because the one in vancouver was so much better apparently. dude went on a 20 minute rant and i just drowned him out with music and pretended to “pause” my music while nodding like i understood

51. Are you a good liar?

not sure. I think i am considering my parents dont know half the shit i did AHEHEHEHE

52. How long could you go without talking?

couple days. long as i got my music.

53. What has been you worst haircut/style?

god there was this one christmas where my parents gave me like a stereotypical suburban kid hair cut where the whole head is like flattened with hair gel the at the forehead its just a tall wall of spiked hair. BUT HERES THE KICKER. they dyed half the wall red and half green for christmas. god it was awful

54. Have you ever baked your own cake?

does cheesecake cupcakes count?

55. Can you do any accents other than your own?

ive been told i can do a good russian one, chinese too

56. What do you like on your toast?

nutella omg. fresh toast with gooey nutella? god its so good

57. What is the last thing you drew a picture of?

uhmmm some secret stuff for a friends personal project

58. What would be you dream car?

Dodge Viper

59. Do you sing in the shower? Or do anything unusual in the shower? Explain.

I love singing in the shower when no ones home. I can only sing when no ones home cuz the walls in this house are thin AS FUCK. 

60. Do you believe in aliens?

i believe we’re not the only ones out here but due to how we’re literally killing our own kind and planet for no good reason they choose to ignore us

61. Do you often read your horoscope?

yep! all the time! whenever i get my hands on the local paper i read my horoscope while i wait on the train or if theres a horoscope thing on tumblr!

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet?

X idk x is just cool

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons?

dragons are you kidding me? dragons are dinosaurs that can fly. AND BREATHE FIRE

64. What do you think about babies?

I dont think im a good father figure but spending time with kids is a pretty okay time for me long as its not long term lmao 

65. Freebie! Ask anything interesting you can think of.

What is the worst thing you have ever done to a friend?

I punched them full force in the stomach for calling me emo. it was a bad day but lo and behold that person became my best friend loooooooooooool

[fashiontrendin-blog]

5 Women on Why They Stopped “Taming” Their Hair

http://fashion-trendin.com/5-women-on-why-they-stopped-taming-their-hair/

5 Women on Why They Stopped “Taming” Their Hair

From a young age, most girls are acutely aware of the difference between “good” hair and “problem” hair. One ripples and bounces across TV screens during shampoo commercials; the other is spelled out on the bottles like a diagnosis: frizzy, dry, coarse, kinky, or — my favorite — unmanageable, as if the worst thing hair could do is defy your grooming attempts.

This impossibly narrow beauty ideal has all kinds of consequences for those who don’t fall within it, from bullying and alienation all the way to racial discrimination. This means it doesn’t just cost girls and women money or time, it can cost them a sense of inherent belonging or self-acceptance.

The silver lining of being force-fed dumb rules is the freedom to be gained by breaking them. The natural hair movement, which has done so much valuable work in eschewing and reshaping beauty conventions set with one type of (white) woman in mind, is one example of what shattering those rules can look and feel like.

There’s no shame in enjoying spending time on your hair, or reveling in the manipulation of it, but there remains something undeniably meaningful and subversive about skipping that process in favor of wild, frizzy or generally “unkempt” hair. To celebrate the literal and figurative beauty of that defiance, I asked five women who don’t tame their fluff to tell me how it feels to let it fly free.

Jasmine Burgos

Jasmine is a journalism student at Hunter College and a fashion intern living in Long Island.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

BIG, bouncy and wild! Since I was little, my hair has always taken over my face. Sometimes I can’t even see or I’m accidentally invading someone’s personal space. It’s great. I began to consistently wear my hair naturally by my freshman year of college.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

My childhood consisted of hair relaxers and regular trips to the Dominican hair salon. You wouldn’t see me without sleek, straight hair. I remember all of the countless hours spent under the hairdryer ’til my ears burned and, to top it all off, the constant tugging away at my roots with a scalding blow dryer. But I endured every minute of it because, at the time, this was what girls with “difficult” or “time-consuming” hair did. It was my normal. I eventually grew to be obsessed with the process because the end product was beautiful.

Growing up, you’re taught that beauty is pain. I felt beautiful with my straight hair — it was softer, longer and a whole lot easier to take care of. If my hair wasn’t straightened, it was twisted up into a bun. Eventually, straightening my hair became inconvenient because I enjoyed exercise and I hated having to be careful with not sweating “too much,” or being super anxious to leave the house when it was raining or humid. It was an exhausting way to live. Once I began attending school in New York City, where it was much more diverse than my hometown, I began to care less about looking perfect, looking like everyone else, and looking like someone everyone else wanted me to be. I began to present myself comfortably and naturally, and that started with my hair and makeup. So far, it has been the most liberating decision of my life.

What’s your hair routine like now?

On wash days — typically Sundays — I wash with shampoo, detangle with a deep conditioner, let the deep conditioner absorb into my strands while I wash off the rest of my body, then rinse it out and end with a leave-in conditioner. Most of my washing/conditioning products are by Shea Moisture. I don’t rinse off most of the conditioner. If I want extra shape, I’ll add DevaCurl shaping gel or Cantu styling cream. I add all products while my hair is still wet, then I prefer to let it air dry if I can. Once it’s mostly dry, I’ll use the blow dryer on a cooler setting to get my volume up.

All other days of the week I refresh my curls by wetting them and reapplying conditioner to ensure they’re being moisturized every day.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

Where do I begin!?

Is it yours? Is it real? Is that a wig? How do you, like, get it to do that? Do you curl it every morning? (This one is especially funny because I barely have time to apply makeup every day let alone tirelessly curl every single strand on my big head.) How do you even deal? Have you tried straightening it? And the biggest one of all: Can I touch it?

I realize that those who ask these kinds of questions just aren’t as exposed to black hair or big hair or any sort of different hair for that matter, so I can’t really blame them. I try to educate those genuinely curious. But for those who are clearly just trying to make me feel uncomfortable, I smile and show them that I’m proud of my kinks by simply saying, “Yes, it’s all mine and no, you may not touch.”

How does your hair make you feel?

Powerful. Funky. Unique. Audacious.

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Katie Stockton

Katie is a Clinical Information Manager living in Staten Island.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

Fluffy, curly, yearning to spread its wings and become trapped in the car door as I close it. Aside from a few forays into bangs and some sporadic straightening with my mom’s CHI flat iron (which I never gave back, sorry Mom), my hair has been the same since high school.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

I went through a couple phases of hair suppression. When I was younger, it was all about detangling and keeping it contained in a ponytail. If I ever complained about my hair being too hard to brush, my dad would offer to chop it all off with his pocket knife. I did not take this lightly because once at a softball game he cut a fat wad of gum out of my teammate’s hair after her fed-up parent gave him permission.

When I got a bit older, my mom tried to teach me how to blow dry it, which I never had much success with and wasted a lot of John Frieda Frizz-Ease in the process. Then the CHI came into our lives and I’d spend an hour or more making it super straight. Like, lifelessly-plastered-to-my-head straight. People paid me attention and were very complimentary whenever I wore my hair straightened, but in retrospect, I don’t think it was worth the time and effort. And it’d start to puff back up in any amount of humidity or sweat. Especially my baby hairs and cowlick.

I started consistently wearing my hair as is out of laziness and burgeoning self-acceptance.

What’s your hair routine like now?

I wash my hair every three days or so. I’ll brush out all the knots and shed hairs right before I get in the shower, then shampoo, comb through my conditioner with a wide tooth comb, clip it up, do my other hygiene activities, then rinse out thoroughly. I’m currently using the Acure Organics clarifying shampoo and OGX coconut milk conditioner. My go-tos used to be the Acure Organics moisturizing shampoo and conditioner, but I haven’t tried them since they reformulated.

The most important part of my routine is the air-drying. Right out of the shower, I very gently wrap my hair up in a classic bathleisure towel situation. I use one that is highly absorbent — NOT terry cloth — and waffle-textured. After that sits for 20 minutes or so, if I have the time, I’ll do the same thing again with a dry Turkish bath towel.

Once I’m tired of that/need to leave my house, I’ll take it down to finish air drying unrestricted. No touching, unless to flip it to the opposite side to encourage volume up top. If the ends look too dull or sad, or if I feel like smelling great, I’ll use some Stark Skincare hair oil. But I don’t rake it through! Just press it in.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

“It’s so long!” is a frequent one, and it does not earn more than a one-word response from me. I feel like when people say this, they’re going for the most innocuous comment possible, which makes me afraid they are secretly thinking mean things.

Strangers and acquaintances also love to touch my hair without asking. Their eyes glisten and their hands shoot out while they tell me how much they love my hair. Thanks so much! But please don’t touch me without my approval!

How does your hair make you feel?

Sometimes like I have a bug on me. But it’s only a stray hair.

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Beatriz Williams

Beatriz is an artist, grad student and future therapist living in Manhattan, New York.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

My natural hair is wild and alive. It has a mind of its own and I’m OK with that. I started wearing my hair as big as it is now a few years ago, after I graduated college and moved to New York City.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

Up until a few years ago, “taming” my hair was always a part of my life. I remember trying out different products when I was younger including moose, gel, leave-in-conditioner… whatever would give me the least amount of frizz possible. Frizz was the enemy. Perfect, shapely, bouncy curls were the goal. Wearing my hair “big” now is definitely something I have grown into. Sometimes I actually make my hair frizzy on purpose and brush it out just to get an even fuller effect. My hair has become part of my identity. It reminds me every day how proud I am of my Latin/African roots. Because of this, I wear it big to make a statement.

What’s your hair routine like now?

I wash my hair maybe once or twice a week and put conditioner in it after I get out of the shower. I let it air-dry and shake my head from side to side, and up and down to help it dry with the most possible volume. Then I just let it do its thing.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

A lot of people tell me that they like my hair and ask what products I use. I also have gotten that my hair looks like a pillow and they want to take a nap on it. I usually just say thanks and laugh it off. Some people do ask me if they can touch it and I tend to say yes more often than not.

How does your hair make you feel?

My hair gives me superpowers.

Sandy Sanchez

Sandy is a copywriter living in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

My natural hair is black, frizzy, a mix of very wavy waves and tight springy curls (especially in the bottom layer of my hair), with lots of baby hairs. The top layer, near my roots, sometimes has its flat days. I’d consider my hair a mixture of 2C and 3A, I think? It depends on the curl you pick out of my hair. I started wearing it naturally in 2013. Aside from my childhood years, of course.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

I was a very curly-headed baby. My mom always told me that strangers would ask her if they could touch my hair. Once I hit around second grade, I started becoming self-conscious of my curly hair. I’d wear my hair in a tight, low ponytail every single day to keep it low-key and out of the way. I did this up until seventh grade. This was around the time side bangs and sleek straight hair was “in.” I still think about that scene where Mia in Princess Diaries gets a makeover and has her frizzy hair straightened out and she suddenly becomes “beautiful.” That scene would end up impacting me for years to come. I straightened my hair every single day starting in 2006 up until 2013 once I discovered the straightener, because I thought that beauty meant no curls and no frizz.

The straightener was my savior but my frizz always won the battle. I’d try so hard to have straight hair and by the end of the day, I could see the curls starting to come in again. It was a cycle of me hating my hair, straightening it, still being frizzy, seeing the curls coming back, getting mad, and then straightening it some more.

One day in 2012, I decided to wear my hair curly to school because I was getting sick of having to straighten it. I was absolutely terrified and I ended up getting so many questions. How come you’ve never worn your hair curly before? Did you curl your hair today? Omg, you look so different. I was still hesitant to wear it curly but then finally in 2013, the year I started college, I began to wear it natural every single day and I grew to love it more and more every day. For the first time ever, I didn’t care if I was a ball of frizz and regretted all the years I tried to hide it. Plus, I felt more like myself than I ever had in my entire life.

What’s your hair routine like now?

My hair routine is extremely low maintenance and I love it. I usually wash my hair one-to-two times a week because I’ve trained it throughout the years to not need to be washed so often. I comb my hair dry before washing it, so I only brush it one-to-two times a week as well. I’m not super loyal to any hair brand but right now I’m using the Pantene Curl Perfection and I’m loving it. Every once in awhile I use the OGX Coconut Curls Curling Hair Butter. Products always claim they’re going to “defrizz you,” but they never do and now I really don’t care if they do. I like to shower at night because then I can fall asleep on my wet hair, let it dry overnight, and wake up with tight, fluffy curls that are all over the place. It’s my way of “styling” it with my pillow overnight.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

People are so sweet when it comes to their compliments and it makes me happy! Most of the time people say they wish they had curly hair, too. If someone doesn’t feel comfortable with their frizz, I like to tell them to just embrace it. A little frizz never hurt anyone! Another common comment about my hair I get is that “the frizz works on me,” so I guess that’s a compliment? Once in a while, I’ll get, “Do you ever get tired of the curls and straighten your hair?” To which I respond with: No, not really. Another question I get is “Can you let me straighten your hair one day? It’d be so fun.”

How does your hair make you feel?

It makes me feel so comfortable and cozy! My hair kind of feels like a part of my identity. I love that I don’t have to worry about how it looks. I don’t care if there are flyaways or frizz or a weird part sticking up in the back. I love waking up in the morning and leaving my apartment with my bedhead because sometimes, those are my best hair days. It’s also funny because, when you have big, frizzy hair, your friends can spot you from anywhere.

Hair is a pretty recognizable and signature part of you and, in a way, a form of self-expression, so I’m glad it makes me happy now! The fluffier, the better. I love meeting other fellow frizzy, curly-haired people because everyone has such unique curls and they’re all various shapes and sizes with different frizz levels and each curl is just so special and adorable.

Stacy Collado

Stacy works in a fashion showroom and is also a working model and dancer living in Bushwick, Brooklyn.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

Dry, frizzy, unkempt. I started wearing it like this when I decided those words didn’t have to mean “bad,” which actually wasn’t until… a year ago, maybe, out of the 23 I have been alive for.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

My background is Dominican, so although it’s extremely common for people of my heritage to have naturally poofy/curly hair, it’s also customary in the culture to use various products and heating methods to tame it. I remember being really young, visiting relatives in the Dominican Republic, and sitting in someone’s living room while they put a hair-relaxing treatment on my head. Smooth and straight was the beauty ideal even among women who could never truly achieve that genetically. Now I know that those treatments were just chemically frying my hair and that it didn’t look good, just damaged.

What’s your hair routine like now?

For me, the trick is to rarely shampoo because it majorly dries out the frizz, and I love to condition so I do that daily. I don’t know if that’s a good thing to do or not. I air-dry, never wear product, and kind of just let my freak flag fly on the regular. I’m interested in dabbling in product these days, but I have yet to find the perfect recipe and I am really into letting it be.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

My goodness, there are so many. “Do you ever straighten it?” followed by, “Does it take forever?” I just take it as an opportunity to go into a tangent along the lines of: “Yes, I spent many years of my life straightening and using all the frizz serums ever invented and realized unruly hair can be sexy AND professional AND just fine the way it is.”

How does your hair make you feel?

Like myself, which I think is probably the most important and most badass thing to be!

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Photos by Emily Malan; follow her on Instagram @emilymalan.

[jtspins]

On the Fire Escape (short story)

                                                      I. Dom lay awake in Bronco’s bed and tried failingly to ignore the sounds of Bronco fucking a girl named Denise in the apartment next door. The owner of the apartment where the sex was taking place was not Denise (or was her name Cheryl?), but a business-traveling neighbor. He had given Bronco a spare set of keys so that Bronco could look after his tank of koi whenever he was away. Koi are very expensive and have particular needs.

Bronco was given this responsibility, Dom thought, not because he exuded any unique sense of worthiness, but because he had that quality of always being around. In addition to feeding the koi, Bronco used the apartment for banging girls he picked up in bars, a fact that was very likely unknown to the owner. Dom never fully understood why Bronco did this. Maybe it was because Bronco found the idea of sex with a stranger in a second stranger’s bed to be erotic. He might have been on to something because, as Dom lay listening to muffled grunts and rhythmic thumping through the wall, he developed the urge to jerk off. But he decided that whacking it to Bronco and Denise/Cheryl would cross some sort of line, so he resisted.

“Build a wall. Build a wall.” Mr. Poppy, Bronco’s cockatoo, was talking. Bronco was an avid Trump supporter and had properly indoctrinated his pet bird by teaching it the greatest hits of one-liners from the first campaign six years before. As a result, the bird sprayed perfectly innocent silences with bluntly worded policy pronouncements. Dom wondered how long this must have taken and pictured Bronco painstakingly repeating phrases and correcting the bird at all hours, over many days. It was no small feat. Dom rolled off the bed. He was wearing only underwear and suddenly felt exposed. He picked up a silken robe that lay in a heap on the floor. Upon inspection, he realized it was less a robe and more a diaphanous gown. It was red with a sash and had an embroidered Oriental dragon on the back. Did Bronco really wear this? Dom pulled it on, preferring the gown to underwear alone. His phone vibrated on the nightstand. He checked the home screen and found a new update from the Civilian Surveillance Service, a mandatory app installed on all phones. It has been 6 days since your last report. YOU are the homeland’s best defense, the message reminded him. WE WILL DEFEAT OUR ENEMIES! Dom sighed. He knew he was late submitting his list to the Service but the all-caps seemed like overkill. He dropped the phone into the pocket of the gown. He’d deal with it in the morning. He padded over to the cage with the weightless fabric flowing dramatically behind him. The cage hung halfway across the cavernous SoHo loft which had the aged exposed beam and crumbling plaster molding that gave contractors nightmares and hipsters boners. “America first. Ban the Muslims.” Only it was more like “Mus-lambs,” which made Mr. Poppy sound like he didn’t know what he was talking about. Dom approached the cage and Mr. Poppy bobbed with excitement. He sidestepped back and forth on his perch. “Grab ‘em by the pussy.” It was clear from the bird that Bronco embraced the President entirely. Dom fingered the thin bars of the cage. The parrot bobbed and flapped his wings, which were clipped to allow him to walk freely around the loft without fear of flying into a window or ceiling fan. Dom’s fingers playing on the bars caused the cage door to unlatch and fall open. Mr. Poppy hopped in anticipation, eager to possibly get out. Normally Dom would have simply closed the door but this time he reached carefully into the cage. Mr. Poppy stepped onto Dom’s wrist and, now outside the cage, walked up his arm and perched on his shoulder. Dom looked up at Mr. Poppy who was regal with his white plumage and pompadour of yellow feathers. The bird’s head darted and tilted to the side so he could look at Dom with a single black eye. Mr. Poppy’s talons dug into Dom’s shoulder, finding purchase just beneath his clavicle. Feeling like a glamorous pirate, Dom made his way to the tall windows overlooking the street. The windows caught his reflection. Dom was attractive and had until very recently been a model. He had an editorial look, which meant that he was hot in a conventionally forgettable way. Plus-hair, square-jaw, very symmetrical. He’d found steady work as an underwear model and was doing all right until his ass dropped, which is an actual thing. Dom had a fanatical devotion to fitness and the diet of a monk, so it was a surprise to him when this happened. It wasn’t obvious – his clothes still fit but his butt had lost a certain buoyancy. The garments didn’t hug him the same. Dom thought at first that maybe it was the lights. The gels cast an unflattering glint. But it wasn’t the gels. Maybe he was retaining water. It wasn’t the water. He redoubled his efforts in the gym but no amount of squat-thrusts restored him. Jumping rope for hours didn’t do it either. Nor did any number of increasingly anachronistic exercises. Not star jumps or Turkish toe-tappers. Not froghoppers or barnburners or Tallahassee screamers. Dom’s trainer sat him down one morning. The trainer’s name was Prince and he had a tattoo of a crown that crept up from the point where his neck met his shoulder. Prince breathed deeply and told Dom that he was sorry. That there was nothing more he could do about Dom’s ass. What was happening was beyond his powers to reverse. He rested a hand on Dom’s shoulder to reassure him and asked Dom if he had any feelings to share. Dom didn’t. Dom left the gym that day with the stricken look of someone just informed they have a fatal and incurable disease. His agency called less and less to book him, and finally not at all, except one last time to drop him officially. Which happened that morning. After that Dom called Bronco and Bronco insisted that they tie one on, screw the rest of it. And so that was how Dom came to play wing-man to Bronco on an evening of cascading failure. The bars got dingier and the conversations got cruder. Bronco finally won the attentions of Denise/Cheryl who was circumspect but adventurous, an open-minded liberal who wanted to understand what made a man like Bronco tick. They loudly debated the first two years of President’s second term. They shouted over the music at the end of the bar and paused frequently to glare at each other in disbelief. “He made the country safe again!” “It’s a police state.” “You sound naïve.” “You sound racist.” “It’s not racist to protect your family. It’s not racist to bring back jobs.” “There’s a fucking app to report on fellow citizens. They want us to report on our fucking neighbors.” “Well if your fucking neighbors have nothing to hide then there’s nothing to fucking worry about, is there?” It went on like this for some time and at last call Bronco tried to close the deal by asking her to come back to “his” place “to settle our barroom differences in the bedroom.” This line was successful to the surprise of everyone. Dom found it all very confusing. Maybe their mutual attraction has a forbidden fruit kind of thing. Or maybe it was evangelical zeal, like they were trying to fuck their belief systems into each other. Or maybe they both just wanted to get laid. Whatever the case, they were together, sexing, and Dom was with Mr. Poppy. It was February and cold. Frost crusted the window. Dom pressed the edges of the sill and pushed the window up. It stuck at first but then the aging pulleys and crusted cords engaged and the window slid up easily. The air was bracing. Dom felt his skin pucker. He climbed out onto the fire escape and sat down on the windowsill. The metal grating was cold enough to sting his bare feet. Mr. Poppy cooed nervously. “It’s okay, buddy,” Dom whispered. He lifted Mr. Poppy carefully from his shoulder and placed him on the floor of the fire escape. Mr. Poppy blinked up at him and cautiously began exploring the platform. He stepped and paused to look around in all directions. Step. Pause. Step. Pause. His claws clacked against the iron bars of the landing. Dom sat on the sill. The streets were empty below. Bronco was right, back at the bar, when he said they seemed safer. The night sweeps were controversial and, at first, they didn’t seem right to Dom. He’d actually participated in a protest march shortly after they were announced. Dom had never done anything like that before and he remembered feeling kind of ironic in spite of himself as he made an actual sign and marched in an actual protest. Look at me! I’m marching in this protest! With a sign! He did care for the cause, he knew, but conviction felt alien somehow. He had fun, though. It was exhilarating to feel part of something. It felt important to gather together in the street and shout in unison. He planned to march again the following weekend but he was invited to a brunch and the times conflicted and, well, who has time to march every weekend? Seemed that once was enough. Like, turbo enough. The sweeps continued and after a few months of enhanced profiling the streets at night really cleared out. Dom wasn’t sure if it was because they’d deported large numbers of people or had simply driven them indoors. Either way, the sidewalks were clear for the most part, aside from stragglers from work or the bars. Dom still wondered if the sweeps amounted to sanctioned injustice but he had to admit that there was a certain utility there. It would be dawn soon but for now all was still. He looked up and watched grey clouds gather. Their underbellies were illuminated by the streetlights below. Snow soon, Dom thought. They were predicting a nor’easter the next morning, probably the biggest storm of the season. People scrambled around earlier that day making last minute grocery buys. Dom’s news feed was full of acquaintances crowd-sourcing binge streaming recs. Dom shivered. He should really put on a coat. At least some socks. His gown was useless. But he didn’t move. The cold was cleansing. It cut through Dom’s ass sadness. It cut through the bullshit of the night and its alcoholic vapor and second-hand smoke. It cut through the bullshit of the country, the roundups and the citizen-centered vigilance initiatives. The cold was elemental and nostalgic and Dom remembered when he was fifteen years old and played hooky to go snowshoeing upstate with his Dad. The snow was a carpet of diamonds under the blazing sun. The powder was deep and untouched. For a while they took turns breaking trail but Dom soon noticed that his father was laboring. Dom led the rest of the way and allowed his father the easier task of following. He was proud to do this, to use his youth and vigor to ease the older man’s way. As they climbed higher the sky clouded over and a light flurry began to fall. The flakes were downy and unhurried. As they reached the bald mountaintop the snowfall intensified. The wind swirled and shot snow in all directions. It stung their cheeks and eyes like a thousand tiny pins. They squinted against it. The path they’d followed disappeared in the gusts. They circled around the bare summit and scanned the tree line in search of the trail-head. Starting down the wrong side of the mountain would have consequences on a snowy winter day. The potential danger of their situation was jarring and, while not quite panicked, both men felt the weight of the moment – that feeling of knowing that you’re not in trouble yet but your very next decision could put you there. After a few hasty minutes that felt much longer the snow let up just a bit. Their watering eyes cleared enough to make out the faint track they’d made coming up. They traced it back beneath the tree cover where the wind and snow were calmer. They laughed nervously, giddy at the thought of the peril they’d avoided. The descent was easier in the pillows of snow. They leaned back and took long, loping strides - half-hiking, half-trotting down the mountain. By the time they reached the car, the sun had returned and the uncertainty of the summit felt like a fever dream. Dom heard a loud squawk. He looked around and noticed that Mr. Poppy was no longer on the platform. He felt a jolt of worry. Another squawk. Dom looked up. Mr. Poppy was perched on the railing of just above him. He stared down at Dom and tilted his head to the side. Dom was just starting to wonder how Mr. Poppy had gotten himself up there when Mr. Poppy spread his wings and took improbable flight. The bird veered back and forth just above the rail, considering his next move, before appearing to heed some faint instinctual call. Mr. Poppy flapped with gusto and swung out drunkenly over the street and strained upward to the floor above. His technique was halting and reckless. Flying did not come naturally to Mr. Poppy. Dom realized that Mr. Poppy had probably had his wings clipped all his life. Until then, of course, when the consequences of Bronco’s lapse in care would be fully felt by Dom, who unwittingly released the stupid bird into the wilds of New York City. Any feelings of cold were gone as Dom sprang up and scaled the stairs. He called out to Mr. Poppy in a strained stage-whisper. “Mr. Poppy!” Dom cried. Huskily, urgently, desperately. “I’m a very smart person!” Mr. Poppy said. “I have a very good brain!” “Don’t do this, Mr. Poppy!” “Good brain! Good brain!” Dom reached each floor just as Mr. Poppy flapped to the one above. They continued on like this up a dozen flights. Mr. Poppy reached the last rail of the last floor of the fire escape and Dom stopped on the stairs just below. They regarded each other, having reached some sort of impasse. Dom’s heart thrummed. He adopted a crouching stance with shoulders hunched and fingers splayed before him as if about to play an invisible piano. He considered a magnificent leap to catch Mr. Poppy off-guard but Mr. Poppy took off again, this time flapping up and landing neatly on the edge of the rooftop. Mr. Poppy took a last look at Dom before calmly turning and waddling out of sight. Shit shit shit shit. Dom muttered under his breath as he gained the last platform. There was no ladder to the roof so he carefully scaled the frame of the fire escape and stood on the rail bolted into the stonework. The bricks were large and rough-hewn which allowed Dom to squeeze his fingers between them. He carefully brought himself up to standing. He pressed his cheek against the building and leaned slightly over the fire escape, hoping that if he slipped he’d fall there instead of to his death fourteen stories below. That Dom was attempting this at all was stupid, and he knew this, but he was determined not to screw this up. He was out of work – out of the sort of work that was mildly embarrassing to begin with – and he had no prospects. And Bronco who, okay, who was intense in some uncomfortable ways, was the one person who had shown him kindness. And then he goes and loses his bird? No, Dom thought. Fucking no. Dom stabilized himself. He reached up with one hand and grabbed the aluminum lip of the eave. Then the other hand and then a strained pull-up. The aluminum edge dug into his fingers and his legs kicked out ahead of him. The gown flapped like a cape. He got his chin over the eave and swung himself like a pendulum until he could hook a leg and heave himself up over the lip of the building and onto the graveled roof. He stared up at the brightening sky and breathed heavily. It was dawn and a bank of chrome clouds hung low overhead. A light flurry began to fall. He got to his feet and surveyed the roof. He saw Mr. Poppy on the far side mingling with a flock of pigeons. The pigeons warbled around while Mr. Poppy stood stone still marking Dom. Nowhere to go now, Mr. Poppy, Dom thought. He was about to approach the flock when he noticed an Asian woman with a startled look standing on his periphery. Dom turned and saw that on the roof was a makeshift winter garden. There was a small greenhouse with thick, translucent plastic sheeting stapled to a rickety wooden frame. A ramshackle lean-to stood beside it. The door hung open and inside Dom could make out some bedding and a hibachi stove. Was this lady living here? “Hello,” Dom said, though it sounded almost like he was asking a question. The woman stared back. “Do you speak English?” he asked and then, translating, “You speaky English?” Still nothing. “Are you supposed to be here?” The lady just stood there, wary. That she would encounter anyone else on the roof at that hour was probably unexpected. That this person would scale the building in mid-winter wearing nothing but underwear and a satin robe was probably especially surprising. Dom pointed at Mr. Poppy to demonstrate his purpose and the woman relaxed a little. She walked over cautiously and stood beside him. She was a full foot shorter. Dom couldn’t tell her age. Maybe sixty? She wore a down overcoat, sweatpants, and earmuffs. She carried old garden gloves that were worn stiff. They looked at the birds together. “I need to catch that white bird,” Dom told her. His tone was serious. “I think that, maybe if you can help me –,” but he stopped short. The lady looked up at him blankly. “That bird,” he repeated. She blinked back at him. “Catch?” Dom said. “…” “Thaaat. Birrrd.” Greater enunciation now. Wasn’t this obvious? How hard could it be for this lady to understand? “That bird!” he barked. Dom had never spoken to anyone in this way before and it was weirdly gratifying. What he needed was so simple but she seemed to know nothing about anything, which annoyed him. Here he was, trying to accomplish something, and there she was, not helping at all. He relaxed into the anger welling inside of him. He eased into it like a hot bath.   The woman looked at Mr. Poppy and then back at Dom and made some connection. She smiled and started to speak excitedly in a language Dom didn’t understand. Her words were tonal and strange. They seemed unrelated to the task at hand which only frustrated him further. She was cheerful and conversational and not getting it at all. “Listen, stop it. Stop it! Shhhh, for a second. That’s not it. That’s not – you’re not helping. That bird, see? THAT BIRD!”  He was yelling now, leaning over the woman and pointing at Mr. Poppy. The woman nodded along, trying to follow but clearly not. The commotion was interrupted by the sudden beating of many wings. The birds took flight together. They rose as a single organism that moved out over the street. They flew uptown through a canyon of buildings. After a few blocks the flock banked hard right and disappeared. Mr. Poppy was gone. “Great! Just great!” Dom shouted. His demeanor hardened. He turned back to the woman who grew quiet. She understood that something very bad had just happened. Her eyes were wet. She seemed to be on the verge of tears. “I needed that bird,” Dom said. He looked down at her, at this woman who seemed to be shrinking before his eyes. Or was he growing taller? He spoke sternly and with an air of superiority. “I needed that bird and you were no help. You people are no help.” Everything had been under control until this lady distracted him. Why had he wasted his time talking to her? Why had she wasted his time being there in the first place? This wasn’t his failure at all. It was hers. He reached into the pocket of his gown to find his phone which was miraculously still there after the climb. “I’m sorry,” he said to the woman. He was brisk and businesslike now. “But I really have to call this in. I don’t even think you’re American.” The woman watched in horror as he tapped his home screen and opened the Citizen Surveillance app. They made it so easy. Swipe left to submit a name for investigation, swipe right to drop a geo pin and make a citizen’s arrest. Dom swiped right. Citizen’s arrests were rare these days and considered prestigious. Dom was pretty sure he wouldn’t have to worry about submitting that late report after all. His previous reservations about the roundups seemed distant and irrelevant. He was probably doing this lady a favor somehow. It wasn’t for him to decide anyway. He was part of something larger and was merely doing what he was supposed to do. There was a mechanical assurance to his actions. They were robotic and precise. The geo pin dropped and the phone emitted an affirming ping. The lady ran back into her shed and started to rummage around inside. Dom wondered if she was hiding or planning to make an escape, however pointless that would be. ICE was like a tactical strike force these days. They wouldn’t be long. Losing Mr. Poppy didn’t seem like such a big deal anymore. Bronco would probably forgive him when he learned Dom had bagged an alien. And what would Denise/Cheryl say? He pictured the three of them having breakfast together later that morning. Dom would tell the whole story. Bronco would be proud and she would be, Dom wasn’t sure -- scandalized at first but then maybe sort of impressed. Impressed that he’d climbed the building in the cold and done something. Took action. He heard the helicopter before he saw it. The buzz of the engine grew and he made out a dark speck moving on the horizon. They’d be there any moment and he’d present his quarry. Dom stood tall and resolute with his hands on his hips. It occurred to him that he might look ridiculous standing there, dressed as he was, but the thought was remote and easily dismissed. Because he was triumphant for the first time in a long time. He was part of something. He gave himself to it. He nested in it. The red gown billowed in the winter wind. It was properly snowing now but he wasn’t cold. What was the cold to him now? The helicopter hovered above the roof like an overlord while ICE agents fast-roped onto the building with surprising dexterity. They were well-armed and wore black riot gear. The whole production seemed excessive for a woman of advanced middle age, but Dom wasn’t expert in such things. The agents fanned out on the rooftop. The helicopter thundered. The churn of the rotor blades blew the fragile winter greenhouse apart. Brittle plants twisted and snapped in the downwash. The thick plastic tore itself from the wooden frame and flapped wildly. Dom wasn’t sure of his role. He felt like the host of a surreal party and wanted to make a good impression. He gave a nod of welcome that no one acknowledged, so he just watched as the team took up their positions. Once they were set there was an electric pause. Dom could hardly believe he was at the center of this. At what felt like just the right moment, Dom stepped to the side and pointed them to the shack using a sweeping arm gesture that was much more theatrical than he intended. Before they could approach, the door burst open and the woman rushed out. She let loose a furious howl and ran straight for the roof edge. The agents collapsed on her immediately. A baton swung and caught her full in the belly. Another swept her legs out from under. A third pinned her to the ground by the neck. Her eyes darted in all directions. She strained to breathe as agents tore off her coat and boots. Zip-tied her wrists and ankles. Shouted over the cry of the helicopter. This was not what Dom expected. The brutality was surgical and disorienting and he could only watch as the woman, now bleeding and dazed, was dragged to the rooftop door. Her head lolled to the side. She moaned incoherently. Was barely conscious. They hustled past and she raised her head. She seemed to catch his eye for a quick second but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was a trick of the light or he was simply in her field of vision for a moment. Whatever it was, she looked unspeakably sad. She was broken. Her eye sockets were swelling shut and her mouth was a pained grimace. It was only for a moment that he saw this. She was there for an instant and gone. They took her away. Through the door, into the fluorescent-lit stairwell, and down.

The helicopter swooped up and away from the building. Agents scattered around him and gathered up equipment. They moved like insects in a colony. Everyone had a task.

Dom was stunned and glazed over. A burly, uniformed man was telling him something. The man leaned in a little too close. His breath smelled faintly of chewing tobacco. His tone was authoritative and what he had to say sounded like it might have been important. Dom nodded along vaguely but retained little. It was all like a movie. Or a dream. He thought maybe he was dreaming. There was a procedure. They’d do the report. Take care of the details. Where did they take her? If only they had more people like him. The man clapped Dom on the shoulder, a little too hard. He knew he wasn’t dreaming.

                                                           II. “What the actual fuck?!” Bronco was impressed. They stood together on the roof a few hours later and surveyed the aftermath of the arrest. The storm had definitely arrived. A fluffy blanket of snow covered everything. It made the scene look ancient and forgotten. Like it all happened ages ago. “There was a fucking chopper here and shit?” “Yeah, and a bunch of guys in black with guns. The whole nine.” Dom wore a sweater and shivered. “Hey man, let’s go in. They’re saying the storm of the century is coming.” But Bronco was lost to him. “Damn. I got some strange last night, but you, my brotha, you…” Bronco wrapped an arm around Dom’s neck and pulled him close, jabbed him in the side. Dom was right about Bronco. Nation trumped Mr. Poppy. Denise/Cheryl, who actually turned out to be Deb, was less impressed. She’d bolted from Bronco’s apartment almost as soon as Dom wandered in, a bit wobbly and mildly hypothermic. He had barely gotten the story out before she hastily collected her things, like she was suddenly late to an appointment. She said nothing, which unnerved Dom. She got to the door and shot them a last look that was a mix of torment and disgust. The carefree group breakfast was off. “So, like, are you gonna get an award or something?” Bronco asked. He shuffled his feet back and forth and made little piles of snow. “I don’t know,” Dom said. “The commanding officer shook my hand and said something about credit to the country. I’m not sure if he meant it in a metaphorical way or, like, some kind of literal payment. It all happed really fast. And there was a helicopter. Really hard to hear over a helicopter.” “Yeah. Well, tell you one thing – drinkies on me tonight,” Bronco said. His hands were jammed in his pockets as he kicked at the remains of the greenhouse. “Man, that Chinese lady lived up here?” “Asian. I’m not sure she was Chinese,” Dom said. Bronco didn’t notice. “I mean, this is primitive. Can you imagine? These people leach off us like, what-do-you-call-‘em? Those things in the ocean that live on the sides of boats? Barracudas?” “Barnacles.” “Fuckin’ right. Barnacles. She was living up here like a barnacle or some shit.” Bronco walked over to the shack and peered inside. The broken door hung from one hinge. Dom tried to find reassurance in Bronco, whose enthusiasm should have been validating. But he couldn’t get past the look on Denise/Cheryl/actually Deb’s face. And she didn’t even say anything. Was it because she hadn’t the words? Or did they not deserve the words? Most of all, though, it was the lady. The flicker of friendship when he first met her, and then the fear and helplessness of those final moments when they took her away. How her gleaming white socks turned ashen as her toes dragged across the gravel. How her head jostled from side to side. She had seen him as she passed. Looked right at him. He knew that now. They had locked eyes. Her anguish shook him because it wasn’t the self-pitying kind. It was directed outward. Dom had seen her there, laid bare and torn asunder, and realized that maybe the sadness she felt wasn’t all for herself. Maybe she pitied him. Bronco came out from the shack. “She was definitely here for a while. Place is real lived-in,” he said. “From the look of it she wasn’t alone either. Two mattresses in there. They only arrest her?” “It was just the two of us up here. And Mr. Poppy.” “Yeah. Shame about Mr. Poppy,” Bronco said and then caught some movement from the corner of his eye. His head snapped to attention and his eyes fixed on the ruined greenhouse. “You see that?” “What?” Dom turned and followed his gaze. The snowfall was heavy. It got into his eyes and blurred them. “How can you see anything in this?” “Something moved back there. Over by the greenhouse.” They froze and looked at the mound of wood and tarp and tumbled-over plants. Dom turned back to Bronco and shrugged his shoulders. Bronco put his finger to his lips. “Somebody’s there,” he whispered. “You take one side and I’ll take the other.” They crept around the pile. They were nearly silent. Their footfalls were deadened by the snow cover. Dom felt silly. It was probably a cat or something. But he humored Bronco, who had missed the action and was likely hallucinating due to a profound need to feel included. They circled the greenhouse and met on the back side. Dom smiled, amused at all the drama over nothing. But he stopped short when he noticed that Bronco was standing a few feet away, poised and predatory, over a small, dark shape wrapped in the translucent plastic. The snow around it was clearly disturbed. It was a pathetic attempt at hiding. They looked down at the shape and back at each other. Bronco’s eyes were wide and charged. He smiled slyly and yanked back the tarp. A child scrambled out from beneath and was quickly corralled by Bronco and held kicking and writhing in his arms. “Easy there!” Bronco yelled. He looked up at Dom. “Yeah man! This must be the other one!” It was an Asian boy who looked about seven years old. The lady must have been a relative. Dom looked down at him. He wasn’t thrilled by the discovery. He felt burdened. Bronco chuckled as the child struggled against him. “Determined little guy,” he laughed. The child twisted sharply and chomped down on Bronco’s hand. Bronco cried out and flung him down. The boy hit the ground hard and crumpled into a heap. “Little animal bit me!” Bronco gave the boy a violent shove with his foot. “Hey, easy!” Dom said. “He’s only a kid! He’s scared. He didn’t even break the skin!” “Whatever, man! Now I have to get tested for rabies and HIV!” Bronco said. His voice was shrill. He examined the bite mark on one hand while he fumbled in his coat pocket with the other. He pulled out his phone and swiped the home screen. “Time to call this one in,” he muttered. He savored the words as his trembling thumb hovered over the touchscreen, flipping through the screens, hunting for surveillance app icon. “Hey, wait. Do we even know where they bring these kids?” Dom asked. “Are we sure he’ll get put back with his family? I think that lady was his grandmother or something.” He looked down at the boy, who looked back up at Dom, terrified. “Not my concern.” Bronco was dismissive and determined. “He’s just lucky I don’t throw him off this roof. I still might fucking do it, too. I have him on assault. I’m standing my fucking ground.” He tapped the app open and was about to swipe when Dom struck him square in the back with a wooden plank. Bronco fell forward onto the pile and slid down to the ground. Dom dropped the plank and helped the kid up. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Speaky English?” The boy nodded. “Jesus,” Bronco moaned. He blinked up at Dom. Bleary-eyed. Trying to focus. “You fucking hit me.” He slithered around on the ground. Felt around the snow for his phone. Found it. Swiped. “You’re done, my friend. I’m calling you both in now.” The app pinged. Dom scooped up the boy and ran. He flew down the fire escape with the boy cradled in his arms. It was slick but he was heedless. He skipped steps and leapt down entire flights at once. They had minutes at most. They got to the first-floor landing, released the ladder and landed on the sidewalk with a soft thud. He turned to the boy. “I don’t know this neighborhood.” Dom was short of breath. “Do you know where to go?” It seemed ridiculous to be consulting the child but Dom wasn’t thinking clearly. The boy pointed uptown and they took off together. They ran up the sidewalk but it was crowded with people. People shopping and strolling in the snowfall. Dawdling along. Dom took the boy’s hand. He dodged and shoved people aside. They turned to watch them pass. They were going too slow on the sidewalk. Dom pulled the boy into the street and they ran against traffic. Traffic was light so the going was much quicker. Dom had no plan. His only destination was away. He thought he heard a distant siren but he ignored it. New York City. Could be anything. And they’d gone, how many blocks? At least three or four. And who knows – if it snowed much harder the whole city would shut down. They could get away. He looked down at the boy, running at a full sprint, little legs churning and heels kicking up clouds of powder behind him. The boy looked up to him, frightened but hopeful. “It’s okay,” Dom said. “We’re gonna be okay.” He didn’t believe it but he had to tell the boy something. This person felt like Dom’s responsibility now and every additional minute of hope he could give him was imperative. He smiled down at the boy who managed a smile back. The boy was earnest and trusting and Dom experienced a breathless, momentary optimism. Their future together unspooled before him. They’d escape. Walk the frozen Hudson to Peekskill. Thumb to Poughkeepsie. Trace the Taconic to the North Country. They’d lay low. A cabin by a lake. Learn to ice fish. It was crazy, but maybe. They ran on and Dom noticed the sidewalks were bare and oncoming traffic had disappeared. He looked up and saw a pair of squad cars with lights flashing pull out nose-to-nose and block the intersection ahead. Then he heard the unmistakable thumping of a helicopter above. It grew suddenly louder. The two of them slowed to a walk and stopped. They turned around to see the intersection blocked behind them and the dark shapes of agents advancing on foot. Well-armed. Relentless. The boy reached up for Dom’s hand and held tight. It was the reflexive action of a fearful child. Dom closed his hand around the boy’s and squeezed. The reflexive action of a parent. The agents surrounded them. A dozen feet and closing. A knot tightening. Dom and the boy turned to one another. Dom knelt down. His model’s frame was large and muscular and he tried to envelope the boy. To shield him completely with human armor. The boy quivered against him. He buried his face in Dom’s chest and began to cry, softly. Dom felt the warmth of the boy’s breath, wet and urgent, against his sweater. He pulled him close. Dom’s fear and uncertainty was replaced by something more basic. Love for this child. It was unexpected and desperate and possibly irrational. But it was also true and the only thing that mattered to him now. He crouched there with the boy and felt like they were anchored to a mass far greater than they were. Larger, heavier, and older than everything that ever was. A thing in its own orbit, with its own law. Spinning heedlessly and timelessly with the assurance of a body that cannot be bothered with the affairs of men. Dom felt swept up by it. Soothed by the overpowering physics.  Calm washed over him as he looked up to meet the coming violence. Under the pound of the rotor blades, amid the screaming sirens, Dom felt relief. It was like the relief he felt on the mountaintop, as the storm paused and he spotted the gap in the tree line. The path back from the driving snow to the still of the forest.

###JTspins###