#what kind of amateur news station | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theterrorreversebang · 6 months

Text

Presenting, for your viewing and reading pleasure: the final collection of this year's Terror Reverse Bang, a feast of gorgeous artwork, beautiful fic, friendship, laughter, tears, …some horny. OK, a lot of horny.

You can find the AO3 collection for the event here. Summaries and links to the artwork below the cut.

Thank you all for going on this fantastic journey with us.

Eat well and enjoy.

- ❤️, Charlie and Vio

amateur operator (T, hickey/irving tozer/irving, 10.5k)

artwork and concept by entangled_system

fic by pointyshades

At an isolated research station at the top of a warming world, in the most inhospitable place on Earth for communications, John Irving studies signal propagation - and studiously avoids the obvious metaphor. John’s had a lot of practice at ignoring the obvious, but when an improbable random contact with an amateur radio operator calling himself "EC" leads to even more improbable regular contact with the same operator, not even John can ignore the ridiculous reality: a growing relationship with someone he knows only by their call sign; a relationship conducted half in Morse code.

John's real-life connections aren't going half so well, and neither is his research: his radio equipment keeps suffering accidents, and he can't stop getting into arguments with Sergeant Tozer, the man assigned to help him fix it. Frustrated, he turns even further toward his relationship with EC - and finds himself being urged down a path of paranoia as to who is actually damaging his equipment.

an arcane kind of murder (M, fitzier, 7.5k)

artwork and concept by pretendingday

fic by shakespeares_girl

At the Baronet Franklin's annual tourney, a series of murders begins. Francis is pressed into investigating, with the help of James Fitzjames. But Lord Franklin won't cancel the tournament, and the murders are getting more and more violent.

as per my last email (E, joplittle, 67.2k)

artwork and concept by mitarashi8

fic by manicpixiedreamjop

Edward Little has lived his life the way he thought he was supposed to. He went to a good university, got a good job as the head of PR at Erebus men’s magazine, and bought a home. He blames the fact that he hans’t dated since university on the fact that he doesn’t have time and not the fact that it terrifies him, and spends what little free time he has trying to pretend he isn’t miserable.

His neighbour Thomas Jopson has lived his life the only way he knows how. He fought his way from a childhood in foster care into a degree and a career that he loves, spending his days doing social work and his evenings volunteering with a local nonprofit supporting queer youth in the foster system. He plans his days down to the second, hardly allowing himself time for anything outside of work and sleep, but he is, at least mostly, satisfied.

When Edward’s boss is quoted saying something homophobic, it’s Edward’s job to clean up the mess, which leads him to the nonprofit that Thomas volunteers with. This new connection has the potential to turn both Edward and Thomas’ lives upside down. If only the two of them actually liked each other.

barghest. (T, joplittle, 10.3k)

artwork and concept by oughtnots

fic by derry_rain

Edward Little is a humble accountant in the late 1920s, but he has lately become haunted by visions of death: his own death, in the form of a great black dog not unlike one that bit him as a child. When his endless visions of ice and snow and the black dog won't end, he finds himself turning to a paranormal private eye: Thomas Jopson.

be that my cue to crave you (E, little/le vesconte, 9.6k)

artwork and concept by bilgewater01

fic by orchis

“If I could eat anything right now—”

“Henry.”

“Anything at all, from all the dishes and delicacies I've ever stuffed my face with—”

“Henry.”

“I think I'd go for an apple,” he finishes. “How awfully pedestrian of me. Nothing fancy, just an apple, and I don't even have the strong teeth for it anymore.”

“Henry.”

He huffs. “I hear you,” he says, and Edward can imagine him frowning, lips pursed. He wishes he could see him in the dark. “Tell me what you'd have, then, and I'll shut up about it.”

As the dark winters of the Arctic stretch before him, Edward yearns and craves and waits.

dear john (T, hodgson/irving/little, 16.6k)

artwork and concept by turnofthesentry

fic by mxjopsonfan

When John receives an anonymous love letter he resolves immediately to find the culprit. Little does he know that he is about to go on a voyage of self-discovery, realisations of deep affection, and three of her Majesty's naval Lieutenants showing how incapable they are of being Normal About Feelings.

ice wine (M, fitzier, 19.9k)

artwork and concept by o-rchidae

fic by melismata

Sir John, English wine pioneer, has survived every crisis since the 70s. Surely three bad harvests and a global pandemic aren't such a big deal? Fortunately, everyone else at Parable Wines agrees the business urgently needs saving. Unfortunately, no-one agrees how.

iceblink luck (M, fitzier, 30.4k)

artwork and concept by marella-moon - x

fic by perenial

October, 1987. With the Thatcher government entering its third term, Defence minister Sir John Franklin looks to offload two of his dockside London properties: one, a successful dance school directed by celebrated principal danseur James Fitzjames, and the other, a century-old boxing gym helmed by former middleweight Olympic hopeful turned disgraced misanthrope Francis Crozier.

In a show of generosity, Franklin offers Crozier the chance to buy out the gym he's poured over a decade of work into. It should be the opportunity he's been waiting for – except Crozier's barely keeping the gym afloat as it is, and Franklin's asking price far exceeds his means. With only one month to cough up the funds or forfeit the gym, Crozier finds himself backed into a corner, fighting for a piece of history he refuses to let go and against a past that's just waiting for him to give in.

matching such unlikes (G, fitzier, 7.5k)

artwork and concept by asparklethatisblue

fic by acephalous

In which Sir John tries his hand at matchmaking: after all who could be a more perfect match for his dear niece than James Fitzjames?

our flag means mutiny (T, hickey/gibson, 8.5k)

artwork and concept by o-rchidae

fic by borderparasol

Cornelius Hickey, William Gibson, and Solomon Tozer have successfully pulled off a grand mutiny, stealing HMS Terror to sail on the open seas and live their life free from the shackles of the Empire, plundering and making their living as pirates!

So...now what? And does anybody know how to fish?

provenance (M, jopzier fitzier silna/goodsir, 7.7k)

artwork and concept by kaupaint

fic by hangingfire

Three relics of the lost Franklin Expedition.

“Don't you get it yet? It must act like a recording, fixed in the floor and the walls. Right in the substance of them, a trace of what happened in there. And we pick it up. We act as detectors, decoders, amplifiers … It would have to be in the stone.”

—The Stone Tape, Nigel Kneale, 1972

reform your behaviour (E, irving/jopson, 9.4k)

artwork and concept by royaielfroot

fic by somelikeitred (ringofboubt)

After finding Hickey and Gibson in a compromising position, Lieutenant Irving intends to inform the Captain immediately. But when he finds Jopson first the Captain's steward persuades him to be lenient.

“Is it necessary to condemn the men -," Jopson considered his words, searching for the phrasing least likely to spook the lieutenant, "-over a desire for companionship? Is it so unforgivable for a man to be lonely?”

John studied him carefully; unable to formulate any response. Surely, Jopson could not be arguing that such vices were acceptable.

sent to the sea (E, annfitzrossier, 10.4k)

artwork and concept by brainyraccoons

fic by swanfloatieknight

After James Ross rescued them, Francis and James return to London in 1848. Francis lives with the Rosses in married bliss.

If only he could stop thinking about James Fitzjames, the bond they shared in the Arctic, and the last letter he sent that Fitzjames never replied to.

sweet to tongue, sound to eye (T, hodgson/irving/little, 10.1k)

artwork and concept by brimstone-cowboy

fic by unnecessary

After an Admiralty party bidding them farewell, the lieutenants get lost in Hampstead Heath. But not all is as it seems...

those wretched beings (M, multiple characters, 7.8k)

artwork and concept by melisusthewee

fic by notinmylab

A very literal take on the idea that colonialism is an infectious disease and that English ships are the carriers. Or, a zombie AU where Something Else is on the ice with them.

unerring devotion (T, jopzier, 7.5k)

artwork and concept by awhbeans

fic by yellow

Everyone else called Francis Frank, but in the quiet of their tent Thomas called him Francis.

Francis wore his two identities awkwardly, like an ill-fitting suit he couldn’t take off. He slipped into old fashioned speech and complained that people thought it affected. But Thomas liked it, just like he liked that Francis still let him call him Francis, and didn’t insist they were different people now. Quite the opposite.

If anything, Thomas was the one who had taken his two lives and separated them neatly, folded them and put them away. With Francis he could take out Thomas and put it on, like crawling into another skin. It was worn and battered but Francis seemed to like it best, and Thomas was glad of it.

---

Thomas Jopson and Francis Crozier are reincarnated. They find each other, and then they set out to find their missing men.

unknown by name or rank (E, joplittle, 17.1k)

artwork and concept by mitarashi8

fic by hypallepse

Years after the Great War, in a tiny illegal pub in the British countryside, Thomas met an awkward veteran and Edward a mysterious war nurse. They almost crashed in their desire to get to know each other, they shared an evening like no other, before having their night cut short by a police raid. How to find the other back with no memory of each other’s name or address? Why even try?

Both of them will stumble in the dark, battling the remnants of the war, unaware of the secret they will unearth in their effort to get that new chance at life.

#theterroreversebang2024 #the terror reverse bang 2024 #masterpost #the terror #the terror amc #amc the terror

62 notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 7 months

Note

What did Caitriona say about Christian Bale after working with him?!

Dear Christian Bale Anon,

I just wrote 'notoriously difficult'. I never implied she said anything along those lines herself. But your OTT reaction immediately unmasked you, dear Stan Militia Anon.

It took me exactly 30 seconds to Google find the most interesting public statements she made about working with Bale and Damon on set:

Namely, a Sarina Bellissimo podcast for the Irish radio station Spin FM, on November 19, 2019:

This statement resumes it all - but it still makes for an interesting listen (has it been posted before? I suppose it must have, her Stans will post every single shred she ever uttered):

Plus, on the very same day, an interview for Steven Weintraub's Collider (https://collider.com/caitriona-balfe-interview-ford-v-ferrari-outlander-season-5/), which reads along the same lines:

And then, you have this:

youtube

Bale is mentioned around the 0:23 mark and I have to say, the contrast with all the rest of the interview is palpable. She is tense and a bit uneasy. Body language is a bitch, I know.

That being said, remember (LOL) these are public statements. What exactly did you want or expect her to say? And, if I may add, what exactly did you want or expect me to say, too?

Ignore your submission? Lie about it - and give you the opportunity to brownnose me in public?

You probably don't know me, Anon. Also, use your logic: she sounded very enthusiastic about her experience with him, on set - I'll give you this and again, this is absolutely polite, civilized, normal, expected (insert anything you want here, really). But it takes two to tango, don't you think?

Well...How about this cast Q&A at the Toronto International Film Festival's screening (September 10, 2019)? I think the real dynamic is showing and mind you: he never mentioned C, his screen wife. Who stood almost next to him, on stage: her expression is interesting to analyze, perhaps halfway between being starstruck and keeping a brave face:

youtube

Not a single time. And barely, if at all, in all the other interviews. And I am not very sure he even looks at her while she's talking (he isn't reacting to her infectious laughing, so long for the fish). This guy presents himself as a sociopathic boor.

Sidenote: funny thing that a new bride talks about the importance of marriage teamwork and mentions Ma and Pa. I rest my case.

Back to our topic, I have to say the Irish press didn't seem to like Bale at all. Irish Central, for example, is very kind to C, but less so to Bale (https://www.irishcentral.com/opinion/caitriona-balfe-ford-v-ferrari):

I think I gave you enough attention for today. Now go take this answer elsewhere. On your own page (remember the address?) or as an Anon to the Amateur Eugenicist. She loves those slap-a-shipper, cheap gossip wares. She'll probably publish you.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

42 notes · View notes

widowwaddles · 2 years

Text

Don’t Go Baking My Heart - Part 2

Summary: After a breakup, you decide to pack up your life and move to Westview. A coworker recommends you join the local community's cooking class in order to settle into the new town. It sounded like a great idea, you could learn a new skill (that you desperately need) and meet new people. However, nothing could have prepared you for the green-eyed beauty you met during class. Maybe you'll end up leaving the class with more than just a basic understanding of cooking.

A/N: This is my first time ever writing and I couldn’t have ever imagined that so many people would enjoy. I do have plans of continuing this as a series, I just ask that you remain patient as I get into the wing of things. Thank you all for the support!!!!!

Masterlist

Part 3

Throughout the class, you felt very conflicted.

You have to admit that Wanda was a great teacher. You could practically feel her passion for cooking in the way her eyes shined as she explained each step. Even throwing personal stories from her past of cooking with her family and trying to teach her brother how to not start a fire the moment he entered the kitchen. These stories pulled laughter from everyone in the room, and the awkward air from your introduction was soon forgotten. Her enthusiasm for the craft was contagious and it spread to everyone. She was like a motivational speaker, with the ability to make anyone believe that they could cook a delicious meal, no matter their skill level. You had faith that you would actually be able to make something edible, even with Yelena as your sous chef.

After explaining each step, it was time to put what you learned into action. Wanda began walking around slowly, from station to station checking on everyone’s progress and providing assistance if needed. You aren’t too sure what drew her over to your station much quicker than the others but it may have been the “small” argument you got into with Yelena. Well…if small would include a slight yelling match followed by Yelena swinging a knife at you.

In your defense, you were only trying to help her follow the recipe exactly as Wanda had taught. You quickly learned that Yelena was more of the “screw what anyone tells me, I’ll do what feels right” type of person. While you admired type kind of attitude in other aspects of life, you wanted to impress Wanda during your first class. You tried to be nice about it and tell her what she was doing wrong. But all intentions of keeping the peace went out the window when the phrases “Why would I trust anything you say, you need the help more than I do” and “I’m surprised you were even paying attention by how much you were drooling over Wanda”, left her mouth while Wanda was only at the station to the left of you. It became every man for himself and had Wanda not stepped in you were sure that you would have lost a finger or two.

Wanda decided it would be best to stand between the two of you until Yelena was no longer muttering angrily in Russian. Looking at what was completed so far, she thought it’d be best if she provided some assistance to salvage the dish (but using much nicer terms). Being in the middle also meant that Wanda had to reach between you and Yelena to grab the items she needed. She made casual conversation while she explained the steps again but every time you slightly felt her hand or body lean against you to grab something, you malfunctioned.

A Very Unfortunate Example :

After the incident earlier, Yelena has been banned from using knives without supervision. So when you volunteered to cut up the potatoes, Yelena decided to join as well, making a competition out of it.

“Okay, you need to dice the potatoes more, they’re a little too bulky,” Wanda says while holding your freshly cut potatoes in her hand.

“Ha, what an amateur” You hear a voice loudly say on the other side of Wanda. “What I said was true Y/n, you have no business commanding me around in the kitchen”.

“I wasn’t commanding, I was just-“ you started.

“Hey, when you’re making smaller cuts don’t hold the knife like that” Wanda interrupted, pulling your attention back to her. “Here, let me show you”

Wanda moves even closer to you and grabs your hand.

You felt a spark. And then it happened.

It felt like your hand had disconnected from your body. As if this one touch had transformed it into a being with a mind of its own. Filled with infinite fantasies of you holding Wanda’s hand as you’re coming back from a date or holding her close at night as sleep welcomes your bodies. The rest of your body could only feel jealous at the lack of contact.

“Now it’s more stable and easier to cut. Do you feel the difference?”

You’re too far gone to even remember what she did with your hand or even notice the difference between the cuts. You just respond, with a slow nod.

(* What you didn’t know was that this interaction had also caught the attention of a certain Russian you had crossed. One who saw you for what you truly were, a walking gay disaster whenever Wanda’s around. And saw this opportunity as the best time to enact her revenge. She glances at you with a smirk *)

Your lack of a verbal response turns out to be the wrong one as her head quickly turns to you, eyes firm believing that you are simply ignoring her. She raises an eyebrow, facial expression practically demanding verbal confirmation that she has your attention.

“Uh y-yes,” you stutter out. “This really helped me a lot, Wanda”.

You quickly averted your eyes and grabbed another potato, getting straight to work.

You’d like to believe that she was too distracted with Yelena to notice that you had reverted to your old way of cutting.

—

You were seriously starting to regret every choice you’ve made that ended you on Yelena’s bad side for today. She suddenly decided that she needed every ingredient and tool that was nearest to your side. Even ones that didn’t make sense for this recipe like a spatula and cheese grater. You were getting suspicious that she was plotting new ways to murder you. That is until she specifically requested that Wanda be the only one to touch and hand them to her.

You had caught on to what she was doing but that couldn't save you from falling victim to her trap.

Here’s how the routine went until the dish was ready to be put into the oven: Yelena would say she needed something to add personality to the dish. Wanda would look at you softly as if asking for permission to move into your space with her eyes. You, internally thinking, she never has to ask to invade your space before blushing about the true implications of your words. The feeling of Wanda’s body brushing against yours snapped you out of whatever fantasy you were in. The further the item was the more she has to lean into you, causing you to stiffen unintentionally. You silently pray that she didn’t notice and things won’t be awkward after she pulls away. Yelena, watching the entire interaction, holds in her laughter as Wanda grabs and hands the item to her.

Wanda and Yelena had started a lively conversation, with you joining in and joking around. Whenever Yelena felt like you were having too much fun, she’d meet your eyes with a devious smile. This was the only warning you’d get, but no matter how much you tried to prepare for what comes next you were still…a disaster. The most embarrassing part was that you could never continue the conversation like normal whenever the routine had started and Yelena loved every moment of it. You could only hold your breath, hoping that this would wrap up just a little bit faster, before you could embarrass yourself even more.

It seems that some higher power decided to take pity on you. Wanda had gone back to her position in the front of the room, while the dishes were being baked. Everyone was talking amongst themselves, class practically over as you were waiting around for the oven timer. Yelena is droning on about something besides you, but only one person managed to capture your attention. Your eyes couldn’t help but watch Wanda, something about her draws you in.

You see her look down, the sudden buzzing in her pocket taking her by surprise. She pulls out her phone, and her eyes instantly widen as she reads the notifications that are quickly flooding her phone. Her hands start to slightly shake, as she anxiously reads the screen. She looks up quickly, glancing around the room hoping that her class would be too distracted to notice her sudden shift in mood. Her eyes shift from each side of the room, and when they reached your area you knew you had been caught.

The moment those green eyes locked on yours, you knew you were trapped - too afraid of what would happen the moment you looked away. It felt like time froze around you both, the longer you maintained eye contact. You felt like you were caught in an intense staring game, where blinking meant severing whatever connection you were sharing with the woman at this moment. Getting over the initial panic you felt in the beginning, you decided to get a good view of her face. Instantly, you could tell that whatever was going on, was a lot deeper than you had originally suspected moments ago. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, the sorrow in her expression feeling palpable. She no longer looked like the woman you had met earlier, exhaustion flooding her features. She looked weak and so close to falling apart. There’s nothing you wanted more than to erase that expression from her face, but you understood your role in her life. You were nothing but a stranger and in any other circumstance, you’re sure this side of her would have never been revealed to you. This wasn’t just a one-off instance of one text being her breaking point. You had a feeling she’s been putting up a strong front for a while now, and it was working well in the presence of others…until this moment.

So you did the only thing you could do. You offered a reassuring smile and hoped that your eyes communicated a sense of comfort. The same comfort she provided you when your mind threatened to trap you in your negative thoughts. The comfort has motivated you to keep going despite feeling overwhelmed with your new environment. The comfort that lets you know that you aren’t alone even in the face of a stranger. If she had the power to convey these feelings to you with just one look, you hoped to have even a third of that, as you stare back into hers. Your eyes are strong with conviction, and for a moment it seems to have worked. Wanda slightly softens, before a loud ringing snaps you both back to reality. The chicken pot pies were done, which officially signified the end of class.

As everyone’s attention turned towards the ovens in the back of the room, no one noticed Wanda had slipped out of the door. Well everyone except you, but you couldn’t dwell on it too long before Yelena began dragging you to the back. After the initial excitement of seeing the finished dishes had died down, everyone began packing up to leave. Wanda had since returned, face completely devoid of any emotion that would hint at her previous state of mind.

“Okay everyone,” Wanda says, effectively silencing all of the chatter in the room. “I’d like to thank you all for showing up, I know it’s been a while, but these classes wouldn’t exist without your support”. She smiles again, but it doesn’t hold the same feeling as it once had. Especially knowing the truth of what was hidden behind it. “You’re all free to go and I hope to see you soon”

And with that everyone began flooding out of the room.

___

Walking out of the building, you couldn’t help but feel satisfied with your day. This was the most social interaction you’ve had since moving here. Despite the moments of embarrassment in the beginning, you felt that by the end you were a lot more comfortable. Maybe the decision of moving here, despite being impulsive, was the right choice.

You said your goodbyes to Yelena before walking to your car. You couldn’t help but stare in awe as the sun began to set. The sky has never looked so large, it seemed endless. Small clouds littered the sky, yet the main attraction was the sun. The bright rays practically painted the sky orange. You’ve never seen such a beautiful view, being born and raised in the city. You never thought small towns had much to offer but at this moment, you were proven wrong.

You don’t remember how long you were standing there, so the sudden sound of a voice caused you to jump in surprise. You place your hand over your chest, heart beating fast, before turning your body to the source of the sound. A small laugh fills the air.

“I didn’t mean to scare you” Wanda’s grinning face welcomes you.

“You didn’t” you replied cooly, as if you weren’t about to have a heart attack a moment ago. “I was just admiring the view,” you say before turning your body toward the sunset again. “I’ve never seen anything like it”

“It’s easy to take for granted” Wanda sighs, turning her body as well.

“Wanda” you call out, contemplating whether you should bring up the moment you shared during class. “I know that you don’t know me well but… I just want you to know…” you get out, not quite sure how to form your sentence, but hoping it sounds sincere. You’re both still facing the sunset, and you hope it stays that way, knowing there’s no way you’d be able to continue if she looked your way.

“You’ve helped me a lot today, more than you’d ever think. I haven’t met many people here outside of Yelena” You take a deep breath before you continue. “I just wanted to thank you again. Maybe I could treat you to coffee sometime. I’d just like to get to know you better outside of these classes” you rush out, voice slightly wavering towards the end.

Silence fills the air.

You closed your eyes and sighed, ready to take this as a sign of rejection.

Until you felt a sudden presence in front of you and soft hands grabbing yours.

“Y/n” Wanda calls out gently. “Open your eyes for me, please”.

Lulled by her voice, you open them and are immediately greeted with the smile you’d grown fond of. It didn’t look like the facade she had while dismissing her class. This was a real smile, with her eyes matching the tenderness she wanted to convey.

“I’d like to know you better as well” She squeezes your hands before bringing them up between you and leaning in closer. “And if you’re serious about this, then that means you have to stop thanking me so much” she jokes, lips curling back into a smile but her eyes never leaving yours.

“You have a deal, then” you grin back, before giving her hands a squeeze. “Can I get your number, so we can plan a day to meet up?” “Hmmm...” she says, tilting her head as if she was actually thinking about her decision. Your lips couldn’t help but form into a pout. This seems to speed up her decision, as she instantly begins reciting her number. You tried to hide your smirk as you saved her number, but by the groan and push to your arm, you knew she had seen everything.

After exchanging numbers, you decided to walk Wanda back to her car, like the gentlewoman you were. You opened the car door for her, and the conversation between you continued even as she sat down in her seat. Before you could bid your goodbyes, a loud ringing permeates the air. Wanda glances at the contact quickly before answering. You turned around, walking a few steps away to give her more privacy. You tried your best to tune out the conversation happening behind you, opting to hum your favorite song quietly to yourself. A heavy sigh cuts your mini concert short, and by the tone, you could tell something was wrong. Turning back to Wanda, you see her leaning forwards, with her elbows against her thighs and her hands covering her face,

Deciding to take a leap of faith, you walk closer to her, before crouching down. Both of Wanda’s legs were still hanging outside of the car, so you gently grasped her wrists before slowly moving up to her hands. When she didn’t stiffen or pull away, you took it as a sign to continue. Lacing your fingers with her own, you cradled her hands, before deciding to speak.

“Can I hug you, Wanda?” you asked, keeping your voice low. You felt her freeze and your hands suddenly became warm and wet. Hiccups began escaping her body. Believing that you were making things worse, you start to pull away, but before you could get too far her body crashes against you.

You don’t know how long you spent just holding her, but as the sobs wracked her body you promised to never let go. You knew that words were obsolete at this moment. There was nothing you could say to Wanda that would magically make the tears stop falling down her face. You could only hold her until her body stops shaking. You wrapped your arms around her tighter until you were practically supporting her weight with your body. She turns her head into your neck, breathing in your scent. It is at this moment, that she truly understands that she’s not alone. Even though the tears have since dried on her face and she was a lot calmer than before you didn’t move a muscle. You wanted her to be the one that pulls away first, you’d gladly keep her in your arms until she decided she was ready to go.

There weren’t any other words spoken between you two that night. When Wanda finally pulled away, your eyes connected. She pulled her hands up to hold your face, only communicating with glances. As you went to pull your hands back from where they had sat in her lap, she flinched. You brought your hands to her face, cupping her cheeks before leaning your forehead against hers. You both took a deep breath, each absorbing the person who was flooding their senses. You pulled away at the same time, with you offering a small smile as you prepared yourself to get up. Wanda returned one weakly before starting her car. She turned back towards you and nods. You nod back, and you lean in close, tucking the hair messily covering her eyes behind her ear. Your final farewell.

Returning to your apartment that night, you immediately threw your body into bed. You would have no problems going to bed tonight and just as the sleep completely pulled you under, a buzzing in your pocket alerts you. You lazily reach down, pulling out your phone. You read the notification before placing the phone on the pillow beside you.

You settle back into bed and close your eyes. A drowsy smile settles on your face and never leaves even as you enter your dream world.

Wanda:

Thank you

#wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #marvel #dontgobakingmyheart

191 notes · View notes

the-east-art · 4 months

Text

Fantail Pigeons and Mourning Doves - Part 4 (END)

There are five pigeons bobbing their heads back and forth, prowling the lot for forgotten chips. Pigeons are generally considered a nuisance. Back at the seminary Uncle Boaz would actively harass them away from the feeders they left out for the birds. They don’t contribute birdsong and they’re ugly. That’s what Uncle Boaz would say, at least. Mel liked pigeons plumage, the way that they glimmered iridescendantly in light, like oil. You would almost think that pigeons had adapted to live at the gas station pumps with that kind of matching coloring.

At the hospital there had been a public use phone, and Mel had used that to call Fatima and explain what had happened. His urgency to get Wren to a hospital had been overshadowed by his horror at the idea of leaving the bloody mess for his coworker to find. Wren hadn’t seemed to care about waiting for Mel to quickly clean up, sitting in Mels’, head leaned back and focusing on his breathing.

A car came up to pump 3 and the five pigeons skittered to the other end of the lot, away from small children that may come out of the car and give chase, but close enough to watch the cars’ family like it was a spectator sport, hoping for a scrap. The car rolled down the windows, the designated responsible adult got to work filling the tank, and the cavalry descended upon the store.

Fatima had been understanding and passed on the information to his three other coworkers. According to Fatima - who from what little Mel had gleamed has dabbled in any job you can think of - blood is a biohazard that needs to be cleaned up to a specific degree, which she would double check when she arrive at the store. An hour early to her shift. Mel desperately for once wished he had formed any kind of a connection with his coworkers, something that could justify how nicely she was treating him. It was… kind. And it made his heart feel heavy.

Three children burst into the store, followed by an adult. She tells them they each have 2 missions: one being to use the bathroom, the other to select a snack. They take the instructions very seriously, bouncing on their feet with excitement. The woman begins to mill around the store, looking with mild interest at the shelves and waiting for the children to finish their business, purse and wallet handy.

Mel had to drive back to the gas station with Wren. The hour distance from town, for the first time, feeling something like a curse. If there had been a way for Mel to drive both their cars down originally, he would have. Wren was too tired to fill the air with small talk, and Mel didn’t have the emotional capacity for it. He spent an hour wondering if the doctors had unstitched his amateur stitches and the idea that what he had put so much effort and concentration into sewing those little lines into another man only for them to be unpicked… it made him feel a funny sort of way. An emotion that was not easy to unspool. In the nothingness of 3am, Mel didn’t care to put the effort into untangling the snaggle. When Mel asked if the doctors had cleared Wren to drive, he had just waved the idea off with one of his hands. That had been that.

The children emerge out of the bathrooms and begin to circle the store noisily, arguing over the pros and cons of seemingly every single snack within the store. Mel tries to watch their interactions, appreciate the ways that the smallest child displays its’ frustrations with larger gestures than the older sibling. Children are easier to read, not learning subtlety yet. Yet, as Mel looked on at the scene before him, it morphed. The light from the windows dimmed, the people disappeared, and in the theatre that was his brain, Mel saw Wren staggering across the store. In his minds eye the few drops of blood that had slipped through his compressed hand were exaggerated, staining the cheap tile floor a permanent red in large streaks.

Mel rings the small family up as a new car parks. As two more set up next to pumps. As pigeons bob their heads. The day flows slowly through the cracks, dripping from day to night to Mel driving home in darkness alone with the his head playing games that Wren is in the passenger seat.

oOo

When Wren reappears, dusty green car easing into the lot and parking gingerly into a space, Mel digs resolves to ignore him. To treat him just like any customer. Wren doesn’t even give him a chance.

“Melchior!” He enters the store like a hurricane, eyes bright and face illuminated with enthusiasm. It’s almost like he’s purposefully trying to shatter the previous image of himself that repeatedly walks through the store like a ghost - tense and quiet. This time, Wren walks in so full of life that it fills the room around him like Uncle Haniels’ cologne.

Mel grips his detached anger tightly with both hands, somewhat literally as they dig into surplus of fabric that make up his jacket sleeves. There are three other people in the store right now. Two at pumps, four cars parked. It’s busy, not exactly the time to chat.

“Wren.” Mel nods at the man and watches half of the muscles in Wrens’ smiling face go slack for half a second. In that fraction of a moment Wren must rally himself, and the expression appears with a reinforced gusto.

“How are you doing? Are you okay?” Wren looks Mel up and down, like Mel was the one that had to get sewed up my an amateur two weeks ago. Mel chews on his lips and on the thought in tandem - two weeks ago. 15 days, technically.

“I’m fine.” He clips out. Wren laughs and adjusts him ballcap.

“Your voice says otherwise.” Oh haha, Wren can read tone and facial expressions and body language easily. Mel doesn’t even know what Wren gleans from his answer, because Mel doesn’t know if its true or not. One of Wrens hands - calloused and scarred - rubs at his face, and he seems to sober up from the enthusiasm a bit. The muscles in his face relax a little more, but do not sag down into neutrality. “Look, Melchior, I needed to take a bit. To heal. I really shouldn’t have driven home in the first place. I’m sorry it took me so long to come back.”

The words shock Mel. He mentally rewinds the tape and plays it again. Have you ever heard something said out loud, and then realized once the words are gone there is no proof that what you heard had actually existed? Sounds don’t leave evidence in the air. Mel wonders if Wren said anything at all, for a moment. It seems more likely, somehow, that he had projected this entire interaction (a lie to himself, his projections were always such a thin layer over reality that they could never be mistaken as real) than that Wren was just… being honest with him.

“I…” Mel swishes the words around his mouth. The lonely ‘I’ could vanish into nothingness in the air, never having existed, if Wren wasn’t looking at him so intently. Behind Wren, a customer is shifting around nervously, holding two family bags of chips and a six pack of beers. “I think we can talk later.”

Wrens’ face crashes, and adrenaline pumps through Mels’ veins unbidden. Shit shit shit. He pounds his fist into his leg three time to accentuate each thought. He said something wrong. This is not the reaction he had anticipated to his words. But was it the words that were wrong, or the tone?

“Sorry, yeah, you’re at work. I, uh, I’m sure I’ve already put your job enough at risk huh?” Wren scratches the back of his head, and his face shifts into a new expression. He starts to make a motion to leave, and something in Mels’ head clicks into place.

“I get off my shift at 5.” Mel clarifies. “Come back then.” Wrens’ face clears up, bursts back into the expression he makes the most often, the once Mel actually knows. A smile.

“I’ll be here.”

oOo

There isn’t really anywhere for them to go, not when the empty desert stretches for miles in either direction. The gas station is a waypoint, not a destination. So Wren and Mel sit down on the bench in front of the window. Mel counts cars.

“I’ve been thinking.” Wren is, of course, the one to break the silence. Mel feels like an intrepid explorer in uncharted territory, except the uncharted territory is the concept of hanging out with a person that isn’t family when he isn’t actively at work. Mel tilts his head sideways and looks at Wren, waits for Wren to decide what he’s going to say, he thinks that somethigns Wren just starts sentences without planning where he’s going with them. “20 stitches. Did you space them out just so you could get an even number?”

Mels’ face is heating up traitorously.

“It- I- The number-” Wren lets out a boisterous laugh and leans back on the bench comfortably. It soothes Mels’ embarrassment, despite the fact that had it been Zeph doing that it would have riled him up more.

“The hospital kept them in, thank god. Imagine if they had done an awkward number, like 37.” He leans his head back and complains to the sky and the gas stations tin roof. “That would not have helped my moral healing up.”

Mel almost lets out a small laugh at that. Almost. It gets caught halfway in his throat, like it doesn’t know what to do with the sound. Wren laughs too.

“I really appreciate what you did for me, back there. I’m really sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I got here. I just needed somewhere safe and well lit to take care of myself. Not a lot of options, clear out here.” Wren sighs and adjusts how he’s sitting. Now that they’re outside, the sun shining and reflecting off the window, Mels’ jacket is stifling. He shrugs it off and places it in his lap, where he can knead his fingers into the fabric.

“Do you actually do handyman stuff?” Mels’ been wondering for a while now. Another bark of laughter - Wren seems to be made up of smiles and laughs and the twinkle that lights up in his eyes - the color of freshly tilled earth.

“My, uh, hobby doesn’t pay, so yeah, I do. And yeah, it really does take me all over the area.”

“Are you going to tell me your hobby?” Wren clicks his tongue at the question, purses his lips.

“I kind of want to, which is weird. I usually don’t give a shit, but I mean, you definitely helped me out of a shitty situation there. But you’re really better off not knowing.”

A decade ago Mel stands flush against a wall, not daring to breath, and listens to a conversation between a handful of his aunts and uncles. Discussing Melchior. He recalls hearing Uncle Boaz insist that ‘His mother told us to never reveal the truth to the boy’ and Aunt Esther following it with ‘Melchior is better off not knowing.’

Mel is turning the words over in his mind, thinking. Wren must find some kind of meaning or message in his silence a he pushes himself to talk more.

“The stuff I deal with… I mean it’s not good stuff. It’s pretty freaky, sometimes. Obviously it gets me hurt.” Wren pats his knee. “Don’t want other people getting hurt.” He rises to his feet, fumbling a bit with something in his pocket. How Wren can still be wearing his signature jacket, Mel doesn’t know. Must be sweating like a pig under the layers. “I have some work down east, for a bit. Probably be stuck on that side of the mountains for a few weeks, but I - well -” He pulls his fist out of his pocket and holds it out to Mel, wrist bent slightly. Mel obediently cups his palms under the fist, understanding the gesture. When Wren opens his fist a grumbled piece of paper falls into Mels’ open hands. “My number, just in case you wanna keep in touch. Or something like that.”

oOo

Mel buys a phone. He doesn’t have a lot of fluid money - the paychecks he gets are pretty much just enough to cover the cost of rent, gas, and the cheapest food he can find. In the back of his head he knows that the income of two people would make this all easier, but back then running had seemed like the only choice. Mel thinks that the phone is very fancy - the front face of it has a square screen, below which are the standard buttons for a phone much like the landline at the Seminary. It had a hidden keyboard that could be slid out, which was easier and faster to type with.

It was difficult to describe it accurately through text, and three weeks later when Wren returned to the stations side of the mountains and swung by he had taken one look at it and laughed for a solid minute.

“I think my grandpa has that exact phone.” Wrens’ knuckles are red and raw. He holds the phone in his hand like it is an ancient artifact, marveling at the ‘shk’ and tactile feel of the keyboard. It’s Mel’s favorite part - while he’s at work he finds himself opening and closing the keyboard as he stares out the window and counts the cars.

Wren leaves Mel large blocks of texts at a time. He talks through the problems with the house he’s currenlty working on - Mel never really understands exactly what Wren is talking about when he does that but enjoys reading it nevertheless. Wren talks about types of electrical currents and types of water heaters. Other times Wren discusses the most inane topics - what’s the best kind of apple, why he hates Douglas Pear trees, the pros and cons of Hawaiian pizza. Wren isn’t rude when Mel doesn’t seems to know what he’s talking about, just seems excited to share. Leaves new paragraphs about apple textures and about invasive plant species.

Wren must know there’s something wrong with Mel. About the way he doesn’t know anything about pop culture or commonalities of the world. If he wonders, he never asks, and it’s a relief.

Mel is a lamppost, figuratively, stuck in one place. He is a cactus out on the desert, unmoving. Wren takes jobs all over the state and neighboring ones, and once or twice even beyond that, but he always seems to end up passing through Mels’ ‘neck of the woods’ and staying for a day. Chatting at the register becomes talking on the bench outside becomes Wren meeting up with Mel in town on one of his days off and exposing him to the world of a pizza buffet. The next time they text Mel is able to give his own informed opinion on Hawaiian pizza.

He isn’t sure why Wren puts in the effort to constantly return here.

A darker part of Mel, hidden inside of himself, starts to develop a theory.

Perhaps the answer is something that Mel would be better off not knowing.

“You got a new jacket.” Mel remarks as Wren takes a seat on the booth opposite of him. The town Mel stays in is small, and yet every time Wren drops by he seems to have found a new cafe or restaurant for them to try.

“Winter isn’t the time for that threadbare thing.” Wrens’ eyes rove around Mels’ figure. “I see you’re still floating the church boy look.” Mel looks down at himself. A short sleeve shirt buttoned up to the collar - he may need to start pulling out the long sleeves soon - tucked into a pair of slacks, worn with his scuffed loafers. The oversized red jacket. Mel shrugs in response and fiddles with the little jelly packets that sit complementary at the table. Whoever was here previously mixed up the piles so Mel lays them out on the table and sorts them. Wren looks at the jellies and wrinkles his nose.

“Apple jelly? I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of that. Isn’t grape kind of the standard?” Wren invents a topic to gnaw on, like a dog with a bone.

“Grape jelly is new to me.” Mel says, stacking the four different options into piles. Strawberry, Apple, Grape, and Raspberry. 4, 6, 2, and 3. His brain begins to consider possible patterns. Wren doesn’t seem surprised by the insight.

“It’s kind of the archetypical jelly. Peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches are what I ate for pretty much every lunch elementary school.” Wren comments. “My sister would get fancy with her lunches at shit - my parents never packed us lunches - but I’d do the bare minimum.” Mel hums in acknowledgement at the anecdote and Wren watches at Mel starts to make a pyramid of the jellies, apples on the bottom row. “What kind of jelly did you usually have back where you grew up.”

‘Back where you grew up’ was the very versatile phrase that Wren used to encapsulate all of Mels’ backstory. He obviously knew that Mel didn’t have the typical Americana suburbia middle class upbringing, and rather than pry into the details, he asked questions about jelly.

“We didn’t have jelly.” Mel said. “We had jam.”

“There’s a difference?” Wren asks. Mels’ head titls to the side and looks at Wren. He wonders if Wren genuinely didn’t know - he;s fairly certain that sometimes Wren would fake ignorance for the sake of letting Mel talk more. Whether this was a common behavior for people outside the Seminary or just a Wren thing, Mel has yet to determine.

“Jelly doesn’t have the…” Mel frowned, trying to find the right words. “Jelly is smooth and uniform.” That felt a bit better. “Jam has the viscera of the fruit.” Wren wrinkled his nose at Mels’ word choice. “The seeds and skin and pulp.”

“Viscera makes it sound way nastier.”

“Apples were usually dehydrated, and grapes were made into juices and wines. Usually our jams were made out of our peaches. They get extremely soft when ripe and therefore are well suited for jam making. Berries too, but there’s a larger required haul of berries for jam. Our ratio of peach jam to berry jam always highly favored peach.”

“You know, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of peach jam. Is it any good?”

The waitress returns with waters and takes their orders as the conversations continues to spill out easily between them. Wrens’ topic today is about his sister - she lives up in Oregon where the rains are plenty. She does the same job that Wren does up there, handiwork across the east coast and even over into Montana. Occasionally there’ll be a job up in Idaho that’s just far enough and close enough for both of them to meet and tackle it. Mel does not ask if the job is fixing pipes or Wrens’ hobby that leaves him with bruises and black eyes.

Wren picks at the cranberry chicken sandwich and looks out the window. The parking lot has 9 cars currently parked. Someone is rolling up the drive through line. Wrens’ commentary rolls over him, a background as Wren sees himself outside. There are no pigeons here, instead three starlings hop around the lot.

“Something outside?” Wren is angling his head out the window too, now, trying to figure out what has Mels’ attention. Mel flushes.

“No.” A pause. “Starlings. And some cars.” Wren nods and does not pry. It takes Wren longer to eat that Mel, because he runs his mouth so much and has to remember to take pauses between his thoughts to snag a bite or two. Mel used to do this kind of thing, with some of his siblings, at the Seminary. Eat and listen, be in good company and good food. Then Raguel and Zephaniah and Astrophel and all the lot turned 12 and left him behind. Started to be trained and do research in the portion of the library that Mel wasn’t allowed in, have conversations that would halt whenever they realized Mel was in earshot.

Mel got used to sitting alone, looking out the window, watching, or otherwise gazing up at the stained glass.

Wren talked about his sisters’ current girlfriend. Mel smiles and turns his gaze back inside to watch the movements of Wrens’ facial muscles as he recounts a story, hands moving animatedly.

oOo

“How was the shift?” Crickets somewhere in the desert called out as if to give their opinions to the question. The night has cold nip to it, and it colors Wrens’ cheeks and ears red.

“The same.” Mel shoves his hands into his pockets, surveys the lot. The only cars are the expected three, all parked. He still lacked the words to describe that his shifts were not boring - though they seldom created the elaborate stories that Wren would share from his own work.

“Usually I find the venues.” Wren commented. 3 am. The gas station as always had become what was left of the entire world. Wren smiled at Mel, and Mel sucked in a deep breath of the cold air, allowing it to fill his lungs. It felt sharp.

“Follow me.” With confident steps Mel crossed the parking lot, Wren falling into rhythm beside him.

“It’s within walking distance?” Mel nodded. “I’ll be honest, I almost thought your ‘favorite spot’ was going to be letting me stand behind the counter.” Wren smiled as he said the words as they passed the stations pumps, and Mel let out a small puff of air, the lightest version of a laugh.

“I think it was a safe assumption. I’m not really known for exploring.” Mel admitted. The pair approached the edge of the parking lot, the edge of the ring of light, the edge of the world. Mel hesitated for a moment, as he always did. And then took a step into the darkness of primordial space.

In the safety of the dark, of things not yet created or born, Mel felt an recklessness begin to burn in his chest. Impulsively Mel grabbed Wrens’ hand and began to run.

They crossed the lonely two lanes of middle-of-nowhere highway to the plot of land that sat opposite the gas station. It was empty - dirt and squat shrubs - and Mel ran the disappointingly small distance it took for his lungs to begin to object to the movement and then stopped all at once. Wren did not let go of his hand even as the Mel jerked to a standstill. He tilted his head up to the sky. There was no moon tonight, and the blood pumping through his body and his head made the view even more dizzying and dazzling.

“Oh.” Wrens’ voice, singing through the darkness.

“Yeah.” Mel, breathless.

They stood there for a moment, several moments, out where time had no meaning where the world did not exist yet in the dark of the night, and looked at the stars. Out here, far enough away from any proper towns, a distance from the lights of the gas station, they were beautiful diamond scattered across navy velvet. Candles pitched into the air. Lightning bugs held in a perfect formation.

For eight solid breaths, each one marked by a puff of condensation from Mel’s mouth, the two of them just stand there and look up in awe. At breath nine Wren leaves for the parking lot, and at breath 15 he returns with two camping chairs.

“I got the job here before I got my apartment.” Mel could sit out here for hours, looking at the stars, and not say a word. But he doesn’t want to. “I stole his car and drove until I realized that there was nothing I could do without some source of income. So I stopped here and begged for a job.”

“Ran away from your family.” A statement from Wren, steady and unjudgemental.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Melchior.” Wren always uses his full name. Mel never corrects him. Wren never demands more than Mel is willing to give. In the darkness of the unreal world that is night beyond the gas station lot, Mel wants to give it all.

“I grew up away from civilization. A farm - they called it the Seminary - in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere out east. I had…” Mel lets out a puff of air, and looks at the stars. “...a couple dozen siblings. And more aunts and uncles. Sometimes if one of my siblings got old enough and I wasn’t close enough to them, they’d kinda become more like an aunt or uncle.”

“That’s…” Wren cleared his throat. “...a big family.” Wren has talked at length about his family - just him and his sister, really. Their parents lived up in Canada somewhere, moved when they got old enough.

“My dad was never in the picture, and my mom died when I was a baby. Living at the Seminary we were off the grid, and when you got old enough, you were trained.” Mel left a gap of air, for Wren to ask:

“Trained for what?”

“I never found out. I was kept out of the loop. Did the chores and some of the text translations.”

“I know this is your family, Melchior, but that,” Wren took off his hat and pushed at his hair for a moment. “...I mean maybe it isn’t my place but this sounds like a cult.”

“I’ve started to think it was.” Mel traced patterns in the stars with his eyes.

Quiet settles between them for a moment. Curiosity wafts off Wren, and Mel can feel his eyes returning time and time again to his face.

“If you were there for your entire life, and you weren’t allowed to leave, why are you here?” Wren finally asks, when can’t stand it any longer and gives in. Mel knew he would.

“Somthing happened, I’m not sure what. I remember,” Mel closes his eyes and the images flash behind his eyelids. “...I remember gunshots. And screams, and blood. My brother, Raguel, came for me, grabbed me by my wrist, and took me away. Got me out of there.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. “Through anything that stood in our way.”

“Anything?”

Mel mulls the words over in his mouth, trying to decide if he is really going to say this. Really going to expose this out into the world. The world that is just him and Wren. It feels like confessional, under the blanket of stars. It feels like something he needs to say, before what he think is coming happens.

“I watched Raguel kill. Zephaniah. One of my other brothers. Took a knife and stabbed him, slit his throat. The knife was already bloody when he grabbed me, so I, he must have. You know. And the only one I saw was Zeph. But he got me out - took one of the only cars the Seminary had and got me out of there. Whatever was going down, I was probably a sitting duck.”

“He took us to a motel and told me about his plans to keep me safe. That he was gonna get a job, protect me. Tell me the truth. But I was a afraid of him. Every time I looked at Raguel I thought of how quickly he had killed Zeph, how easily.” Mels’ voice is shaking, as if saying this is physically exhausting. It feels like it is. He can’t stop the words that come out now, like he’s expelling a poison from his body. Mel wants someone to know this before it ends. “I stole his car and I ran away. Until I ended up here.”

“Melchior…” Mel didn’t need to look, didn’t need to decipher any of that from facial expressions and body language.

Pity.

oOo

The end of Mels’ world, the crashing in of the darkness beyond the gas station, comes in mid November. Almost exactly a year after the night he ran away. Mel had felt it approaching him for month, like a persistence hunter. He thinks that he had known it’s approach since that first time he had talked to Wren. This was poetic, symmetrical. Mel was glad it was almost exactly a year.

His apartment is a mess, objects tossed around. Not that he had that many possessions in the first place. It’s a little insulting that it happens when he was previously sleeping, just wearing his boxers. An unnatural chill fills the air, and it makes his breath visible like it had been a month ago when he had talked to Wren under the stars. A supernatural force pushes him up against the wall, and he can feel the bruises forming on his arms.

The vague image of a human appears in the middle of the room, empty eyes and a decaying skull and the copper scent of blood. If Mel squints he can see Zephs’ jawline, maybe.

“Fuck off!” The door to the apartment is kicked open and Wren emerges into the room. He wields a firepit stoker and swings it through the ghost without hesitation. The image scatters, and Mel drops to the floor as the force against him disappears. Wren is at his side before he can even slump against the wall. His hands are where the specters had been, slightly misaligned from it’s handprints.

“Melchior, Mel, are you okay?” He doesn’t quite register the question, looks at the place where the ghost had been.

“I knew it.” The words are vindicating to say. “You hunt monsters.” Wren freezes.

“I, this is,” Wren is taught for a moment, and then his shoulders slump. “Yeah.”

“You’re hunting me.” Mel follows up. Wrens’ facial muscles move drastically at his assertion.

“No I’m - Melchior I’m sorry. I thought I took care of this ghost but it hopped from me to you when I swung by last week. That’s all.”

“You know about me.” Mel insists. Wren isn’t understanding that it’s okay, what Mel knows.

“Is this about… about your family?” Mel shakes his head so violently it might fall off his shoulders. It might in a second anyway.

“No I’m - Wren it’s okay I know I’m not human. I’m wrong.” He explains, looking eagerly at Wren. He knows he knows he knows. “That’s why - I’m not right. I don’t think things right. Why they kept me separate. Maybe even why Raguel killed Zeph.” Mel tilts his head up. “You hunt monsters, you must have known from the start. That’s why you keep hanging out with me, so that you can figure out what I am and kill me. I’m ready.” Maybe the eye contact is scaring him off. Mel closes his eyes.

All Wren has is the poker, but he must know how to use it. Hopefully he can make it fast. Maybe he has some concealed weapons. Those could help. They were protecting him, at the Seminary. And out here he is so tired of trying so hard to be human.

The poker clatters to the floor.

Mel opens his eyes just in time to see Wren raise both of his hands, cradling Mel’s face.

“Mel…” He shakes his head and his voice hitches. When Wren looks back at Mel there are tears in his eyes. “...Yeah Mel, I hunt monsters, but you aren’t one. You had a shitty upbringing, and you’re - hell I mean I doubt it was a thing where you grew up but you’re probably autistic or have ocd or something - but you’re human Mel.” Wren sighs and runs a hand through Mels’ hair. Fuck. When was the last time someone did that? Raguel, when Mel had been pretending to sleep, before he stole the car.

“I hang out with you because I like you, Mel.”

“I’m not…” Mel slumps forward, rests his forehead against Wrens’ shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Wren murmurs into Mels’ curly hair. “I’m sure.”

Mel sits like that for a while, to the rising and falling of Wrens’ chest. He feels more than hears when the breath hitches, preparing to speak.

“I gotta - that ghost is going to come back if I don’t take care of it.” Wren shits and Mel leans back against the wall. Wren scans Mels’ face, seems to find something there. “Come on.” He rises to his feet, and a gentle hand on Mels’ arm assists him in following suit. “You can tag along. I think we need to talk.”

oOo

Even the desert gets it snow, even if it waits to come until early January. The gas station has a new kind of quiet so soon after the holidays. Late December was marked with a flurry of travelers, but now that the fesitivies have passed everyone seems content to stay home for the foreseeable weeks. The people that stop by the gas station are mostly truck drivers.

And Wren.

Mel feels strange to be standing in the new year. He had thought - no - he had known that he would die before January. That the thing that he had felt breathing down his neck his entire life, this dread that had swallowed him, would finally reach him before then. And it did. Only to appear and reveal that it was just himself. Just Mel.

Wren talks him through a lot of it - survivors guilt, abuse, ptsd, anxiety. A laundry list of reasons why he probably had felt that way. In February he’s going to help Mel find a therapist.

Ghost are real. And werewolves and witches and everything that goes bump in the night. Mel can’t find it in himself to be surprised. It just makes sense. It must have been what the Seminary had trained to do, and were sent out take care of. Kept it a secret from Mel, because of his dying mothers request. Learning monsters are real is easy to take in stride, realizing that he isn’t one is something Mel is still trying to figure out how to deal with.

Wrens’ green car putters up the station and parks. 2 cars parked - 3, Mel adjusts his count as a beat up red truck slides into view, turning off the highway to the station and ignoring the pumps.

Barely even looking, Wren snags a pack of gum and slams it on the counter, paired with a five dollar bill.

“Play me my favorite song?” He beseeches, and with a smile Mel rings it up, letting the register fly open and call out it’s hedgehog chime. Mel still has to remind himself to lower his head, to lot look up at some unreachable thing constantly, but it’s getting easier.

“How was the hunt?” Mel asks, absentmindedly flapping the oversized sleeves of his sweatshirt back and forth.

“Pffft, a bitch.” Wren says, hands already moving in a flurry. “You ever try to find an unmarked grave in the snow?”

“I had to help break the ice on the irrigation canals a couple winters.”

“Fucking miserable.” Wren agrees. “But luckily I had some help on this one.” He breaks eye contact with Mel when he says that, and Mel tilts his head to the side. Odd, unlike Wren.

“It’s a long way for your sister to come.” Mel states. Wren nods and pushes his hand around on his stubble.

“They, uh, he, well-”

“Mel.”

The door chimes in tune with the sound of a new voice - of a familiar voice - and Mel looks past Wren to the door of the gas station. The voice is easy to identify, but the figure that stands before him takes longer to match with the image in his head.

Raguel looks different. His hair has been grown out from the Seminarys’ standard cut into the beginning of dreads, and he wears a sweater instead of the button ups, and glasses, and he has a bit of a beard growing. Cargo pants and thick hiking boots and he’s filled out more and its Raguel.

“I’m gonna go fill up my tank.” And Wren leaves the two of them, facing each other without any words to say.

Raguel sighs, something sad and something soft, and smiles. He’s already crying.

“Mel.” He repeats, and opens his arms wide. Mel runs out from behind the counter into the arms of the brother he ran away from.

“Are you mad?” Mel asks voice hoarse, and Raguel kisses the top of his head.

“I’m just happy you’re okay.” Raguel holds his out and scans him up and down, smiles. Raguel never used to smile like that at the Seminary. “I was wondering where my jacket went.” Mel coughs out a wet laugh.

It’s the middle of winter, but it feels like the new cycle of life is already beginning.

#fantail pigeons and mourning doves #the east writes #short story #short stories

9 notes · View notes

landofzero-archive · 4 months

Text

Absolute - The Pure Land 13

(Location: Absolute Stage)

Shaka: What—W-What is the meaning of this?

Ibara: “~……♪”

The plot is simple. Today, the world’s number one idol, Shaka-shi, shall mysteriously disappear.

Shaka: I- are you planning to kill me here……?

Ibara: Why? There’s no need to do that, since destroying evidence is troublesome.

Of course, you still have to put in the effort in order to succeed.

If you’re going to keep taking unnecessary actions, you’ll wind up overworking yourself without any benefits.

Shaka: ………

If I— if Shaka disappears, there’ll be a big uproar, won’t there?

Ibara: Is that what you think? Actually, there was an uproar this time, and we were all swung around quite a bit, weren’t we?

Please rest assured, no one is that interested in others.

Shaka: ………

Ibara: No, you are in the spotlight since you’re a huge star who’s won Absolute six times in a row.

If a replacement star were to shine in the night sky, you will eventually be forgotten as a person of the past.

Shaka: You all, will become “that”?

Ibara: How does that sound? We’ll work hard to achieve that goal, but we may not be able to reach it yet.

But. Even if it isn’t us, someone will always win. Someone will conquer this Absolute and become a new shining star.

You will become a legendary deity as the world’s number one idol who mysteriously disappeared, all while remaining undefeated—

The idols you worship are now a separate existence from you.

You should leave everything to those idols and fictional deities, and live freely as an unknown person.

Shaka: Th-That sort of thing—

That kind of thing, is fine? So, I can live the life I want?

Ibara: That’s right. It truly is simple. Later on, the Priest faction will also use Uncle Gatekeeper as a shield to threaten, no, negotiate—

Today, let's take the steps to make the new shining star, the winner of Absolute, their next “money tree.”

And with that, the story ends with everyone smiling and feeling very satisfied.

Shaka: ………

Ibara: In fact, it would have been better if you had asked this talented producer to fix the problem from the beginning.

Because you did unnecessary actions, there was a strange uproar.

Ibara: If we had met as planned from the beginning and you asked us honestly then and there, we could have easily resolved this matter without making it such a big deal.

If you had done that, I would have had to pay the price for it, but I would have done my job properly.

No. That’s what a fair and legitimate deal is, amateur-san♪

Shaka: ………

Nagisa: …… Fufu. Ibara has a cute smug look on his face for the first time in a while.

Hiyori: Cute, huuh? Looking at it makes me feel annoyed, though? What foul weather!

Nagisa: …… For the longest time, Hiyori-kun and I haven’t shared those kinds of tastes.

…… Hiyori-kun prefers obedient children like Jun, right?

Jun: “~……♪”

Haha. You usually get mad when I don’t listen to you, ri~ght, Ohiisan?

Hiyori: Rather, I don’t understand how it feels to be happy when I’m being snapped at, you know?

Shaka: ………

Jun: Hey. Ohiisan told you to “move away”, you’re not needed so you should probably get outta here, alright?

Go anywhere, wherever you like?

Ibara: Oya, is it really fine to let him go? That person is a criminal who kidnapped our own His Excellency.

Our subordinates are stationed at the wings of the stage, so if we wish to secure him at any time, we can do so, can’t we?

Hiyori: It would be a bother if he got away with it and became resentful. I don’t want to have to worry about him like this again.

Shaka: ………

Hiyori: Look, we said we would forgive you, so why don’t you run off somewhere before we change our minds?

Shaka: B-But…… Even though Priest has died, there’s no way his subordinates would overlook me.

Hiyori: You poor thing. I suppose you’ve been brainwashed into thinking that way based on years of experience. Like an abused child.

Ibara: This is just a fact. The forces on the Priest side have thrown their hands into the fire called Uncle Gatekeeper and have been mostly annihilated.

I just checked with Uncle about that.

Nagisa: …… Fufu. This time, did Ibara use Monban(1)— Gatekeeper for that purpose?

…… For that reason, you stuck close to him, holding the reins and controlling him from beginning to end?

Ibara: It would have been cool to say something like “That’s right.” However, as expected, I’m not that well prepared either.

Hiyori: Ibara was so worried about Nagisa-kun that he couldn’t stay calm♪

Ibara: You’re saying that as the person who was the least calm.

In any case, the surviving members of the Priest faction are also paying attention to the Absolute stage.

This event is their lifeline in this region. In order to keep living, they have no choice but to stay here and watch over it.

In other words, there may not be any oversight now, so it will be as lenient as possible.

My subordinates will give them instructions so they can quickly follow them and defect abroad.

Shaka: ………

Ibara: That’s all. Your crime, no, all the strange things that have happened here will be settled.

What happens after that is our story, and has nothing to do with you.

Here, please take your things and leave.

I’m satisfied with the fine transaction this time.

It was a pleasure doing business with you, former world’s number one idol♪

Shaka: ………

TL Notes:

“門番” (monban), literally “gatekeeper,” is Nagisa’s unique way of referring to Gatekeeper. He uses this name throughout the SS Finals arc to refer to him.

Previous | Directory | Next

#ensemble stars #enstars #enstars translation #ibara saegusa #nagisa ran #jun sazanami #hiyori tomoe #shaka enstars #era: !!#type: event

8 notes · View notes

anastasiaskarsgard · 1 year

Note

Ayo I need a part 3 of the marquis x reader cop Fic. How does the reader fall for the marquis? What’s up with that other doctor? What kind of role does the reader being a cop play into the story?

The rioting had spun the city into chaos in a matter of hours. It was as though everyone had gone mad. People were looting, and destroying monuments that could never be replaced. It didn’t make any sense to her; some people’s desire to destroy.

“You see the new memo?” Richie asked her as he sat at the desk across from her at the police station.

“I just got here. Had to go home last night after they pepper sprayed us.” She said, shaking her head from the phantom burn she swore was still there.

“Ouch you were there for that? Damn girl. Looks like it’s only getting worse. Our sources say some super assassin is coming to challenge some crime boss. Frankly I say leave them alone and let them cancel each other out. They’re lost causes anyway.” Richie ranted.

As she pulled up her memo she looked over the names and faces of the players involved. A few of their faces were familiar. These guys were not amateurs. They were the type that everyone knew was no good, but never seemed to be arrested. Friends in high places, and lots of reasonable doubt in their favor.

In other words; corruption. Scanning through all the names and photos, she noticed the last name wasn’t a name at all, and had a very low quality picture that was so blurry, it could be anyone.

“The Marquis.” Richie read over your shoulder. “He’s a bad egg from all accounts. Worse than the Russians, the mob, the yakuza combined. Completely ruthless.”

“You’re such a busy body. Where do you get all these facts?” She asked as she made the bunny ears quote signs with her fingers.

As Richie went into a long tirade about his sources, she couldn’t help but wonder about the nickname. Marquis were pretty uncommon, but there was no way. She shook her head, and laughed at herself.

To think that Vincent would be a criminal was impossible. He donated to sick children, he was always an absolute gentleman and he hadn’t even tried any funny business. Even if she wished he would.

“What’s up?” Richie asked.

She realized too late she was smiling. “I’m just laughing at a ridiculous thought.”she admitted.

Richie looked at her oddly and walked away.

She looked over the names and pictures again, trying to commit them to memory, when her phone rang. Answering it, she was told by her boss to come to his office.

Suddenly very nervous, she went over any possible reasons she could be in trouble but came up with nothing. In spite of that, she was still quite nervous as she stepped out of the elevator and approached his receptionist.

Before she could even say anything, she was told to go right in. He was waiting on her.

Now she really was freaked out. Knocking lightly on the massive oak doors, she heard a clipped “come in” from inside.

Opening the door, she closed it behind her and confidently approached her boss. She didn’t want to assume she would be staying long enough to sit, so she stood before him expectantly.

“How long have you been with us?” He asked.

That was unexpected, and her confidence wavered, “it’s been seven years last month.”

“And not one single write up, infraction or reprimand. Exemplary service, all your colleagues and superiors sing your praises and you even appear to be active in the community. You’re almost too good to be true.” He stated, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously. “Or are you the worst?”

Shocked by the turn of his statement, she only could get out a flustered what.

“Sit down!” He ordered.

She did, nervously running her hands on her pants before looking back up at the man.

He sat there for a few minutes, staring back at her. She had no clue where this was coming from, or where it had come from so she waited.

Finally he spoke, “what is your relationship with Vincent de Gramont?”

“He is a friend and donor for the hospital I volunteer at. Is he in trouble?” She asked.

“You are only friends with the handsome billionaire? The extravagant dinners and flowers he sent you here of all places, were friendly?”

“I don’t think my personal life is an appropriate topic.”

Huffing loudly, and standing suddenly, he made his way around his desk and stood in front of her. She couldn’t help but notice he was a very handsome man, exuding authority and commanding submission. He was probably in his fifties, and his hair was prematurely graying. Age lines and crows feet, as well as worry lines were present, even with his face at rest. She wondered all this man had witnessed in his life.

Unaware of the transparency of every emotion she had, playing clear across her face; her boss witnessed her compassion and worry written on her face. Coming to a decision, he squatted down to be eye level with her, in an attempt to soften what he was sure now, would be a devastating blow.

Looking deep in her eyes, he took her hand in his , sandwiching it between his hands, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, he stated….

“Your Marquis and my Marquis are the same.”

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #vincent de gramont #marquis de gramont #the marquis

20 notes · View notes

cybersoldier82 · 5 months

Text

In honor of mothers day heres some fun facts abt Nata!!!

Her branch on the space stations science team deals with multiple things like cataloguing/studying new species, medical research/aid, and various biological studies among other smaller things.

Back when her and Kyle first met when was ordered to run test of any kind on him regardless of how harmless they were she wouldn’t run them without his full consent due to his past experiences with Atlas scientists. Because of this it would sometimes take days to get one test done but she didnt mind. Even now she still asks for his full consent to do anything to him even during check ups.

Kyle was her first time meeting an Atlas born soldatin, before hand shed only met UGH born/naturally occurring ones or humans, thankfully she had some previous experience with some non-Atlas ones so she knew what she was doing.

The main reasons she adopted him was A: he reminds her 100% of her dead bio son, and B: while he was 17 at the time and she knew hed leave eventually she wanted to give him a proper family for what little time he had with her before he eventually bought and moved onto his ship the Death Box.

She, like Kyle, has a small bone collection in her bedroom, mostly from her amateur fossil hunts she goes on whenever shes on vacation, paleontology has always been a fascination of hers :3.

And finally while her species has a hard time with some complex emotions she tries(and by all accounts succeeded)in being the best momma she can to her happy little killer -w-.

#oc talk #oc nata #alien oc #scifi oc #sci fi oc #alien #mothers day #mothers day 2024 #mom oc #my oc #cybers input

3 notes · View notes

invisiblequeen · 7 months

Text

Noe Bodi Gameplay: Day 35

NEW NEIGHBOR MOVED INTO OASIS SPRINGS!

Blair Carter (@spurgees) is here to take over the media world with her videos AND podcasting abilities dammit! She will do whatever it takes to hit 500K subs in her first year online, and she'll do it all by herself if she has to.

Cause she wants it that way.

Time is money, and eating takes time, but time spent at only 50% energy is also time wasted. So she begrudgingly made herself a mean grilled cheese sandwich.

And then she got to work. While listening to "Lurk Ditch" By Schmitney Peers.

Levels good? Check.

Noise reduction on the mic? Check.

No nosy neighbors looking at what she's doing through the window? Check.

Perfect media station with ring lights and more? CHECK CHECK CHECK!

Her first video was a review of the new Devlon Eye Palette. It's not the kind of videos she really wants to make--she's more of the "Spill The Tea On The Neighborhood" Type--but it'll do for a start.

"You can do this, Blair," she told herself as she adjusted the light.

"And....ACTION!"

An hour and a half later, the video was finished and uploaded. Truthfully, she didn't want to polish the end product that much. She thinks it'll help her chances if she starts off looking kind of amateur.

And instead of sitting at the table waiting for action, Blair decided to nap it out. There's no chance of her distracting herself from the anticipation otherwise.

Next morning, Blair checked the traction, not even pausing to wash her FACE.

She gained 1000 followers!

It seems they liked her attitude and makeup application skills. Some comments were quoting their favorite jokes of hers with the timestamps attached.

Of course, there was one hater comment: "Who cares?"

But that only inspired our girl to change her bio:

"Who Cares? Blair."

P.S.: as this sim was inspired by The Brooklyn 99 Criminal Line Up Song, "I Want It That Way," Blair Carter is canonically obligated to always want things her way or no way at all. :)

[previous] - [next]

#sims 4 #the sims 4 #sims4 #simblr #ts4 #other people's sims #n0bodygameplays #noe bodi gameplay #sims 4 gameplay

6 notes · View notes

adelaidedrubman · 2 years

Note

1, 11, 15 (sfw) + 2, 11, 13 (nsfw) for Jenna & Faith :>

THANK YOU MARI sorry these took forever to get to:/

1. Who cooks?

jenna! she’s always been something of an amateur chef. it’s chemistry but you get to eat something delicious at the end of the process. so she takes care of most of the meal preparation, with faith keeping her company during and helping with the clean up afterwards.

11. Baths or showers? Together or separate? Any bubbles or bubble fights?

baths, usually. jenna likes a long soak after a day of hard work at the lab (helps to more effectively wash the chemical smell off and give her more time relax and shift out of work mode). on the daily they’re more likely to bathe separately, jenna likes to be to mostly cleaned up and winding down by the time faith is getting home, but their schedule is ruled by the inexact science of bliss production thus that is not always guaranteed. faith likes to share baths and showers. it’s intimacy. jenna says it’s impractical. she is not listened to. faith will worm her way into sharing baths and showers and cause them to take three times regardless of jenna pointing out how inefficient it always ends up being.

they don’t really do bubble baths, but jenna does have her own very particular bath oil mixture she likes to use, and faith likes to add to it by sprinkling dried flower petals into it if she gets home early enough. so their shared baths are plenty aesthetically pleasing and romantic, but sadly no bubble fights.

15. Vacation ideas: who decides them? Where would they go, if anywhere?

they sadly do not get many far away vacations due to the essentially singlehandedly holding eden’s gate together thing:/ the most they usually get is local nature retreats, and half the time those double as either searches for bliss planting grounds to expand to or recruitment events, so not exactly vacations. but if they’re outside the smaller county boundaries at all they usually make a particular point to carve out time for themselves to make it really feel like a getaway regardless.

as for ideal vacation locations, they would be happy with anywhere far away. jenna would be excited to experience different environments of any kind, and faith hasn’t traveled much outside of the initial portland to hope county move. anywhere warm and sunny would be a welcome change of pace for awhile. (jenna misses california more than she lets on, and faith hasn’t been out of the pnw. so. warm and sunny pls.)

2. Who brings ideas? Who initiates?

jenna tends to bring more of the ideas, she’s very direct about what she wants, so if there’s something new she’d like to try or a need going unfulfilled she will state it very matter-of-factly with the same thoroughness and detailed consideration she would present a research proposal, and wait for a response. faith tends to ask for things more once they’re already in the middle of it as opposed to approaching jenna with ideas or requests ahead of time. she will gently suggest something she would like vaguely at the outset before finally just telling what jenna exactly what to do in the heat of the moment if she doesn’t take the hint. (she usually has, in fact, taken or at least suspected the hint, but likes getting faith to that point.)

they’re fairly even in terms of initiating, although faith probably does so somewhat more often. jenna isn’t afraid of saying what she wants, but she also tends to get focused on other things until the point faith gets needy and reaches out for attention.

4. Oddest place they’d have sex?

in the shower. “what that isn’t weird at all —” the lab safety shower. like this thing:

0/10 the would not repeat it. they broke the eyewash station.

12. How are their afterglows?

very comfortable and intimate, they’re definitely cuddlers if they have the opportunity. they are forced into their fair share of quickies after which they just have to briefly catch their breath then get back to business, but given the choice they like to relax and bask. faith tends to be a bit more clingy in terms of cuddling while jenna just lays back to focus on enjoying the experience of coming down, but she’s happy to indulge and will pull faith closer to hold her.

#otp: seasons blooming in your arms #otp asks

9 notes · View notes

awkwardpariah · 1 year

Text

On the night of January 9, 2112 (Houston time), a flash of light illuminated the sky over most of Haklo and Osomi on the planet Alo. The flash lasted a fraction of a second, but in that time night became day, and the whole world was left in stunned silence as to what had just transpired. In the halls of power in New Glava, Tilio'Ramna, and Capital Island the leaders of the three great superblocs met with scientific advisors and called their counterparts, paying lip service to the NHSO and CCMS with calls later in the night. The 31st Fleet out of Oya'ramna and the 19th Fleet out of Dyna'ramna were both given direct orders to maintain present posture, and do not engage. By morning, everything on Alo appeared to be as it should be, and the scientific community attributed the flash of light to a previously undocumented supernova.

Then two days later a new, much smaller but more persistent light appeared in the night sky. Ground based telescopes tracked as the light grew larger, and the heads of state and chief science advisors for the five blocs were in near constant contact. Among the public, curiosity quickly shifted into speculation and panic, and by January 13, when the mysterious light had become the brightest object in the night sky, with a long tail unlike any comet previously observed, panic had evolved into awe and terror. Most were simply captivated by the incredible sight that now dominated the night, while others fell into the worst instincts of any society confronted with the unknown. The government attempted to calm the public before eventually the head of the Osomi CoDominium Astronomical Agency (OCAA) made a public address confirming what unaffiliated scientists and the public at large had speculated for the last few days: the light in the night sky is not a natural phenomenon so far as the scientific community can determine. What was intended to calm the public with a simple statement of facts only fueled speculation, protests, and riots until on January 15 the light simply vanished. OCAA and its companion agencies in the other four blocs all tracked the object's trajectory to the L4 Lagrange point. This convinced most of the planet's astronomers that the light source was most likely an alien spacecraft.

For the next 9 months the public's panic largely subsided, with the exception of the planet's fringe groups, which began holding rituals lifting the light up as some kind of divine communication. As the status of the light transitioned from scientific inquiry to social debate, instances of mass suicide and violent clashes between demonstrators and the government became more frequent. Despite the behavior of the planet's more reactionary elements, most Argommi agreed with the assessment that it was an alien spacecraft or at least some kind of celestial phenomena. Life seemed to return to some version of normal before being upended once again on April 29, 2112. The growing community of amateur astronomers who had been gathering in the uninhabited places of Alo since the first light appeared reported a strange streak of light in the sky above the Arslav Desert. While the government dismissed it as a meteorite at first, nuclear early warning tracking stations and civilian observatories identified 7 more such objects in unique orbits over the following weeks. As another wave of panic gripped the planet, the public demanded that the Argommi governments take action. What sort of action was entirely up for debate. A series of summits were called where the leading members of the scientific community debated what the lights were, and how best to respond. There was no single event in which the attendees of the summits publicly stated that the lights were of alien origin, or had any connection to the previous two lights that dominated the sky so many months ago. It simply became the foundation of the debate without anyone saying so. The Argommi now believed they were not alone in the universe, and someone was watching them from above their planet.

After six months of seeing faint lights occasionally streak across the sky, and only a notion at the last possible location the mothership could have gone, many in the scientific community had settled on the idea that they had been visited by an uncrewed interstellar probe similar to an old proposal from their world, and were now being observed for purely scientific reasons. No consensus was reached about how to respond, though the Kuvo Republic, the leading power of the Osomi CoDominium, elected to coordinate an effort within the OC and the neighboring CCMS to attempt radio contact with these probes via its civilian space program. This prompted condemnation from the Tilio'ramna Pact and neglect from the Canavin Union. The TP believed that the OC, much less one of its member states unilaterally attempting to speak for the entire planet was arrogant and dangerous. The CU proceeded with their own attempt at radio contact in secret.

After repeated attempts to get a signal through on April 1, 2113 a relatively small OCAA radio observatory in the Great Basin picked up a series of repeating high frequency tones that could only be artificial. With the satellite only a few minutes from setting over the horizon, the station's chief radio astronomer responded with a simple salutation in Ioldan. Within the few minutes in which the researcher was being chided for unilaterally attempting First Contact, every tracking station on the planet received the same message simultaneously from the 8 sources the Argommi had been aware of, and a 35 they didn't even know existed in higher orbits. The message was a number in every local language on the planet, representing the frequency they should tune to for further communication. Further responses were coordinated by the major astronomy agencies of the five blocs, and were met with a series of tests.

It quickly became apparent that the tests weren't to determine if the Argommi were intelligent, those observing them KNEW that, and clearly a great deal more about their species. These tests were designed to allow the Argommi to determine the origin of their observers on their own. They quickly determined what constellation the spacecraft came from, but also confirmed they had no way of observing the specific star with their level of technology, as it was located some 2,920 lightyears away. They gained insight into just what they'd been seeing in the night sky. The flash on January 9, 2112 was the release of a Bubble Trap, a phenomena the Argommi didn't even have a theory for. The Bubble Trap was released by a spacecraft that compressed and expanded spacetime to travel faster than light while not actually moving. The smaller, more persistent light was a matter-antimatter reaction that propelled the spacecraft in-system. It became apparent after a few weeks, that their visitors could not move a great deal of mass between the stars, constrained by physics that hadn't even gotten on the napkin drawing phase for most of their scientific community. Still, the message was clear: We are explorers, it has taken a great deal of time, energy, and resources for us to come here, and we couldn't conquer you if we wanted to.

On June 3, 2113 the Director General of the OC held a final meeting with her security council and with the ambassadors of the other four blocs. The decision was reached to make contact and to invite the 'guests' they now knew as "humans" to land at Sansomi in the Triplet Is. Sansomi had been used as neutral ground for diplomatic summits for decades on Alo, a consequence of it being the least inconvenient place for airships to reach for all five powers. The Great Conference of Argommi met on a bright clear day (typical of the Triplet Isles) in the terminal of the Sansomi Airport, with all five leaders of the planet's blocs in attendance, along with leading scientists, religious leaders, and a massive crowd of onlookers, protestors, and pilgrims. People milled about not knowing what to expect when someone's finger shot up with the cry of "THERE!" and a red streak in the sky was seen by all, as had been warned by the human visitors. The streak nearly crested the horizon before fading at which point a particularly thoughtful sound engineer turned the stage's speakers to play the calm methodical words between the human visitors and local air traffic controllers. The words were in modern Tiloan, and the calm, deliberative, almost boring exchange eased the crowd enough for the director of OCAA to encouraged those with telescopes and binoculars to look to the sky. Eventually the small black and white spacecraft came into view of the naked eye and the crowd was silent as the ATCs and the human crew occasionally spoke in brief confirmation of their position. As the strange looking spaceplane touched down and deployed a drag chute it gently slowed to a stop.

11,703 confirmed deaths were attributed to the arrival or disappearance of the light in the sky that the Argommi would come to know as the interstellar spacecraft IV-402 Beagle III. What would come of this meeting would unite the planet more than ever before, and create the modern Aloan Cold War.

Special thanks to rajavlitra who was commissioned to draw the Argommi for this map, and all my Patreon supporters who made this map possible. All my patrons get early access to my projects before they go live. Please subscribe at: patreon.com/SeanMcKnight

#worldbuilding #speculative evolution #scifi #science fiction #alien planet #second renaissance

2 notes · View notes

ambitionsofapineapple · 2 years

Text

Why's this pineapple so juicy?

It's the day before our meetup. I'm feeling nervous, excited, and extra self conscience today. The bags have been packed, liquor bought, and the babysitter hadn't cancelled yet. Everything was looking up. So why can I not sit still?

I gather my things for a shower, put my towel in the dryer, and one by one i start taking my clothes off. It started with the glasses, then my shirt, pulled my jeans off and sent a few selfies to my husband. This is the point where I turn the water on to get it hot and steamy before i step in. I take a few more pictures and unclasp my bra. They drop and I can't help but smile hoping tomorrows couple will enjoy that view. Next are the panties, and i cant tell you the range of emotions i quickly went through those first few moments. It was a small dot, but in that moment it couldn't have been bigger.

I took an extra long shower that night while mulling over the fact i have to walk out of there and disappoint my husband. Then we'd have to diappoint the other couple. What were our new friends going to think when we have to tell them mother nature blessed me with an empty womb but now we need to reschedule the day before they'd be making a four hour trip to come visit us.

Well, to our delight, they'd had a similar experience before and suggested a soft menstrual disc. She even had a few extra she would bring since I had absolutely no knowledge on that subject. It was a miracle our plans remained unaffected and somehow we were still excited for the activities to cum. ;)

Friday evening comes fast. We're taking pictures outside of the train station while waiting. We're getting tons of looks and smiles. It doesn't take but a few minutes for the train to arrive to take us to the city. We find two empty seats next to the door and settle in for an extremely anxious 15 minutes. We get off with our luggage and proceed to walk the four blocks to the hotel.

It is by far the most intimidating walk I've ever been on up to this point. I knew what we were there to do. As a couple doing this for the very first time though, we definitely had some last second negative thoughts to overcome. Personally, i remember telling him I was scared the couple would think I was too fat in person and it was going to be awkward watching them try to back-out nicely. Before we could delve too deep into my body dysphoria, we were downstairs at the hotel in an awkward circle of hugs, introductions, and shy playful smiles.

We hit it off immediately and before we knew it the four of us were heading upstairs to freshen up for dinner. We walked around downtown for a good 20 minutes while discussing which food options would be best paired with a night full of lustful activities. We ended up back at the hotel bar ordering drinks and appetizers.

Back in the room is when this story takes a special kind of turn. If you're one with a sensitive stomach I advise you skip a few paragraphs ahead. Things are about to get embarrassingly messy.

She hands me this menstrual disc and I lock myself in the bathroom searching youtube for videos of how to put this thing in correctly. I was in there for 20 minutes before I call my husband in the bathroom with tears in my eyes. HELP. ME. He gives it a few tries and next thing I know him and husband number 2 are going to take a walk to get ice while wifey number 2 helps me shove this thin, clear, condom looking disc up my bleeding lady bits. She successfully inserted it and her and i jumped in the shower while the guys were still out.

We took a few minutes alone before calling the guys back. Once they were in the room though, all clothes were off. They had a front row seat to two amateur wives exploring their bi side in all its hot scissory glory. We took turns eating each other out while giving the guys an amazing ass show in the process. The way our bodies rubbed against each other, our tits sliding all over, the gentle touches of another woman in all the right areas.

Catching glimpses of the guys with cock in hand. Watching them jerking off to their own personal porn stars. Everything about that night was incredibly hot.

We woke up the next morning and I was horrified. This fancy hotel room had now looked like a scene from a horror show. There was blood evrywhere. The pillows, sheets, blankets, my clothes, even on her beautiful face. How do you hide something so obvious? You can't.

I apologized profusely for the murder scene and to my surprise, the couple couldn't have cared less. All we could seem to talk about was how amazing the night had been and the fact that we couldn't wait to do it again when we make the trip to them.

On the train back home, Mr.A couldn't help but let out his dirty little secret this time. A sly smile came across his face as he began to speak. "Babe, that was absolutely hot. I have to tell you, I kind of really wanted to see you suck his cock and play with him too."

My eyes widen in excitement and I really couldn't believe what i was hearing. In a nutshell, if I or the husband were to have asked to play together, my husband would've allowed it. In fact, he would've been encouraging to do so.

A few lessons we learned that day. One, if we don't speak up we'll always miss out. Two, rules will most definitely go out the window if something seems too hot in the moment. Last but not least, number three, having a sexual relation outside of each other only makes our love for each other grow stronger and our chemistry 1,000x better.

#swingers lifestyle #bi females #pineapple #first experience #lifestyle #sex blog

3 notes · View notes

mariacallous · 2 years

Text

On the inaugural night of the Chippendales club, the audience’s disbelief at the sight of a half-dozen men dancing and disrobing quickly melts into delight. The financially struggling owner, Somen (Steve) Banerjee (Kumail Nanjiani), has named his Los Angeles establishment for an eighteenth-century cabinetmaker whose rococo designs, Steve claims, adorned the residence of the viceroy of India. The venture may well be the earliest of its kind: a mainstream venue for striptease, by men, for women. The visual appeal of the amateur gyrators, who swan about on a sunken stage in the center of the room, to the Village People’s “Macho Man,” is questionable: they sport muscles and skimpy black underwear, but also mullets and long, greasy curls. Their looks may not matter much anyway; the hooting women are thrilled just to play the part of men for a night. But, for some, a real show needs more than role reversal. “Talk about a flaming pile of trash,” the choreographer Nick De Noia (Murray Bartlett) says at a later performance, when Steve asks him to leave. (Male patrons are not allowed.) In less than a decade, the two men, working in tandem, turn Steve’s frantic experiment into a national sensation, and lock themselves in a rivalry so radioactive it cannot but end in mutual destruction.

Opening in the late nineteen-seventies, Hulu’s “Welcome to Chippendales” is a night-club-lit comic tragedy that traces the spectacular rise and sordid fall of a cheesy yet pivotal corner of the sexual revolution. The series’ initial pleasures coalesce around the streamlining of the production numbers and the chiselling of its mall-sexy, Ken-doll-on-steroids camp aesthetic. Nick hires dancers who can move in unison—some, like Otis (Quentin Plair), boast professional stage experience. The troupe’s costumer, Denise (Juliette Lewis), smooths out the act’s kinks by supplying tearaway pants. Dorothy Stratten (Nicola Peltz), a Playmate turned rising actress, whose slimy, controlling husband, Paul Snider (Dan Stevens), talks his way into a small stake in Chippendales, is responsible for what becomes the brand’s signature flourish: the stand-alone cuffs and collars, inspired by the bunny uniforms at the Playboy Club. (When bean-counting Steve first meets Dorothy, he’s impressed—not by her title or her soft yet staggering beauty but by her acquaintance with Hugh Hefner.) As the business’s original mastermind, Steve goads a church group into protesting the club, then calls up a local TV station, garnering his “den of perversion and sin” some free publicity on the evening news.

Those who know Chippendales only from the “Saturday Night Live” sketch or as a popular Las Vegas revue may be surprised to learn of the organization’s violent history: in the early nineties, the real-life Banerjee pleaded guilty to racketeering, attempted arson, and murder for hire. It’s fitting, however, that the Hollywood version of this story focusses on a briefly magical collaboration that turns toxic over credit-hogging. The showrunners Jenni Konner (“Girls”) and Robert Siegel (“Pam & Tommy”) nurse ambitions of sociological insight in their reimagining of an Indian immigrant whose American Dream takes the form of a queer white man’s channelling of suburban-female desire. And yet the writers are also loath to relinquish the story’s twisty, true-crime roots. The result is an ideas-rich but disjointed series that feels like it’s tackling too much, yet somehow hardly enough, with a protagonist whose motivations are subject to whatever wild happenstance the scripts are setting up next. (Why does Steve idolize Hefner? And what does he think of his own improbable role in granting a greater degree of sexual agency to the kinds of women who might not consider men like him—brown, speaking accented English, financially unsteady in a disreputable industry—a viable sexual or romantic partner? “Chippendales” is strangely uninterested in the answers.) As the eight-episode season progresses, and the stripteases become sleeker, the show around them only gets messier.

No one enjoys the club’s runaway success for long. Nick, a Sondheim-loving snob with two Emmys that he won’t let anyone forget about, is tortured by the artistic challenge of having to top his own themed stagings. (An early favorite: shirtless bellhops thrusting against an ecstatic becardiganed hotel guest on a spinning fourposter bed—a genteel porn scenario that simultaneously emphasizes the woman’s allure and class status.) Although many hands went into building Chippendales, Nick knows, as does pretty much everyone else, that it is his genius that sustains it as an attraction. After a coke-fuelled bender, he and Denise decide that the most logical way to level up the stage show is by mounting “Hunkenstein,” a horror-tinged rock opera, to be performed by a live band, about the creation of the ultimate beefcake, assembled from the exceptional parts of various men. Steve’s angry rejection of the pitch poisons the well of his relationship with his choreographer. Every subsequent no from the boss further convinces Nick that he is “Mr. Chippendales,” a meaningless designation that he’s happy to trumpet on national television as he turns the production into a franchise and a tour, stoking Steve’s rancorous, scheming rage.

The divalicious Nick is the series’ only fully realized character, though Lewis and Annaleigh Ashford, who plays Steve’s charmingly practical wife, Irene, lend their scenes a lived-in sweetness that their narcissistic male counterparts resist. (Bucking the trend in recent strip-centric entertainment such as “Magic Mike,” “Hustlers,” “Zola,” and “P-Valley,” which reframe exotic dance as labor, sometimes under precarious or perilous conditions, the performers here, save one, are little more than a huddle of glistening torsos.) Compared with the supernova that is Nick, who is endowed with every last drop of Bartlett’s considerable charisma, Steve is a cold, gray moon. His arc is grander, though, transforming him, à la Walter White, from a striving underdog into a self-pitying sociopath. Nanjiani is serviceable as an actor from scene to scene, but he can’t find his character’s core, and receives little help from the writing. The racial microaggressions that Steve regularly endures are flat and obvious, almost P.S.A.-like. His biography is frustratingly spartan; the series only suggests, and barely makes coherent, why he moved to the U.S. and, before Chippendales, sacrificed half a decade of his life to an ascetic existence as a gas-station manager, subsisting on expired sandwiches, despite having enjoyed a comfortable life back in India. It’s only when Steve decides to wield America’s racial hierarchy against other minorities in pursuit of his own upward mobility—a dramatization of the middle ground between white and Black America that many Asian Americans occupy—that the series periodically achieves the political relevance it fumbles toward.

When Nick signs up Otis, the most talented of the auditioning dancers, Steve hesitates, noting, “He is Black.” Then he sees an opportunity in Otis’s race: “Customers will love it.” Both Steve and Nick turn a blind eye to the way their mostly white clientele single out the token dancer of color for particularly loutish objectification, grabbing Otis’s head for a kiss or reaching inside his briefs despite his clear discomfort. (“You don’t really get that at Lincoln Center,” Nick jokes.) Otis, who admires Steve’s achievements as a “brown-skinned brother . . . making shit happen for himself,” seeks racial solidarity with his employer, who sees his own hunger reflected back at him in a flattering light. But the entrepreneur, always sniffing around for a shortcut, realizes that the fastest way to climb up is by stepping on others. Steve’s misfortune is not that he’s wrong but, rather, that he lacks the wealth and the connections to discriminate at scale. America may be where Steve aspired to reinvent himself, but his adoptive home is relentless in making sure he knows his place. ♦

3 notes · View notes

knighthelm-aes · 2 months

Text

Twisters was a hilarious experience for a lowkey weather nerd

In the first scene a tornado is coming and the female lead is like “don’t go to the overpass, that’s the worst place you can go!” And I was like good this is good messaging. Then they call run to the overpass anyway and 3 of them die.

In case you were wondering, there’s a moving scale as to the types of cover for tornadoes on the road. If you’re in a car, you should first try to drive away from the tornado, turning parallel to the path of the nado. Obviously this is a tornado cashing movie so it’s not the choice they were going to make lol so anyway. If you’re in a car and you can’t escape, but you might be able to get to cover, leave the car. If your car is the only cover left, stay in the car, get as low as possible and cover yourself.

Sheltering in an overpass creates a wind tunnel that will launch any debris at you at like terrifying speed. The wind will be too powerful, you will be sucked out and thrown. Do not do that. People kind of forget that tornadoes aren’t just wind, they’re essentially a huge shredding machine full of dirt, metal, glass, potentially cars and houses. Entire live animals have essentially been cleaned to the bone because of tornadoes. They are very scary.

Like people drove their normal ass cars into tornadoes like 5 times. The cars did get beat up a bit but I was laughing because people have been designing machines to withstand the power of tornadoes for years and uh they have to look like this

I did actually like that there was a team of youtuber weather chasers. They portrayed them as jackasses at first which like, lol, they’re youtubers, but they kind of tone it down a bit more as the movies go on. Amateur weather chasers are actually extremely cool people who do a lot of research and data collecting that is vital to the way tornadoes are measured after the fact and research for preventing disasters. A lot of weather watchers are the first people to call in to local areas that a tornado has formed/touched down, and provide photos/video to local news stations which help people to take the storm seriously. They’re a great community who have tons of respect for each other, and for the victims of tragedies. They don’t just find weather cool, they care about the impact these storms can have and want to help people.

My only criticism to that aspect of the movie was 1) they shouldn’t have had the youtubers playing copyrighted music while they were livestreaming lol and 2) when they snapped to the livestream they could have had a hilarious live comment section

I loved that when we went from new york to the midwest there was immediately a show of 3 people in front of their trucks and they were all wearing flannel. Just a nitpick, if it’s tornado season, the midwestern uniform is jeans and a tshirt of their favorite sports team or classic rock band— you can decide if a character might be the type to cut off the sleeves.

I did also love that both times a tornado hit a town, it was shown that the EMS were on the scene right away. The movie showed the aftermath of what a storm can have on towns which I liked. The characters in the movie went to help people and give out food. That is one thing the Midwest is really good at, when there’s been a disaster or a community in need people just kind of automatically go. The last storm that hit a town near me, the news was actually discouraging people from going later in the night because there were already so many volunteers 🥲

I thought the SOUND of the tornadoes was spot on. They actually do have this awful growl that booms from the sky. The CGI was phenomenal.

I liked that I think a couple town(s? Plural?) were named after notable places where significant tornadic events happened. The last town was El Reno, which is of course where widest tornado ever recorded was. It was 2.6 MILES (4.2km) long!!!! Here’s pics of the monstrosity

I did like that the tornadoes were never shown to last for like forever because they rarely last upwards of 10 minutes.

I also liked that the guy who was threatening to leave a bad yell review got karma killed by the tornado.

Also the nay sayer who was like “9 times out of 10 it’s a false alarm” about the sirens because NO. Sirens go off automatically when there are the right ingredients for a tornado and detect when there is either touchdown in a nearby county, or the potential for one (I can’t remember sorry). The emergency alert systems are not like cautionary notices THEY INDICATE EMERGENCIES

They also got the sound of the sirens good, however, they did NOT get the like… boom? They make very well? Idk like you can feel that shit in your SOUL and I was like hmmm…. Meh… couldve bass boosted the fuck outta that.

I liked that the good guy team of chasers and the bad guy team were equally diverse lmfaooo and i LOVED that the evil bank dude was like an old white guy who was dressed like a 60’s movie cowboy

I also like that the main character essentially had two boyfriends the whole movie? Like the movie wants you to think she’ll go for the youtuber but tbh she had as much if not more onscreen chemistry with the friend from her first chaser team. They both express feelings for her and in the end, they all are on the same team so?????Polyamory!!!!

There were a couple of like “god bless america” scenes but like idk it was bearable. Like it was at a rodeo and unfortunately they are like that.

The country music in this movie however WAS unbearable. It was like the worst kind too. Like yeah I get it most places that’s all they listen too but jeeeeeeez

I DO think some people should NOT be allowed to wear cowboy hats and boots and lots of them were in this movie.

They also had like a random Brit in the movie and I thought it was a good way to introduce the terminology and science into the script. He was also a ninny so I loved him.

Idk. 8/10? The tornado scenes were tense and for the most part they spoke about the terminology and science correctly. Idk about the actual like… possibility of being able to disrupt a tornado because I am just a weather nerd, not even a tornado fan or a meteorologist lol. It’s just a silly movie-ism so like whatever. I thought it was respectful and similar enough to the original while also having a completely new team of ppl who weren’t really related to the first movie. The only recurring character was the Dorothy 4 machine from the first one LOL

On like a purely writing standpoint, was kind of bummed the last tornado event wasn’t like the Dead Man Walking/ multi vortex tornado or a Twinado which I think is more fitting for the Twisters title. They’re also really SCARY too. There was 1 Twinado in the movie but it happened kind of early :/

#i had to gush #this is me just nerding out #ANYWAY I LOVE THE ORIGINAL AND I LOVE SHITTY MOVIES

0 notes